Outright Assassination

by Adel Beshara

  The Appeal for Clemency

  Actually, even as the Board of Pardons was meeting to consider the legality of the death sentence against Sa’adeh, Elias Rizkallah was at the presidential palace presenting his case for clemency. He was whisked away to the President’s office right after the trial to coincide with the Board of Pardons’ decision. According to the existing law in Lebanon, the President has the unfettered discretion to deny clemency at any time, for any reason. But he also has the unfettered discretion to grant, at any time, for any reason, the following forms of clemency:

  Amnesty, a pardon extended by the state to a group or class or persons, usually for a political offense. Unlike an ordinary pardon, amnesty is usually addressed to crimes against state sovereignty, that is, to political offenses with respect to which forgiveness is deemed more expedient for the public welfare than prosecution and punishment.

  Commutation: the executive’s substitution in a particular case of a less severe punishment for a more severe one that has already been judicially imposed on the defendant.

  Pardon: the act or instance of officially nullifying punishment or other legal consequences of a crime. There are a number of pardons that the President could consider:

  Absolute pardon, which releases the wrongdoer from punishment and restores the offender’s civil rights without qualification.

  Conditional pardon, which does not become effective until the wrongdoer satisfies a prerequisite.

  General pardon, which is identical to amnesty.

  Partial pardon, which exonerates the offender from some but not all of the punishment or legal consequences of a crime.

  By Rizkallah’s own account, President Khoury was waiting for his arrival with the endorsement of the death sentence already in his hands. He wrote:

  I walked in on the President in his office. Minister Gabriel Al-Mur was next to him. He was not courteous and received me rather indifferently. I was enraged by this, which drove me to declare boldly, “I was coming not as an officer with a limited capacity, but as an attorney in a weighty case to implore you to have mercy on he who had been sentenced to death and is on his way to death.” This caused the president to grow even more arrogant, and me to grow more furious. However, I insisted on pleading for mercy, but my request was turned down.5

  He added:

  I later learned that the president was told of what I had accused Sa’adeh of [i.e., insanity] in order to help him avoid his tragic end. This threw the military court into confusion; it could not proceed with the trial before setting up a medical committee to check the leader’s mental capacity. However, it could not postpone the session since there was an agreement concluded between the Lebanese and the Syrian authorities to carry out the death sentence as soon as possible, i.e., within 24 hours. A rush of phone calls was both made and received by the two authorities to hasten the execution. In the meantime, there were attempts to stop the execution made by Kamal Jumblatt and Sami Solh.6

  Jumblatt and Sami Solh, a cousin of Premier Riad, implored Khoury to think twice about executing Sa’adeh for different reasons. The unfathomable Jumblatt tried to stop the execution by appealing to the President for wisdom and fairness in the light of previous inaction against similar insubordinates. He was one of the very few Lebanese politicians who seemed to have cared about Sa’adeh’s life. As for Sami Solh, he seemed more concerned about the longer-term repercussions of Sa’adeh’s execution on the Solh family. Upon hearing of the court’s verdict he went straight to the Presidential Palace to see Khoury, but the latter tactlessly snubbed him with the words “go convince your cousin [Riad Solh] first.”7 But Riad retained his hard-nose stance and kept invoking the law at every turn. A frustrated Sami then burst out, “You must not go through with that and embroil yourself. This man is dangerous and his followers are also dangerous.” He added, “From a humanitarian point of view it is unacceptable . . . besides the crime is political and therefore deserves a lesser penalty.”8 The Prime Minister was unmoved.

  Another person whose name has been mentioned in this regard is the Lebanese literati Amin Nakhle. A personal friend of Riad Solh, Nakhle was stunned by the sentence. He visited the Prime Minister at his residence in Beirut to persuade him to commute the sentence to life imprisonment with hard labour. Legally, of course, only the President of the Republic can commute a death sentence. Nakhle later related that on entering Solh’s house he found the prime minister’s wife “on her knees begging her husband not to execute Antun Sa’adah. ‘If you execute him, our life will be ruined.’”9

  Astonishingly, the strongest opposition to the death penalty came from the President’s son, Khalil. Apparently, Khalil burst into tears when he learned that his father had approved the death order, but the ever-present Habib Abu Shahla, one of Khoury’s henchmen, advised him to butt out, telling him “you are still a young lad to understand these matters.”10 Khalil did not know Sa’adeh personally but was among the select few who attended his trial. His opposition to the sentence may very well have been triggered by that lone encounter with Sa’adeh, who often impressed all who had contact with him with his strong moral fervor.

  The President’s signature on the death order effectively removed the last “legal” barrier for the implementation of the court’s sentence. It was countersigned by Prime Minister Riad Solh, who was also the Minister of Justice, and Defense Minister Majid Irslan. The order now became a government decree subject to Article 150 of the Military Code, which stated that the death penalty shall be carried out before a firing squad at a time and place designated by the Minister of Defense.

  Procedural Arrangements

  Initially, the Minister of Defense chose the courtyard facing the Military Tribunal building as the site for the execution. At the last minute, however, “the site was deemed technically inappropriate and unsafe for the firing squad because there is a wall behind it that overlooks the Race Course and an area with condensed pine trees.”11 The site then switched to a remote section of the old shooting field and a security unit was dispatched to prepare the site and to dig a grave at a nearby cemetery. The choice fell on a small open field with sandy mounds that enclosed the area from the seafront. A wooden post chopped off from an old electricity pole was quickly erected into the ground and reinforced by steel and soil for uprightness.

  Whilst these preparations were taking place, a small military unit was dispatched to a nearby church to locate an Orthodox priest for the last rites. The unit headed for the nearby Saint George Orthodox Diocese of Beirut. What happened next is best left for the priest who attended the execution, Iliya Barbari, to describe:

  When I opened the door at the sound of the bell, around midnight, I found myself before officers of the Army who asked me to quickly get dressed and bring along my cross and clerical particulars. I said: “What is going on?” and they replied “we are to execute the traitor Antun Sa’adeh tonight and we want you to confess him and offer him the last rites before his execution.” I said “I cannot do something of that kind until you bring permission from the archbishop as our church laws require.” They said “We do not have the time. We will take the responsibility for it.” Once more I excused myself, but they continued to insist, repeating that an infraction against church laws is less harmful than sending a Christian to his death without having completed his religious obligations. I finally gave in and reluctantly rode in their jeep through streets crowded with security forces both military and police patrolmen and with weapons held ready to fire. We saw Prison al-Ramel appear. It was brightly lit up both from without and within. We got down at a place where other officers were waiting for us.12

  The priest was escorted by the officers to the office of the prison director and the following conversation transpired:

  The prison director: “. . . I have been in the army for about thirty years and this would be the 13th execution I will witness.”

  Father Barbari: “I have spent thirteen years in clerical garb and this is the first time that I am to
view an execution.”

  Captain Najjar: “I am the army’s doctor and this is the first time I would be examining a person sentenced to execution by firing squad.”

  The prison director: “Man should show courage in these sorts of circumstances.”

  Father Barbari: “I am not afraid but I don’t know the person.”

  The prison director: “This condemned traitor Antun Sa’adeh has committed treason. He is an unbeliever atheist who actively propagates his atheism. Do you think such a man would pay any heed to you, Father – that atheist anti-religious traitor?”13

  It was now about one-thirty on the morning of July 8. Suddenly, a company of judges and military officers, commissioned to attend the execution, showed up: Michel Talhama, the Government-appointed Trial Commissioner, followed by Justice Gabrail Bassil on behalf of the Military Tribunal, Magistrate Fouad Boulus of the Court of First Instance, Court-clerk Michel Abu Shakra, Lieutenant Jamil Lahhoud of the Beirut Garrison, and officers Mohammad Jawwad and Habib Braydi. Also present was a Justice of the Peace (Mukhtar). Everyone then rose to their feet and walked across to Sa’adeh, who was lying in “a small cell that didn’t deserve the title of a room.”14

  Sa’adeh was still asleep with his legs propped against the wall when the party arrived. They looked at each other in total bewilderment and began to speak loudly to wake him up. When he woke up, Sa’adeh rose to his feet and gave the party a gracious welcome. The Government-appointed Trial Commissioner, Michel Talhama, then informed him that his death sentence had been approved by the Board of Pardons and the President and began reading out the death order. “Enough. Enough,” interrupted Sa’adeh. “Thank you. I am ready.”

  Talhama then informed Sa’adeh that a priest was at hand to conduct the last rites. “Welcome, Reverend,” he said at once. He thanked the party with a composed smile and asked for permission to put on his jacket, which was bunched up under his feet. They let him do so and he thanked them again and put it on. The Reverend moved closer and asked him about his faith and Sa’adeh replied “I was born an Orthodox and an Orthodox I shall die.”15 Barbari got down to work. “I asked him if he wanted to carry out his religious obligations and he answered why not. I asked him to confess, and he replied, “I have no sin for which I want forgiveness. I have not stolen, I have not been a charlatan, I have not borne false witness, I have not killed, I have not deceived, and I have not caused misery to anyone.”16 The Reverend then placed the stole over Sa’adeh’s head and read the prayers of forgiveness. Sa’adeh listened to him with humility and piousness and at the end of it crossed himself three times, in accordance with the Orthodox faith. He then took the holy bread and thanked the priest.17

  After the conclusion of the religious rites, Sa’adeh was handcuffed and led out to the prison office. There he asked to see his wife and daughters but was told that was out of the question. They offered him a breakfast which he refused with thanks, although he did accept a cup of coffee which he drank with his right hand and supported with his left. “The handcuffs would glint and cling every time they knocked against the cup.”18 In keeping with Lebanese tradition, he was offered a cigarette with the coffee, but declined it explaining that he didn’t fancy smoking all that much. As he drank his coffee, Sa’adeh “ran his eyes from face to face as though he was fare-welling us without getting anyone uptight.”19 Here, the Reverend burst into tears as did some of the officers, “one of whom sobbed violently.”20 After he drank the coffee, he once more insisted on meeting his wife and daughters, but his request was again refused. At this point tears ran down his face. He shook his head and gave a bitter smile. He lifted his head and, speaking in colloquial Arabic as always, said: “Give me one country in the world that doesn’t allow at the very least forty-eight hours between sentence and execution.”21 There was a deathly pause.

  The silence was broken by Justice Fouad Bulus. With little time left for the execution, he implored Sa’adeh to draw up his last will so that the other present judges could witness it in writing. If the assemblage was expecting to hear about massive fortunes or last-minute undisclosed wealth, it was disappointed:

  At 2.00 o’clock on July 8, 1949, we, Justice Fouad Boulus of the Beirut Court of First Instance, in accordance with instructions issued on 7/7/1949 by the President of the same Court to represent him at the execution of the Military Tribunal verdict of 7/7/1949 sentencing Antun Khalil Sa’adeh to death. Next, in accordance with Article 457 of the Law of Summary Trials, and with the assistance of clerk Michel Abu Shakra, the convicted criminal was brought before us and asked whether he had anything to declare before the sentence against him is carried out. He replied: “I own several patches of land in Dhur Shweir I would like to leave to my wife, Juliet al-Mir, and daughters, Sofia, Alissar and Raghida, in four equal quarters. I also have on me four hundred Syrian pounds, which have been deposited in the prison’s vault. I would like to leave the whole amount to my wife along with all my other effects and, furthermore, appoint her as legal guardian over my three under-age daughters.

  The will was then drawn up accordingly after the testator Antun Sa’adeh declared that he had nothing else to add to it or to bequeath. The will was then undersigned by myself, the clerk, and the testator at the same time and day, on 8/7/1949.

  Testator Clerk Magistrate

  Antun Sa’adeh Michel Abu Shakra Fouad Boulus

  However, there is, or there seem to be, good grounds for believing that the will was tampered with after the execution. Elias Rizkallah, Sa’adeh’s counsel, who was present at that moment, revealed a slightly different account with a touch of sarcasm:

  [Sa’adeh] stated in his will that the family was to inherit the ‘enormous booty’ that he received from foreign authorities according to the accusations that were recklessly hurled at him. The will comprised 13 liras, a watch, a pen and a foundation for a cottage that he had started in Dhur Shweir, but could not afford to complete. We were all stunned when he disclosed to us what he possessed.22

  A war of words then broke out between Sa’adeh and the State Commissioner after the latter bluntly refused Sa’adeh a meeting with the press or a paper and pen to write down “a word for history.”23 Reverend Barbari describes the scene as follows:

  He asked to address journalists but they told him that was impossible. He asked them for a paper and a pen but they refused. He said I have something that I want to put down for history. One of the officers shouted out to him in warning, “Beware not to attack anybody lest we harm your dignity.” Sa’adeh smiled once more saying, “You cannot do that because no one has the power to degrade somebody else, though a person can degrade himself.” He repeated, “I have something to say which I want history to record.” We all fell into a dense silence that was itself almost audible.24

  The row was settled after Rizkallah personally stepped in and “insisted that [Sa’adeh] should be given the opportunity and that was it.” So what did Sa’adeh say? There is no formal transcript of his words. According to local press reports he made a short but emphatic appeal in which he accused the Lebanese Government of instigating a massive conspiracy against him and his party. Hisham Sharabi has related the following words: “I consider that the Lebanese government has implemented a major plot against me and my Party. But I regard those who plotted against me, those who passed the death sentence against me and those who will execute the judgment, with contempt.”25 In contrast, Rizkallah’s account speaks of an elaborate statement covering recent events in Syria and Lebanon and mentioning foreign intervention as a vital factor in the conspiracy against him. A report published in the Lebanese Al-Sayyad claimed that Sa’adeh made “startling revelations before his execution, but the authorities cautioned those who were there against making any public disclosures.”26

  As for Reverend Barbari, he said:

  Speaking honestly, I was in a vortex of emotions and I don’t think I can remember every single word he said. But I vaguely heard him saying: “I am not concerned how I die but rather
about what I die for. I do not count the years I lived but rather the works I carried through to achievements. This night they will execute me, but those dedicated to my ideology will triumph and will then avenge my death. All of us die but few among us have the honor of dying for a belief. The shame of this night for our descendants, our communities abroad, and the foreigners. It seems that the independence that we watered with our own blood on the day we planted it must now draw new blood from our veins.”27

  On another occasion, the Reverend recalled Sa’adeh describing his crime as political and his principle as honest:

  . . . one I would live and die for . . . if we glance through the pages of history, we will not find a sentence like the one passed against me. If we probe the history of the barbaric Middle Ages that were known for their savageness, we will not find measures as twisted as this one. History has no records of a conspiracy like the one concocted against me and my party . . . If we consult the laws of all the countries of the world, we will find not a single article that would allow a man to be tried, sentenced to death and executed, all at this amazing speed. My arrest, trial and execution are only hours away from one another. It is something that contravenes all laws. Future generations will not remain silent about it. [The conspirators] may have won the battle against me, but the party will win the war against them. If they have been unjust to me, my supporters and those who believe in my ideas will even the score.28