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Info on Sami Al-Arian & His Trial

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  • orangebegum@riseup.net
    On Nov. 25, Dr. Sami Al-Arian s daughter, Laila was interviewed on True Talk, a bi-monthly show on Tampa radio station WMNF 88.5, To listen to the interview,
    Message 1 of 1 , Dec 1, 2005
      On Nov. 25, Dr. Sami Al-Arian's daughter, Laila was interviewed
      on "True Talk," a bi-monthly show on Tampa radio station WMNF 88.5,
      To listen to the interview, which begins 37 minutes into the show,
      visit www.wmnf.org/programming/archives.php and click the speaker
      icon next to "Radioactivity/True Talk" under Friday, November 25.

      Below is an article that was published in this week's "Chronicle of
      Higher Education."

      Dec. 2, 2005
      The Chronicle of Higher Education

      Holding Their Breath

      Sami Al-Arian's children wait for the jury to decide his fate.

      By John Gravois

      The day before the first real cold snap hit New York in November,
      Laila Al-Arian was running through the 13th floor of the Manhattan
      Criminal Courts Building, her black-and-hot-pink hijab a flash of
      color on the crowded main corridor.

      She was there working on her final project for a course at the
      Columbia University Graduate School of Journalism. The assignment
      was to find the court records of a recently adjudicated murder case —
      one whose victim and killer did not know each other before the
      crime — and then use those records to piece together a "human story"
      about the violent intersection of worlds.

      But in the massive courthouse — where the linoleum floors of the
      elevators are warped from years of traffic, and the list of cases
      being heard that day filled nine, single-spaced pages — human
      stories seemed maddeningly remote.

      At the moment, Laila was rushing to meet a judge who, she had been
      told, might be able to help her find a suitable case. She turned
      down a side corridor, opened the heavy door marked 1301, and entered
      a dingy courtroom with a black-rubber floor. Then she saw a line of
      jurors filing out.

      The sight of them shook her mind away to the 13th floor of another
      courthouse, 1,000 miles to the south.

      At that moment, she knew, six men and six women in Tampa, Fla., were
      halfway through their second day of deliberating the fate of her
      father, Sami Al-Arian, a former professor who now stands accused of
      conspiring with terrorists. The jurors had sat for five months of
      trial, heard more than 70 witnesses, and listened to nearly five
      days of closing arguments. Now their task was, she hoped, like hers —
      to find the human story in the crush of evidence. To her mind, the
      story that the prosecution wanted them to believe was purely

      Which one would they choose?

      Such moments of jarring recall came often in the midst of Laila's
      academic work that week, and the same was true for her siblings. In
      the years since Mr. Al-Arian's arrest and imprisonment, in 2003,
      three of his four children have entered graduate school. Abdullah,
      the oldest, is in the second year of a Ph.D. program in Middle
      Eastern history at Georgetown University. Laila is at Columbia.
      Leena, the youngest daughter, has just started a master's program in
      Middle Eastern studies at the University of Chicago. All of them
      talk to their father on the telephone nearly every night.

      For the past five months, and indeed for the past three years,
      public discussion of Sami Al-Arian has been dictated by the federal
      case against him. Issues of academic freedom have taken a back seat
      to grainy images of suicide bombings. But for these three graduate
      students, this is still a case about a professor's right to speak.

      Back in Courtroom 1301, Laila spoke with the judge, who couldn't
      help her. Then she went to the records room and requested two files
      that fellow students had suggested. Sitting under a sagging bulletin
      board, she leafed through a couple of thin manila folders and came
      up with nothing. After 30 minutes, she was desperate to leave.

      "I just want to get out of this building," she said, working her way
      past a maze of metal detectors, wires, and barricades in the
      lobby. "This whole building — just get me out of here."

      Inside the Jury's Mind

      For Laila and Abdullah, the awkward pastime of scrutinizing jurors'
      facial expressions during their father's trial was as irresistible
      as it was agonizing.

      "You try to read their faces, reactions, body language, but you get
      to a point where you realize it's not a very easy process, and you
      just kind of give up," Abdullah said.

      When the jury went into deliberations, he said, he had to keep his
      imagination in check: "I don't know exactly what's going through
      their minds, what the disputes are, what the debates are. There's so
      many scenarios going through our minds that sometimes it'll just
      drive you crazy if you think about all of them."

      One thing that can be safely said about the jury's deliberations is
      that they are complicated. Sami Al-Arian's indictment lists 51
      separate counts, the most prominent being four counts of conspiracy.
      The evidentiary time frame stretches from the late 1980s to the
      first years of this decade, a period during which the legal
      landscape — as well as Mr. Al-Arian's behavior — changed

      Dates, therefore, are extremely important to the case. Most of the
      criminal charges against Mr. Al-Arian pertain to his association
      with a group called the Palestinian Islamic Jihad, which was
      designated by the U.S. government as a terrorist organization in
      1995. After that point, all transactions with the group became
      illegal. (However, the professor's phone conversations with members
      of the group ceased in about April 1994.) Statutes of limitation on
      conspiracy convictions are involved, as are laws that did not go on
      the books until after the mid-90s.

      At one point during closing arguments, Cherie Krigsman, a government
      prosecutor, showed jurors a flow chart meant to help them determine
      whether Mr. Al-Arian was part of a racketeering conspiracy. The
      chart used text and arrows to factor the notion of criminal intent
      with the duration of those intentions and the dates on which certain
      types of activities became illegal. It looked like the instructions
      for filling out an obscure tax form.

      In addition to the legal gymnastics, the jurors must also contend
      with the clashing narratives of the defense and the prosecution,
      which could not differ more.

      According to the defense, Mr. Al-Arian is a prominent, civic-minded
      Palestinian-American, whose political and academic efforts on behalf
      of Muslims brought him into association with a spectrum of
      influential people — from Karl Rove to Middle East scholars to the
      leaders of the Palestinian Islamic Jihad. Mr. Al-Arian's lawyers say
      that group is a multifaceted organization that has long played
      political, social, and philanthropic roles in the West Bank and
      Gaza, and that its military wing, which has carried out suicide
      bombings, is small and separate from the rest of the organization.
      Mr. Al-Arian, they say, never had anything to do with that military

      The prosecution paints Mr. Al-Arian as the leader of a violent
      terrorist cell in America and a duplicitous professor whose academic
      enterprises at the University of South Florida, where he held a
      tenured post in computer engineering, have always been mere fronts
      for organized crime. Prosecutors describe the Palestinian Islamic
      Jihad as an organization dedicated only to murder and mayhem, and
      Mr. Al-Arian as, at times, one of its most powerful leaders. They
      contend that he incited terrorist bombings by publicizing successful
      attacks and by raising money for the widows and orphans of suicide

      Given all that, few people have predicted a swift verdict. By
      Thanksgiving the jury had yet to reach a conclusion.

      For Mr. Al-Arian's family, however, the suspense took hold right

      On the second day of deliberations, Laila got an instant message
      from her brother: "Did Mom call you?" It turned out to be nothing,
      but the flutter of panic she felt at the computer was undeniable.

      Dividing Lines

      For Americans on the whole — and for Muslim Americans especially —
      recent history has arranged itself into what was true in the days
      before September 11, 2001, and what has been true since.

      The Al-Arians have their own personal milestone.The date that most
      sharply divides their lives into the categories of "before"
      and "after" is February 20, 2003 — "2/20," as they refer to it — the
      day Mr. Al-Arian was arrested at his home, in Tampa, and indicted by
      the federal government.

      Before that February 20, when talk-show pundits like Bill O'Reilly
      were Mr. Al-Arian's accusers, the scholarly community rallied behind
      him and defended his academic freedom. As soon as his accuser was
      the federal government, however, most of that support quickly

      The sheer heft of the indictment no doubt scared a lot of people
      off. It ran to more than 120 pages and drew heavily on nine years of
      secret wiretapping of Mr. Al-Arian's telephones by the FBI.

      Abdullah said he understands why his father's supporters were
      spooked when the indictment came out. But he can't understand why
      they have stayed spooked — especially given that the government's
      case, he said, has turned out to consist almost entirely of
      circumstantial evidence.

      "There's a difference between being initially shocked and surprised
      and overwhelmed," Abdullah said, "and continuing to be silent and
      muted for years after the fact."

      'All Alone'

      The children have always asserted their father's innocence, but they
      have often lacked for company. "We felt we were all alone after it
      happened," Abdullah said.

      A month after his arrest, Mr. Al-Arian was denied bail and sent into
      solitary confinement in Florida's Coleman Federal Penitentiary, 75
      miles away from the family's home. He was limited to one phone call
      a month, and was denied even that for almost half a year.

      According to a letter written to the Federal Bureau of Prisons by
      Amnesty International, he was denied any access to clocks, which
      kept him from observing Muslim daily prayers. The same letter said
      that when Mr. Al-Arian left his cell to meet with his lawyers, he
      was shackled hand and foot and made to transport his stacks of legal
      paperwork by carrying them on his back.

      As the trial drew near, Mr. Al-Arian and his lawyers found out that
      they would not be permitted to submit evidence about the history of
      Israel's occupation of Palestinian territory — something they had
      planned as a key part of their case. They also discovered that while
      the government was allowed to choose and submit into evidence the
      contents of 200 to 300 wiretapped phone calls, the defense would not
      be allowed to select any calls from those nine years of FBI
      surveillance to build its own narrative.

      Another group that has remained strangely quiet about their father's
      case, say Abdullah and Laila, is the circle of national Muslim
      leaders to which Mr. Al-Arian once belonged.

      "I think the Muslim community is so afraid when they think of my
      father's case," Laila said. "He was the one guy who was always
      putting himself out there. He was speaking, making public
      appearances. He was always in the forefront."

      Muslim leaders may be reticent, but they have been paying attention.
      During that first week of jury deliberations, Abdullah attended two
      talks by Anwar Ibrahim, a former deputy prime minister of Malaysia,
      who had been imprisoned for six years — on charges of sodomy — after
      repeatedly criticizing Prime Minister Mahathir Mohammed. Since his
      release, in 2004, Mr. Anwar has been widely held up in the West as a
      paragon of "moderate Islam."

      During the first talk, Abdullah took notes as Mr. Anwar joked about
      his home country. "It's true we have freedom of speech," he
      said. "What we don't have is freedom after speech."

      After the second talk, Abdullah lingered in the Georgetown classroom
      for a few minutes, hoping to catch the visiting speaker. Just as Mr.
      Anwar was making his way out the door, Abdullah introduced himself.

      The former statesmen not only recognized his name immediately, but
      asked, "Didn't they replace a juror yesterday?"


      The first week of deliberations came to an end on Thursday, November
      17, when the jury decided to adjourn until the week of Thanksgiving.
      So by Friday, the suspense had died down, if only for a while.

      That afternoon Abdullah attended a Muslim prayer service for
      Georgetown students in a university meeting hall. Afterward, as the
      other students got up and chatted and put on their shoes, he kept
      praying for several more minutes.

      By Friday, Laila had finally found a case to write about, one she
      described as "pretty gruesome." That evening she found herself
      without any work to distract her and with no plans to go out with
      friends. She couldn't think of anything but her father's case.

      Lately she had been reading Joan Didion's new memoir, The Year of
      Magical Thinking, an account of the author's disorientation after
      the sudden death of her husband. At times, when Laila was reading
      it, all she could think about was her mother.

      "You think that when terrible things happen, there have to be clouds
      in the sky," she said. "It happens in the most normal circumstances.
      It was a normal day. It was dawn. It was, like, 5 a.m., and they
      were knocking on the door, banging on the door. One minute my dad's
      there with her, and the next minute he's gone."

      These days Laila does not permit herself much "magical thinking" —
      Ms. Didion's term for the creative disbelief that people sometimes
      exercise when tragedy invades ordinary life. It just seems too

      "Every now and then — it's very, very, very rare — I think of the
      future, and my parents living together somewhere, and not having to
      worry about any of this, and just living a pretty normal life,
      whatever normal means after all this," she said. "But I don't really
      get too far into it."

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