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Trial by firing squad

“This was revolution in the usual style, with barricades and bloodshed.” Paul Davies recalls the Chr

In the days leading up to Christmas 1989, the unrest that had begun in the Romanian city of Timisoara, when crowds poured on to the streets in protest at the threatened deportation of a dissident Hungarian pastor, spread to the capital, Bucharest. On 21 December, President Nicolae Ceausescu addressed a gathering of more than 100,000 people from the balcony of the Central Committee building. His pleas for order went unheeded, however, as the crowd booed and shouted him down. It was clear that Ceausescu’s 24-year reign as supreme leader of the Romanian state was near its end.

I spent that Christmas with a team from ITN, sleeping on the floor of a building under siege in central Bucharest. We were surrounded by young people who had risen against the dictator and were now prepared to stand up to his tanks and his sinister secret police, the Securitate. This was revolution in the usual style, with barricades and bloodshed on the streets.

The first indication that Ceausescu’s overthrow would be altogether more violent and bloody than the “velvet” revolutions elsewhere in the eastern bloc had come on our flight out. As we approached the city’s Otopeni airport, the pilot warned that landing was being delayed by fierce fighting close to the runway. There was confusion on the ground. In the darkness, people appeared to be shooting at each other from the woods around the airport and bullets were hitting the terminal building.

When we finally made it into the city, our first objective was to find Bucharest Television Centre, the only place from where we would be able to send pictures and news reports back to London. As we made our way there, we ran into a large group of students, several hundred strong, who told us that Romanian TV was now the voice of the revolution.

The leaders of the uprising were inside the building. Fearing brutal retribution from the Securitate, they had broadcast an appeal for help. Large numbers of students had responded to the call and were now making Molotov cocktails and building barricades across the roads leading to the Television Centre.

The shooting started as we were being guided through the growing crowd outside. It was impossible to work out where the gunfire was coming from. All we knew was that it was aimed at the TV building and the mostly unarmed masses who had gathered to defend it. A man in military uniform screamed at us to take cover under an armoured vehicle, and that is where the cameraman Sam Gracey, the sound recordist Paul Douglas and I spent the next three hours.

We could hear the rounds striking the vehicle above us and see that several students had been wounded. Though it was difficult to make sense of the chaos, it soon became clear that dozens of men in army uniforms had joined the revolution and were now returning fire. The siege of Bucha­rest Television Centre had begun.

During a lull in the fighting in the early hours of the morning, we finally made it into the building. Once inside, we met the local broadcasters, who were desperate for us to get our footage to the outside world. Then the shooting began again, but this time with greater intensity. A window from which we had been filming shattered. Our new friends told us there were rumours that the Securitate was preparing to storm the building. In the darkness, it was impossible to know what was happening.

By dawn on 23 December, we could see that Television Centre was still in the hands of the revolutionaries. Those elements of the security forces still loyal to Ceausescu appeared to have taken up position in surrounding houses and woodland. Other members of the military were defending the building.

The newscasters holed up inside had become the face and voice of the revolution, and were broadcasting regular bulletins on the progress of the uprising. Meanwhile, leading figures from the government and military arrived to inform the nation that the ageing dictator – he was 71 now – had taken flight with his loathed and feared wife, Elena. Later, we saw an anxious young woman being marched towards the studios. She was drawing deeply on a cigarette. This was Ceausescu’s daughter, Zoia, who was being displayed to the Romanian people as proof that her father’s time was up.

By Christmas Eve, the gunfire outside Television Centre had mostly subsided. The revolution now had the support of a significant proportion of Romania’s armed forces. When we had arrived, a couple of days earlier, there had been just a handful of young soldiers and a small number of armoured personnel carriers protecting the building. Now there were tanks and troops under the command of senior army officers.

The siege was lifted on Christmas morning, and with that, the first phase of the revolution was brought to a close. The fugitive president and his wife had been arrested after they were betrayed by those they trusted to take them to safety. Later that same day, Nicolae and Elena Ceausescu faced a swift and peremptory trial, and then the firing squad.

Footage of the execution arrived at Television Centre shortly afterwards, and meetings were held to decide what to do with it. The remaining members of the station hierarchy insisted that the material should not be broadcast, while others argued that it was the only way to convince those still loyal to the old regime that their cause was lost.

In the event, a special broadcast was aired, in which a presenter described the footage and the debate over whether to show it. He asked viewers to stay tuned while a decision was made. It took the intervention of a young army officer, who had wearied of all the wrangling, for the brief but conclusive images of the Ceausescus’ dead bodies to be shown to the watching millions.

In the years that followed, I returned regularly to report on the new Romania. It rapidly became clear that, for all the post-revolutionary euphoria and the first democratic elections in decades, the dreams of those who had thronged University Square in December 1989 had come to nothing. Holdouts from the old regime quietly returned to government, and when students came back out on to the streets in protest at broken promises, miners were bussed in from the provinces to beat up the demonstrators. Not quite the bright new world my comrades at Television Centre had envisaged when they manned the barricades in Bucharest that fraught Christmas.

Paul Davies is a senior correspondent for ITV News. He wrote this piece in memory of Paul Douglas, who was killed while filming in Iraq in 2006. In 1990, Davies was named the Royal Television Society TV Journalist of the Year for his reporting of the Romanian Revolution

Share your memories of the year of the crowd with us by emailing: 1989@newstatesman.com. A selection will appear on our website

This article first appeared in the 16 March 2009 issue of the New Statesman, The year of the crowd

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Inside the minds of the Isis murderers

As pressure on the terror group who claimed responsiblity for the Manchester attack intensifies, the threat to Britain will only become more acute.

The police and security services had consistently warned that a significant terrorist attack in Britain was inevitable. Yet no warning could have prepared us for the horror of the suicide attack on the Manchester Arena on Monday night. Twenty-two people were killed and at least 60 were wounded as they were leaving a concert by Ariana Grande in what was the most deadly attack in Britain since the London bombings of 7 July 2005, in which 56 people died.

Like the London bombers, the Manchester suicide attacker, Salman Ramadan Abedi, was British. He was 22, lived in Manchester and studied business management at Salford University before dropping out. He worshipped at Didsbury Mosque. The son of Libyans, Abedi is said to have returned recently from a visit to the North African country, where Islamic State has a foothold.

Ariana Grande is a former children’s TV star who made her name on channels such as Nickelodeon. Her fan base is overwhelmingly young and female, and many of those killed or wounded were children, including Saffie Rose Roussos, an eight-year-old girl from Leyland, Lancashire.

Islamic State inevitably claimed responsibility for the massacre, dismissing the victims as “crusaders”, “polytheists” and “worshippers of the cross”. This is not the first time Islamist terrorists have targeted children.

A Chechen jihadist group calling itself ­Riyad-us Saliheen (meaning “Gardens of the Righteous”) took more than 1,100 hostages, including 777 children, in a school siege in Beslan, Russia, in September 2004. In the event, more than 330 were massacred, including 186 children. Gunmen from the Pakistani Taliban also stormed a school in 2014, killing 148.

For terrorist actors, these are neither whimsical nor irrational acts. Contemporary jihadist movements have curated a broad and expansive intellectual ecosystem that rationalises and directs their actions. What they want is to create an asymmetry of fear by employing indiscriminate barbarism to intimidate and subdue their opponents into submission.

We have grown accustomed to a wave of terrorist attacks being carried out in the name of the self-styled Islamic State ever since the group’s official spokesman Abu Muhammad al-Adnani began prioritising them in 2014. (He was killed in an American air strike on Aleppo province in Syria in August last year.)

The US-led coalition against Islamic State has weakened the terror group in its former strongholds of Mosul in Iraq and Raqqa in Syria. In response, IS has been forced to concentrate more on what it calls “external operations” – by which it means inspiring its sympathisers and operatives to carry out attacks on Western countries. Indeed, al-Adnani encouraged the group’s supporters not to migrate towards IS-held territory but rather to focus their efforts on attacks in their home countries.

“The tiniest action you do in the heart of their [Western] land is dearer to us than the biggest action by us,” he said in an audio statement released last year. “There are no innocents in the heart of the lands of the crusaders.”

Islamic State refers to its strategy as “just terror”. Its framing places culpability for attacks on Western states on these nations themselves by claiming that IS actions are a response to aggression or assault. That much has been outlined in the group’s literature. “When will the crusaders end their hostilities towards Islam and the Muslims? . . . When will they recognise that the solution to their pathetic turmoil is right before their blinded eyes?” the militants ask in the IS magazine Dabiq. “Until then, the just terror will continue to strike them to the core of their deadened hearts.”

IS offered a rationale of this sort as justification for its bombing of a Russian commercial aircraft – Metrojet Flight 9268, travelling from Sharm el-Sheikh in Egypt to St Petersburg. That attack in October 2015 killed 224. Similar reasoning was offered for the attacks in Paris the following month in which 137 people were killed, in a series of co-ordinated, commando-style gun and bomb outrages across the city.

“Revenge was exacted upon those who felt safe,” IS declared in Dabiq. “Let the world know that we are living today in a new era. Whoever was heedless must now be alert. Whoever was sleeping must now awaken . . . The [caliphate] will take revenge for any aggression against its religion and people, sooner rather than later. Let the ­arrogant know that the skies and the lands are Allah’s.”

***

Through my academic research at King’s College London, I have ­interviewed scores of Westerners who became foreign fighters in Syria and Iraq to quiz them about their motives. Last year, one man from High Wycombe who had joined IS told me that it wanted to attack British targets in response to the vote in the House of Commons to extend British air strikes against IS targets to include sites in Syria (the British had only been targeting the group in Iraq until that point). “Do they [the British government] expect us to sit back and do nothing? ­Idiots,” he said.

In this respect, IS frames its attacks as acts of “revenge” and predicates its response on the Islamic principle of qisas, which is comparable to lex talionis or the doctrine of “an eye for an eye”. Qisas was always intended to be a tool of private redress for an individual or his/her family to seek justice in matters relating to bodily harm. Typically, it relates to cases of murder and manslaughter, or acts involving physical mutilation (say, leading to loss of limbs). The principle creates a framework for retributive justice.

The contemporary Salafi-jihadi movement has adopted a particularly innovative approach to the concept of qisas in two ways. First, groups such as IS have taken the idea and construed it in a way that justifies indiscriminate terrorism, such as the attack in Manchester. They argue that qisas has a political dimension and that it can be applied to international affairs in a way that holds civilians responsible for the perceived crimes of their governments.

Second, qisas is normally applied only in cases where the aggressor is known. IS, by contrast, holds every citizen-stranger of an enemy state responsible for the actions of his or her government. Thus, when it released its statement claiming responsibility for the Manchester attack, it said that it had struck against a “gathering of the crusaders . . . in response to their transgressions against the lands of the Muslims”.

It is this militaristic construction of qisas that allows IS to rationalise the bombing of a venue where large numbers of young girls had gathered to watch a pop concert, dismissing them as “crusaders”.

This is not new. In 1997, Osama Bin Laden told CBS News that “all Americans are our enemies, not just the ones who fight us directly, but also the ones who pay their ­taxes”. His rationale was that all Americans, by virtue of citizenship alone, are vicariously liable for the actions of their government.

Just a few years later, Bin Laden used the same idea to justify the 11 September 2001 attacks and also invoked it in reference to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. “The blood pouring out of Palestine must be equally revenged,” he wrote. “You must know that the Palestinians do not cry alone; their women are not widowed alone; their sons are not orphaned alone.”

IS used the concept most dramatically in January 2015, when it burned alive a Royal Jordanian Air Force pilot, Muath al-Kasasbeh, whose plane had crashed in its territory. A video of the killing was circulated on the internet and social media. The group claimed his bombing raids had killed civilians and that it wanted to punish him with “equal retaliation”, in keeping with qisas.

What is well known about al-Kasasbeh’s murder is that he was burned alive inside a cage – but that is not the whole story. To understand how IS tethered this to the principle of qisas, it is the end of the gruesome video that is invested with most significance. After al-Kasasbeh has died, a truck emerges and dumps rubble over the cage. It was claimed this was debris from a site he had bombed, thus completing the “equal retaliation” of returning like for like. The idea was that IS had retaliated using the two principal forms in which a missile attack kills – by fire or debris.

***

The Manchester attack came on the fourth anniversary of the brutal murder of Fusilier Lee Rigby in Woolwich, south London. Rigby was killed by Michael Adebolajo and Michael Adebowale in the middle of the afternoon on a street outside a military barracks. That attack was in keeping with a pattern we have become increasingly accustomed to in Europe: an unsophisticated plot that employs ordinary, everyday items – a car, say, or a knife.

The consequences of such attacks have been seen across Europe, most notably in Nice on 14 July 2016, when 86 people were killed during Bastille Day celebrations after a jihadist drove a truck into crowds on the promenade. Similar attacks followed in Berlin, Westminster and Stockholm.

The security services find that these murderous attacks are extremely hard to disrupt because they typically involve lone actors who can mobilise quickly and with discretion. The Manchester attack was different. Explosives were used, which means the plot was inherently more sophisticated, requiring careful planning and preparation.

We know that two of the 7/7 bombers had previously trained in Pakistan’s lawless tribal regions, where they honed their skills. In other plots, such as the connected attacks in London and Glasgow Airport of 2007, the explosive devices failed mainly because the bomb-makers had found it difficult to travel abroad and develop their skills in safe environments. Whatever Abedi’s connections, the long war in Syria and Iraq has once again created a permissive environment for terrorist training and attack planning.

The devastating impact of this has already been felt across Europe. Since the Syrian uprising began in 2011, more than 800 Britons are believed to have travelled there to fight. From Europe as a whole, the figure is over 5,000, of which a significant number are believed to have joined IS. Of the British contingent, the security services estimate that about half have returned or become disengaged from the conflict. Of those who remained, a hundred are believed to be active, the rest having been killed.

It is improbable that Abedi acted alone in Manchester or that this plot had no international component. Indeed, he was already known to the authorities (and had returned recently from Libya). As pressure on IS intensifies across Syria and Iraq, the threat to Britain will only become more acute as the group’s sympathisers prepare for what they consider to be a fightback.

This speaks to the scale of the threat facing Britain, and Europe more generally. Our police and security services have been stretched and continuously tested in recent years. Just recently, in March, the Metropolitan Police assistant commissioner Mark Rowley told Radio 4’s Today programme that 13 plots had been thwarted since Lee Rigby’s murder in 2013. Put another way, the police have disrupted terrorist plots every four months for the past four years.

Naturally, Islamic State is not the only threat. On 13 May, one of Osama Bin Laden’s sons, Hamza, released a video, titled “Advice for martyrdom-seekers in the West”, on behalf of al-Qaeda. Hamza, 27, who was his father’s favoured successor to lead the group, called on its supporters to concentrate on attacks in the West rather than migrating to conflict zones in the Middle East and beyond. Scenes of previous ­terrorist attacks in Britain played throughout the video.

The central leadership of al-Qaeda is increasingly looking for opportunities to reassert itself after being eclipsed by Islamic State and losing control of its affiliates in Syria. It needs attacks and a cause in the West with which to revive itself. Hamza therefore cited the January 2015 Charlie Hebdo attack in Paris as a critical example, calling for the assassination of anyone deemed to have “insulted” Islam.

The Charlie Hebdo attack was especially important for al-Qaeda because it enabled the group to transcend the fratricidal conflicts that frequently define relations between the various jihadist groups. In Syria, for instance, al-Qaeda’s affiliates (when it had better control over them) and Islamic State have been in open war with each other.

Yet, the Charlie Hebdo attack brought warm praise from the group’s Islamist rivals because none of them wanted to appear ­unsupportive of an atrocity that had, as the terrorists proclaimed, “avenged” the Prophet Muhammad’s honour.

The British man from High Wycombe who joined IS told me the group had welcomed the attack for precisely those reasons. It was something that, in his view, had confirmed the “nobility” of the attackers, even if they had not been members of IS.

Is it too late for the West to save itself, I asked him. What if the West simply accepted all of Islamic State’s demands: would that provide respite?

The answer was as emphatic as it was stark: “We primarily fight wars due to ppl [sic] being disbelievers. Their drones against us are a secondary issue.”

He went on: “Their kufr [disbelief] against Allah is sufficient of a reason for us to invade and kill them. Only if they stop their kufr will they no longer be a target.”

In other words, we are all guilty, and we are all legitimate targets.

Shiraz Maher is a contributing writer for the New Statesman and a senior research fellow at King’s College London’s International Centre for the Study of Radicalisation.

This article first appeared in the 25 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Why Islamic State targets Britain

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