TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/caps/81/81.30

Text File | 1992-09-25 | 12.8 KB | 238 lines

                                                                                October 19, 1981

SADAT

How It Happened


Four suicidal killers succeed in slaying Sadat and stunning the
world

The day dawned warm, dry, sunny, a typical October morning in
Cairo. In the modern suburb of Nasr City, tank and truck engines
were coughing to life as the troops began their final
preparations for the big parade:  the President, as every
soldier knew, demanded nothing less than crisp precision and
split-second timing. Already the six-lane parade route had
been cleared of traffic, and about 2,000 portable chairs were
neatly arrayed in the reviewing stand across from the
pyramid-shaped monument that is Egypt's Tomb of the Unknown
Soldier. A motley mix of military equipment--U.S.-built M60
tanks, Soviet-supplied personnel carriers, field guns made in
South Korea-- gleamed in the sun, ready to roll, polished to
spit-shine perfection.

It was Oct.6, a festive occasion in Egypt, the annual
commemoration of the day in 1973 when Egyptian forces stormed
across the Suez Canal. Although Israel ultimately recovered to
turn the October War in its favor, Egypt's thrust through
Israeli defenses in the Sinai purged the country of the
humiliation it had suffered in three previous wars with the
Jewish state. For most Egyptians, who would watch the parade
on television, the occasion also signaled the start of a
holiday celebrating Abraham's sacrifice.

For President Anwar Sadat, 62, haled by his countrymen as the
"Hero of the Crossing," the anniversary had special meaning.
His decision to strike across the canal in 1973 had transformed
his reputation at home and abroad from that of a mere transition
figure to that of a leader, daring enough to go to war in order
to seek peace. In that sense, Oct. 6, 1973, had been the first
step on his historic journey to Jerusalem and a peace treaty
with Israel.

Normally, Sadat, a man who had spent much of his early life as
a soldier, relished the pomp and flourish of military power on
display. On this morning he was not enthusiastic. Complaining
of fatigue to his Vice President, Hosni Mubarak, he said he
wished he did not have to attend the parade. Mubarak urged him
to stay home and rest. But Sadat's sense of duty won out. He
would go, and afterward, in his Nile Delta home village of Mit
Abu el Kom, visit the grave of his brother Atif, a pilot killed
on the first day of the October War. Dressed as Egypt's Supreme
Commander in a field marshal's gold-braided blue uniform
festooned with a green sash, Sadat made a traditional stop on
the way to the parade, paying his respects and praying at the
grave of his predecessor, Gamal Abdel Nasser, in nearby
Heliopolis. Then the President climbed into an open-roofed
limousine, accompanied by eight bodyguards, to join Mubarak and
Defense Minister General Abdel Halim Abu Ghazala for the short
ride to Nasr City.

At 10 a.m., the trio took their places of honor in the
reviewing stand, front row center, slightly elevated above the
parade route behind a 5-ft.-high wall, Sadat in the middle,
Mubarak to his right, General Abu Ghazala to his left. For
three days before the parade, security personnel had inspected
every rifle, every truck, every tank that would be in the march,
to make sure that no live ammunition would be issued. Now the
security men were combing the arriving invited guests with metal
detectors. Jehan Sadat, the President's elegant wife, 48, had
brought her grandchildren and was watching from a glass
enclosure at the top of the stand; it was the first time she had
taken the youngsters to a public event. Abu Ghazala launched
the proceedings with a speech praising Egypt's armed forces.
The review began. It was 11:30 a.m. As the first units rumbled
by, Abu Ghazala began to explain to Sadat that purposes and
capabilities of each piece of equipment. Relaxed and smiling,
the President puffed on his pipe, savoring the show of Egypt's
passing firepower. One of the vehicles and a motorcycle broke
down near the stand, briefly disrupting the march-past, but the
columns quickly re-formed.

At about 12:40 p.m., midway through the parade, Abu Ghazala
pointed out to Sadat six Mirage jet fighters sweeping low
overhead, trailing plumes of blue, yellow, red and white smoke
across the azure sky. Directly in front of the reviewing stand,
a truck towing a Soviet-made 130-mm antitank gun braked to a
halt. Other drivers in the four-column-wide procession,
apparently suspecting more mechanical trouble, swerved to pass
the vehicle. With their eyes cast skyward to watch the planes,
the dignitaries in the stand, some 100 ft. away, were oblivious
to what was happening in front of them.

Suddenly, there was the staccato sound of gunfire. Three
uniformed men were spraying the stand from the back of the
truck; a fourth leaped from the passenger seat and hurled a
grenade into the crowd. The grenade landed at the feet of Abu
Ghazala but failed to explode. A second grenade hit the face of
Major General Abdrab Nabi Hafez, the Armed Forces Chief of
Staff, who was also sitting near Sadat, but it too was a dud.
The grenade thrower dashed back to the truck, grabbed an
automatic weapon from the seat, turned again and began firing
as he charged toward the stand. The three other uniformed men
jumped from the back of the vehicle to join him, sprinting
toward the dais and unleashing a torrent of automatic-weapons
fire as they rushed ahead with shouts of "Glory for Egypt,
attack!"

For seconds the spectators sat frozen, apparently thinking that
the assault was part of the show. Sadat rose as if preparing
to salute the onrushing men. As the truth bore in with each
relentless round of fire, the sounds of frightened screams and
crashing chairs exploded, and the crowd stampeded for the exits
at the rear. Sadat was struck by bullets or fragments. Others
fell around him. "I pulled the President down, and someone else
tried to shield him with a couple of chairs," Abu Ghazala said
later. "I felt the bullets flying all around me. I could feel
the heat of them. Twice I thought it was all over:  when I saw
the grenade flying toward me, and when I saw a gun barrel right
in my face, just five feet away from me."

The four assassins encountered little resistance in the first
50 seconds or so as security men and military police dived for
cover. One attacker raced to the right flank of the stand,
presumably to pin down Sadat's security detail, and later joined
another assailant, who charged straight to the podium,
unimpeded. The two men stood on tiptoe against the wall, guns
raised above their heads, firing a fusillade of bullets into the
tangled melee of bodies and chairs. A third killer ran
diagonally to the left side of the dais. The fourth attacker
joined the others as they emptied their clips into the throng of
wounded and dead.

The assault so stunned most of Sadat's U.S.-trained security men
that they failed to respond through much of the attack. Not a
single security guard or soldier had been posted between the
route of march and the reviewing stand, undoubtedly because no
one expected trouble from soldiers on parade who, supposedly,
carried no live ammunition. Thus a wide passage was left open
that led straight to Sadat. The only shield afforded the
President came when several plainclothesmen threw chairs over
Sadat in a hopeless bid to save his life. Once the assassins
had turned to flee toward the moving truck, the security guards
gave chase, firing pistols and automatic rifles. Abu Ghazala,
who had received shrapnel cuts in his face and right arm, sought
to restore order amid the bloody chaos. "I told everybody to
shut up," he said later, "and I ordered the military police to
take charge." In the end, fire from the guards killed one of the
attackers and wounded the other three.

Amid the screams and shouts of the terrified crowd, Abu Ghazala
radioed a military facility near by for a helicopter to pick up
the stricken President. It arrived three or four minutes later
in an area behind the reviewing stand. Jehan Sadat, who had
watched the assault unfold from her box, tried to rush to her
husband's side, but was pushed down forcefully by her security
guard. She finally reached Sadat's side as he was lifted on a
stretcher into the helicopter for the 20-minute flight to Maadi
Military Hospital, south of Cairo, where the deposed Shah of
Iran had died last year. "I knew he was finished," said
Mubarak, who escaped with only cuts on his left hand. "I saw all
the blood. I just couldn't believe it."

Nor could the rest of the world, as news of the attack rippled
out. In Washington, President Ronald Reagan had just risen when
Secretary of State Alexander Haig telephoned him at 7:20 a.m.
local time to relay word from the U.S. embassy in Cairo that
there had been a shooting incident involving Sadat. Reagan was
relieved when he was told that the embassy believed Sadat was
only slightly injured. Reagan immediately cabled a personal
message to Sadat, offering his prayers and assurances that "we
stand ready to assist in any way we can, including the provision
of medical assistance to any of those wounded in this despicable
attack."

But Washington's optimism soon turned to gloom. Just after 9
a.m. Reagan received his first detailed briefing from National
Security Adviser Richard Allen. As Allen described the attack,
Reagan mumbled repeatedly, "Good Lord, good Lord."  At 11:15
a.m. the White House Situation Room confirmed that Sadat was
dead. On Capitol Hill, Vice President George Bush was informed
of the tragic news in a phone call from his chief of staff.
Bush promptly relayed word to Senate Majority Leader Howard
Baker, who announced Sadat's passing to the Senate. The White
House, however, quickly disowned the statement and refused to
confirm or deny the Egyptian leader's death until Cairo had
released an official declaration nearly three hours later.

In Tel Aviv, Egypt's Ambassador to Israel, Sa'ad Mortada, was
host at an early afternoon reception at his modern residence
north of the city to celebrate his country's "victory" in the
1973 war. It was hardly a popular party, understandably, and
not one Israeli Cabinet minister was present, but the ambience
was congenial as the guests--a sprinkling of ambassadors, some
journalists, a handful of academics--sipped drinks on the
patio. Then U.S. Ambassador Samuel Lewis arrived and took
Mortada away from the reception line. As they huddled in
serious conversation, Mortada's face went white. Soon others
learned that something terrible had occurred in Cairo and
scurried to back rooms to hover around radios. By then, Radio
Cairo was broadcasting only music.

In Jerusalem, Prime Minister Menachem Begin was taking the
eight-minute ride in his official car from his office to his
home in the city's Rehavia section to have lunch. It was the
day before the eve of Yom Kippur, Judaism's holiest day, and
Begin was planning to take the afternoon off to prepare for the
holiday. As he heard the news over the car's communications
radio, Begin was "absolutely stunned," in the words of a senior
aide. Once the Prime Minister arrived at his house, he tuned
in the Voice of Israel and fielded phone calls keeping him
abreast of developments in Cairo. Jimmy Carter called from
Plains to tell Begin that Sadat was only slightly injured. The
two men expressed mutual hopes for his swift recovery. A short
time later, the first reports appeared on U.S. television
networks announcing Sadat's death. Begin at first refused to
believe the news. "You heard ABC," he told an aide. "ABC
didn't say he died."  When the truth finally sank in, Begin
slumped disconsolately in his library armchair, reflecting on
the special moments he had shared with Sadat.

For most Egyptians, the first indication that something was
amiss came when television transmission from the parade broke
off. With martial music playing in the background, peaceful
scenes of Egyptian villages flashed onto the screen. Finally
an announcer told the viewers that the President had left the
parade. By that time, the toll from the attack stood at five
killed and 28 wounded, including four Americans. Sadat was in
the hospital in a coma, blood gushing from his mouth. Bullets
and shrapnel had ripped into the left side of his chest, his
neck, knee and thigh. A later medical bulletin would reveal
that death occurred at 2:40 p.m., two hours after the attack
began, and that it was due to "violent nervous shock and
internal bleeding in the chest cavity, where the left lung and
major blood vessels below it were torn."  A doctor emerged from
the operating room, his face streaked with tears, to break the
news to Jehan Sadat. "Only God," he said, "is immortal."

--By William Drozidiak. Reported by Robert C. Wurmstedt and
Wilton Wynn/Cairo