“Yes, sir.”
“Where did you get those phrases—those words?”
“From the Bible.”
“The New Testament?”
“That’s right.”
“As a matter of fact, you were quoting, more or less, from the book of Colossians, chapter two, verse eighteen—isn’t that right?”
“Exactly right.”
“Why?”
“Because in that part of Colossians, Paul is attacking the idea of false religion.”
“What kind of false religion?”
“The kind that imposes impossible, man-made standards of conduct as a condition of salvation. Paul calls them ‘self-imposed religion’—in contrast to God’s truth revealed in the gospel.”
“And why did you pick that message to deliver that day?”
“Because I felt that, as a former Muslim myself, I wanted them to understand that grace and freedom and salvation comes only in one way—and not in some self-imposed rituals or commandments.”
Will paused a moment before his last series of questions.
“Gilead, can the message of Christ sometimes be like a door—and also at the same time, be like a sword—depending on the attitude of the hearer of that message?”
“Absolutely. To the seeker with an open heart, Jesus is the doorway leading to eternal life.”
“And how about the person with a closed heart?”
“I suppose to that person, the message I gave…was like a sword.”
“So,” Will concluded, “whether the person sees a door or feels the cold steel of a piercing sword—that’s really up to them, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Mr. Chambers. It is.”
Will sat down.
The Commonwealth attorney rose for his final recross.
“A sword?”
“Yes. That’s what I said,” Gilead answered.
“So you are the almighty ‘sword of the Lord’—is that it?”
“I didn’t exactly say that—”
“But Jesus said He was the sword, didn’t He?”
“Yes. At one point in the Scriptures, He does say that.”
The prosecutor narrowed his eyes and studied the defendant sitting calmly in the witness chair. Several seconds went by in silence as the prosecutor allowed the thought of Christian terrorism to sink into the judge’s deliberations. Then he asked his last question.
“You consider yourself some kind of messiah, Mr. Amahn?”
Instinctively, Will Chambers was on his feet, objecting to the question on the grounds that it was argumentative.
The judge sustained it and instructed Gilead not to answer.
With that, the prosecutor, confident in the effect created by his interrogation, leaned back comfortably in his chair.
But somewhere—just outside the regions of the trial-lawyer part of Will Chambers’ brain—something was telling him that it was too bad he had had to object to that last question.
To Will, Gilead’s quiet, impervious calm up there in the witness stand…and the mysterious smile that said little but seemed to conceal much…had raised more questions than answers, despite the orthodoxy of his testimony.
For reasons that could only be assigned to intuition, or some spiritual experience of the numinous that had made the hair rise a little on the back of his neck, Will Chambers could only wonder how his client would have answered that question.
13
“SO YOU THINK THIS WHOLE CASE boils down to this question—whether Gilead Amahn’s comments at the Islamic Center constituted ‘fighting words.’ Is that your position, Mr. Chambers?”
Judge Hadfeld had been sitting quietly, listening to Will Chambers’ final arguments for dismissal of the criminal charges against his client. But now the judge interrupted to get to the bottom line.
“That’s it exactly,” Will replied. “The free-speech clause of the First Amendment protects Mr. Amahn’s comments from prosecution, with only one exception—if this Court finds that the prosecution has made a case that his comments constituted fighting words under the rule of Chaplinsky v. New Hampshire.”
“Now, give me the legal definition of ‘fighting words’ again…I know it’s in your brief somewhere. But, Mr. Chambers, just tell me how the Supreme Court defined that.”
“Certainly, Your Honor. In Chaplinsky—and more recently, in Virginia v. Black, the cross-burning case of a number of years ago—the Supreme Court said that ‘fighting words’ are those words ‘which by their very utterance inflict injury or tend to incite an immediate breach of the peace.’ In other words, in order to convict Gilead Amahn, this Court would have to conclude that the statements my client made at the Islamic Center were so outrageous, so injurious to the listeners, that ordinary persons would have to conclude they were likely to provoke an immediate riot. And the mere fact that a riot ensued is not the test.”
Judge Hadfeld was rocking back and forth in his chair. Then the rocking stopped and he leaned forward.
“Mr. Chambers, I’ve already told you I am not going to dismiss these charges on the grounds that Mr. Amahn had a First Amendment freedom-of-religion right to say what he did at that time and place. I just can’t accept your argument on that. But on this fighting words–free speech issue, I’m closer to the fence on that. But I am going to tell you this—I’m no expert on Islam, but from what I know about the people gathered at that event that day, they were what you might describe as your more fundamentalist-type Muslims. Seems to me that anybody coming in and preaching a Bible-thumping, Jesus-is-here-to-save-you type of a message to that kind of Muslim group has to wonder whether a riot will break out. Just common sense.”
“Well, by applying that standard,” Will immediately countered, “you create a heckler’s veto. You put the power in the hands of fundamentalist Muslims everywhere to silence those who would preach a different message, merely because they have a reputation for violence against those who are, in their eyes, infidels—”
“Well, that’s the reality today,” the judge continued, his arms sweeping wide in an athletic gesture. “You can’t just say anything you want to without accountability or responsibility for what can happen. We live in a violent world, Mr. Chambers—”
“Admittedly,” Will interjected. “But the duty with which this Court is burdened is to draw constitutional lines of protection around the free-speech and free-exercise-of-religion rights of every citizen—so that our fear of violence doesn’t act as a gag order on the ability of people like my client to preach the gospel of Jesus Christ to unwelcoming ears—”
“You’re not hearing me, Mr. Chambers,” Judge Hadfeld countered, cutting off the dialogue. “We’ve got threats of terrorism every day in our country. Every day we check the sliding scale of colors on our TV news reports to find out our level of terrorist risk. There’s constant war in the Middle East. We have rampant terrorism throughout the world. If I had my way, I’d do everything I could to try to minimize the violence that can happen as a result of the kind of religious preaching demonstrated by your client.”
The judge took only a short breath before he continued his comments to Will.
“Mr. Chambers, do you realize how lucky your client is?” Judge Hadfeld asked, his hands held up. “It’s regrettable that the professor who was in attendance had a serious injury to his arm as a result of that riot. But listen, people could have been killed. Shots could have been fired. This could have been really tragic…”
Then Judge Hadfeld lowered his hands and placed them on the desk. He paused a moment and then continued, his face revealing an inner moral conflict.
“I sure hope your client gets the message right now, and right here. Because he’s a bit of a loose cannon—he just may walk into a situation and ignite a powder keg. I don’t want to read that in some other place your client has triggered some kind of holy war…”
And then the judge turned slightly to face Gilead Amahn, seemingly deep in thought, and then concluded his ruling.
“On
the other hand, your counsel has raised some good points. This is a close case—and because the burden is on the prosecution and the benefit of the doubt goes to the defense, I am—reluctantly—going to find you not guilty.”
The judge gaveled the proceedings to an end, rose, and disappeared into his chambers. The Commonwealth attorney gathered his files and quickly left the courtroom.
After Gilead had thanked Will enthusiastically, the attorney asked what his plans were.
“I have some places to go. The path is now set before me. And I have to start as soon as possible.”
“What kind of path are you talking about?”
But Gilead was extending his hand to shake Will’s and appeared unwilling to discuss it any further—except for one final oblique and mysterious interchange.
As the two left the courtroom, Gilead asked one last question.
“Mr. Chambers, tell me this—do you believe in divine destiny? That God has a destiny and a plan for each one of us?”
Will searched the face of the young man standing in front of him. He was struggling to decode his client—as if deciphering a map where the place names were all written in a foreign tongue. Where was his client heading? And why was he so evasive about it?
After a moment’s reflection, Will answered the only way he could—with the truth.
“Yes. I believe that God has a divine design for each of our lives.”
“God bless you,” Gilead said, shaking his hand and thanking him once more. Then he turned and quickly walked away.
As he did, Will Chambers was wondering about Gilead Amahn’s undisclosed destination.
But he also was reflecting on Judge Hadfeld’s somber warnings to his client, which were now ringing in the back of Will’s mind like a bell tolling in the night.
14
IN THE WEST WING OF THE WHITE HOUSE, Secretary of State Thomas Linton, Deputy Secretary of State in Charge of Middle Eastern Affairs Bob Fuller, and Special Middle East Envoy Howard Kamura were preparing for their meeting with the president, who was expecting them in thirty minutes.
The trio of State Department officials had spent several days preparing for this. That they would be meeting with President Harriet Corbin Landow rather than her predecessor was almost as extraordinary as the subject matter of their anticipated discussion.
A year into his term, her predecessor, President Theodore Warren, had suffered a debilitating stroke. For the last three weeks he had been at the Bethesda Naval Medical Center. The extent of his recovery was still in doubt.
President Warren’s chief White House counsel had transmitted to the President Pro Tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives a written declaration that the president was unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office.
As a result, Vice President Harriet Landow became acting president. In the next week she was expected to name a vice president, subject to approval of both houses of Congress.
However, President Landow had her eye on another, even larger issue.
Just prior to his falling ill, President Warren had received an urgent message indicating that both Israel and the Palestinian Authority appeared to be at a critical point where a historic peace agreement seemed possible.
Entering the Oval Office at that critical juncture, President Landow now had her own personal aspirations. She suddenly found herself in the position of a potential candidate for a Nobel Peace Prize, should a permanent agreement between the Palestinian Authority and Israel be forged. The chances of her election to a second presidential term in her own right would be catapulted considerably.
Secretary Linton was now leading off in the final discussion with his deputies.
“I know we’ve been through the drill before, but this is our last opportunity to remind you, Howard, of the scope of your charge in the preliminary negotiations between the Palestinian prime minister and the Israeli prime minister. If things move from the preliminary stage toward the framework we’re anticipating, then the president and I are going to be involved, in the background, on an hour-by-hour basis. And of course, if it looks like the pieces are beginning to fall together, then we will arrange to bring the Israeli prime minister and the Palestinian prime minister back here to the States—preferably for a series of photo-op meetings—you know, the handshake and signings at the Connecticut White House with her family gathered around.”
Fuller and Kamura nodded.
“Now, as to the general outline,” Deputy Secretary Fuller interjected, “just remember the basics, Howard. The president wants her personal sign-off on the basic elements. Gaza to the Palestinians, with a guaranteed safe travel corridor between Gaza and the West Bank. The West Bank—and you know how we’re defining that, all the charts and maps will document it—and have them with you—the West Bank to the Palestinians. Jerusalem is a hard sell for Israel, but we think we may be able to create a special transitional status for that area, with it ultimately going to the Palestinians—again, using the green line as the starting point—West Jerusalem to the Israelis…”
“Let me just put in something here,” Special Envoy Kamura said. “I think language is key. I’m concerned about the semantics. I thought I had a pretty good feel for President Warren’s use of terms, his personal linguistics on the diplomatic situation over there in the Middle East. But not so much with President Landow. For instance, Bob, you’re using ‘East Jerusalem’ and ‘West Jerusalem’…you know the old saw brought up by the Zionists. They yell and scream that there isn’t any real East Jerusalem and West Jerusalem. There’s only one Jerusalem, and they try to nail me every time I make some kind of public statement, saying I ought to talk about eastern Jerusalem, as a point of geography rather than a distinct municipal segment.”
“Good point,” Fuller noted. “You should sensitize the president to those terms in case she gets caught in the cross fire during some press conference on it while you’re engaged in your initial discussions with the folks over there in Ramallah and Jerusalem. But on the other hand, you’ve got to remind the president that this doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. Just use the argument—you know, that everybody knows what we’re talking about when we talk about East Jerusalem—it’s not exactly a state secret—and that we have to get beyond the war of words to the substance of the real peacekeeping mission. That kind of thing.
“I do believe you need to be prepared for the president to try to nail you on some of the counterarguments,” Fuller continued. “She is working her way through this issue, playing catch-up. This wasn’t her strong suit during the campaign. And she has a real strong desire to become an instant expert on this. She’s going to want to address some of the counterarguments and how you’re going to defuse them.”
“You’re talking in particular about the East and West Jerusalem thing?” Kamura asked.
Linton and Fuller both nodded at that.
“I think one of the best arguments that the Zionists and the right-wing Israelis have is, you know, the fact that in so-called East Jerusalem, which is always touted in our negotiating position as the ‘Palestinian-populated area of Jerusalem’—in fact, the demographics don’t always bear that out.”
“You’re talking about the total numbers-type thing, right?” Secretary of State Linton asked.
Kamura nodded vigorously.
“Exactly,” he said. “That presents us with a problem…to call it Palestinian Eastern Jerusalem is not exactly accurate, demographically. It only becomes accurate—”
“It only becomes accurate,” Deputy Fuller interrupted vigorously, “if, by Palestinian East Jerusalem, we mean that the political reality is that we’re giving it to them regardless of the demographics.”
“I don’t mean to get us off track,” Secretary Linton added, “but did you see the discussion by one of the talking heads last night—I think it may have been Crossfire or Hardball. Congressman Littleton has now come out and calls himself a full-fledged Christian Zionist. Anyway, he’s making this p
oint that our talking about giving Eastern Jerusalem over to the Palestinians because of the sheer numbers of them living there is like saying if you come home at night and find your house has been taken over by gypsies, then the more gypsies that keep moving in, the more you really ought to presume that they have a legal right to stay there.”
There was a pause for a few seconds while the trio considered the implications.
All three of them knew full well that the proposal to divide Jerusalem was really not based on demographics—or even any sense of history. It was an arbitrary division created by political expedience and imposed upon Israel as a matter of pure political will.
“You know, we’ve left something out,” Howard Kamura noted.
Secretary Linton and Deputy Fuller glanced at him. And then both spoke the same thing at the same time.
“The Temple Mount.”
“It always seems to get down to that,” Linton added.
Kamura nodded his head.
“Well, the framework we’re using,” Linton noted, “is reserving the Temple Mount as the last bargaining chip in the process. But, ultimately—we all know it’s got to go to the Palestinians. Or to state it conversely, it can’t possibly be given to the Israelis.”
“Look,” Fuller added, “when the president wants to go over that Temple Mount issue, just give her the Cliffs Notes version. After all, with the al-Aqsa Mosque being used by millions of Muslims every year for worship, the only claim of the Jews is some obscure legal technicality about still owning the sides of the Temple Mount because of the ‘Wailing Wall’ representing part of the wall of the original Temple, where they still pray to this day…you know the drill.”
“Yes,” Secretary of State Linton noted somberly. “The Temple Mount. That’s always the problem, isn’t it? To the orthodox, its not a legal technicality. It’s a mandate of biblical proportions.”
“I really don’t know,” Fuller added, trying to find some optimism. “You know we’ve got an atmosphere of change over there in Israel. Sure, you got the hard-liners still screaming for the Temple Mount—the ultra-orthodox, the super-Zionists. But then you’ve got a very significant change among a lot of Israeli moderates, with waning support for a claim to the Mount. And you’ve got the Deuteronomy Fragment discovery, which raises the possibility that the original religious writings may have said that God was giving the land to Ishmael of the Arabs, not to the Jews. Without going into the details, because there’s a lot of controversy about that discovery, you could just let the president know that the Israelis are scared to death about the alternative to a peace plan.”
The Last Judgment Page 7