thedrifter
10-23-08, 06:13 AM
Beirut 25 Years Ago: Descent Into the Lion's Den
CLAUDE SALHANI
Published: October 23, 2008
JACKSONVILLE, N.C., USA -- They came in peace. They came with good intentions. They came into a lion's den, in more ways than one.
Twenty-five years ago this 23rd October, 241 U.S. servicemen, mostly Marines, and 58 French paratroopers paid the ultimate price as a result of political incompetence, ill-defined foreign policies and gross misconceptions by Washington and Paris as to what role the Marines and other members of the Multinational Peacekeeping Force in Lebanon should be.
Where they to be peacekeepers or state-builders?
The difference between the first and the latter changed the nature of the deployment and the multinational force became seen by regional powers as outside interference that had to be neutralized.
The Marines, who had set off from Camp Lejeunne, North Carolina, had left behind them wives, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters to help bring peace to Lebanon, a country tortured by years of civil strife, foreign invasions and occupation. As did their brothers-in-arms in the French contingent; many of them never made it back.
On a clear Sunday morning, Oct. 23, 1983 at about 6:20 a.m., a suicide bomber drove a large truck into the building near Beirut International Airport where the men of the 1st Battalion, 8th Marines from Camp Lejeunne were housed.
After breaking through the security barrier, the driver drove his truck bomb into the lobby of the Battalion Landing Team (BLT) building where he exploded it. A Marine sentry who caught a glimpse of the driver recalls an eerie smile on the bomber's face.
The rules of engagement in Beirut were beyond comprehension: in a country that at one point counted more that 85 armed groups of various sizes and scope, where almost everyone carried weapons, the Marines were not authorized have their ammunition clips engaged. That included the sentries guarding the perimeter. By the time the sentry had retrieved his magazine, inserted it into his M16 and chambered a round, it was too late.
What followed was the largest non-nuclear explosion in history.
Two minutes later a second suicide bomber drove his truck into the "Drakkar" building about four miles from the Marine compound. The Drakkar housed a unit of French parachutist infantry. Many of them were on the balconies of the multi-storied building to see what had happened in the first bombing. Fifty-eight French paras were killed.
It was no coincidence that the men of the Marine Amphibious Unit (MAU) stationed in Beirut ended up sleeping under one roof. Initially, most were scattered around the perimeter, sheltered only by government issued canvas tents.
But when Shiite militiamen from Beirut's southern suburbs began lobbing mortar rounds at the Marines, the choice between remaining in the open with a thin canvas tent for protection, or moving into an eight-storey concrete building that had survived decades of bombing from the recent civil war, the choice was obvious.
As Col. Tim Geraghty, commander of the MAU at the time of the attack told a panel in Quantico, VA. last week, "It was the safest building in the area."
Forcing the Marines into the BLT building was part of the plan. A few days before the attack, this correspondent accompanied Col. Geraghty as he escorted a Congressional delegation around the compound.
Geraghty, who became the scapegoat for Washington's disastrous policy, explained to the visiting Congressmen that he was very uneasy about having all his men under one roof and the fact that the Marines were not allowed to carry loaded weapons.
One of the Congressmen placed his arm on Geraghty's shoulder and said: "Colonel, you are doing a fine job. Remember, we are here to show the flag."
The rest, as they say, is history. But it's a page of history that could have been written differently had the powers that be in Washington been more attentive to signals picked up on the ground. Those of us based in Beirut at the time saw the handwriting on the wall. Why did Western intelligence appear to have missed the point altogether?
John Diamond, a journalist and writer who has covered intelligence issues in Washington, now attached to the Woodrow Wilson Center, noted in his just-released meticulously researched book titled, "The CIA and the Culture of Failure," the shortcomings of the intelligence community.
Diamond states: "The 9/11 attacks and the war in Iraq sprang in no small part from the massive intelligence failures, that much is well understood. How the CIA got to a point where it failed so catastrophically, is not."
Diamond does not cover the Beirut period in his book, but three major developments marked similar intelligence failures in Lebanon.
First, was the departure of the Palestine Liberation Organization from Lebanon in the aftermath of the 1982 Israeli invasion. The CIA had more than a handful of assets who were now dead or exiled in Tunisia.
Second, was the similar attack six months prior on the U.S. embassy in Beirut. Sixty-three people died in that attack, including most of the CIA's Middle East experts who were holding a regional meeting when the bomb exploded. The loss of most of its specialists set the agency back decades.
Robert Baer, a former CIA operative who worked in Beirut at the time, as well as other intelligence sources, believe that both the U.S. embassy explosion and the bombing of the Beirut Marine barracks was the work of Imad Mughnieh, a top Hezbollah leader, who was believed to have been running a number of terrorist operations on behalf of Iran and who acted, if not with the support, at least with the silent assent from Syrian President Hafez Assad. (Assad means lion in Arabic.)
And third was the lack of intelligence of the ground. The Marines lacked interpreters, mistook waves and smiles from the Shiites in the southern suburbs for signs of welcome. Indeed the waves and smiles were outwardly friendly but the accompanying words were not.
Coupled with all that, as soon as the French and U.S. forces began training the Lebanese army they stopped being peacekeepers and became, at least in the eyes of the agonists, just another militia in Lebanon's long and protracted war.
Time, it is said, heals all wounds. That may be true, but it certainly does not erase their memories. Today, 25 years after the bombing, the mothers, wives, sons and daughters gathered at daybreak at Camp Lejeunne, N.C., from whence the Marines had embarked upon this journey. They had come back to uphold a Marine tradition; without exception, no Marine is ever left behind, or forgotten.
--
Claude Salhani was based in Beirut at the time of the attacks.
Ellie
CLAUDE SALHANI
Published: October 23, 2008
JACKSONVILLE, N.C., USA -- They came in peace. They came with good intentions. They came into a lion's den, in more ways than one.
Twenty-five years ago this 23rd October, 241 U.S. servicemen, mostly Marines, and 58 French paratroopers paid the ultimate price as a result of political incompetence, ill-defined foreign policies and gross misconceptions by Washington and Paris as to what role the Marines and other members of the Multinational Peacekeeping Force in Lebanon should be.
Where they to be peacekeepers or state-builders?
The difference between the first and the latter changed the nature of the deployment and the multinational force became seen by regional powers as outside interference that had to be neutralized.
The Marines, who had set off from Camp Lejeunne, North Carolina, had left behind them wives, mothers, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters to help bring peace to Lebanon, a country tortured by years of civil strife, foreign invasions and occupation. As did their brothers-in-arms in the French contingent; many of them never made it back.
On a clear Sunday morning, Oct. 23, 1983 at about 6:20 a.m., a suicide bomber drove a large truck into the building near Beirut International Airport where the men of the 1st Battalion, 8th Marines from Camp Lejeunne were housed.
After breaking through the security barrier, the driver drove his truck bomb into the lobby of the Battalion Landing Team (BLT) building where he exploded it. A Marine sentry who caught a glimpse of the driver recalls an eerie smile on the bomber's face.
The rules of engagement in Beirut were beyond comprehension: in a country that at one point counted more that 85 armed groups of various sizes and scope, where almost everyone carried weapons, the Marines were not authorized have their ammunition clips engaged. That included the sentries guarding the perimeter. By the time the sentry had retrieved his magazine, inserted it into his M16 and chambered a round, it was too late.
What followed was the largest non-nuclear explosion in history.
Two minutes later a second suicide bomber drove his truck into the "Drakkar" building about four miles from the Marine compound. The Drakkar housed a unit of French parachutist infantry. Many of them were on the balconies of the multi-storied building to see what had happened in the first bombing. Fifty-eight French paras were killed.
It was no coincidence that the men of the Marine Amphibious Unit (MAU) stationed in Beirut ended up sleeping under one roof. Initially, most were scattered around the perimeter, sheltered only by government issued canvas tents.
But when Shiite militiamen from Beirut's southern suburbs began lobbing mortar rounds at the Marines, the choice between remaining in the open with a thin canvas tent for protection, or moving into an eight-storey concrete building that had survived decades of bombing from the recent civil war, the choice was obvious.
As Col. Tim Geraghty, commander of the MAU at the time of the attack told a panel in Quantico, VA. last week, "It was the safest building in the area."
Forcing the Marines into the BLT building was part of the plan. A few days before the attack, this correspondent accompanied Col. Geraghty as he escorted a Congressional delegation around the compound.
Geraghty, who became the scapegoat for Washington's disastrous policy, explained to the visiting Congressmen that he was very uneasy about having all his men under one roof and the fact that the Marines were not allowed to carry loaded weapons.
One of the Congressmen placed his arm on Geraghty's shoulder and said: "Colonel, you are doing a fine job. Remember, we are here to show the flag."
The rest, as they say, is history. But it's a page of history that could have been written differently had the powers that be in Washington been more attentive to signals picked up on the ground. Those of us based in Beirut at the time saw the handwriting on the wall. Why did Western intelligence appear to have missed the point altogether?
John Diamond, a journalist and writer who has covered intelligence issues in Washington, now attached to the Woodrow Wilson Center, noted in his just-released meticulously researched book titled, "The CIA and the Culture of Failure," the shortcomings of the intelligence community.
Diamond states: "The 9/11 attacks and the war in Iraq sprang in no small part from the massive intelligence failures, that much is well understood. How the CIA got to a point where it failed so catastrophically, is not."
Diamond does not cover the Beirut period in his book, but three major developments marked similar intelligence failures in Lebanon.
First, was the departure of the Palestine Liberation Organization from Lebanon in the aftermath of the 1982 Israeli invasion. The CIA had more than a handful of assets who were now dead or exiled in Tunisia.
Second, was the similar attack six months prior on the U.S. embassy in Beirut. Sixty-three people died in that attack, including most of the CIA's Middle East experts who were holding a regional meeting when the bomb exploded. The loss of most of its specialists set the agency back decades.
Robert Baer, a former CIA operative who worked in Beirut at the time, as well as other intelligence sources, believe that both the U.S. embassy explosion and the bombing of the Beirut Marine barracks was the work of Imad Mughnieh, a top Hezbollah leader, who was believed to have been running a number of terrorist operations on behalf of Iran and who acted, if not with the support, at least with the silent assent from Syrian President Hafez Assad. (Assad means lion in Arabic.)
And third was the lack of intelligence of the ground. The Marines lacked interpreters, mistook waves and smiles from the Shiites in the southern suburbs for signs of welcome. Indeed the waves and smiles were outwardly friendly but the accompanying words were not.
Coupled with all that, as soon as the French and U.S. forces began training the Lebanese army they stopped being peacekeepers and became, at least in the eyes of the agonists, just another militia in Lebanon's long and protracted war.
Time, it is said, heals all wounds. That may be true, but it certainly does not erase their memories. Today, 25 years after the bombing, the mothers, wives, sons and daughters gathered at daybreak at Camp Lejeunne, N.C., from whence the Marines had embarked upon this journey. They had come back to uphold a Marine tradition; without exception, no Marine is ever left behind, or forgotten.
--
Claude Salhani was based in Beirut at the time of the attacks.
Ellie