Warriors of God Read Free Page A

bounced along the rutted roads that led toward Baalbek.
    To the west, sinuous fingers of snow stroked the sepia peaks ofMount Lebanon, fading remnants of the bitter winter months. A cool breeze wafted through Baalbek, rustling the branches of the poplar trees shading the shallow crystal waters of the Ras al-Ain spring.
    It was a religious occasion, the fortieth day after Ashoura, marking the end of the traditional period of mourning for Imam Hussein, whose seventh-century martyrdom is the defining motif for the Shia faithful. But it was not the commemoration of Imam Hussein that had compelled such a multitude, perhaps seventy-five thousand people in all, to descend upon Baalbek this day. Nor was it Imam Hussein’s sacrifice in the sands of Mesopotamia that had emboldened the men gathered in Baalbek to bring with them their weapons, bolt-action rifles passed from father to son or the more modern AK-47 assault rifle carried in hand or slung over shoulder. Instead, they had come to Baalbek to hear the words of one man—a tall, charismatic Iranian-born cleric whose soft smile and kindly eyes had won many admirers, Muslim and Christian alike, since he had arrived on Lebanese shores a decade and a half earlier. Known for his humility and the gentle timbre of his voice, Sayyed Musa Sadr, “Imam Musa” to his followers, had lately begun injecting steel into his oratory, preaching a bold new discourse of revolt and defiance. One month earlier, in the village of Bidnayil, a few miles south of Baalbek, Sadr had electrified his audience with an angry denunciation of the government’s neglect of Lebanon’s backwater regions and of the failure of the state to protect the southern Lebanese from Israel’s destructive incursions. For too long, he proclaimed, the Shias of Lebanon had been marginalized and crushed, denigrated as “Mitwali.” 1 Now was the time for “revolution and weapons.”
    â€œStarting from today,” vowed Sadr in Bidnayil, “we will no longer complain nor cry. Our name is not Mitwali; our name is ‘men of refusal,’ ‘men of vengeance,’ ‘men who revolt against tyranny’ even though this costs us our blood and our lives.”
    On this fortieth day after Ashoura, the Shia faithful had chosen to answer Sadr’s call by brandishing their weapons, a physical manifestation of their latent collective power and a stern warning to the Lebanese state that the Mitwali would be silent and submissive no more.
    Sadr and his companions were making slow progress up the BekaaValley toward Baalbek. As they passed through the Shia villages north of Shtaura, they found their route blocked by crowds bubbling with anticipation and excitement. Sadr was obliged to step out of his car, to greet the local dignitaries, to listen patiently to their warm welcomes and expressions of loyalty. Sheep were slaughtered on the road before him, a traditional gesture of respect for the honored visitor. Then, politely declining the entreaties of the villagers to linger a little longer, Sadr proceeded to the next village, where the same scene would be repeated.
    As Sadr’s entourage finally entered the southern outskirts of Baalbek, loudspeakers attached to the minarets of the town’s mosques broadcast the news of the imam’s arrival. As the word spread throughout the town, thousands of rifles were pointed skyward and the deafening clatter of gunfire erupted, almost drowning out the chants of “
Allah u-Akbar
(God is greater).” There were perhaps fifty thousand rifles firing all at once, a true Bekaa welcome for the venerated Sadr. The hail of falling bullets stripped leaves from trees. Ejected cartridge cases flew in through the open windows of the cars in Sadr’s cortege.
    As the imam climbed out of his vehicle, he was enveloped in a churning, unruly mob that bundled him toward the small platform where he would make his address. Outstretched hands snatched