DIY History | Transcribe | Campus Culture | Ain't I A Woman? newspapers, June 1970-July 1971

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Ain't I A Woman? newspapers, June 1970-July 1971

1970-10-09 "Ain't I a Woman?" Page 7

ED-TO THE REVOLUTION - LEILAH KHALED

uevara" commando
ly seen his picture.
ition we took no

time and two other
he plane. I noticed
hildren who seemed
trip. I then real-
dreadful could
ong. I love children
to travel on this
of our Palestinian
I felt a bit stronger.
bus going out to the
ked me where I was
from Bolivia. Then
urning to Athens
and that his widowed
port.
it particularly be-
is to be away
wed mother waiting
but I didn't hear

st-class because that
there were only five
that the cabin crew
was exactly what we 
off, the two of us 
nearest the cabin
e lunch - I don't
fused lunch, because
laps hemming us in.
at this, and so as
offee and my friend
suggest that he was

crew that easily.
huge trolley lade
dismay, parked it in
oletely blocking the

er the plane 30 min-
nce the Rome-Athens
we were approaching
sk the hostesses to
ould have appeared
eemed an age, she
r, who had been using
cabin door also

get into the cabin
- that's the one
ned people can do

hostess tucked it in
range look, wondering
reassure him I took
hair. Then I looked
ingers signalling
into action - I was
neath the blanket - 
took a pistol out of 
o the top of my pants
he safety pin.
one of the hostesses
abin door; it opened

outwards and she held it open with her elbow. We took this chance. My friend, holding his pistol and grenade, brushed across the front of the hostess and through the door. When the hostess saw the weapons she screamed, "Oh no," and threw her tray down - that was the only violence we had in the plane during the whole journey.
As we went towards the cockpit my friend called out, "Don't move. Now you have to listen to the orders of the new captain." While he was speaking he heard the captain saying into his radio: "Two armed men have come into the cabin. This is a hijacking."
My part in the actual takeover was to stand facing down the plane to control the passengers with my pistol and grenade. But when I stood up with the grenade in my hand and reached for my pistol, I felt the pistol slipping down my leg inside my trousers. I hadn't eaten for a day, and the waistband was loose. 
It was such an anti-climax that I laughed. Instead of brandishing a pistol there i was bending over with my back to the passengers and fumbling for my weapon up the leg of my trousers, of two trousers actually. The captain swivelled round in his seat to see the new captain but all he could see of "him" was the top of a large, white, lady's hat.
Having retrieved the wretched pistol I put it into my pocket, never to take it out again - too scaring and too much like Hollywood.
You can't imagine the look of total astonishment on the face of the captain when I went into the cockpit and announced, "I'm the new captain." Poor man, what did he see? - me, in my sleeveless suit, floppy hat and sandals. "I'm the new captain," I said, "take this as a souvenir - it is the safety pin from this grenade" and held it under his nose. "It's a free hand grenade now. If you don't listen to my orders, I'll use it and the plane and everyone in it will be blown up."
"What do you want?" the pilot asked. "Proceed directly to Lydda airport." "To Lydda?" the co-pilot queried, "aren't we going to Athens?" "You understand English," I said to him.
We sat down in the two seats just behind the pilot. The grenade was in my left hand and it stayed there every minute until we landed. My friend put his away but he kept his pistol out.
I asked the captain to give me his wireless headset and he was so flustered that he tried to put it on over my hat. "Excuse my hat," I said and pushed it back. I had a ribbon specially sewn on so that I could hang it around my neck: I very much wanted to save that hat, too.
I tried to raise Rome airport but there was no answer. I then turned to the flight engineer and asked, "How many fuel hours of flight do you have?" I knew the answer because I had read this off the fuel gauge. I was sure he would tell me a lie and he did: "Two hours," he said. "Liar. I know you have three and a half hours. It's there on the fuel gauge. Why did you lie to me? The next time I ask you anything and you lie to me, I'll break your neck."
"Why are you so angry?" the captain asked. "Because I don't like liars," I replied. I wasn't really angry. I wanted to scare them a little so that they would take orders. The flight engineer said not a word for the rest of the flight.
THE TIME WAS NOW ABOUT 15.20 HOURS.
The dials and switches and lights in a plane's cockpit may seem bewildering but we had been thoroughly trained and I knew what the dials meant. I had a thorough knowledge of the Boeing 707.
Having put the crew in its place the next thing was to speak to the passengers on the intercom. Our message was this:
Ladies and Gentlemen,
Your attention please. Kindly fasten your seatbelts.
This is your new Captain speaking.
The Che Guevara Commando Unit of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine which has taken over command of this TWA flight demands that all passengers on board should adhere to the following instructions:
1-Remain seated and keep calm.
2-For your own safety, place your hands behind your head.
3-Make no move which would endanger the lives of other passengers on the plane.
4-We will consider all your demands within the safe limits of our plan.
Ladies and Gentlemen, among you is a passenger responsible for the death and misery of a number of Palestinian men, women and children, on behalf of whom we are carrying out this operation to bring this assassin before a revolutionary Palestinian court.
The rest of you will be honorable guests of the heroic Palestinian Arab people in a hospital, friendly country. Everyone of you regardless of religion or nationality is guaranteed the freedom to go wherever he pleases as soon as the plane is safely landed.
Ladies and Gentlemen, our destination is a friendly country, and friendly people will receive you.
Thank you for your cooperation. We wish you a happy journey.
The person we were after was General Rabin (the former Israeli Chief of Staff) whom we knew had been booked on that flight. But he seemed to have changed plans at the last minute. I suppose prominent Israelis find it safer to travel on airlines other than El Al nowadays. Then I broadcast our message to the world:
The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine informs you that its Che Guevara Commando Unit is now in complete control of the Boeing plane belonging to Trans WorldAirlines, Flight No. 840, on its way from Rome to Lydda airport in the occupied Palestinian Arab territory.
Captain Shadia Abu-Ghazali, who has taken over command of this plane, and her colleagues request all those concerned to use the following call sign in their communication with the aircraft: POPULAR FRONT - FREE ARAB PALESTINE. And let it be clear that unless the above-mentioned sign is used in communicating with the plane, we will not care to respond.
Thank you.
Shadia Abu-Ghazali was my code name. The original Shadia was a girl resistance fighter in PFLP. She was killed in October, 1968, at the age of 21.
After this I handed over our new route map to the captain. We did not follow the usual air traffic lane over Athens and Nicosia. Instead we went straight down the Greek coast, then southeast over Heraklion in Crete and eastward to Lydda. Not a very interesting flight because it was almost all over the sea at 33,000 feet.
When the captain went on to the new course I noticed that he kept on turning to port so as to go south-westward. He may have been trying to take it up to the American Wheelus airbase near Tripoli in Libya. But I was watching the compass and ordered him back on course. After that I told him exactly when to turn and on to what bearing number on the compass.
After 15 minutes my friend reminded me that the passengers still had their hands above their heads. I looked into the cabin and so they did. I apologized for inconveniencing them and asked the hostess to serve them with whatever they wanted to eat and drink, champagne if they wanted it. Otherwise, throughout the flight we had no contact with the passengers or cabin crew.
We tried hard to get on friendly terms with the three crew members but had no luck. We asked them if they wanted anything to eat or drink but they refused. We offered them our cigarettes but they refused those too. They didn't ask a single question about us. From time to time the captain would turn round, look at me and shake his head unbelievingly. The only human contact was when the co-pilot, like a child in school, asked if he could go to the toilet.
The pilot kept glancing at the grenade in my left hand, so finally to reassure him, I put my arm across his back and tapped him on the left shoulder with the grenade: "Listen I'm accustomed to this thing. Don't be afraid." A little later I scratched my head with the grenade to show him just how familiar with it I was, but I doubt whether he was reassured.
15.55 HOURS. COMPASS BEARING 140 DEGREES. 
There were long, uneventful periods during this eventful flight that were punctuated only by the messages I broadcast to the countries we flew past or over - Italy, Greece, the UAR, Lebanon and Syria. These messages explained what we had done and appealed for support "for the just struggle of the Palestinian people," and ended with the words, "Down with U.S. imperialism and Zionism. We will win," The co-pilot looked at me angrily every time I mentioned America.
I also spoke, spontaneously, to the passengers over the intercom to explain our struggle. "We have hijacked his plane because we want to cut the roots that feed Israel. Don't go to Israel because there is resistance on land and en route: tell this to your friends. We want to go back to our country and we can live with the Jews because we lived with them before." We tried to explain things to the crew but they were an unreceptive audience.
16.10 HOURS. COMPASS BEARING 112 DEGREES.
The exchange of messages I had with Cairo airport in Arabic, were amusing. They were flabbergasted when a woman's voice told them what had happened and where we were going. I first had to tell them that I wouldn't respond till they used our own call sign. Then, the breathless response came from Cairo something like this: "You Popular you Front you Free you Arab you Palestine! Why-are-you-going-to-Israel?" And I replied, "Yes, we are going to Israel, to liberate it!"
LOOK FOR FURTHER ADVENTURE OF LEILA KHALED IN OUR NEXT ISSUE. LONG LIVE LEILA! (LNS)

A Woman?   October 9, 1970   7

Saving...

ED-TO THE REVOLUTION - LEILAH KHALED uevara" commando ly seen his picture. ition we took no time and two other he plane. I noticed hildren who seemed trip. I then real- dreadful could ong. I love children to travel on this of our Palestinian I felt a bit stronger. bus going out to the ked me where I was from Bolivia. Then urning to Athens and that his widowed port. it particularly be- is to be away wed mother waiting but I didn't hear st-class because that there were only five that the cabin crew was exactly what we off, the two of us nearest the cabin e lunch - I don't fused lunch, because laps hemming us in. at this, and so as offee and my friend suggest that he was crew that easily. huge trolley lade dismay, parked it in oletely blocking the er the plane 30 min- nce the Rome-Athens we were approaching sk the hostesses to ould have appeared eemed an age, she r, who had been using cabin door also get into the cabin - that's the one ned people can do hostess tucked it in range look, wondering reassure him I took hair. Then I looked ingers signalling into action - I was neath the blanket - took a pistol out of o the top of my pants he safety pin. one of the hostesses abin door; it opened outwards and she held it open with her elbow. We took this chance. My friend, holding his pistol and grenade, brushed across the front of the hostess and through the door. When the hostess saw the weapons she screamed, "Oh no," and threw her tray down - that was the only violence we had in the plane during the whole journey. As we went towards the cockpit my friend called out, "Don't move. Now you have to listen to the orders of the new captain." While he was speaking he heard the captain saying into his radio: "Two armed men have come into the cabin. This is a hijacking." My part in the actual takeover was to stand facing down the plane to control the passengers with my pistol and grenade. But when I stood up with the grenade in my hand and reached for my pistol, I felt the pistol slipping down my leg inside my trousers. I hadn't eaten for a day, and the waistband was loose. It was such an anti-climax that I laughed. Instead of brandishing a pistol there i was bending over with my back to the passengers and fumbling for my weapon up the leg of my trousers, of two trousers actually. The captain swivelled round in his seat to see the new captain but all he could see of "him" was the top of a large, white, lady's hat. Having retrieved the wretched pistol I put it into my pocket, never to take it out again - too scaring and too much like Hollywood. You can't imagine the look of total astonishment on the face of the captain when I went into the cockpit and announced, "I'm the new captain." Poor man, what did he see? - me, in my sleeveless suit, floppy hat and sandals. "I'm the new captain," I said, "take this as a souvenir - it is the safety pin from this grenade" and held it under his nose. "It's a free hand grenade now. If you don't listen to my orders, I'll use it and the plane and everyone in it will be blown up." "What do you want?" the pilot asked. "Proceed directly to Lydda airport." "To Lydda?" the co-pilot queried, "aren't we going to Athens?" "You understand English," I said to him. We sat down in the two seats just behind the pilot. The grenade was in my left hand and it stayed there every minute until we landed. My friend put his away but he kept his pistol out. I asked the captain to give me his wireless headset and he was so flustered that he tried to put it on over my hat. "Excuse my hat," I said and pushed it back. I had a ribbon specially sewn on so that I could hang it around my neck: I very much wanted to save that hat, too. I tried to raise Rome airport but there was no answer. I then turned to the flight engineer and asked, "How many fuel hours of flight do you have?" I knew the answer because I had read this off the fuel gauge. I was sure he would tell me a lie and he did: "Two hours," he said. "Liar. I know you have three and a half hours. It's there on the fuel gauge. Why did you lie to me? The next time I ask you anything and you lie to me, I'll break your neck." "Why are you so angry?" the captain asked. "Because I don't like liars," I replied. I wasn't really angry. I wanted to scare them a little so that they would take orders. The flight engineer said not a word for the rest of the flight. THE TIME WAS NOW ABOUT 15.20 HOURS. The dials and switches and lights in a plane's cockpit may seem bewildering but we had been thoroughly trained and I knew what the dials meant. I had a thorough knowledge of the Boeing 707. Having put the crew in its place the next thing was to speak to the passengers on the intercom. Our message was this: Ladies and Gentlemen, Your attention please. Kindly fasten your seatbelts. This is your new Captain speaking. The Che Guevara Commando Unit of the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine which has taken over command of this TWA flight demands that all passengers on board should adhere to the following instructions: 1-Remain seated and keep calm. 2-For your own safety, place your hands behind your head. 3-Make no move which would endanger the lives of other passengers on the plane. 4-We will consider all your demands within the safe limits of our plan. Ladies and Gentlemen, among you is a passenger responsible for the death and misery of a number of Palestinian men, women and children, on behalf of whom we are carrying out this operation to bring this assassin before a revolutionary Palestinian court. The rest of you will be honorable guests of the heroic Palestinian Arab people in a hospital, friendly country. Everyone of you regardless of religion or nationality is guaranteed the freedom to go wherever he pleases as soon as the plane is safely landed. Ladies and Gentlemen, our destination is a friendly country, and friendly people will receive you. Thank you for your cooperation. We wish you a happy journey. The person we were after was General Rabin (the former Israeli Chief of Staff) whom we knew had been booked on that flight. But he seemed to have changed plans at the last minute. I suppose prominent Israelis find it safer to travel on airlines other than El Al nowadays. Then I broadcast our message to the world: The Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine informs you that its Che Guevara Commando Unit is now in complete control of the Boeing plane belonging to Trans WorldAirlines, Flight No. 840, on its way from Rome to Lydda airport in the occupied Palestinian Arab territory. Captain Shadia Abu-Ghazali, who has taken over command of this plane, and her colleagues request all those concerned to use the following call sign in their communication with the aircraft: POPULAR FRONT - FREE ARAB PALESTINE. And let it be clear that unless the above-mentioned sign is used in communicating with the plane, we will not care to respond. Thank you. Shadia Abu-Ghazali was my code name. The original Shadia was a girl resistance fighter in PFLP. She was killed in October, 1968, at the age of 21. After this I handed over our new route map to the captain. We did not follow the usual air traffic lane over Athens and Nicosia. Instead we went straight down the Greek coast, then southeast over Heraklion in Crete and eastward to Lydda. Not a very interesting flight because it was almost all over the sea at 33,000 feet. When the captain went on to the new course I noticed that he kept on turning to port so as to go south-westward. He may have been trying to take it up to the American Wheelus airbase near Tripoli in Libya. But I was watching the compass and ordered him back on course. After that I told him exactly when to turn and on to what bearing number on the compass. After 15 minutes my friend reminded me that the passengers still had their hands above their heads. I looked into the cabin and so they did. I apologized for inconveniencing them and asked the hostess to serve them with whatever they wanted to eat and drink, champagne if they wanted it. Otherwise, throughout the flight we had no contact with the passengers or cabin crew. We tried hard to get on friendly terms with the three crew members but had no luck. We asked them if they wanted anything to eat or drink but they refused. We offered them our cigarettes but they refused those too. They didn't ask a single question about us. From time to time the captain would turn round, look at me and shake his head unbelievingly. The only human contact was when the co-pilot, like a child in school, asked if he could go to the toilet. The pilot kept glancing at the grenade in my left hand, so finally to reassure him, I put my arm across his back and tapped him on the left shoulder with the grenade: "Listen I'm accustomed to this thing. Don't be afraid." A little later I scratched my head with the grenade to show him just how familiar with it I was, but I doubt whether he was reassured. 15.55 HOURS. COMPASS BEARING 140 DEGREES. There were long, uneventful periods during this eventful flight that were punctuated only by the messages I broadcast to the countries we flew past or over - Italy, Greece, the UAR, Lebanon and Syria. These messages explained what we had done and appealed for support "for the just struggle of the Palestinian people," and ended with the words, "Down with U.S. imperialism and Zionism. We will win," The co-pilot looked at me angrily every time I mentioned America. I also spoke, spontaneously, to the passengers over the intercom to explain our struggle. "We have hijacked his plane because we want to cut the roots that feed Israel. Don't go to Israel because there is resistance on land and en route: tell this to your friends. We want to go back to our country and we can live with the Jews because we lived with them before." We tried to explain things to the crew but they were an unreceptive audience. 16.10 HOURS. COMPASS BEARING 112 DEGREES. The exchange of messages I had with Cairo airport in Arabic, were amusing. They were flabbergasted when a woman's voice told them what had happened and where we were going. I first had to tell them that I wouldn't respond till they used our own call sign. Then, the breathless response came from Cairo something like this: "You Popular you Front you Free you Arab you Palestine! Why-are-you-going-to-Israel?" And I replied, "Yes, we are going to Israel, to liberate it!" LOOK FOR FURTHER ADVENTURE OF LEILA KHALED IN OUR NEXT ISSUE. LONG LIVE LEILA! (LNS) A Woman? October 9, 1970 7