JUST IN: U.S Army Major Nidal Malik Hasan To Be Execυted — The Army Knew, The FBI Knew, But 13 D*ed… A military jury at Fort Hood, Texas, today sentenced Army Major Nadal Hassan to death for killing 13 people and wounding more than 30 in a 2009 attack. He could become the first American soldier to be executed since 1961. The American-born Muslim has said he acted to protect Islamic insurgents in Iraq and Afghanistan. He represented himself at his court marshal, but offered no defense. The man holding the gun had metals on his chest, a medical degree on his wall, and the trust of every soldier in that room. He used all three to get close enough to kill them. In December 2008, an email landed in an FBI inbox. The sender was a United States Army officer, a commission psychiatrist with full security clearance trusted with the mental health of American soldiers returning from war. The question he was directing at a man already under federal surveillance was whether it was religiously permissible to take the lives of American military personnel. The FBI read it. They read the next one and the one after that. 18 emails in total. Each one reviewed, each one assessed. Their official conclusion consistent with authorized research. File closed. 11 months later, 13 people were dead inside the soldier readiness processing center at Fort Hood, Texas. At the time, the largest active duty military installation in the United States. The man who sent those emails was not a foreign operative. He held no place on a watch list. He was Major Nidal Malik Hassan, a United States Army psychiatrist whose entire career was built on the promise of protecting the soldiers around him. This is not a story about one act of violence. It is a documented record of warnings issued, evidence gathered, and decisions made and not made by the institutions responsible for preventing exactly what happened on November 5th, 2009. What you are about to hear is accurate. It is verified. And every layer of it is more disturbing than the last. If this is your first time on this channel, we go further than the headline. We cover the evidence, the failures, and the courtroom details that most coverage never reaches. Subscribe and hit the bell. This story has layers most people have never heard, and we are just getting started. Nadal Malik Hassan was born on September 8th, 1970 at Virginia Hospital Center in Arlington, Virginia. To anyone looking in from the outside, this was a family building something real in America. His parents were Palestinian immigrants, naturalized American citizens who had made their way from Albire, a city in the West Bank near Jerusalem. They did not arrive with much, but they worked. His father established multiple businesses in Rowan Oak, Virginia, a market, a restaurant, and an olive bar. His mother, Nora, ran the Capital Restaurant, a place known in the local community not just for its food, but for her willingness to provide a warm meal to anyone who could not afford one. By every measure, they were a family that believed in contribution. Growing up, Nadal went by a different name entirely. His childhood nickname was Michael, a name as American as the country his parents had chosen to build their lives in. He attended Wakefield High School in Arlington. When the family relocated to Rowan Oak in 1986, he transferred to William Fleming High School where he graduated in 1988. What happened next surprised his parents. Against their wishes, Nadal Hassan enlisted in the United States Army. He did not walk away from education. For the next 8 years, he served as an enlisted soldier while simultaneously working his way through college. He started at Barstow Community College in California, transferred to Virginia Western Community College where he earned his associate degree in 1992 and then moved on to Virginia Tech where he graduated with a degree in biochemistry with honors in 1995. The United States Army then funded his place at the Uniform Services University of the Health Sciences in Bethesda, Maryland, one of the most competitive military medical programs in the country. He later added a master’s degree in public health. By 2003, Nadal Hassan had earned his medical degree. He went on to complete his psychiatry specialization at Walter Reed Army Medical Center. On paper, this was a story of discipline, sacrifice, and achievement. But during those years of training, something was quietly shifting. In 1997, Hassan visited relatives in the West Bank for the first time. It was his first direct connection to the land his parents had left behind. And by multiple accounts, it deepened his sense of religious and cultural identity in ways that those around him began to notice in the years that followed. Then came two losses that by several accounts left a permanent mark. His father passed away in 1998 at just 51 years old. His mother, Nora, the woman who had fed strangers without asking anything in return, died in 2001 at 49. Both were gone before Hassan had completed his training. His mother’s funeral was held on May 31st, 2001 at the Dar Al-Hyra Islamic Center in Falls Church, Virginia. It was there at that service that Nidal Hassan came back into contact with a figure who would in time play a significant role in the direction his life would take. That name and what followed belongs to a later part of this story. What is documented is this. His cousin, Virginia attorney Nater Hassan, later stated publicly that Nadal’s perspective began to shift after years of listening to soldiers in his care describe their experiences in Iraq and Afghanistan. Session after session, account after account, the wars his country was fighting in Muslim majority nations were no longer something distant. They were sitting across from him every day in the form of the people he was supposed to be helping. The man the army had trained, funded, and trusted was beginning to see the institution differently. And the institution, for its part, was not paying close enough attention to notice. Nadal Hassan arrived at Walter Reed Army Medical Center with credentials, government funding, and a clear path forward. What followed was something the army’s own records could not ignore. The psychiatry residency was designed to be completed in 4 years. Isan took six. But the deeper concern was not the timeline. It was what the timeline concealed. Over 38 weeks, he saw approximately 30 patients. The expected standard was closer to 300. He was not answering emergency on call lines. He was failing basic shift duties. On one formally documented occasion, a patient classified as a danger to others was allowed to leave the emergency room without supervision on his watch….Full Story Comment 👇👇

Then on June 1st, 2009, a shooting occurred at a military recruiting office in Little Rock, Arkansas. The gunman was Abdul Hakeim Mujahid Muhammad. Two recruiters were targeted. Assan’s response shared with colleagues was to call it a sign. He told people around him that Muslims had an obligation to stand against what he called the aggressor, a term he was using to describe American forces.

The Senate Homeland Security Committee later investigated the full sequence of events. Their report was titled a ticking time bomb. Its conclusion was unambiguous. The attack at Fort Hood was preventable. The information existed. The warnings were on record. Nine of Hassan’s supervisors were formally reprimanded after the fact.

By late October 2009, Nidal Hassan’s deployment orders were confirmed. He was being sent to Afghanistan. This was the assignment he had spent years working to avoid. He had previously consulted a military attorney about the possibility of being discharged as a conscientious objector on religious grounds.

That effort produced nothing. The order stood. He was going. He told colleagues directly that he would not be deploying. The statement was noted by those who heard it. It was not formally reported up the chain of command. What happened in the 48 hours that followed was only fully understood in retrospect.

The day before November 5th, neighbors in his apartment complex noticed Hassan moving through the hallways with belongings, furniture, clothing, personal items, copies of the Quran, offering them to anyone who would take them. That evening, he had dinner with a friend he had met through his mosque.

During that conversation, Hassan told him that the Quran was clear on the matter. A Muslim could not take up arms against fellow Muslims. He said he felt he was supposed to quit. His friend later recalled the conversation as one that at the time seemed like the frustration of a man struggling with his conscience. In hindsight, it was something else entirely.

On the morning of November 5th, Hassan approached a neighbor and offered her a bag of vegetables, a Quran, and whatever remained of his personal belongings. He asked her to give anything she did not want to the Salvation Army. Before he left, he said three words. I’m ready. He then attended far the pre-dawn Islamic prayer at a local mosque.

What investigators later established through purchase records and witness accounts was that Hassan had not arrived at this moment unprepared. In the weeks prior, he had visited Guns Galore, a firearms dealer in Khen, Texas. Army specialist William Gilbert, a regular customer at the store, recalled Hassan walking in and asking for the most technologically advanced weapon on the market with the highest standard magazine capacity.

He purchased an FN57 semi-automatic pistol, returning to the store weekly to acquire additional magazines. In total, he accumulated 3,000 rounds of 5.7x 28 mm ammunition, a figure that stood in stark contrast to the figure of over 200 rounds that was widely reported in initial coverage. He also visited an outdoor shooting range in Florence, Texas, where he practiced on silhouette targets at distances of up to 100 yards repeatedly until his accuracy was consistent.

On the morning of the attack, he carried two weapons. The FN57 fitted with two laser sights, one red, one green, both confirmed by multiple survivor accounts, and a Smith and Wesson.357 Magnum revolver. Forensic analysis later confirmed the revolver was never discharged. He had one weapon for the task and he had prepared for it with precision. At 1:34 p.m.

on November 5th, 2009, Nidal Hassan walked into the soldier readiness processing center at Fort Hood, Texas. The room was occupied by soldiers working through final administrative and medical checks before overseas deployment. Support staff and civilians were present alongside uniformed personnel. It was a routine processing day.

Nothing about it was unusual until Hassan spoke to a soldier standing near the entrance. He said, “I’m going to do good work for God.” Then he walked inside. He stood on a table, declared, “Allahu Akbar,” and opened fire. What is established by forensic analysis and survivor testimony is that Hassan moved through the room with deliberate intent.

He did not fire indiscriminately. Investigators confirmed that he passed multiple opportunities to fire on civilians and concentrated his targeting on uniform soldiers. Those soldiers, in accordance with standard militarybased policy, were not carrying personal sidearms inside the processing center. They had no means to return fire.

Staff Sergeant Alonzo Lungsford, a health care specialist, was shot seven times. He lost most of the sight in his left eye. He survived by lying still on the floor. He later told investigators that as he lay there, he could hear Hassan counting his rounds between reloads, methodical, unhurried.

Staff Sergeant Patrick Ziegler was shot four times, including once in the head. Physicians told his family to prepare for the worst. He survived but sustained permanent partial paralysis on his left side. Specialist Logan Bernett in the moment Hassan stopped to reload picked up a table and threw it at him.

Bernett was shot in the hip. He crawled to a nearby office cubicle and waited. Captain John Gaffany, 56, from Sarah Mesa, California, moved toward Hassan holding a folding chair. He did not reach him. Michael Grant Cahill, 62, a civilian physician assistant from Cameron, Texas, did the same. He also charged with a chair. He also did not reach him.

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