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15-Year Sentence for Oakland Man Who Pleaded Guilty to Terrorism Charge

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An artist's rendition of Judge Charles Breyer sentencing Amer Sinan Alhaggagi to a 15-year prison term on Feb. 26. (Vicki Behringer/Courtroom Artist)

A federal judge sentenced an Oakland man Tuesday to 15 years, eight months in prison after a protracted sentencing hearing that weighed whether the now 23-year-old actually meant to carry out any of his wide-ranging plots for mayhem across the Bay Area.

Amer Sinan Alhaggagi was caught on video in summer 2016 discussing with an undercover FBI agent his plans to "redefine terror" in the Bay Area. They talked about bombing gay nightclubs and UC Berkeley dorms, setting fires in the Berkeley Hills, poisonings and slayings.

"I want to make it to the point where every American here, like, thinks twice or three times before he leaves his home," Alhaggagi said.

"That is the very heart of what terrorism is," federal prosecutor Waqar Hasib argued Tuesday, adding that "one of the most troubling things" was that Alhaggagi's targets were in the Bay Area.

"We are known for being open and accepting," Hasib argued. "It is that very value of openness and acceptance that Mr. Alhaggagi sought to exploit in carrying out his attacks."

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The defense argued that Alhaggagi was never charged for any of the things he said to the FBI agent, or any of his ill-conceived attacks. Instead, and only after he stopped communicating with the agent, he set up several social media accounts for an Islamic State supporter in Iraq. The accounts, the government argued, were later used to spread terrorist propaganda — and it was that action that generated a federal terrorism charge.

"It was a totally different thing, it was an online thing, he regretted it and he stopped it," defense attorney Mary McNamara argued Tuesday.

Alhaggagi apologized in a brief statement before he was sentenced.

"I find it hard to look and listen to all the horrible things I said to the undercover agent," he said. "I can see why people, the FBI, got worried. I made myself look like a crazy person."

"I'm ashamed and embarrassed," he concluded.

His sentence also includes a two-year term for identity theft charges — he stole credit card numbers and used them to buy expensive clothes, according to court filings.

'Doesn't Sound Like a Jihadi'

Alhaggagi's status as an internet troll was a central issue to his case. His defense argued that he had retreated online after a series of failures in his life and was drawn to stoking arguments between Sunni and Shia Muslims online.

One of his chats about fanciful arms deals in summer 2016 alerted an FBI source, who then told Alhaggagi that a "cousin" (an undercover FBI agent) was on his way to Oakland for a meeting.

"Up until now, this had been an online game of chicken with the informant," McNamara said in court. "Now, someone was going to come out of the internet and appear in person."

She argued Alhaggagi kept up his internet persona in person, punctuating his talk of mass slaying with smiles and laughter, much like the "lols" and smiling emojies that peppered his chats.

"He doesn’t sound like a jihadi, doesn’t look like a jihadi, doesn’t act like a jihadi," McNamara said, adding that other cases involving terrorism charges generally don't involve juvenile jokes and emojies. "He’s a goofball, he’s a class clown, he’s a horrible little person when he’s trolling."

But Judge Charles Breyer noted a few actual steps Alhaggagi took to further his plans. He downloaded a bomb-making manual, found during a search of his electronics after he was arrested in November 2016. And he took photographs of supposed targets.

"He was willing to participate in these conversations with people other than government agents, and the consequences are enormous," Breyer said from the bench. "He may think it’s a joke, he may not have intended it, but the other person may not know it’s a joke. The other person may intend it."


More than 150 members of the Bay Area Yemeni-American community signed a statement in support of Alhaggagi. They packed court hearings over the past year, and several people sobbed softly at the end of the sentencing hearing Tuesday.

Alhaggagi's uncle, Hashem Awnallah, said after the hearing that his community knew another side of Alhaggagi.

"The community also knew him as a person who cared for others," Awnallah said. "The world needs to know that he is not radicalized, he is not dangerous, and definitely, he is not a terrorist."

His community pooled together $10,000 for an educational fund after Alhaggagi's release, and Awnallah said they are convening conversations to talk about online radicalization.

Jailhouse Informant

Breyer said he found credible the testimony of a jailhouse informant, who described meeting Alhaggagi, known as "the terrorist," at Glenn Dyer Jail in Oakland in early 2017.

Richard Jump, 54, testified Tuesday that he'd been incarcerated for half his adult life. He served as a jailhouse lawyer among inmates in the pod of cells.

But, he said, Alhaggagi's continued plotting even after his arrest crossed a line.

"This stuff is so far from what I've always considered acceptable criminal behavior," Jump testified. "It's indiscriminate, that type of action. It can hurt anyone."

Jump said he and a cellmate found a letter Alhaggagi had written, with directions for someone on the outside to destroy a phone and some electronic files.

He said he saw a cartoon depicting a truck driving up to the federal court building in San Francisco and blowing it up. And there was talk of bombs and bomb-making.

To Alhaggagi's defense, this was continued puffery — the young man was faced with serious criminal charges and surrounded by convicts, and he again leaned on his internet persona.

But Breyer found Alhaggagi's repeated willingness to plot violence, as entertainment, showed a disturbing lack of empathy.

"That is chilling," Breyer said. "If people lack empathy toward one another, they are extraordinarily dangerous."

He said Alhaggagi's 15-year sentence would serve as a deterrent, not just to the defendant, but to anyone who thinks it's OK to talk the way he did.

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"We have become somewhat sensitized to the seriousness of joking," Breyer said. "You know why we’ve become sensitized? Because some people are not joking."

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