In recent weeks, the U.S. Department of Justice announced that Abdullah Haji Zada—a 19-year-old Afghan national and U.S. lawful permanent resident—had been sentenced to the statutory maximum of 15 years in federal prison after conspiring to receive AK-47 rifles and 500 rounds of ammunition “to be used in connection with a terrorist attack on Election Day … on behalf of the Islamic State of Iraq and al-Sham (ISIS).”
That case underscores a core truth: When the United States identifies those plotting violence against Americans or from U.S. soil, it will act—arrest, prosecute, sentence, and, in this case, remove the individual from the United States. The DOJ press release clearly stated that “the seriousness of his betrayal and our commitment to using every tool at our disposal to detect and disrupt such plots.”
We should laud that.
These are the kind of cases that send a message: No one who uses U.S. freedom or refuge as a base to bring harm to Americans is safe from accountability. Whether the operative is foreign-born, a resident or naturalized, the machinery of U.S. national-security law works: the FBI working with the Joint Terrorism Task Force, the National Security Division of the DOJ and the courts moving toward sentencing.
In short: When the United States chooses to prioritize, it can deliver.
This raises an uncomfortable question—that is, when the government and its agencies choose not to prioritize. More precisely, when a U.S. citizen is murdered abroad in a terrorist attack and the mastermind or material co-operator remains free, what does that say about U.S. willpower, alliances and selective enforcement?
On Aug. 9, 2001, a suicide bombing at a Sbarro pizzeria in Jerusalem killed 16 people, including three Americans—among them, Malka (“Malki”) Roth, then just 15. The individual convicted of orchestrating her death, Ahlam Tamimi, was sentenced by an Israeli court to 16 consecutive life sentences and an additional term of years. She was released from prison in 2011 as part of the Gilad Shalit prisoner swap, after serving only eight years.
In 2017, the DOJ unsealed an indictment charging Tamimi with conspiring to use a weapon of mass destruction against U.S. nationals. To this day, she lives freely in Jordan—a high-profile figure, celebrated in some circles—despite a 1995 U.S.-Jordan extradition treaty. According to Australian diplomatic records, Jordan’s Court of Cassation found, in effect, that the treaty had not been ratified by parliament and thus could not be relied upon.
So what’s going on? Why does the DOJ prosecute with zeal one type of case but appear to stall in another? There are at least three contributing factors.
When a plot is domestic (in the United States) or directly targets Americans in the United States, the law enforcement and prosecution chain remains in the U.S. hands. The DOJ press release praising the Zada case emphasizes that point. But when the act occurs abroad in another sovereign country, then extraterritorial issues, other governments, diplomatic constraints and multilateral treaty compliance come into play. The United States can charge Tamimi, but it cannot physically bring her to trial without Jordan’s cooperation.
Jordan is a key U.S. regional ally, a host of U.S. aid, and a partner in counter-terror operations and regional stability in the Middle East. As one commentary put it: “The U.S. government continues to impress upon the Government of Jordan that Tamimi is a brutal murderer who should be brought to justice … .”
Yet despite that, Jordan has rejected the extradition request. The simple fact is that strategic relationships and aid flows can create political constraints on how far Washington will press.
The extradition treaty issue is real. Jordan’s court held that the treaty—although signed in 1995—was not ratified and hence cannot be enforced in Jordanian domestic law. If Jordanian courts refuse to recognize the treaty as operative, then the U.S. faces a legal barrier despite its statute or indictment.
None of these factors alone offers a full justification. As Congress has noted, the Office of Justice for Victims of Overseas Terrorism was created to make sure that when Americans are killed abroad, the investigation and prosecution remain a high priority. The principle is: American victims deserve the same active pursuit of justice, no matter where in the world the crime occurred.
My question, then: If the United States can arrest and prosecute terrorist plots inside the country, why can it not wield the same clarity of enforcement for murders of American citizens abroad? The answer cannot simply be “diplomatic complexity.” Justice delayed is justice denied, especially when the killer boasts she would do it again and is sheltered by a treaty partner.
There is a lesson here for policy-makers and the public. The United States should:
• Make U.S. extradition treaties with allied countries an active instrument, not just a checkbox.
Tie foreign aid and cooperation more visibly to compliance with terror-extradition commitments.
• Elevate cases of American terror victims abroad to the same prosecutorial profile as attacks on U.S. soil.
• Ensure that the DOJ, U.S. State Department and U.S. attorneys coordinate publicly in a victim-centric way. Meaning, when an American is killed, we should not hear merely that “the department continues to impress upon” an ally. We deserve action.
In the Zada case, we see that the U.S. system can deliver: arrest, indictment, sentence. That is commendable. However, in the 2001 Sbarro massacre case, we still await full accountability for the death of an American child. That gap matters—for victims, for deterrence and for America’s moral authority.
When the United States says that it stands with the families of terror victims, the test is whether it stands for them across borders or only when it is convenient. The murder of Malki Roth—and so many American lives lost to terror abroad—deserve more than warm condolences. They deserve results.
