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The Liberty City Seven: A Cult, A Sting, and America’s “Homegrown” Terror Scare

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In the summer of 2006, headlines across America blared about a group of seven men from Miami who supposedly plotted to bring down the Sears Tower in Chicago and wage a “full ground war” against the United States. They became known as the Liberty City Seven, a ragtag collection of construction workers and religious dreamers who found themselves at the centre of one of the most surreal domestic terrorism cases of the post-9/11 era.


At first glance, it looked like the FBI had stopped the next 9/11. But as the story unfolded, it became clear that this “terror cell” had little more than borrowed boots, empty bravado, and a knack for being manipulated.


A Warehouse in Liberty City

The group operated out of a dingy warehouse in Liberty City, Miami, a neighbourhood long plagued by poverty and unemployment. They called themselves the Universal Divine Saviors, though some outsiders dubbed them the “Seas of David.” To their neighbours, they were an oddball religious sect that blended Bible study with martial arts practice.


Members wore black uniforms emblazoned with a Star of David patch. Their leader, Narseal Batiste, often strutted through the neighbourhood in a robe, carrying a wooden staff, earning him the reputation of a “Moses-like” figure. His teachings borrowed from the Moorish Science Temple, the Nation of Islam, Black Hebrew Israelite traditions, and even snippets of Judaism and Christianity.


As historian Juan Cole put it, they were essentially a “local African-American cult mixing Judaism, Christianity, and a little Islam” — more like confused seekers than international terrorists.


How the FBI Got Involved

The FBI stumbled onto the group in October 2005 after an informant tipped off Special Agent Anthony Velazquez.

“Look, I have some information from an informant,” Velazquez recalled a colleague saying, “that there’s a group of guys in Liberty City conducting military training, interested in overthrowing the U.S. government, and that wanna be Al-Qaeda.”

From there, the Bureau launched a sting. An informant, posing as an emissary from Yemen, offered support and money if the group pledged loyalty to al-Qaeda. Batiste and his followers played along, believing they might scam their new “ally” for as much as $50,000 to keep their struggling construction business afloat.


But the FBI wasn’t playing. They recorded thousands of hours of conversations, nudging the group into expressing intentions to attack the Sears Tower in Chicago, the Miami FBI field office, and other federal buildings.


Aspirational, Not Operational

Despite the alarming talk, the Liberty City Seven had no weapons, no explosives, and no real plan. When offered weapons, they declined. They relied entirely on government-provided equipment: the FBI bought them boots, cameras, cars, and even paid rent on their warehouse.


Deputy FBI Director John S. Pistole admitted the plot was more “aspirational than operational.” In truth, it looked like the men were being strung along by promises of cash. Locals in Miami joked that the group seemed more likely to kick down doors in their new boots than blow up a building.


Still, in the fevered atmosphere of post-9/11 America, the arrests were touted as a major victory. Attorney General Alberto Gonzales held a high-profile press conference, warning of a “full ground war” being plotted from within America’s own borders.


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The Arrests and the Trials


On June 22, 2006, the FBI raided the Liberty City warehouse and arrested all seven members:


  • Narseal Batiste (Brother Naz, or Prince Manna) – the ringleader

  • Patrick Abraham (Brother Pat)

  • Stanley Grant Phanor (Brother Sunni, nicknamed “Sunny”)

  • Rotschild Augustine (Brother Rot)

  • Burson Augustin (Brother B)

  • Naudimar Herrera (Brother Naudy)

  • Lyglenson Lemorin (Brother Levi, or Levi-El)


The men faced charges of providing material support for terrorism and conspiring to wage war against the United States.



Yet what followed was one of the longest, most confusing legal sagas in modern American history. Across three trials:


  • Lemorin was acquitted outright in the first trial, only to later be deported to Haiti in a civil proceeding.

  • Two juries deadlocked in mistrials for the others.

  • In the third trial, five were finally convicted on some charges. Batiste alone was convicted on all four counts.


Sentences ranged from six to thirteen years, far less than the 70 years prosecutors once threatened.


Informants and Incentives

The case was also remarkable for the money paid to FBI informants. One received $40,000, the other $80,000, along with immigration benefits. The government also paid thousands for rent, travel, and equipment.


This raised serious questions: were the Liberty City Seven actual terrorists, or simply hapless men caught up in an overzealous sting designed to make headlines?


Public Reaction and Cultural Echoes

The arrests sparked debate across the country. Some saw the case as proof that the U.S. was vigilant against homegrown terror. Others saw entrapment.


Comedians, too, weighed in. On The Daily Show, Jon Stewart quipped:

“If you are going to wage a full ground war against the United States, you need to field at least as many people as, say, a softball team.”

Locals in Miami were equally sceptical, pointing out the government had effectively supplied everything the group had.


The Legacy of the Liberty City Seven

The Liberty City Seven saga highlights the fine line between prevention and provocation. On one hand, the FBI can argue it disrupted a dangerous fantasy before it became real. On the other, the case shows how vulnerable people — struggling with poverty, identity, and misplaced faith — can be lured into talking big by the promise of money.


Nearly two decades on, the Liberty City Seven remain a cautionary tale: a mixture of religion, desperation, and government overreach that left behind more questions than answers.

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