Desert Queen (47 page)

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY
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ONE

Paris and the Arab Question

O
n instructions from the British Government, General Allenby had appointed Faisal, the son of the Sharif Hussein, as the new ruler of Syria (including the interior cities of Damascus, Homs, Hama and Aleppo, but excluding Beirut and the rest of coastal Lebanon). According to the terms of the Sykes-Picot pact, however, as Allenby explained to Faisal, Syria would be within the sphere of influence of France. The Sharifian prince would rule with Arab governors and an Arab administration, but his rule would be under French supervision. His government would have an Arab flag, but it would also have French advisers; its finances and its policies would be driven directly by France.

Faisal had been given a different scenario. The commander of the Arab Revolt had been promised by T. E. Lawrence, his trusted British liaison, military and political adviser and friend, that the only outside influence in Syria would belong to the delicate hand of the British. But with little choice, a reluctant Faisal agreed to do what Allenby asked. Disgusted (and embarrassed by his own deceits), Lawrence requested home leave and left Damascus immediately. An anxious Faisal, disappointed and worried over the role of the French, stayed on to rule.

I
n Iraq, reports from neighboring countries were scarce, and the news from Reuters, at the beginning of 1919, that Faisal had been proclaimed the Arab ruler of Syria, came as a surprise. The idea of an Arab king heightened the fears of Christians and Jews that they would be exploited by the Muslims; it raised doubts among those whose wealth had depended upon the Turks, upon the British or upon the French; and it fired the ambitions of those who strove for Arab rule. Fueling the mixed emotions were the reports that Faisal was representing his father as King of the Arabs at the international peace talks, begun in Paris.

B
efore leaving Baghdad, Gertrude summed up the political information she had garnered and composed a major memorandum. In
Self-Determination in Mesopotamia
, her weighty report, dispatched by Wilson to the India Office, she noted that prior to the release of the Anglo-French Declaration of Arab liberation, most Iraqis had accepted the idea “that the country would remain under direct British control.” The publication of this declaration, however, “opened up other possibilities which were regarded almost universally with anxiety, but gave opportunity for political intrigue to the less stable and more fanatical elements.”

On one side of the Iraqi tug-of-war stood the groups whose self-interests lay with the British. At the other end were the nationalists who wanted British forces withdrawn (or overthrown) so that the Arabs could rule themselves.

Sooner or later, Gertrude noted, a nationalist party would have sprung to life. But as a result of the Anglo-French Declaration, it had happened sooner. Its early appearance, however, pushed “the stable elements” that opposed Arab nationalism (fearing it as extremist) to take cover under the British flag.

Of those who identified with the British, one man, in particular, stood out. The Naqib of Baghdad, religious leader of the Sunnis, influential as far away as India and China, had been a wise and reliable friend for years, and although the holy man refused to make any public statements on the subject of politics, he confided his feelings to Gertrude. Firmly opposed to an Arab emir, he believed the country was not yet ripe for any form of Arab rule. He emphasized the need of British troops to maintain the peace and hoped that a British administration would slowly incorporate Arabs into its government. Only over time, he believed, could the rivalrous factions—townsmen versus tribesmen, Sunnis versus Shiites, pro-British versus pan-Arabists—come together, and only over time could the Iraqis learn to rule themselves.

On the polite orders of the British military, the well-to-do Naqib had lent his large residence on the river to the occupying officials. He was now ensconced in his smaller house opposite the great Gailani mosque, where the tomb of his revered ancestor, the Islamic theologian Abdul Qadir al Gailani, was encased in silver. Gertrude had requested a meeting with the Naqib, and on February 6, 1919, she paid him a call.

She climbed the familiar courtyard staircase to the balconied first floor, entered his whitewashed study and made her way toward one of the hard white sofas that lined the perimeter of the room. Through the windows she could see the courtyard garden planted with orange trees, and under one corner window inside the room, where the devout man liked to sit, a book had been left on a small, white cloth-covered table. The Naqib’s grown son entertained her for a while, and then the holy man appeared; she stood to greet him. Old and white-bearded, his body bent by rheumatism, his figure cloaked in a long black robe layered over white, his head covered with a white turban wrapped around a red Turkish fez, he moved slowly toward her and, giving orders not to be disturbed, welcomed her warmly and settled himself on a hard settee.

She had known the Naqib since her earliest trips to Baghdad, and she had called on him almost at once when she arrived to work for Cox in April 1917. Now they talked about her departure for England and about the future of Iraq: they discussed the French, whose culture he loved but whose government he despised, and contrasted them with the British, whose government he admired and whose policies he considered firm and fair; to her delight she heard him say that he hoped they would stay and rule in Iraq.

“Khatun,” he spoke in Arabic, “your nation is great, wealthy and powerful; where is our power? … You are the governors and I am the governed. And when I am asked what is my opinion as to the continuance of British rule, I reply that I am the subject of the victor. You, Khatun, have an understanding of statecraft. I do not hesitate to say to you that I loved the Turkish government when it was as I once knew it. If I could return to the rule of the Sultans of Turkey as they were in former times, I should make no other choice. But I loathe and hate, curse and consign to the devil the present Turkish Government. The Turk is dead; he has vanished, and I am content to become your subject.”

Yet even he had reservations about a permanent British presence. The war was over, he said, wiping his hands with the words; it was time for the British to end their military rule; it was time for them to install a civil government. He knew she was going to Whitehall as an adviser, and he begged her to request that Kokus, Percy Cox, be returned to Baghdad. “There are a hundred and a thousand men in England who could fill the post of Ambassador in Persia,” he stated, “but there is none but Sir Percy Cox who is suitable for Iraq. He is known, he is loved and he is trusted by the people of Iraq. He is a man of sober years.” And commenting on A. T. Wilson, who had acted at London’s instructions, the Naqib continued, “I bear witness that if Sir Percy Cox had been in Baghdad we would have been spared the folly of asking the people to express their wishes as to the future.”

The old man told her exactly what she should say when she appeared at Whitehall: “We wish to be governed by Sir Percy Cox.” But, he advised, “do not say, even though it be true, that you yourself have become a Baghdadi and that your mind is wholly occupied with the welfare of Iraq, for that will cause your words less weight in London and we shall have the less profit from you.”

He went on to discuss the notion of self-determination, a thoughtless idea, he believed, which he blamed on the American President. “Does Sheikh Wilson know the East and its peoples?” he asked rhetorically. “Does he know our way of life and our habits of mind? You English have governed for three hundred years in Asia and your rule is an example for all men to follow. Pursue your own way. Do not submit to guidance from Sheikh Wilson. Knowledge and experience are your guides.”

Gertrude drew the discussion back to recent events in Baghdad. “Most of those who have spoken against you are men without name or honor,” the Naqib said. “But I tell you to beware of the Shi’ahs. I have no animosity against the Shi’ah sect,” he hastened to assure her. She nodded and gave him no hint of her own underlying doubts. “They love and respect me,” he continued, “and I am regarded by them as their Sheikh. But turn your eyes on the pages of history and you will see that the salient characteristic of the Shi’ahs is their
khiffah
[volatility]. Did they not themselves murder Musa ibn Ali whom they now worship as a God? Idolatry and mutability are combined in them. Place no reliance upon them.”

The conversation had reached the point where Gertrude felt she could tread on tender soil. Like the Sharif Hussein, the Naqib was a Sunni and a descendant of the Prophet Muhammad. Cautiously, she asked the holy man his opinion of the Sharif. The Naqib answered that they were distant relatives. “I come of the same stock and I share the same religious opinions,” he said. Nonetheless, he confessed, “I would never consent to the appointment of himself or of his son as Emir.” The Sharifians were strangers to Iraq, he explained; they came from the Hejaz, in Central Arabia, an environment totally foreign to Iraq. “The Hejaz is one and the Iraq is one, there is no connection between them but that of the Faith. Our politics, our trade, our agriculture are all different from those of the Hejaz.”

The holy man repeated that, as much as he hated the present secular, nationalist Turkish Government, he “would rather a thousand times have the Turks back in Iraq than see the Sharif or his sons installed here.”

What about the Naqib himself as ruler? Gertrude asked. Her hand was resting on the wooden arm of his sofa, and he tapped it reproachfully with his finger. Leaning forward, he said with a laugh, “How can you put such a question as that to me? It would be contrary to the deepest principles of my creed to become the political head of the State.” Besides, he added, “I am an old man. These five or six years which remain to me I wish to spend in reflection and in study.” Then, raising his voice, he emphasized: “Not if it were to save Iraq from complete destruction would I alter what I have now spoken.” She accepted his no for an answer. Despite all her experience in the Arab world, she did not consider the possibility that he was waiting for her to insist.

They talked for ninety minutes before Gertrude begged his permission to leave. The Naqib expressed his personal affections and reminded her of their long friendship. She valued it greatly, she answered, and thanked him for his confidence. He hoped that she would regard him as her father, he said touchingly, and prayed that she would return soon from England. With that, he bade her go in peace.