Lion of Jordan (10 page)

The endless disagreements between Talal and Abdullah were not confined to high policy but extended to domestic matters as well, including the education of Hussein. Hussein went to no fewer than six different schools in Amman. He loved being in the company of other boys and wanted to be treated as one of them, without any special privileges. But, although he made many friends, none was really close. In his memoirs he suggests that ‘Perhaps this was because I changed schools so often. Opposing forces always seemed to be tugging at my education. I would be comfortably installed in one school, then my grandfather – who, to say the least of it, had a domineering character – would decide that I needed special tuition in religion, so back to the house I would go for extra private lessons. Then my father would decide that I needed more tuition in Arabic and I would have to change again.'
⁷

To round off his secondary education, Hussein was sent to Victoria College in Alexandria, a prestigious but spartan English public school with an excellent combination of English and Arabic. Despite its public school ethos, the college had a highly cosmopolitan atmosphere on account of its mixed student body, which included Armenians, Jews and the sons of well-to-do Arabs as well as the sons of British officials serving in the Middle East. Hussein's grandfather paid his fees, as his parents could not afford them. The polyglot group of students welcomed Hussein to the school, and he adjusted to the new environment without
any difficulty. A whole new world opened up for him – football, cricket, books and companionship. In his memoirs here called the long dormitory that he shared with about thirty other boys, the cold showers every morning, the uniform of grey flannels and blue blazers. His two years at Victoria were among the happiest of his life. It was also a formative experience in as much as he was able not only to survive academically but to do well, gain self-respect and grow in terms of self-reliance. In addition to the normal curriculum, Hussein took courses in Arabic and religion, always the subjects that his grandfather looked at first when scrutinizing his reports. During his last term at Victoria, Hussein got a good report and won a medal in fencing. His grandfather was so pleased with this achievement that he gave him the honorary rank of captain in the Arab Legion and an officer's uniform to go with it.
⁸

During his two years at Victoria College, Hussein's closest friend was his cousin Zaid bin Shaker, who was fifteen months older. Scion of a prominent sharifian family, Zaid went on to serve as ADC to the king, chief of staff, chief of the royal court and prime minister. Shaker felt that he and his cousin had ‘as perfect a relationship as two men can have'.
⁹
Hussein used to say to Zaid, ‘We are one soul in two bodies.'
¹⁰
Zaid Rifa'i, another future Jordanian prime minister, was also a contemporary at the college. Other lifelong friends from this period included the Saudi brothers of Hashemite stock, Ghassan and Ghazi Shaker. During his time at Alexandria, Hussein first set eyes on the girl who was to become his third wife many years later, in 1972. Alia Toukan came from a prominent Palestinian family from Nablus. She was born in Egypt in 1948. Her father, Baha Uddin Toukan, was the Jordanian ambassador to Egypt, and Hussein was a frequent visitor at the ambassador's residence in Cairo. Alia was one year old when Hussein first met her, and he used to play with her. In 1951, when her father was appointed ambassador to Turkey, her family moved to Ankara.

It was during the long vacations that Hussein grew closer to his grandfather, who considered school holidays as an opportunity to study harder. Abdullah saw in Hussein a more promising keeper of the Hashemite flame than his two sons, so he took him in hand and started to groom him. The daily routine is described by Hussein in his memoirs. He would get to the palace by 6.30 a.m. A room was reserved as a school room and a tutor appointed to give Hussein Arabic lessons. But Abdullah would invariably start the day's work himself and leave
detailed instructions for the teacher. In the course of the morning Abdullah would sometimes barge in like a school inspector to check on the pupil and to cross-examine the teacher.

Some days grandfather and grandson shared a modest breakfast around 8.30 a.m. – Bedouin coffee flavoured with cardamom and some flat cakes of bread without butter or jam. Abdullah believed that one worked better on a half-empty stomach. When lessons were over, Hussein would go to his grandfather's office and quietly watch him at work. Occasionally, Hussein would be invited to act as an interpreter, for though Abdullah understood English, he could not speak it. Most days Hussein would return to the palace before evening prayers and dine with his grandfather, who talked at length about the problems and pitfalls of kingship and about the intricate politics of the Arab world. A recurrent theme in these soliloquies was Abdullah's disappointment with the British and the French. He felt that he had been a leading figure in the struggle for Arab independence but that he was also the victim of duplicity. Nor did Abdullah conceal from Hussein his disappointment with his two sons, Talal and Naif. Only in retrospect did it dawn on Hussein why his grandfather lavished so much affection on him towards the end of his life: he had become the son that Abdullah had always wanted.
¹¹

Abdullah, a Bedouin at heart, loved the desert so much that he staked a tent in the palace grounds in Amman for passing the time in a more relaxed manner. In the cool of the evening he would often recline there on silken cushions and hold court to his friends and other notables. It was in this tent that Hussein spent many evenings listening to the advice and wisdom of the grandfather he revered so much. One moment, however, three days before the visit to Jerusalem remained firmly inscribed in Hussein's memory and had a powerful impact on him for the rest of his life. They were sitting and talking when Abdullah turned to him for no reason that he could fathom and said to him in a gentle voice,

‘I want you to make me a promise.' I said, ‘Of course sir, what is it?' He said, ‘I have lived in this nation, I have loved it all my life, and I have worked for its greatness. I love these people. I hope you realize that some day you will have to assume responsibility. I don't know what the future will bring but please promise me that you will never despair and that you will never let my work go unfinished. I look to you to see that my work is not lost.' Without understanding what I was
saying, I said, ‘Of course I do, sir,' and that Friday he was gone. It was that promise, probably more than anything else, that kept me going through all the years that have followed. As a Hashemite and as his descendant, I personally promised him, without knowing much of what I was saying, to do my best.
¹²

The significance of this private exchange was publicly acknowledged by Hussein forty years later, after his first brush with cancer. In a televised address to his countrymen on his return to Amman in November 1992, after cancer surgery at the Mayo Clinic in the United States, he explained that he would be making regular visits to the clinic for check-ups to confirm that he had been cured. Hussein went on to say that the ‘life of an enlightened people and a vibrant nation cannot be measured by the life of an individual'. He was ever mindful, he continued,

of the legacy of my grandfather, the founder of this Kingdom, who had said to me that he perceived his life as a link in a continuous chain of those who served our [Arab] nation and that he expected me to be a new and strong link in that same chain. He had singled me out as a young member of his family and a youth from Amman and Jordan. In passing on his legacy, he – God rest his soul – changed this young man's life. Even now I recall the moment when I vowed to God and to myself that I would follow in his footsteps and in those of his fathers and grandfathers for the good of our beloved people and the future of our great [Arab] nation.
¹³

On the day of the murder, at Abdullah's insistence, Hussein wore his brand-new uniform, with its Jordanian Star First Class, his reward for winning the school fencing prize, proudly fastened over his heart. The atmosphere on the way to the Al-Aqsa Mosque was highly charged. Walking behind his grandfather, Hussein saw the assailant emerge from behind the door and fire the shot that killed Abdullah instantly. Hussein lunged towards the man, saw him point his squat black gun at him, heard the shot and reeled as he felt the shock on his chest. The assassin continued to fire right and left, until he was killed by the royal bodyguard. Later Hussein discovered that the bullet had hit the medal on his chest and ricocheted off. He had no doubt that his grandfather's insistence that he wear the uniform saved his life.

Though Abdullah's influence on Hussein's life was profound, it was his death that taught him the ultimate lesson. The murder was the first time that violence had touched Hussein personally, and on that terrible
day, by his own account, he learned much, even if he did not immediately realize it. He learned the unimportance of death: that when you have to die, you die, for it is God's judgment, and only by not fearing death do you find inner peace. Belief in fate encouraged him to give of his utmost in the brief span allotted to him on earth. It also encouraged him to live with courage and to abide by his principles, regardless of the difficulties he faced, so that when the time came for him to lose his life, he would at least have done his best. ‘These beliefs', he said, summing up, ‘have helped me greatly to bear the loss of my grandfather, and later have served me well in moments of crisis and danger. Without doubt, it was the death of my grandfather that made me clarify my philosophy of life for the first time.'
¹⁴

The death of his grandfather also taught Hussein to distrust and even despise politicians and to put his faith in simple soldiers. In the midst of the mayhem, he noticed that most of his grandfather's so-called friends were fleeing in every direction: ‘I can see now, these men of dignity and high estate, doubled up, cloaked figures scattering like bent old terrified women. That picture, far more than the face of the assassin, has remained with me ever since as a constant reminder of the frailty of political devotion.'
¹⁵
Only the soldiers stood their ground, protected him and gave him sincere sympathy and support. This went for British soldiers as well. General Glubb reacted swiftly the moment he heard the news by sending a separate aircraft to whisk Hussein back to safety in Amman. On the tarmac at the airport on the outskirts of Jerusalem, a man in air force uniform approached the sedated, shell-shocked boy. Very shyly he said in a thick Scottish accent, ‘Come with me, sir. I'll look after you.' The man led the boy to a twin-engine plane, a Dove, and invited him to squeeze into the co-pilot's seat next to him. He then revved up the motors, and they flew back to Amman. The man was Wing-Commander Jock Dalgleish of the Royal Air Force. Two years later Dalgleish would teach Hussein to fly. The next day Hussein carried a gun for the first time in his life.
¹⁶

One question that has continued to puzzle observers is: why did Abdullah disregard all the warnings and keep to his plan of Friday prayers in Jerusalem? One possible answer, which was long to remain a closely guarded secret, is that Abdullah had arranged to meet two Israeli officials in Jerusalem the next day, Saturday, 21 July 1951. The two officials were Reuven Shiloah and Moshe Sasson, who was continuing
the negotiations for a peace treaty that his father, Elias, had begun. At one of their first meetings, Moshe Sasson asked Abdullah, ‘Why do you want to make peace with Israel?' The king replied, ‘I want to make peace with Israel not because I have become a Zionist or care for Israel's welfare but because it is in the interest of my people. I am convinced that if we do not make peace with you, there will be another war, and another war, and another war, and another war, and we shall lose all these wars. Hence it is the supreme interest of the Arab nation to make peace with you.'
¹⁷
The secret meeting fixed for the day after the Friday prayers at the Al-Aqsa Mosque was thus only one link in a long chain, part of a sustained effort to reach a peaceful settlement. It also shows that Abdullah maintained his contact with the Zionists almost without a break, and in the face of all the opposition and hazards involved, from the creation of the Amirate of Transjordan in 1921 almost until his dying day.

In official Israeli circles the reaction to Abdullah's assassination was one of profound shock and concern for the future. He was seen as the closest thing to a friend that Israel possessed among the Arab leaders. No one felt the blow more acutely than Elias Sasson, the diplomat of Lebanese extraction who knew how to offer and elicit sympathy, and with whom he had held countless meetings. Sasson described Abdullah's disappearance from the political scene as a grave loss to Jordan, to the Arab world, to the Western world and to Israel. As he wrote to his superiors,

King Abdullah was the only Arab statesman who showed an understanding for our national renewal, a sincere desire to come to a settlement with us, and a realistic attitude to most of our demands and arguments… King Abdullah, despite being an Arab nationalist and a Muslim zealot, knew how to look with an open and penetrating eye on events… He also served as the trumpet announcing these changes to the members of his nation and religion wherever they might be, in a pleasant, moderate, and logical tone. We as well as some of the Arabs and foreigners are going to feel for a long time to come his absence, and to regret more than a little his removal from our midst.
¹⁸

The Zionist leaders were acutely aware that in their relations with their neighbour to the east they depended almost entirely on one individual, and they regretted that it proved impossible to develop normal state-to-state relations even after both countries had attained formal
independence. But for the most part they accepted this exclusive link with the royal court as an unfortunate fact of life. Abdullah, for all his limitations, was a sincere friend and a genuine man of peace. David Ben-Gurion, the founder of the State of Israel and its first prime minister, emphasized Abdullah's uniqueness among Arab rulers in a consultation on Arab policy held after the Egyptian Free Officers' Revolution of July 1952. ‘We did have one man,' recalled Ben-Gurion, ‘about whom we knew that he wanted peace with Israel, and we tried to negotiate with him, but the British interfered, until a bullet came and put an end to business. With the removal of the Abdullah factor, the whole matter was finished.'
¹⁹