A History of Egyptian Communism: Jews and Their Compatriots in Quest of Revolution 9781588269591

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A History of Egyptian Communism

A History of Egyptian Communism Jews and Their Compatriots in Quest of Revolution Rami Ginat

b o u l d e r l o n d o n

Published in the United States of America in 2011 by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 1800 30th Street, Boulder, Colorado 80301 www.rienner.com and in the United Kingdom by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London WC2E 8LU  2011 by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Ginat, Rami. A history of Egyptian communism : Jews and their compatriots in quest of revolution / Rami Ginat. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-58826-759-7 (hardcover : alk. paper) 1. Communism—Egypt—History. 2. Jewish communists—Egypt—History. 3. Jews—Political activity—Egypt. I. Title. HX443.A6G57 2011 320.53'20962—dc23 2011020129 British Cataloguing in Publication Data A Cataloguing in Publication record for this book is available from the British Library.

Printed and bound in the United States of America The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1992. 5 4 3 2 1

For Oliver and For all autistic people For whom I wish a more peaceful, considerate, and understanding world

Contents

Acknowledgments

ix

1 Introduction

1

2 Early Socialist Thought in Egypt

9

3 The Emergence of Organized Communism

25

4 The Formation of the Egyptian Communist Party

55

5 In the Shadow of the Rosenthal Affair

103

6 A Labyrinth of Intrigues and Betrayals

133

7 The Quest for Comintern Patronage

187

8 The Rise of “Homemade” Egyptian Communism

205

9 The New Communist Organizations

231

10 Ephemeral Unity

277

11 The National Question and the Case of Sudan

301

12 The Thorny Issue of Palestine

329

vii

viii

Contents

13 Revolutionary Ideas and Their Impact

353

14 Conclusion

373

Appendixes 1 List of Acronyms and Abbreviations 2 Egyptian Communist and Left-Wing Organizations 3 Jewish ECP Deportees and the Stalinist Purges

383 385 389

Bibliography Index About the Book

407 417 431

Acknowledgments

To begin, I would like to express my gratitude and appreciation to

the Israeli Science Foundation (ISF) for a generous research grant (178/04), which helped me to pursue prolonged study in a variety of archives and libraries worldwide. In addition, this book was published with the support of the ISF. The Middle East Centre of St. Antony’s College was my academic home during a two-year sabbatical (2007– 2009). I thank the college and staff for their warm and kind hospitality. I am particularly grateful to Avi Shlaim for his kindness. I also thank my friends and colleagues in the Department of Political Studies, Bar-Ilan University, for their thoughtfulness. I gratefully acknowledge the assistance extended to me by the staff of the various archives and libraries mentioned in the bibliography. I have benefited considerably from the goodwill and support of many people (some of whom chose to remain anonymous), and I would like to express my sincere gratitude for their kindness. Hillel Schwartz dedicated a great deal of time to share his recollections of his communist experience. Mary Rosenthal-Kamil and Sa‘d Kamil gave me a warm welcome and helped me to establish contacts with Harun Shata’s family (Marcel, Nadia, and Magda), Arie Albert, Sharif Hatata, and other former communists. Muhammad ‘Abd al-Fadl of Dar al-Thaqafa al-Jadida provided me with helpful literature and introduced me to Yusuf al-Jindi. The late Lutfi al-Khuli was a source of intellectual inspiration and was the first to direct me to the subject of Egyptian communist Jews. Avraham Farhi was a great source of help—a bank of information— who dedicated a great deal of time to support my research. He also introduced me to Joe Adler and to others who prefer to remain anonymous. Sa‘d al-Din Ibrahim shared his knowledge with me, and Arturo Schwartz was ix

x

Acknowledgments

eager to narrate his own recollections. Yair Tzaban, Arie Shlosberg, Beni Kimchi, and Ovadia Yerushalmi were very helpful; the latter provided me with his private papers, and I thank him for that. Special thanks to my friend and colleague Yossi Amitay for his interest in my work, particularly for introducing me to Joyce Blau, who was both kind and helpful. Boris Morozov, ‘Abd al-Hamid ‘Uthman, Dima Course, Shulamit Haran, and Haim Gal helped along the way. Special thanks to Ursula Wokoeck for her friendship. Her remarks and comments at the later stage of the study were illuminating. I also thank Israel Gershoni, a mentor and friend, for his encouragement. Last but not least is Meir Noema, a close friend and colleague, who followed this study from conception to conclusion. His inspiration and insights were of utmost importance to me. Finally, I would like to thank my wife and my children as well as the extended Ganach-Ginat family for their ceaseless support and love. —Rami Ginat

1 Introduction

This book provides a revised narrative of the history of Egyptian

communism, with special reference to the role of Egyptian Jews in both its development and its impact on Egypt and the wider Middle East. The history of Egypt’s Jewish population has of course been the subject of several studies.1 But those dealing with the first half of the twentieth century, the period under discussion here, with very few exceptions2 refer only marginally to the substantial role played by Egyptian Jews in the emergence and development of communism in Egypt. Likewise, contemporary Middle Eastern scholars have given considerable attention to the subject of communism and socialism in the Arab Middle East in general, and in Egypt in particular, but with little attention to the role of Jews in the development of the movements. Generally speaking, the literature on communism and socialism in the Arab Middle East can be divided into four main categories. The first category includes scholarly works written shortly after the events that they address.3 The second includes research offering a deeper historical perspective. These studies rely to a large extent on Western archival material, both British and US, while also drawing considerably on the source material found in the private archives of key communist figures. The authors conducted interviews with prominent communist activists connected to the heterogeneous Arab communist camp and made use of Arabic literature on the subject.4 The third category of literature includes books in Arabic written by former communist activists. This literature enables us to broaden our knowledge of the ideological roots and origins of the communist movements in Egypt; their patterns of action; their contribution to social and political developments in Egypt; their processes of integration, as well 1

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A History of Egyptian Communism

as internal quarrels and splits; and the complex challenges and issues that they had to face from their early days until recent years.5 The fourth category of literature includes biographies, memoirs, and autobiographies written by or about former Jewish communist activists who went into exile.6 In the present study, I endeavor to complete the picture by systematically describing and analyzing the central stages in the history of the communist movements in Egypt.

Scope and Methods

I begin the story in the late 1910s—the initial phase of organized communism —and conclude in the early 1950s, a period that marked the decisive decline of the influential position of Jews in Egyptian communism. The deportation of Henri Curiel, Hillel Schwartz, and Marcel Israel, as well as many other prominent and rank-and-file Jewish communist activists in the early 1950s, marked a major break in the history of Egyptian communism. Nevertheless, Jews—in particular Henri Curiel and his inner circle—continued to be actively involved in Egyptian communism in the pre- and postrevolution eras. Indeed, organized communism continued to exist after the July 1952 Revolution, despite the new regime’s attempts to root it out. My investigation proceeds in four stages. First, I present the major developments chronologically to pinpoint the beginning and end of each phase in the history of Egyptian communism. Then, I turn to the initiators of the communist movements in Egypt, seeking to discern their motives for involvement and tracing the factors responsible for the failure of each phase of organized communism. The achievements, successes, and failures of participants in the communist movements are discussed systematically and thoroughly. In the third stage, I closely review the general social and political state of affairs that prevailed in Egypt during each historical phase of organized communism, assessing the implications of the sociopolitical context for the development of communism and communist activities. This discussion is extended, as well, to the interrelations between communist and noncommunist political groups in Egypt in an exploration of the significance and contribution of communists to the advancement of the political and social national goals that were of the utmost importance: the struggle for liberation and the introduction of a socialist platform. I do not include in the study the history of the Egyptian working class or the labor movement, which are satisfactorily dealt with in excellent studies by Joel Beinin and Zachary Lockman, Elias Goldberg, Taha Sa‘d

Introduction

3

‘Uthman, and others.7 Relying on these works and other sources, I make references to workers and labor affairs only within the broader context of the communist movements. A series of questions inform the analysis throughout. What were the motives behind the Egyptian Jews’ decisions to embrace communist ideas and to play a leading role in organizing communist groups? What were the nature and quality of the interrelations between the communist and the nationalist groups in Egypt? Did Jewish communists see themselves first and foremost as committed to the internationalist revolutionary ideas derived from Marxist-Leninist philosophy, or were they mainly motivated by an Egyptian-nationalist revolutionary urge: the advancement of nationalist ideas (such as Egypt’s complete liberation from foreign influence and rule) and the resolution of the enormous problems of the socially cloven and polarized Egyptian society? Why did Jews play such a central role in the high tide of organized communism of the 1940s? What were the main factors that made this development possible? In my attempt to answer these questions, I pay careful attention to the mutual feedback between political and social history and the history of ideas. The emergence of communism and communist activity in Egypt was a result of both international and national political, social, and intellectual developments. Each phase of organized communism had its own character. The complex issue of ideology vs. realpolitik is thoroughly examined, and I consider whether Egyptian communism was first built on a cohesive ideology and then translated into political and social action, or vice versa. In this context, I analyze the content and the evolutionary dynamic of communist ideas throughout the period under investigation. My analysis of the splits and rivalries within the various communist organizations, as well as the rivalries between them, relies heavily on the sociological study of “organizational dynamics.”8 According to that approach, each organization should be closely scrutinized in terms of the role of individuals, interpersonal relations and internal conflicts, challenging behaviors, methods of communication, and group dynamics, as well as leadership and team issues interfering with individual productivity and work goals. Gareth Morgan went further, stating that conflict will always be present in organizations: “Conflict may be personal, interpersonal, or between rival groups or coalitions. It may be built into organizational structures, roles, attitudes, and stereotypes or arise over a scarcity of resources. It may be explicit or covert. Whatever the reason, and whatever the form it takes, its source rests in some perceived or real divergence of interests.”9 One of my underlying assumptions is that the statements made by communist theoreticians were formulated in response to the current so-

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A History of Egyptian Communism

ciopolitical context, yet at the same time also had a part in shaping that context. Pursuing the logic of this concatenation, I draw on the insights offered by John Higham, Quentin Skinner, and Rush Welter. These help to clarify my combined application of “internal” and “external” frameworks to the intellectual’s emplacement, borrowed from the “history of ideas.” I also investigate the nature of the intellectual activities of Jewish communists in Egypt, examining whether their intellectual activities fall in line with the paradigm of “dissident intellectual,” as suggested by J. P. Nettl and Edgar Morin. Another line of inquiry involves what might be another particularity of Jewish communists in Egypt. It seemed that, in their identity search as part of a tiny minority group, many of these Jews embraced the most radical nationalist view that prevailed at the time—an extreme mode of the secular version of Egyptian territorial nationalism. In the immediate context in which they operated, they deemed themselves first and foremost to be Egyptian nationalists, but in their long-term visions, their commitment to internationalism was unmistakable. In this regard, they fall into the paradigm of Marxist theories, later modified by Emile Durkheim’s nonMarxist sociological approach, explaining the motivation behind the actions of minority groups within a movement for national liberation. Moreover, the implications of the minority’s involvement for the society as a whole are important. Durkheim’s conception hinges on a modernization approach that is in line with Clifford Geertz’s analysis.10 Early versions of modernization approaches, as for example formulated by Geertz, suggest that the establishment of new (collective) identities would eventually create new states, which in turn would overcome premodern identities. Following that line of thought, my analysis suggests that Jewish communists in Egypt, as a minority group, may fit in with Richard Martin’s argument that “minorities often play a role in the social change of the larger society. For instance, they may serve as an irritant that provokes social change, and they may provoke or may be provoked into clashes with the dominant culture, causing social dissatisfaction and unrest.”11 Drawing on the insights offered by the recently emerging research trends in transnational history, I aim to avoid the essentializing views of a history written from a national(ist) perspective. Rather, I wish to examine the relationship that exists between nation and those factors that go beyond the nation.12 To quote Ann Curthoys and Marilyn Lake, “transnational history seeks to understand ideas, things, people, and practices which have crossed national boundaries.”13 In line with the transnational perspective, for purposes of this study I consider anyone who was of Jewish origin to

Introduction

5

be Jewish, and anyone who lived in Egypt and regarded it as his/her homeland to be Egyptian. In this context, the cosmopolitan nature of large sections of Egyptian society during the period under review should be recalled. Indeed, many Egyptian communists were quintessential cosmopolitans. Alongside Jews in the Egyptian communist movements there were Egyptian Muslims, Armenians, Greeks, the occasional Briton and Russian, and others, as well as the offspring of “mixed marriages.” Egyptian Jews were sophisticated and mobile. Many of them attended the French lycées and other foreign schools and moved in international circles. Particularly in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Jews were geographically mobile, and thousands of them looked to Egypt as a land of opportunity (e.g., Joseph Rosenthat, the father of Egyptian communism). Unlike the “homegrown” Karaite and Mizrahi/Sepharadic Jews, who had lived for centuries in Egypt, the first Jewish communists migrated to Egypt from Eastern Europe in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. It should also be mentioned that some Jewish communist activists were Ottoman subjects who had settled in Egypt prior to World War I. The nationality laws (including that of 1929) granted Egyptian citizenship to them and their children. Some were foreign nationals who were permanent residents (mutamassirun) protected by the capitulation arrangements; when the capitulation privileges were abolished, following the Montreux Convention in 1937, they either claimed Egyptian nationality or remained European nationals. Some were emigrants who adhered to internationalist ideas and found in Egypt under the British a temporary place of refuge. Individual cases are discussed throughout the book.14 The story of Egyptian communism is a story of several communist movements. Ever since its appearance in the 1910s, Egyptian communism has been characterized by the presence of rival organizations vying for hegemony over the communist camp; one united communist movement remained solidly within the bounds of wishful thinking. The phrase “Egyptian communist movement” has often been used in the literature in reference to organized communism (i.e., one movement comprising various rival organizations), but I employ that phrase only in citations from and references to that literature. With regard to the literature more broadly, this study is based on a large variety of sources in Arabic, English, French, Hebrew, Russian, and Yiddish. I have drawn on primary sources, studied in the Arabic original, including books, essays, and articles by former communist activists and Arab intellectuals, in order to clarify the internal discourse on ideological concerns in each phase of Egyptian communism. For the description and

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A History of Egyptian Communism

analysis of the evolution of organized communism and the role and place of Jews in it—from the inarticulate and inconsistent ideology of the early days to the elaborate and more systematic ideology and policy practice of the 1940s and 1950s—much of the source material is gleaned from archives in Amsterdam (the International Institute of Social History), Egypt, Israel, Russia, the United Kingdom, and the United States. Interviews with former communist and noncommunist Egyptian Jews, as well as with Egyptian former left-wingers, constitute an additional layer of source material.

Structure of the Book

The book is divided into fourteen chapters. Following this introductory chapter, Chapter 2 examines the gradual development of socialist thought in Egypt prior to the formation of formal socialist organizations. Its focus is on the conceptual ideas developed by the pioneers of socialism in Egypt during the first two decades of the twentieth century. Chapters 3 through 10 examine chronologically the historical phases in the history of the communist movements from the early days in the 1910s to the early 1950s. Throughout this period, Jews and their Egyptian compatriots worked shoulder to shoulder in the various factions to advance their revolutionary platform. The failures and achievements of each historical phase are discussed in depth. More specifically, Chapters 3, 4, and 5 cover the late 1910s and early 1920s, shedding new light on the origins of organized communism and its working relations with the Comintern in 1920 and 1921. Special emphasis is placed on the unique role played by Joseph Rosenthal and his inner circle in the formation of the Alexandrian communist faction. (Chapter 4 offers a solution to one of the most mysterious and hitherto unresolved questions related to the early history of the Egyptian Communist Party: was the Comintern behind Rosenthal’s expulsion from the party?) Chapters 6 and 7 cover the period from the mid-1920s to the mid1930s, a period that witnessed a growing involvement of the Comintern in Egypt and the Middle East. Chapters 8, 9, and 10 discuss the new phase in the development of Egyptian communism that set in after the disengagement from the Comintern. That phase was characterized by the appearance of homemade organized communism—less internationalist in its essence and more nationalist in its main features. Chapters 11, 12, and 13 present thematic analyses of the communist stand on the national question with special reference to Sudan; views on the issue of Palestine and attitudes toward Zionism; and theoretical and practi-

Introduction

7

cal views on social and economic ideological concerns. These chapters show that the communist movements swam against the national current on key issues—and paid a heavy price for it—although their positions were later adopted in part by Egyptian policymakers. Chapter 14 is a brief conclusion. In sum, my intention in the chapters that follow is to shed new light on some of the heretofore obscure aspects related to the history of Egyptian communism and, by highlighting the role of Jewish communists, to present a more comprehensive account.

Notes 1. See for instance, Goitein, Jews and Arabs; Lewis, The Jews of Islam; Landau, Jews in Nineteenth-Century Egypt; Husni, Al-Yahud fi Misr; Kramer, The Jews in Modern Egypt; al-Ghar, Yahud Misr; Laskier, The Jews of Egypt; Shamir, The Jews of Egypt; Beinin, The Dispersion; Meital, Jewish Sites; Kimchi, Zionism. 2. Both Joel Beinin and Muhammad Abu al-Ghar dedicate a chapter to Jewish communists in their books (see note 1). Irmgard Schrand’s book, Jews in Egypt: Communists and Citizens, is perhaps by far the most profound research on Jewish Egyptian communists. Schrand analyzes the motives and factors behind the involvement of Jews in the communist movements, particularly since the late 1930s. The study provides a critical account of the discourse within Egypt on the role played by Egyptian Jews in the communist movements in the period 1937–1964, while it does not aim at a systematic study of the history of the communist movements. 3. See, for instance, Laqueur, Communism and Nationalism; Agwani, Communism in the Arab East. 4. See, for instance, Botman, The Rise; Bashear, Communism in the Arab East; Mursi, Al-‘Alaqat; see also Mursi, Tatawwur; Beinin, Was the Red Flag; Beinin, The Dispersion; Amitay, Egypt–Israel; Beinin and Lockman, Workers. In recent years, Russian scholars have published some works on communism in the Arab East. See for instance, Kosach, Krasnyy Flag; Kosach, “Pervye Kommunisty Yegipta”; Stanislavovich, Evoliutsiia Politiki SSSR. 5. Rif‘at al-Sa‘id may be regarded as the most prominent and productive communist writer (see the bibliography), producing extensive studies on the Egyptian Left and the communist movements in Egypt throughout the twentieth century. His works are largely based on primary communist sources, interviews with many former communist activists (Jews included), official Egyptian documents, British archival material, a wide range of communist and noncommunist publications, and secondary sources in several languages. Ra’uf ‘Abbas’s book, Awraq Henri Curiel (1988), was the Arabic edition of Curiel’s unpublished autobiography (1978) and other important documents written by Curiel, with a long introduction by ‘Abbas. His analysis and interpretation of Curiel’s papers provoked a stormy debate, most of which appeared on the pages of the venerable cultural journal al-Hilal (1988). It also led to the publication of Ibrahim Fathi’s book, Henri Curiel didda alHaraka al-Shuyu‘iyya al-‘Arabiyya: al-qadiyya al-filastiniyya (Henri Curiel against the Arab communist movement: the Palestinian question). Shortly after the

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A History of Egyptian Communism

publication of Fathi’s book, Mustafa Tiba published his Al-Haraka al-Shuyu‘iyya al-Misriyya 1945–1965, recollections of the communist movement. Among the books belonging to the third group, one should also mention Yusuf al-Jindi’s Masirat Hayati (his memoirs) and his other books; Taha Sa‘d ‘Uthman, Wahdat alHaraka al-‘Ummaliyya fi Misr wa-al-‘Alam (four volumes of recollections and documents of the history of the Egyptian labor movement with some references to communism); Sharif Hatata’s Al-Nawafidhu al-maftuha (his memoirs) and his other books; Yusuf Darwish’s unpublished recollections; Ahmad Sadiq Sa‘d’s books and articles; as well as many other books that are cited in this study. 6. See, for instance, Henri Curiel’s unpublished Pages autobiographiques: Une contribution à l’histoire de la naissance du Parti Communiste Égyptien de 1940 à 1950; and Curiel, Min Ajil Salam ‘Adil fi al-Sharq al-Awsat, a collection of documents on his views regarding the Palestine question and the Arab-Israeli conflict. Gilles Perrault’s A Man Apart tells in extraordinary detail the story of Curiel’s life and work, including many references to the Egyptian communist movements. See also, Marsil Shirizi (Marcel Israel), Awraq Munadil Itali fi Misr; and Didar Fawzi-Rossano’s recollections, Rasa’il ila’ Haba’ibi—Misr. 7. Goldberg, Tinker, Tailor, and Textile Worker; Beinin and Lockman, Workers; ‘Uthman, Wahdat al-Haraka (see his other works in the bibliography). 8. See, for instance, “Interests, Conflict and Power: Organizations as Political Systems,” in Morgan, Images, pp. 149–206. 9. Ibid., p. 163. 10. On Durkheim’s theory, see, for instance, Driedger, The Ethnic Factor, pp. 17–22. On Geertz’s analysis, see Geertz, “The Integrative Revolution,” pp. 255–310. A well-presented analysis of the approaches of Marx, Durkheim, and Geertz in the context of minorities in the Middle East may be found in Ben-Dor, “Minorities in the Middle-East,” pp. 1–30. 11. Martin, “From Dhimmis to Minorities,” p. 14. 12. See, for instance, Tyrrell, Transnational Nation. 13. Curthoys and Lake, Connected Worlds, p. 5. “Lives Beyond Borders: Toward a Social History of Cosmopolitans and Globalization, 1880–1960” was the topic of a conference held in February 2010 at the University of Heidelberg. See http://hsozkult.geschichte.hu-berlin.de/tagungsberichte/id=3087. 14. On the legal status of the various Jewish groups living in Egypt, see Shamir, “The Evolution of the Egyptian Nationality Laws and Their Application to the Jews in the Monarchy Period,” in Shamir, The Jews of Egypt, pp. 33–67.

2 Early Socialist Thought in Egypt

The first two decades of the twentieth century saw the gradual

emergence of socialist ideas, which paved the way for the development of socialist political organizations. The bearers of new socialist ideas were both Egyptians and Arab intellectuals. The latter left the Fertile Crescent for Egypt due to the anti-intellectual climate prevailing in the Ottoman Empire under the reign of ‘Abd al-Hamid II (1876–1908/1909) and later due to the preference given to Muslim Turks during the rule of the Young Turks (1908–1918), which was accompanied by discriminative and regressive measures against Arabic-speaking groups, stirring indignation and bitterness among many educated and intellectual circles. Among those Arab immigrants were Shibli Shumayyil (1850–1917) and Niqula al-Haddad (1878–1954). When Shibli Shumayyil arrived in Egypt, the intellectual scene was embroiled in a stormy debate on the relationship between science and religion. At that time the heralds of Islamic modernism Jamal al-Din alAfghani (1839–1897) and Muhammad ‘Abdu (1849–1905) were active and influential. Unlike other intellectuals, who tried to show that religion and science were compatible, Shumayyil did his utmost to prove the opposite. In his view the enemies of science were also enemies of the people. Shumayyil was renowned as a courageous person, a firm believer in science and socialism.1 Shumayyil attacked the traditional social order and its political elite—the rulers and the upper class. He envisioned a universal society based on harmony among nations inspired by science. Humanity should follow the course of socialism—the leaders should serve their people and not the other way around. His dogmatic approach isolated him,

9

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however, even among those who wanted to embrace the advantages of modern science without rejecting religion.2 Shumayyil was probably more of a theoretician than a politician, but he was the first to put forward a gradual scheme for the introduction and spread of socialist ideas. His followers developed his ideas and courageously expressed their socialist views in their bid for the leadership of the labor movement. Shumayyil laid the foundation to a new school of socialism that despite its lack of immediate success had long-term repercussions. Many enlightened groups came to embrace it in the course of time. Among these disciples were Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid, Isma‘il Mathar, Salama Musa, Mustafa Hasanain al-Mansuri, Niqula al-Haddad, and others.3 Niqula al-Haddad, who migrated from Syria to Egypt, was one of the pioneers of socialist thought in Egypt and the first in the history of socialist thought in Egypt to present the socialist theory in a logical and simple manner.4 He settled in Egypt and soon became involved in Egypt’s struggle for independence, showing strong anti-British sentiments. He was one of the advocates and speakers of the lower classes. He encouraged them to participate in the events of March 1919, which many in Egypt and abroad see as the “1919 Revolution.”5 Haddad was puzzled by the swift eruption and quick end of the 1919 Revolution. He wondered what the true standpoints of the various social forces and classes were. Drawing on the social sciences, he tried to find an answer to these questions. The ensuing study, entitled ‘Ilm al-Ijtima‘ (social sciences),6 was the first of its kind in Egypt. It was based on the principles of Marx’s theory of scientific socialism. Haddad recognized that the evolution of society was a result of a struggle between its inherent contradictions. According to him, history did not repeat itself. Human society had evolved on the basis of exploitation forcing certain modes of slavery on the weaker social elements in order to accumulate capital. Slavery manifested itself not only through interclass relations, but also within the smallest social cell, the family, where men enslaved their weaker wives. The enslaved worker pursued his work not in order to enjoy the benefit of his labor but to protect himself from his enslaver’s whip. Workers who did not double their daily working time could not earn a worthy salary for making their living. Haddad held the ruling elite of private owners responsible for this unbearable situation of a society divided into masters and slaves. The deprivation of the working classes and the perpetuation of the state of social polarization were the causes of social discontent leading to the workers’ involvement in the 1919 Revolution and to the strikes and demonstrations in the early 1920s.7 In Haddad’s view, socialism meant a total change of the social order. He rejected notions of gradual reforms within the existing Egyptian so-

Early Socialist Thought in Egypt

11

ciopolitical system. The main features of his revolutionary ideas included the prohibition of capitalists increasing their capital by exploiting the workers. Profit should be the fruit of hard work and should be shared equally among all producers involved. The government should fully control the means of production for the sake of the whole nation. The publication of his book al-Ishtirakiyya (socialism) in 19208 coincided with a worldwide rise in socialist ideas including in Egypt. Haddad predicted that socialism would become the world’s hegemonic socioeconomic system. Differences and contradictions between socialist parties were on tactics and methods of how to implement the socialist order on the ruins of capitalism—the socialist solution was inevitable. In order to emphasize the inherent blemishes of capitalism, Haddad often employed the terminology drawn from Karl Marx’s Capital. He mourned that modern technology and innovations neither served the workers nor improved their lot, but rather achieved the opposite—they raised the yield and enhanced the well-being of the rich while increasing poverty among the working classes.9 Haddad emphasized the principle that political democracy should precede socialism, since socialism is merely the democratization of economic life, and therefore the people must elect the government. In his vision of a socialist state, the whole nation should own the land and the people’s government would exercise its power over the land; as such it would distribute equal portions of agricultural land to the cultivators—the fellahin. The nation would also be the sole owner of the country’s economic resources— telecommunication facilities, railways, water, gas, all industries, hotels, and so on. In his socialist state, there would be no individual capitalists; the public would own the capital and their elected representatives would administer it. Having the state control all fields of production would guarantee employment and a respectable salary for everyone, while employees would work half a day and devote the other half to relaxation and studies. The state would grant its citizens equal rights with regard to tuition and health services.10 Haddad’s complex vision of socialism drew on a wide range of sources: Marx’s philosophy, the ideas of US socialists, the works of Arab intellectuals from the Fertile Crescent, Egyptian nationalists who led the struggle for national liberation, and the development of a revolutionary consciousness among the Egyptian working classes as shown during the uprising of March 1919 and thereafter. However, one may agree with Rif‘at al-Sa‘id’s evaluation that Haddad’s influence on the revolutionary movement was quite limited. Haddad was a petit-bourgeois intellectual who isolated himself from the revolutionary movement and its struggle to achieve some of the goals he himself preached. His impact could have

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been greater had he continued to follow his first steps in Egypt, when his initial socialist ideas were a product of a constant interaction with the Egyptian revolutionary movement. But Haddad gradually withdrew from active involvement and adhered dogmatically to his own ideas.11 Salama Musa (1887–1958), a seminal Egyptian intellectual, acquired his higher education as an autodidact during his long stay in France and England from 1907 to 1911. He had begun to develop socialist thoughts in Egypt in the years just prior to World War I. Musa was regarded as one of the earliest exponents of socialism in Egypt and an important intellectual who published books and articles on society, economics, justice, reformism, education, and politics. As a prominent figure in the socialist movement in Egypt, he introduced several generations of young idealists to socialist thought. Musa condemned Arab and Egyptian intellectuals of his generation for praising ‘Abd al-Hamid II rather than challenging his despotic rule. He also criticized his fellow intellectuals for not being sufficiently knowledgeable in science and philosophy.12 Musa’s socialist thought was based on two ideas: first, the exploitation inherent in the capitalist system; and second, the exploitive nature of the Egyptian class structure.13 Musa’s influence on and contribution to the development of modern political thought in Egypt was twofold: First, he opened many hatches to European thought. Second, Musa embodied the traits and character of a scholar, philosopher, and political leader. He was a socialist of a special kind, defending socialism in a glorious and courageous way—a combination of a Marxist and a Fabian—an intellectual influenced by Marx’s ideas as expressed by the First International (1864– 1876) and by Bernard Shaw’s Fabian ideas expressed during the Second International (1889–1916), as well as by Darwinist ideas. This compound web of thought did not help his finest drives to gain the full backing of the working class.14 Musa was the main theoretician and advocate of Fabian ideas. While living in England, he became a member of the Fabian Society and was influenced to a great extent by George Bernard Shaw, who together with Herbert George Wells, Beatrice and Sidney Webb, and other socialists founded the society in 1884. Shaw and Wells aimed at introducing moderate and gradual social reforms, which would be accompanied by the nurturing of education. They totally rejected the Marxist idea of a swift and overall revolution. They suggested a human and liberal socialist democracy that would embrace socialism by moderate reforms within a parliamentary democratic framework. In their view, socialism was cosmopolitan and universal.15 Musa introduced his society to European socialism claiming that socialism was the future. Socialism was a result of the growth of the means of pro-

Early Socialist Thought in Egypt

13

duction in the nineteenth century. Until then, he explained, a man was independent, producing and selling his goods by himself. Following the spread of new means of production in the nineteenth century, people were divided into two groups: owners of factories and workers. The working class lost hope for improving their social conditions, whereas the capitalists became richer. The means of production were the cause of social discontent and the reason for the emergence of socialism. Musa predicted that in the twentieth century the capitalists’ hegemonic role would come to an end.16 Indeed, it was Musa who published in 1913 one of the first works on socialism in Arabic—al-Ishtirakiyya (socialism).17 It was a short monograph, which was not a careful study of Marxism but rather a collection of Musa’s impressions and reactions following his reading of Karl Marx’s Capital.18 Musa held that society should arrive at socialism not by revolutionary and violent means but rather by the diffusion of knowledge, the liberation of women, a reorganization of the institution of marriage, the vital importance of work for society, the freedom of the individual, and other lofty ideas.19 Musa came to three major conclusions: Egypt was ruled by a European power due to the weakness of its society. In order to open the road to socialism, it was necessary for the Egyptian people to be trained in democratic rule. If properly disseminated, socialist ideas would eventually be adopted by the ruling political elite.20 Another prominent socialist theoretician to be active in Egypt under British rule was Mustafa Hasanain al-Mansuri, who published his book Ta’rikh al-Madhahib al-Ishtirakiyya (the history of socialist schools) in 1915. Al-Mansuri expounded a more elaborate and aggressive Marxism, attempting to develop a nationalist version of Marxist socialism and adapt it to the conditions in Arab countries.21 According to al-Mansuri, different countries could arrive at socialism by different paths, and different forms of political activity were suitable for different countries. It was wrong, he declared, “to perceive socialism as a set of fixed principles, which cannot be changed or amended, or that its advocates should have the same appearance and opinions everywhere.” The means, he stated, could differ, depending on the form of government and the social system in which they function, as long as they all agreed on the same goal.22 Al-Mansuri’s contribution to early Arab socialist thought focused on three principles of Marxist theory: “First, the necessity of public ownership of the primary means of production; second, the adaptation of socialism to the objective conditions of every country; and third, the inevitability of socialist solutions.”23 Al-Mansuri’s and Haddad’s formulations of socialist ideas in Arabic went beyond Egypt to the larger Arab world. They attracted a following despite their lack of attention to issues of strategy because they addressed

14

A History of Egyptian Communism

the fundamental injustices in the prevailing social and economic conditions.24 Unlike Salama Musa, who was a theoretician and politician involved directly in the formation of the Egyptian Socialist Party in 1921, Haddad’s and al-Mansuri’s contributions remained theoretical.

The Public Discourse on Socialism Following the Bolshevik Revolution

The reaction of the Islamic orthodoxy to the emergence of socialist thought in Egypt became more noticeable only after the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia and the subsequent rise of communism there. The severest offense on communism was made on 2 July 1919 in a form of a fatwa (formal legal opinion) by the Grand Mufti, Shaykh Muhammad Bakhit, who identified Bolshevism with the Mardukism and Zardashtism in the land of ancient Persia. Bolshevik communism, warned Shaykh Bakhit, destroys all divine laws especially the doctrines of Islam, because it recommends what God has considered illegal in his book. It legalizes shedding blood, allows trespassing, treachery, lies, and rape, causing anarchy to spread among the people with regard to their property, their women, children, and inheritance, until they eventually become worse than heists . . . such people are nothing but apostates, whose “way” demolishes human society, destroys the order of the world, leads to apostasy, threatens the whole world with horrible distress and bitter troubles, and instigates the lower classes against any system founded upon reason, morals and virtue.25

The fatwa provoked a stormy public debate regarding its authenticity and timing as well as the causes and factors behind its publication. “An unacceptable fatwa,” declared Tawfiq Habib in an article published in Al-Akhbar on 19 August 1919. Habib ridiculed the Grand Mufti’s harsh words against Bolshevism, which he saw as a social movement devolving from socialist principles. The forces behind the fatwa were anti-Bolshevik imperialist powers that were anxious about the rise of the socialist movement, which reached its climax in the Bolshevik Revolution. Habib called on the Grand Mufti to provide the relevant evidence and sources to support his allegations against Bolshevism.26 Criticism of the fatwa also came from Islamic circles. Rashid Rida (1865–1925), the pastor of the reformist Salafiyya movement, maintained that from many points of view the fatwa was a mistake on the part of the Mufti as well as “on the part of the British government that asked him to publish it.” The Mufti, noted Rida, wrote the fatwa in a poor fashion em-

Early Socialist Thought in Egypt

15

ploying weak historical sources to justify his arguments. In Rida’s view, the spread of Bolshevism in Egypt was not a mission impossible. A person with suitable rhetorical skills could easily spread the idea, if he spoke “to the people in the street and the working classes [for whom] every verse in the Koran can be interpreted in favor of Bolshevism. Bolshevism is much akin to many teachings of the Mufassirin of the first period of Islam; Bait al-mal is Bolshevism, and the Hanbali madhhab is Bolshevism itself.” The correct way to combat Bolshevism was not “to ask a fatwa from a senile old man like Shaykh Bakhit, because everybody here believes that Bolshevism is good to make the British leave Egypt, and everybody believes that the fatwa has no value, because it is a fatwa de commande.” Rida stressed that in order to halt the development of Bolshevism it was essential to explain what real Bolshevism was. Bolshevism, stated Rida, was against the principle of proprietorship, and since there were powerful proprietors in Egypt who knew that Bolshevism would deprive them of their land, they would side with the government in order to prevent such a possibility.27 In reference to the fatwa and in order to explain his own view of communism, Rashid Rida published an article on socialism, Bolshevism, and religion in his journal Al-Manar on 26 August 1919. Bolshevism, he reasoned, was the same as socialism, aiming at the elimination of “the authority of the greedy lords of wealth and their helpers, the rulers who support them, who have imposed their materialist laws that are based on devouring the rights of the workers in their own countries and on the colonization of the countries of other, weaker peoples.” The literal meaning of Bolshevik, explained Rida, was “majority,” which meant that real rule among every people should be in the hands of the majority of the nation, and those were the workers in industry, agriculture, and other fields. That could become possible when the authority of the lords of wealth and their high-ranking partisans was terminated. The Bolsheviks succeeded in Russia; there they overthrew the oppressive tyrannical tsarist state, “the oppression and tyranny of which did not prevent governments that claim to be democratic—the French and British—from allying themselves with it and making agreements with it on how to partition the Ottoman and Persian territories.” Although not in favor of Bolshevism, Rida sympathized with its struggle to restore justice and to liberate the oppressed: We are certain that it is inconceivable that their activities and systems would be in accordance with the rules of Islam; and it is not for the Muslims, who observe their religion, to follow them. But this is not something that pertains only to the Bolsheviks; it pertains to all the positivist laws that are followed in Europe and also in the East—such as in

16

A History of Egyptian Communism

Egypt and the Ottoman state, where some regulations violate Islamic law. The Muslims wish for the success of the socialists in eliminating the enslavement of the peoples (all of whom are workers), while they reject their practices—and the practices of everyone else—that violate Islamic law. It is understood that we are anyway not expecting them to implement all the branches of Islamic law, since they are not Muslims.28

Shaykh Bakhit’s fatwa caused a storm of criticism in the Egyptian press. All critical contributions endeavored to persuade their readers that if true Bolshevism were adopted in Egypt, the country would be saved. For instance, articles published by the Wafdist paper Wadi al-Nil stressed that Bolshevism was to raise the oppressed majority and take the authority from the tyrannical minority in order to restore equality and make justice prevail among people. Bolshevism was the uprising of the oppressed nations against their tyrannical governments and the subjugation of the exploiting upper class.29

Further Debate in Al-Ahram

The fatwa of the Grand Mufti was the first shot in the public discourse on socialism/communism and the prospects of its realization in Egypt. In the latter part of August 1921, only a few days before the proclamation of the formation of the Egyptian Socialist Party, a most interesting debate occurred in the newspaper Al-Ahram. Among the participants were key figures from the new Socialist Party, who challenged those who rejected socialism for being unsuitable for Arab societies.30 The debate was launched on 18 August 1921 by Salama Musa, who explained the principal reasons for the impending decision to form a socialist political organization. According to him, a significant number of Egyptian socialists, some of whom witnessed the European class struggle, had decided to form an association including a variety of socialist schools and to work for the realization of socialism in Egypt.31 Regarding the question of timing, Musa admitted that it might be the worst time possible for establishing such an association, mainly for the following reasons: First, Russian Bolshevism seemed to have failed completely. According to Musa, “banners of destruction and ruin fluttered” everywhere in Russia. Second, Egypt was in a state of political distress, and there was no need to aggravate the situation, since the British might use the existence of communism and Bolshevism in order to oppose Egypt’s independence. Musa pointed out that the founders of the socialist association did not overlook these issues; they concluded, however, that

Early Socialist Thought in Egypt

17

the dissemination of moderate socialist ideas would not affect the nationalist struggle. Many of his socialist peers had already expressed their disapproval of Bolshevism. Socialism, stressed Musa, should be realized through gradual social development with special emphasis on reforms within the education system. True, the main goal of socialism was the abolition of private property and its substitution by public ownership. This could only happen, however, after crucial goals had been achieved, such as the dissemination of education among workers, in order to develop their class consciousness. Moreover, it was essential to propagate socialist ideas in the current stage, by all possible legal means, in order to promote the promulgation of laws improving the workers’ housing, increasing their salaries, introducing pensions for those who reached the age of 65, as well as other necessary reforms for the benefit of the lower classes.32 The following day, ‘Ali al-‘Anani, another founding member of the Socialist Party, published an article in which he argued that socialism was not a utopian theory. In his view, socialism aspired to reforms, but it took into account the existing socioeconomic conditions. ‘Anani remonstrated against those who declared that he was a radical socialist, stressing that he adhered to a moderate socialism based on the realization of gradual reforms. Such socialist principles should be legally codified by the law and the constitutional system existing in each country that was to embrace socialism. He called such a system a “moderate practical socialism” (al-ishtirakiyya al-‘amaliyya al-Mu‘atadila).33 On 23 August 1921, in response to ‘Anani’s article, Andrus Hanna attacked the Egyptian socialists and their doctrine, declaring that it was a foreign doctrine. He further emphasized that the bearers of Egyptian socialism were mainly foreigners of European origins living in Egypt and Eastern Arabs who had once lived in Europe. Socialism, argued Hanna, could not be imported to the Arab East, because it was originally a European product. Socialism sprouted in the European cultural environment in reaction to a long period of economic development there. Hanna called ‘Anani and Joseph Rosenthal “new dervishes, who have closed their eyes to everything that is essential in life and open them only to imaginary matters.”34 The following day, it was the turn of Hasan Muhaisan, a postgraduate in commerce, to defend socialism. He severely criticized those who wrote against the new party and its assignment and slandered and demonized Rosenthal personally. Al-Ahram itself, he reminded them, praised more than once Rosenthal’s activities for the workers and his spectacular successes in reducing the rent for housing and in founding a variety of trade unions. He zealously declared that these achievements alone were a good reason for the spread of socialism in Egypt. In his view, socialism and re-

18

A History of Egyptian Communism

ligion could peacefully coexist. The spread of the socialist school and its appropriate learning were vital for both workers and fellahin. The working classes should welcome the advent of a socialist party and accept its leadership in order to rectify the old order.35 Muhammad ‘Abdalla ‘Anan, another key figure in the socialist camp, took part in the polemics and tried to address fears and false images of socialism. Some, he noted, alleged that the social conditions in Egypt could not be transformed and admonished the public about the latent menace of socialism; while others contended that socialism was based on the principles of revolution and anarchy.36 ‘Anan admitted that socialism aspired to wreck the present social order in contrast to superficial alterations such as a change of government or the transition from monarchy to republic. In his view, socialism meant the authority of the public over all means of production, and labor relations based on productivity and justice. He totally ruled out the prospect of a bloody revolution, however. There was no similarity at all between socialism on the one hand and anarchy and communism on the other hand. Although both communism and socialism were in agreement that the wealth should be owned by the state and not by individuals, they widely disagreed with regard to the definition of the individual rights to wealth. Socialism allowed for the distribution of wealth according to the personal productive capabilities of the citizens and generously provided aid to the wretched and oppressed. Communism distributed wealth according to human necessity, without connection to the productivity of the particular individual. To those who claimed that socialism aimed at the total abolition of private property, ‘Anan answered that socialism just aspired to abolish the adverse effects of private ownership in its current form. That is, the overwhelming majority of members of society remained without private property. ‘Anan went further, claiming that socialism did not call for the abolition of the right of inheritance. In his view, a socialist economic program aimed at ending the policy of investments geared toward the accumulation of capital and the continuation of the exploitation of the lower classes, by imposing restrictions on private property rights. Socialism, therefore, called for the state closely to monitor the distribution of capital among its citizens and to prevent individuals from accumulating capital by means of exploitation and deception. ‘Anan concluded that according to socialism, equality did not mean social equality, but rather equal opportunities to everyone on the globe.37 ‘Aziz Mirham, a socialist and the secretary and spokesman of the Egyptian Democratic Party (1919–1922),38 also participated in the debate in Al-Ahram with a series of articles. In an article published on 2 September,

Early Socialist Thought in Egypt

19

shortly after the formal announcement of the establishment of the Egyptian Socialist Party (ESP), he explained to his readers that he had waited with his response until the ESP published its principles and goals. After he read the ESP’s political credo, he felt more confident to defend the socialists and socialism. He condemned the hostile assaults directed against socialism and the ESP by those firmly objecting to the establishment of a socialist party in Egypt. He declared that as long as the ESP would act legally, the authorities had no reason to persecute it. How else could Egypt appeal to the League of Nations with the demand for its independence, considering that the League’s charter determined that member states had to respect workers’ rights to form trade unions and political parties, wondered Mirham. In his view, Egypt should make the utmost of the existence of such a party that would have international links with other socialist parties and thus could advance and defend Egypt’s national goals.39 Mirham’s approach became more intricate several weeks later, when he drew a clear distinction between the socialist idea, which he continued to present positively, and the Egyptian socialists, whom he criticized for their course of action. In his informative article published on 20 September, he explained that although the ESP’s program contained socialist elements, it remained indistinct in its economic chapters. Referring to the articles published by Musa, ‘Anani, and ‘Anan, Mirham argued that one could easily detect meaningful ideological differences between them, particularly between Musa and ‘Anani on the one hand, and ‘Anan on the other hand. Mirham divided his article into two sections: the first analyzed and compared the writings of the Egyptian socialists; the second analyzed the ESP’s program and compared it with the program of the Democratic Party.40 In their articles, the Egyptian socialists felt compelled to refute the accusation that they were extremists who denied religion and plotted to destroy Egypt’s social and constitutional order. They also called for the adaptation of socialist thought to the Egyptian reality. Mirham pointed out that according to Musa, the new party would only focus on the realization of “the small goals of socialism,” while ‘Anani talked about a “moderate scientific and practical socialism.” It is noteworthy that—contrary to Mirham’s presentation—‘Anani did not use the word “scientific” at all. Mirham went on to show that ‘Anan dwelt on the rights of inheritance and private ownership. Mirham therefore drew the conclusion that the Egyptian socialists deemed the existing social order worthy and thought that it required only minor modifications. This attitude showed the socialists’ weakness and proved that their political existence was unnecessary. They referred to themselves as socialists, yet they left the major principles of socialism behind, sneered Mirham.41

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A History of Egyptian Communism

The socialists also sinned with regard to socialism’s main goal, since they did not take it upon themselves to lead the fellahin—to develop their class and political awareness and to teach them their rights vis-à-vis their employers. Mirham could not understand why the socialists attacked and renounced Bolshevism, which in his view was a decent branch of socialism, even though he personally disputed some of its tenets. International communism supported the right to self-determination for all nations and defended the rights of small nations, objected to colonialism and slavery, and rejected secret treaties between the powers. By their rejection and criticism of Bolshevism, the Egyptian socialists were no better than their opponents, and even worse. In fact, remonstrated Mirham, there was nothing new in their call for higher wages, the improvement of housing for workers, and the spread of education among those workers—such ideas had been voiced before by other, nonsocialist political parties, such as the Democratic Party. Challenging Musa’s claim that the Bolsheviks caused havoc in Russia, Mirham reviewed their achievements in the fields of education and industry. In his opinion, the Egyptian socialists should have preached genuine socialist ideas without reservations or political calculations.42 Salama Musa took up Mirham’s challenge. He defended the ESP and its conceptual and political orientation, trying to refute Mirham’s arguments one by one. Musa explained his harsh criticism of Bolshevism with reference to the fact that socialism was implemented in Russia without prior preparation. The Bolshevik move led to a state of anarchy, a development that could have been avoided if socialism had been realized gradually and moderately. Musa believed that unlike the Bolshevik experience, Egyptian socialism would have its own particular character, which would be influenced considerably by the “Egyptian temperament.”43 Musa made it clear that contrary to Mirham’s accusation, the ESP was utterly against the idea of private ownership. Musa noted that Mirham’s misunderstanding might stem from the fact that the ESP did not use the term “class struggle” or similar expressions. The present system of private ownership in Egypt, stated Musa, prevented the utilization of modern technological means that could create the conditions for an easy transition of workers from agriculture to industry. Their socialism would be able to provide the appropriate solution to this problem, and the ensuing process of industrialization would certainly enrich Egypt’s welfare and prosperity. To demonstrate his commitment to socialism, Musa stressed again the current social unjustness in Egypt, where 13,000 people—less than the total number of students and teachers at al-Azhar University—possessed more than half of Egypt’s agricultural capital. Musa ridiculed the claim made by the political opponents of socialism that private ownership was “sacred.” He

Early Socialist Thought in Egypt

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left no room for doubt that in his opinion Egypt’s capital should be owned by the entire nation and not by a tiny group.44 Musa concluded that in Egypt, it was possible to persuade many “rich people with good intentions” that the virtues of socialism could make it a much better sociopolitical system than the present capitalist one. There was absolutely no need for the socialists to plan hostile actions against the wealthy.45 Key figures within the religious establishment found it essential to participate in the debate in Al-Ahram. In response to the socialists’ articles and to Mirham’s criticism, Shaykh Muhammad al-Ghunaymi al-Taftazani published an article attacking socialism and its supporters. Al-Taftazani declared that Mirham was no different than the socialists, whom he criticized. He condemned Mirham’s defense of Bolshevism, stressing that Bolshevism spread destruction all over Russia. Bolshevism held that all nations should arrive at communism, regardless of their history, religion, and the specific conditions of their development. The shaykh rejected the contention that Bolshevism did not deny religion. Socialism therefore could not be realized in countries that respected their religion and traditions. Socialism’s real aim was to root out religion and to destroy the existing ties between the social classes. In the shaykh’s view, socialism would lead to a state of anarchy, because the socialists, who planned to take over the government, also desired to turn their doctrine into the new religion.46 Muhammad Husain Haykal (1888–1956), the thinker and politician of the Liberal Constitutionalist Party, joined the controversy, noting that it was the first time in Egypt’s history that a political party presented socialism as part of its platform, publicly announcing its intention to realize socialism in Egypt. Haykal directed a question to “our socialist brothers,” asking whether they believed that the present Egyptian reality was suitable for the adoption of their principles; or conversely, whether the Egyptian reality might be inappropriate for such development, and socialism would be rejected by the people. In Haykal’s view, the socialists intended to abolish private ownership and aspired to realize Marx’s and Engels’s scientific socialism, knowing that the realization of this doctrine would lead to a class struggle. The reality in which Marx and Engels developed their doctrine did not exist in Egypt, however, since every nation had its particular socioeconomic reality. Haykal agreed that there was an urgent need to introduce changes, which would improve the situation of the lower classes. Indeed, the state should create more jobs, provide free and compulsory education, and secure income for all. In Haykal’s view, all this could be achieved without the abolition of private property. Haykal suggested that those socialists who favored such reforms should change their party’s name to the Social Democratic Party (hizb al-dimuqratiyya al-ijtima‘iyya).

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A History of Egyptian Communism

By contrast, those socialists who wanted to implement scientific socialism and believed that Egypt was ready for it should prove their assumption in a scientific accurate way, concluded Haykal.47 The Egyptian Socialist Party was born in late August 1921, while a stormy debate on socialism and its relevancy for and possible accommodation to Egyptian society was conducted in a variety of forums. Its establishment was overshadowed by the continuous national struggle for independence, which gathered momentum following the nationalist uprising of March 1919.

Notes 1. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Fikr, pp. 93–96; Hourani, Arabic Thought, pp. 248–250; Tamimi, “The Origins,” pp. 22–23. On the socialist activities of Shibli Shumayyil, see also Reid, “The Syrian,” pp. 177–193; Tiba, Al-Haraka alShuyu‘iyya, pp. 13–16. 2. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Fikr, pp. 96–98. 3. Ibid., pp. 111–115, 275–276. 4. Al-Sa‘id, Niqula Haddad, pp. 41–43; see also Ismael and El-Sa‘id, The Communist Movement, p. 10. 5. Al-Sa‘id, Niqula Haddad, pp. 7–23. 6. Haddad, ‘Ilm al-Ijtima‘. 7. Al-Sa‘id, Niqula Haddad, pp. 60–66. 8. See a reprint of Haddad’s al-Ishtirakiyya in Kamil Abu Jabir (ed.), Judhur al-Ishtirakiyya (Beirut: Dar al-Tali‘a, 1964). 9. Al-Sa‘id, Niqula Haddad, pp. 43–50; Reid, “The Syrian,” pp. 186–188. 10. Al-Sa‘id, Niqula Haddad, pp. 53–57. 11. Ibid., pp. 105–107. 12. Musa, The Education, pp. 53–90; Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution, p. 9; see also al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Fikr, p. 252. 13. Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution, p. 9; Ismael and El-Sa‘id, The Communist Movement, pp. 1–4; Botman, The Rise, p. 2. 14. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Fikr, pp. 247–248; see also Musa, Birnard Shaw. 15. Musa, Birnard Shaw; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 87, 100; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Fikr, pp. 246–247. 16. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Fikr, pp. 252–253. 17. Musa, al-Ishtirakiyya. 18. Hanna and Gardner, Arab Socialism, pp. 54–55. 19. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Fikr, pp, 250–251, 253–257. 20. Hanna and Gardner, Arab Socialism; Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution. 21. Al-Mansuri is quoted from Ismael and El-Sa‘id, The Communist Movement, p. 6. See also Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution, p. 10. 22. Ismael and El-Sa‘id, The Communist Movement, p. 6; Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution, p. 10. 23. Ismael and El-Sa‘id, The Communist Movement, p. 10.

Early Socialist Thought in Egypt

23

24. Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution, p. 11. 25. See the full text of the fatwa in FO141/779, 9065/8 (Foreign Office, Public Record Office, London). 26. Al-Akhbar, 19 August 1919. 27. See a record of conversation between Rashid Rida and a British agent in Cairo, 26 August 1919, FO141/779, pp. 39–40. 28. Rashid Rida’s article was published in Al-Manar, 26 August 1919 (vol. 21, no. 5), pp. 252–256. The article is quoted from http://www.freearabvoice.org/ reference/bolshevismAndReligion.htm. 29. See for instance, Wadi al-Nil, 20 and 26 August 1919. 30. Although al-Haddad distanced himself from the newly established party, he nevertheless did not hesitate to defend socialism in the debate in Al-Ahram. See his article in Al-Ahram, 13 September 1921, in which he attacked those who argued that socialism and Islam could not coexist peacefully because the two contradict each other. 31. Salama Musa, “Al-Ishtirakiyya al-misriyya,” Al-Ahram, 18 August 1921. 32. Ibid. 33. ‘Ali al-‘Anani, “Al-Hizb al-ishtiraki al-misri,” Al-Ahram, 19 August 1921. 34. Andrus Hanna, “Al-Kihana al-jadida,” Al-Ahram, 23 August 1921. 35. Hasan Muhaisan, “Al-Ishtirakiyya fi misr,” Al-Ahram, 24 August 1924. 36. Muhammad ‘Abdalla ‘Anan, “Al-Ishtirakiyya fi misr: la nad‘u ila’ thawra aw fawda,” Al-Ahram, 25 August 1921. 37. Ibid. 38. The Democratic Party was founded in 1919 by Muhammad Husain Haykal, Mahmud ‘Abd al-Raziq, Mahmud ‘Azmi, and Mansur Fahmi as an opposition to the Wafd Party. See more in Smith, Islam, pp. 66–67. 39. ‘Aziz Mirham, “Al-Ishtirakiyya al-misriyya,” Al-Ahram, 2 September 1921. 40. Ibid. 41. Ibid. 42. Ibid. 43. Salama Musa, “Al-Ishtirakiyya al-misriyya: radd ishtiraki ‘ala’ khusumha,” Al-Ahram, 29 September 1921. 44. Ibid. 45. Ibid. 46. Muhammad al-Ghunaymi al-Taftazani, “Al-fitna na’ima,” Al-Ahram, 27 September 1921. 47. Muhammad Husain Haykal, “Al-Ishtirakiyya fi misr,” Al-Ahram, 17 September 1921.

3 The Emergence of Organized Communism

There is no dispute that the heralds of socialist thought in Egypt in

the first two decades of the twentieth century were Arabs. Socialist and communist activities, however, were already recorded in the late nineteenth century among working-class foreigners of European origin— mainly Italians and Greeks who lived in Alexandria and Cairo. Also, following the unsuccessful revolutionary attempt in Russia in 1905, a group of Russian fugitives found refuge in Egypt. They founded the “Bolshevik Group” (Majmu‘at al-Balshafik). Some of its members were Jews, the most prominent of whom was Theodore Rosenstein who worked for the newspaper The Egyptian Standard of the National Party (al-Hizb alWatani). Rosenstein influenced and inspired Muhammad Farid, the leader of the National Party, who is regarded as one of the pioneers of socialist thought in Egypt and the Arab world. ‘Ali Ahmad Shukri, who translated Rosenstein’s book The Destruction of Egypt (Damar Misr) [1910] into Arabic, recounted that during his stay in Egypt, Rosenstein maintained close links with Lenin and the Socialist Democratic Party of Russia in the prerevolution years. When Lenin was in exile in France and Switzerland, he used to dispatch his missives to the Bolsheviks in Russia via Egypt in order to avoid their falling into the hands of the Tsarist intelligence services. Following the Bolshevik takeover, Rosenstein left Egypt for the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) and occupied senior offices within the Soviet establishment. Majmu‘at al-Balshafik was active on behalf of the Egyptian proletariat and encouraged the workers to strike. Most of its members did not integrate into Egyptian society, however, and looked with anticipation to the impending social revolution in Mother Russia. After the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, foreign workers formed 25

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A History of Egyptian Communism

new communist cells, but—like their predecessors—they were short-lived and had no influence.1 Nearly 237,000 foreigners lived in Egypt before World War I: 147,000 Europeans (63,000 Greeks, 35,000 Italians, and 36,000 British and French subjects), and the rest emigrants from adjacent regions. There was also a long-established Jewish community that gradually grew in numbers to include some 30,000 members by mid-1914.2 Many of the foreigners of European origin found employment in the commercial or public-service sectors. In time, some of them established their own businesses. The few that worked in industry usually held positions that were higher and better compared to the locals, thus creating two proletarian strata—one that enjoyed better income and terms of employment, and an inferior one that was composed of local Egyptian workers, mostly constituting the lower, main stratum of the working class. Most members of socialist and communist frameworks were initially foreigners, because Egyptian law granted foreigners special rights within the capitulations arrangement.3 They joined communist frameworks believing that communism would improve their socioeconomic situation and would remedy the gloomy social reality that Egyptian society experienced. They also assumed that if the Egyptian authorities were to discover their communist activities, nothing would happen to them because of their legal privileges. With the outbreak of World War I, many of the foreign workers left Egypt, and the structure of the workforce and the dynamic of development within the labor movement changed accordingly. In 1907, for instance, the workforce in Egypt—local and foreign workers—who were employed in the modern productive industry (such as manufacture, mining, building, transportation, and traffic) included 481,589 workers. By 1917, their number had already grown to 643,021 workers.4 Within a decade, that workforce not only increased by over 30 percent, but it also underwent a process of Egyptianization because of the sharp decline in the number of foreign workers. In contrast to the foreign workers, who were well organized before their departure, the local Egyptian workforce was not organized. Their salaries were low. Moreover, the foreigners’ departure left the local workers without professional organizational frameworks to defend them. At the time, there were no labor laws protecting workers from economic exploitation or political suppression. Since the Bolshevik Revolution, every organized action aimed at improving the terms of employment of workers was regarded as communist subversion and severely suppressed by the Egyptian and British authorities. Under these circumstances, the labor movement was bound to act under the auspices of the nationalist parties.

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27

As we have seen, socialist ideas began to develop in Egypt in the early twentieth century. Yet it took a while before such ideas were translated into action within newly formed socialist frameworks. At first, there were merely sporadic attempts to organize unions, and there were few calls in political circles for socialist measures. For instance, the National Party expressed its concern for improving the working conditions of the laborers. In a series of articles published in its newspaper Al-Liwa’, Muhammad Farid called for the promulgation of new social legislation to protect workers. He noted, for instance, the necessity of reducing working hours and imposing restrictions on the age of employment—aiming at preventing child labor. Through Al-Liwa’, the National Party supported the workers’ demands for social changes and their organized actions such as the railways workers’ strike in 1908.5 Practically, the National Party founded a trade union of artisans, the largest Egypt had known until then. The party was petit bourgeois in its essence, however, and therefore could not attract the lower classes that were looking for leadership.6 The socioeconomic conditions of the working classes in both industry and agriculture worsened in the first two decades of the twentieth century. The fellahin (peasants) in particular faced ongoing repression by both the Egyptian establishment (including the big landowners, who took over most of the agricultural land; the state, which raised taxes; and the money lenders, who increased interest for loans) and the British, who recruited by force some million fellahin and workers to serve the imperial army that was stationed in Sinai, Palestine, and Syria. Few survived and returned to Egypt at the end of their term of forced labor. The miserable situation left no other option for the working classes but to rebel. For the political parties that represented the upper classes, the uprising of 1919 aimed at achieving nationalist goals, whereas the working classes, who played a prominent role, participated out of both class and nationalist motives. During the uprising, the working classes directed their actions against both the British and the capitalists. Their banners read, “We are rebelling for bread, freedom, and independence.” Although the fellahin and workers were ostensibly led by the Wafd, they fought their battle employing their own methods and tactics. They did not pay heed to calls made by the leaders of the Wafd not to escalate the violence. The workers demanded an immediate improvement in their employment terms—demands that were partly met by their employers. According to Egyptian sources, about 3,000 fellahin lost their lives during the uprising. Al-Sa‘id stated that the British used excessive force in their efforts to suppress the rebellion, emphasizing that they even employed airplanes.7

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The participation of the working classes in the events of March 1919 gave them a popular color. The events enhanced the workers’ confidence and taught them that strikes could be an effective weapon in advancing their struggle against exploitation and suppression. The workers came to connect the nationalist goal with social and economic goals. Moreover, it was also a good lesson to the intelligentsia, who realized that the labor movement could be an important player in Egypt’s struggle for independence and democracy. The socialist activists established links with the working classes, which later led to the formation of a confederation of trade unions and a political party. The British, too, were taken by surprise—they had predicted neither the extent nor the strength of the March 1919 revolt.8 The revolt was a significant achievement as far as the struggle for national liberation was concerned. Nevertheless, the events did not lead to a substantial change in terms of the workers’ social and economic conditions. Occasionally employers raised workers’ salaries, but the revolt did not entail a change in government policy regarding labor legislation. Feeling that they were just used by the national bourgeoisie to advance its national goals, the working classes were disappointed by what they regarded as the national bourgeoisie’s betrayal and broke up the ad hoc alliance with the Wafd and the other nationalist parties.9

Joseph Rosenthal, the Workers, and the Emergence of Organized Communism

Joseph Rosenthal may be regarded as the patriarch of organized Egyptian communism and the driving force behind the formation of Egypt’s trade union movement. Rosenthal was born in 1872 in Zefat, a town in Ottoman Palestine. His father David was born in Berdychiv, a city in the Zhytomyr province of northern Ukraine.10 The Rosenthal family immigrated to Palestine when David was twelve years old. David, who was brought up in a traditional religious Jewish milieu, was attracted to Enlightenment ideas; he learned foreign languages, and his excellent knowledge of Hebrew paved his way to become a writer for leading Hebrew newspapers published in Europe. In his newspaper articles, he expressed progressive ideas that dissented from the prevailing social-cultural norms and thus angered the people of Zefat, who attacked and boycotted him. David Rosenthal was only thirty-six years old when he died, leaving behind a young widow and four children (Joseph, his youngest son, was only five years old). Joseph’s mother worked hard to raise her children; two of them ended up in the United States, and one settled in Beirut following her marriage to a

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Sephardic Jewish hakham (religious scholar). Joseph received his primary education in a traditional religious Jewish framework—in the shtiebel (a little room used for communal prayer and instruction of the Karlin Hasidic Dynasty). At the age of thirteen, Joseph refused to abandon his traditional religious way of life when he had the opportunity to attend a secular high school in Jerusalem.11 However, a meeting with a farmer who knew his father marked a turning point in the life of the teenaged boy. When the farmer introduced him to his father’s writings, Joseph realized how progressive and secular they were. He now took a sharp turn, becoming averse to religious fanaticism and rejecting the Hasidic prayer. After a quarrel with his Hasidic masters, his mother sent him to Beirut to live with his older sister Ester and her husband. He was only fourteen years old when a new chapter in his life opened. In Beirut, Rosenthal acquired vocational training as a watchmaker and at the age of twenty-one, he got married. Rosenthal’s jewelry shop thrived and became a central place for political discussions on world affairs and modern ideas. Among his clients were vicars, the son of the Beirut Mufti, Greeks, Jews, and others, many of whom became his close friends. Rosenthal continued to attend the prayers at the synagogue on Sabbath (Saturday), yet he was very critical of well-to-do Jews, who—in his opinion—were looking down on poor, unfortunate Jews. During one of the Sabbath prayers, he raised his voice against the rich and the discrimination against the poor members of the congregation. At some point, he was asked by one of the worshippers, whom he did not know, if he was Marxist or communist, words Rosenthal had never heard before. The stranger introduced himself as a Londoner with links to a Jewish worker organization. He gave Rosenthal a summary of The Communist Manifesto, written in Yiddish, and an abridged version of Karl Marx’s Capital (1887). Rosenthal was astonished and felt that a modern and progressive world appeared before him. He was an autodidact as far as his secular education was concerned. Following his unexpected meeting, he embarked on a long journey of research on social affairs with special reference to theories on social equality, human exploitation, and manumission. Rosenthal also established links with British labor activists. Rosenthal’s shop became a center for political discussions on current affairs and attracted the attention of Jewish students from Palestine who studied at the American University of Beirut.12 Rosenthal’s Beirut chapter was soon to come to an end. The Ottoman authorities in Beirut noticed his activities and were not happy with the atheist and progressive content of the debates in his shop. He was warned. In addition, he felt disgusted by the growing enmity and hostility between Muslims and Christians in Beirut. Egypt, which was ruled by Britain, at-

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tracted his curiosity. He was elated by the British desire to see non-Arab immigrants settling in Egypt. In 1897, he settled with his family in Alexandria, where he worked as a jeweler in a workshop owned by a Jew. He also joined an ideological circle of anarchists and socialists, most of whom were Italians and a few Jews; some held radical revolutionary views, whereas others were social democrats. Rosenthal soon realized that his peers were focusing their discussions on the need for change in their own homelands and showed no interest in Egypt. When he informed them of his intention to advance radical social change in Egypt, they were astonished. At that stage, Rosenthal’s main concern concentrated on the fellahin, who were losing their land to foreigners and a handful of rich Egyptians. He was also disgusted by the humiliating attitude of British officials toward indigenous Egyptians. In the cities, he recalled, most of the proletariat was concentrated in the cigarette factories, where they were working under severe conditions and consequently experiencing health problems. The appearance of Mustafa Kamil (1874–1908), the young and popular nationalist leader of the 1900s,13 raised Rosenthal’s hopes that Kamil, who led the struggle for liberation, would also advance a revolutionary social agenda. Rosenthal even established contacts with Kamil and moved to Cairo to support his struggle. Yet, to Rosenthal’s resentment, he soon realized that Kamil showed no interest in social change and concentrated his political zeal on Egypt’s national liberation. While in Cairo, Rosenthal worked as a jeweler at the workshop of Zusman, a Jewish businessman. Among his colleagues were Egyptian workers who worked eleven hours a day. He encouraged them to fight for an eight-hour workday and for a day off on May Day. Zusman was displeased by Rosenthal’s incitement of the Egyptian workers. Rosenthal became their leader and his reputation as a warrior for workers’ rights gained publicity. Rosenthal’s house became a center for labor activities and attracted workers—Jews, Italians, Greeks, and Egyptians—who learned socialist theories and discussed the situation of the proletariat worldwide.14 Rosenthal described the motives and patterns of the early stages of his activity in Egypt as follows: Ever since my adolescence I had been attracted to the principles of socialism. . . . My greatest hope was to see the improvement of the labor conditions of the workmen by means of the power of education and discipline. When I arrived in Egypt twenty-five years ago, I endeavored to form trade unions. The first union, in the formation of which I was involved, was the cigarette workers’ union. Thereafter I participated in the formation of other unions—the tailors, metalworkers and printers.

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Nearly all of these unions were made up of foreign workers. . . . This state of affairs continued until World War I, and then, following the departure of many foreign workers, their positions were taken over by Egyptians, who then constituted the majority in the factories. This development helped them forming unions, the goals of which were mainly political; and they were associated with political parties that were engaged with national issues, such as the Wafd and National Party.15

Indeed, Rosenthal at first focused his activities in Egypt on the immediate improvement of the working conditions of the proletariat. For this purpose, he became fully involved in trade unions, including the cigarette workers’ union that was formed in 1899. Rosenthal led the first strike of the workers in cigarette factories—a strike that lasted for two months. At the same time, Rosenthal took pains to coordinate between the various unions emphasizing the necessity to enhance solidarity for the sake of all workers. Consequently, the number of strikes increased significantly, to the resentment of the authorities and the capitalists.16 After his initial successes in advancing labor affairs in Cairo, Rosenthal chose to establish his home in Alexandria, where he would spend the latter part of his life. He received Egyptian citizenship and made his living as a watchmaker. His business did well and gradually turned into a prosperous and prestigious jewelry shop that attracted the cream of Egyptian society and well-to-do foreigners. Rosenthal was married and had three children—two daughters (Charlotte and Anita) and a son (David). There is hardly any information about the family apart from his older daughter, Charlotte, born in Alexandria in 1899, who was a communist activist throughout her life.17 The waves of strikes of 1919 led Rosenthal to the conclusion that the time was ripe for the formation of a general federation of workers bringing together all existing unions and organizing hitherto unorganized labor. A year later, the first step in this direction was taken, following Rosenthal’s call for the establishment of a federation. His call found attentive listeners in the unions’ leaders, and talks gathered momentum, although with a certain degree of hesitation. As Rosenthal recalled: “the union chiefs, who were saturated with [nationalist] political ideas, felt that the establishment of real unions looking out for the workers would result in a loss of their power and obstruct the pursuit of their political goals. They therefore worked very hard to keep their unions out of the federation and continued to prolong the preliminary steps for an extra year.”18 Despite the vicissitudes that characterized the talks, the Confederation Generale du Travail (CGT) was born in Alexandria in late February 1921. It represented merely twenty-

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one unions with 3,000 members, the majority of whom were workers from Alexandria. The main Egyptian unions did not join the federation, given their leaders’ domestic political calculations.19 The CGT expanded during the following months, when more unions joined, reaching approximately 20,000 members in 1923. In order to strengthen the workers’ endurance during strikes, Rosenthal established “red aid funds” (Sanadiq al-ma‘una alhamra’) within the unions and the prominent workers’ centers.20 Perhaps one of the most impressive manifestations of Rosenthal’s success in mobilizing the labor movement was the first celebration of Labor Day in Egyptian history. This was Rosenthal’s creation. The CGT announced that a fete would be held in the Jardin Rosette on May Day (1921) and trade unionists were invited to join in the procession. The invitation was received favorably, and members of various workers’ syndicates (both those of European origin and native Egyptians) joined. Workers carried banners of all trade unions in Alexandria, and the participants walked in the streets in orderly fashion. The red flag was seen flying in the streets for the first time, and marchers saluted it. At the Jardin Rosette, speeches in various languages were made in the presence of hundreds of people. The orators called for workers’ unity and solidarity and condemned “the brutal methods of capitalists, who enrich themselves by the sweat of the workmen’s brows.” To demonstrate nationwide unity and solidarity among the workers, Rosenthal, who was among the main speakers, read a telegram from A. Skouphopoulos, the secretary of the Isthmus of Suez Workers’ Union, who wrote inter alia: “the proletariat of the Isthmus of Suez salutes their comrades in Alexandria of the General Labor Federation. Long live May Day and the workers of every country.”21 A leaflet from the Workmen and Peasants in Egypt and the East to the workmen all over the world was circulated among the celebrating crowd. The message was clear: the Egyptian workers looked to Soviet Russia and the Third International as defenders of workers worldwide.22 Rosenthal was satisfied with the progress of labor affairs in Egypt. In an interview that he gave on May Day to Margaret Travers Symons, assistant editor of the Egyptian Gazette, Rosenthal referred to the then topical labor dispute of the Cairo tramway workers, stressing the “excellent determination of the Cairo tramway men and of the able native advocate, who is leading them.” In Rosenthal’s view, the hope in Egypt at the time were the fellahin “and these millions of agricultural laborers,” who would make things hum in Egypt. He was disillusioned, however, with the idea of spreading communism to the fellahin; he stated: “there is not the slightest chance of the Egyptian fellah ever becoming a communist, and Lenin’s re-

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cent confession as to the complete failure of the Moscow Government to convert the Russian Moujik to communism is a good lesson for us in our future propaganda among the fellahin of Egypt.”23 Rosenthal also took an active part in public municipal affairs. He presented his candidacy in the elections to the city council of Alexandria, which took place in March 1920. Rosenthal, who regarded himself as an Egyptian in the full sense of the word, refused to contend for a square reserved for foreign nationals, a matter that would have improved his chances to be elected. The city council consisted of twenty-eight representatives; half of them were elected directly, and half were appointed by the government. In the previous election, the government appointed nine European nationals—among them six British—and five Egyptian nationals. The law restricted the number of representatives to three of each national group including Egyptians. Al-Ahram severely criticized the system, according to which native Egyptians, who paid more than 80 percent of the taxes, could absurdly elect the same number of representatives as a small community of foreign nationals comprising fifty people.24 Rosenthal chose to compete against the native Egyptian nominee ‘Abd al-‘Aziz Bey al-Hudaini, who enjoyed wide support and had the biggest chance to be elected. Al-Ahram reported on 2 March in a favorable note on Rosenthal’s candidacy, calling him “the well-known socialist merchant from Alexandria.” The newspaper wrote inter alia: “this person is a committed socialist, and his appearance on the scene is a new occurrence considering the council’s long-standing tradition. His appearance on the municipal scene reflects the present time, when the socialist principles are spread and disseminated everywhere due to the current circumstances of war, distress and oppression.”25 Nevertheless, when the struggle between the candidates heated up, AlAhram did not hide its support for ‘Abd al-‘Aziz Bey al-Hudaini and called on native Egyptians to “pay attention to the case of Monsieur Rosenthal, the diamond merchant, who propagates socialist ideas.” The daily was of the opinion that Rosenthal should have presented his candidacy as a Russian nominee and not as native Egyptian. Therefore, stated Al-Ahram, “we should say to Rosenthal: Stop! There are worthier native Egyptian candidates than you, to hold the only available seat in the council.” There was not a single native Egyptian in Alexandria, noted the newspaper, “who would vote for Rosenthal or any other non-Egyptian candidate, instead of ‘Abd al‘Aziz Bey al-Hudaini or another distinguished native Egyptian candidate.”26 Following his failure to attain the required number of votes to be elected to the city council in the first election round, Rosenthal decided to quit the race, thus forgoing his right to compete in the second round.27

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Joseph Rosenthal: A Cause for Worry for the Authorities

Was Rosenthal a Soviet agent in Egypt? The answer would be positive if one relies on British sources that referred to Rosenthal’s testimony. To quote such sources: “Joseph Rosenthal has stated that he has been appointed Russian Soviet agent in Egypt and all passports to enter Soviet Russia require a visa [issued] by him.”28 Based on information obtained from an “informer,” the report went on, by August 1920 Rosenthal received a letter written in “the Russian language in red ink” with a short introductory note in French, in which Rosenthal was asked to see to it that the letter be translated and distributed to “those who would help our cause.”29 As we shall see later, Rosenthal used French in his correspondence with the Comintern, so it does make sense that he received his instructions from Moscow in French. Based on this evidence, the British Home Office issued a circular against Rosenthal and his daughter Charlotte prohibiting their entrance to the UK. Indeed, in 1929 both names appeared in the suspect index for exclusion from the UK.30 Lord Allenby, the British High Commissioner for Egypt and the Sudan, noted in a letter to the British Foreign Office on 16 November 1922 that Rosenthal had a long record “as an agitator of extremist tendencies and is today the leading figure in the somewhat unconvincing communist movement in this country. He is known to have delivered several inflammatory speeches and to have carried on Bolshevist propaganda. He is in communication with the Soviet Government and describes himself as the representative of that government in Egypt.” There were doubts about his nationality, noted Allenby, but the Egyptian government established that he was a Russian national and considered the desirability of deporting him. Rosenthal was warned that “he must, on pain of expulsion, abstain from any further communist propaganda.” Allenby did not rule out such a step, but requested the Egyptian government to notify him before proceeding to extreme measures.31 Prior to that, by late 1921, Alex Granville,32 who knew Rosenthal well, was of the opinion that Rosenthal should not be deported, since he “was a man of established position in Alexandria. . . . Whatever Rosenthal was doing now was done openly.” Rosenthal, noted Granville, had close links with British leftists, who “might try and raise dust in England,” if he was deported with no substantial reason. Granville voiced doubts about whether his deportation would serve any useful purpose.33 According to Egyptian sources, Rosenthal’s name had already appeared in 1901 on the blacklist of the Egyptian police. In that year, stated Rif‘at al-Sa‘id, the concern of international security apparatuses about

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Rosenthal had grown considerably, as they regarded him as “an extreme anarchist, who disseminated propaganda among local Jews.” Later on, in July 1916, in an investigative account written by the Egyptian Ministry for Refugees’ Affairs, Rosenthal was accused of being “a squabbler and trouble maker among Russian Jews.” Al-Sa‘id further wrote that in November 1918, during the “peace ceremonies” to mark the end of World War I, Rosenthal waved “the socialist flag with a background of red and a pair of palms that shake hands in its centre.”34 Why were the British and Egyptian authorities worried about Rosenthal’s activities? Since the successful social revolution in Russia, the British were very much troubled by the possibility of Bolshevism spreading to Egypt and the Middle East. On 23 October 1919, the British director of military intelligence advised his superiors to appoint an intelligence officer to deal with “Bolshevism and cognate problems.”35 Several months later, as early as March 1920, following constant deliberations, the British authorities in Egypt wholeheartedly recommended Bimbashi Gordon Ingram of the Alexandria City Police for this position.36 Bimbashi Ingram and his colleagues marked Joseph Rosenthal as their chief target. For them, he was a source of agitation and fermentation within workers’ groups and the founder of organized communism in Egypt. The social discontent in Egypt in 1920, in general, and the wave of the first organized and successful strikes to hit Alexandria in July 1920, in particular, were held against Rosenthal and his followers. Indeed, in his capacity as chairman of the tenants’ union, Rosenthal organized a twenty-four-hour strike on 7 July 1920 to protest high rents of shops and business premises. The plan was also to draw the government’s attention to the necessity of regulating such rents by legislation. All shops in Alexandria were closed. Charlotte Rosenthal, Joseph’s daughter, closely monitored the strike and forced shopkeepers who refused to shut their shops to do so. During the strike, noted Allenby, Joseph Rosenthal was associated with “a Bolshevik Russian woman from the refugee camp at Sidi Bishr.” Rosenthal, described Allenby, “was cheered by the crowd and carried shoulder-high.”37 Following these events, Allenby reported to Earl Curzon, the British foreign secretary, that the Egyptian prime minister expressed great concern about the danger of Bolshevism being introduced by Russian refugees and strongly urged the removal of this threat from Egypt immediately.38 Curzon replied to Allenby: “there seems to be no reason why any Russians, who give trouble, should not be sent back to Russia.”39 A memorandum on Bolshevism found in the British archive specified that Rosenthal himself was “an agent or correspondent of the Third International.”40 We also learn from the British that he was in touch with

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“Litvenov” (probably Litvinov Maxim, formerly Meir Henoch Mojszewicz Wallach-Finkelstein, who served as a Soviet diplomat in the early 1920s), who was said to be a Bolshevik representative at Reval, Estonia, while he also communicated with agencies of the Third International in Vienna and New York. It was also certain that Rosenthal maintained close contacts with Bolshevik elements in Palestine. Charlotte Rosenthal toured Palestine in November 1920 on behalf of Mezhdunarodnoy Organizatsii Pomoshchi Bortsam Revolyutsii (MOPR, International Organization for Aid to Revolutionaries)—an international social service organization connected to the Comintern.41 She worked with the heads of the communist-oriented party Mifleget HaPoalim HaSotsialistit (MPS, Socialist Workers Party), which was established in 1919 (following a split within the Poale Zion Party) and changed its name in 1921 to Jewish Communist Party.42 Since her arrival in Palestine, Charlotte was under the surveillance of the Palestine police, who described her as “having extreme socialist views and being in possession of literature emanating from the Third International” and arrested her. It is noteworthy that Joseph Rosenthal’s connection with the Comintern paved the way for Charlotte’s studies in Moscow. She studied from May 1922 to July 1923 at the department for the studies of colonialist problems at the Communist University of the Toilers of the East (Kommunisticheskii Universitet Trudyashchikhsya Vostoka, KUTV)—a training center for communist activists from colonial and semicolonial countries. Charlotte, who cooperated politically with her father, declared in the registration form to the KUTV that in the period 1918–1919, she was a member of the left-wing faction of Poale Zion in Alexandria43—a group of sixty to eighty members of the Poale Zion Party of Palestine, who were exiled by the Ottomans during World War I and found refuge in Egypt.44 In July 1921, Allenby informed the British Foreign Office (FO) that the mere fact that reports of Bolshevist activities in Egypt were received more frequently in recent months from a vast combination of sources, some already classified as very reliable, was somewhat significant. In a report on Bolshevik activities in Egypt sent by Allenby to his superiors, he stated that the “Bolshevist organization in Europe has its eyes turned towards Egypt.”45 According to the Alexandria City Police, the Third International opened an “office” in Alexandria in 1921. In 1920, a club called Groupe d’Etudes Sociales was founded. Its members were mainly foreigners, many of them of Greek origin, who held progressive sociopolitical views. This club, stated the Alexandria City Police, became a tool of the Third International. The club held discussions on social issues. It also circulated

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a periodical and literature of a Bolshevik type among its members, fellow travelers, and outsiders. The group’s monthly organ, entitled La Tagramatta (Litteraire et Social), had the format of news and lectures expressing the most daring ideas on moral and social conventions. A special emphasis was given to the close working relations between Rosenthal in his capacity as committee-secretary of the CGT and Groupe d’Etudes Sociales.46 Like Groupe d’Etudes Sociale, the Groupe La Clarté (al-Wuduh), founded by Rosenthal among others in 1921, was another communist circle that acted under the cover of a study group. La Clarté was the name of a French political and literary journal established in 1919 by Henri Barbusse, and the Egyptian group was in constant correspondence with the center of La Clarté in Paris, at the head of which were leading writers such as Anatole France, Henri Barbusse, and Romain Rolland. The Egyptian group’s main goal was to spread communist ideas by means of lectures and private talks among its members. The group was growing gradually. The secretary of Groupe La Clarté was Auguster Terani, an employee of the Salt and Soda Company, and the treasurer was M. Stern, a local Jew. There were also two Jewish members in the administrative committee, Charlotte Rosenthal and somebody named Israel. Among the members were many Greeks, who were also leading members of Groupe d’Etudes Sociales, the most prominent of whom were Sakellaris Yanakakis, Jordanides, Alexandra Pierrides , and Zuttos. Someone called Kossowsky was one of several Jewish-Russian members; and ‘Abd al-Mun‘im was one of the two educated native Egyptians who belonged to the group. The members had to pay for their monthly subscription to the periodical La Clarté. In the founding meeting on 5 August 1921, Terani presented a declaration of allegiance, which was signed by all present; it read as follows: Being aware of the lying and injustice, which reign in the capitalist regime, by which a small minority exploits and commands the great majority, who compose the working masses, I adhere to the Clarté club and promise to aid with all my power the intellectual revolutionary movement, which opens and prepares the way towards the true social revolution.

The misery and famine in Russia and the means of helping the Russians were among the subjects discussed. Rosenthal’s engagement in collecting funds for this purpose was mentioned, and the participants decided to assist him in “his philanthropic efforts.”47 Rosenthal devoted his time and energy to raising funds and other necessities of life to help the Bolshevik revolutionaries and the Russian people. For this purpose, he used the good services of the Red Cross Organization, although he noted that the British disturbed his efforts; for instance, the fund-raisers were prohibited from collecting money

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in Cairo, and the bourgeoisie, particularly those of European origins, boycotted the aid campaign. In spite of the obstacles placed by the British and the government, Rosenthal and his colleagues succeeded in collecting £2,200 (about US$3,600) in cash.48 The members of both Groupe La Clarté and the Groupe d’Etudes Sociales belonged to educated social strata, whereas Rosenthal’s CGT was composed of workers. A British intelligence report noted that although these three communist organizations bore different titles, “they form but one group through having many members in common, all aiming at the same objective, i.e., the spreading of communism.”49 The communist section of Alexandria continued its organized activity under cover of the two study groups Groupe La Clarté and Groupe d’Etudes Sociales, which by late 1921 closely cooperated. British intelligence recorded a meeting of members of the joint framework that took place on 12 August. Terani delivered a lecture entitled “La Clarté: Its Aims and Tendencies.” Among the participants were Charlotte Rosenthal and Lili Pitaraki, the intermediary between the Cairo and Alexandria communists.50 In his lecture, Terani stated that “our objective is not to be confused with that of the militant communists. Our objective is to guide and prepare the minds in such a way that they will have a different outlook on life . . . we will . . . open the way towards the new society based on justice and equality.”51 A week later, the group elected its committee. Four of its seven members were Jewish: Kossowsky, Benjamin Grunberg, Jesua, and Stern. Terani was elected as secretary; the two other members were Badawwi, a native Egyptian, and Oskevas, a Greek. It was decided that the committee would convene on a weekly basis.52 Benjamin Grunberg was among those who adhered to a very radical and uncompromising position. In a speech he delivered during the group’s gathering on 1 September, he severely criticized the program of La Clarté as too theoretical. He admitted that he had never read the books of Henri Barbusse, the head of La Clarté movement, but stated that he did study the statute of La Clarté. That convinced him that “its work will always remain in the land of dreams without any practical influence on the destiny of the suffering humanity.”53 Grunberg’s criticism provoked a stormy debate. De Botton, who represented those who adhered literally to the ideas of the French La Clarté, challenged Grunberg. Your criticism, he told Grunberg, “does not surprise me. . . . Had you read [Henri] Barbusse, you would have understood that the fight is to be carried on against the present ‘institutions’ (laws, church, press, militarism, etc.) ruling the actual society to the advantage of a profiteering minority, and at the expense of the working majority, who instead of benefiting, must on many occasions pay for the broken pots.”54

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The communist study groups in Alexandria continued their activities throughout 1922, along with the activities of the newly born Egyptian Socialist Party (ESP). The themes they discussed still focused on international communism and Soviet affairs.55

The Communist Branch in Alexandria

The British reports regarding the foundation of a communist organization in 1920–1921 and Rosenthal’s leading role in it were quite correct. In a letter sent to the European members of the Egyptian Communist Party (ECP) on 17 January 1923, Rosenthal wrote: Needless to remind you that from late 1920 to mid-1921, it was solely you, the Europeans, who founded the initial nucleus of the Egyptian communists. You were motivated by a true desire to instill our ideas within the Egyptian proletariat. The signatory of this letter [Rosenthal] was the secretary of this group, who established contacts with various groups and people, who adhered to or showed sympathy for our ideas and principles; with their help we established the Egyptian Socialist Party, which was nominally socialist due to the particular political situation in Egypt, but practically communist in the full sense of the word. My activities in this matter as well as my initiative to establish the Confederation Generale du Travail in Egypt were fully supported by the workers.56

As a British report noted, Rosenthal’s efforts to unite the Egyptian workers in one trade union federation—the CGT—“seem likely therefore to have an ulterior objective of a communist nature.” The report made it clear, however, that Rosenthal was “a man, who prefers to achieve his objectives by peaceful means, if possible.”57 The untiring activist Rosenthal was motivated by a revolutionary urge, trying to resolve the enormous problems of the socially cloven and polarized Egyptian society. In addition, he actively tried to advance nationalist revolutionary ideas: the complete liberation of Egypt from British influence and rule. He was a leading figure of a close circle of communist activists, including many Jewish members, who maintained close contacts with their communist peers in Palestine and Europe. Files of the Comintern on Egyptian communist personalities reveal a long list of Jewish activists in Alexandria and Cairo at the time. They were young political refugees from Eastern Europe who were born at the turn of the century. Among them was Hillel Zandberg, who was born in 1903 in a little town in Poland. When he was fifteen years old (1917–1918), he joined the rank and file of the Bolshevik Revolution in the workers-town Radomsko,

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Poland. In 1920, he fled with his brother to Egypt; there he settled in Alexandria and worked as an electrician in a garage and later as a carpenter in an oil factory. In 1921, he joined the “League of Jewish Workers”—an Egyptian revolutionary movement—and became its general secretary; a year later, he joined the Egyptian Communist Party.58 He was also a secretary of the trade union of industrial workers and an active member in the CGT.59 The story of Samuel Zaslavsky resembles Zandberg’s. Samuel Zaslavsky was born in 1882 in Shinguruvask, a small town near Kiev, and spent his childhood in Nikolaiv, Ukraine. As a teenager, Zaslavsky worked at first in factories and later as an assistant to a watchmaker. In 1903, he studied in an evening school where he became acquainted with communism and communist activists and became a member of the communist party. Zaslavsky, who was involved in some secret operations of the party, was arrested several times from 1906 until 1912, when he managed to escape to Beirut.60 In 1915, he fled to Egypt to avoid recruitment to the Ottoman army. He settled in Alexandria and joined the League of Jewish Workers.”61 Avram Muisayvitch Katz and his sister Klara were active within the communist movement in its early stages—both were teenagers at the time. Avram was born in the Russian city Yekaterinoslav in 1906. Klara was born in Kiev in 1905. In 1908, the family migrated to Syria, Palestine, and Greece. During World War I, the family moved to Egypt. The family’s economic situation deteriorated, and both Klara and her brother had to work for their living—she as a sales clerk, and he as a worker in an oil factory. Both became secondary activists within the communist movement in the early 1920s.62 Samuel Kirzon was born to a poor family in the town of Nikolaiv, Russia, in 1885. Samuel’s education came to a halt at the age of twelve due to his father’s premature death. He started to work as apprentice to a tinker and later as a painter. In 1903, he joined a group of self-instruction connected to the radical Socialist Revolutionary Party. He was arrested by the local police in March 1906 and managed to escape via Odessa to Egypt. In 1907, he returned to Russia and carried on with his underground activities within the revolutionary movement. In 1910, when he was about to be arrested again, he escaped to Beirut, and when World War I broke out, he fled once again to Alexandria in order not to be taken prisoner of war by the Turks. Following an appeal by agents of Tsarist Russia, the British and Egyptian authorities obstructed Kirzon’s efforts along with other political refugees to return to Russia following the February 1917 revolution. He worked for his living as a painter in an oil factory in Alexandria, where he formed with his colleagues a trade union and a communist cell. In the pe-

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riod 1920–1921, he became a member of the League of Jewish Workers and from 1920 on was associated with the communist group in Alexandria. Sholom Yakovlevitch Polak and his wife were another married Jewish couple that reached Egypt via Palestine from Eastern Europe. Sholom Polak was born in Vasiliyuv of the Kiev County in 1890. He settled in Egypt in 1915, working as a merchant. Polak was a member of the ECP after 1921. Also of Jewish-Russian origin, Edward Zaidman lived in Alexandria and was in close contact with Rosenthal, with whom he collaborated in the dissemination of communist propaganda. He was originally from Odessa and served under the British during World War I. By 1919, after his military service, Zaidman worked in Alexandria in the furniture trade. Through his small shop in Alexandria, he sold Bolshevik and communist literature written in English, French, Russian, and Hebrew.63 Comintern files confirm that an Egyptian Communist Party already existed in 1920–1921. It was initially constituted out of a number of scattered groups of workers, who were influenced by the Russian Revolution of 1917. In late 1919, early 1920, an effort was made to bring these groups together. In March 1920, the foundation was laid for the ECP at a joint meeting of representatives of these groups in Alexandria. The following principles constituted the basis for a party program. First, the socialist principles laid down that socialism was the aim, that the class struggle was the path leading to that aim, that the dictatorship of the proletariat was a transitional stage. Second, the principles concerning the struggle for national liberation stated that the struggle against British imperialism should be ruthless until the complete independence of the Egyptian people, that the significance of the nationalist revolutionary movement should be expanded by adopting catch phrases that express the immediate interests of Egypt’s toiling masses, that the class character of the nationalist movement should be explained to the Egyptian proletariat, that the interest and the role of the Egyptian feudal aristocracy and the “haute bourgeoisie” should be exposed in the movement, and that the irresolute middle and petite bourgeoisie should be opposed.64 The ECP had a bureau in Vienna connected with the Austrian Communist Party that looked after “the technical needs of the Egyptian party, such as printing material etc. and supplying literature for its European sections.” Although not recognized as the section of the Comintern in Egypt, the Egyptian Communist Party was already represented at the third congress of the Comintern (June–July 1921) by Kari David Peler.65 Indeed, the police of Alexandria intercepted a great quantity of Bolshevik and communist literature coming from Vienna in early September. The consign-

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ments were addressed to John Solosy (the cover name of Joseph Rosenthal), P.O.B. 1855, Alexandria.66 The ECP, which had mainly European members, established connections with Egyptian labor circles dissatisfied with the nationalist movement that used them merely to advance its goals. A Comintern report further stated that domestic social and political discontent as well as the ECP’s constant agitation led to the formation of “solid groups of native workers, small peasants and urban intelligentsia that called themselves socialists.” Even before World War I, leaders of these groups stood close to labor circles. Among them were Salama Musa and Husni al-‘Urabi, who published articles favoring socialism. Other intellectuals (such as ‘Ali ‘Anan), who graduated from European universities and were acquainted with the labor movement there, conducted talks with “the communist party to undertake joint work and even to establish organizational ties.”67 The next step in the formation of the ESP, as the Comintern report reveals, was as follows:68 The Communist Party accepted the first part of this proposal and postponed the settlement of the question of merging these groups with the party until their political character had become clear and until instructions had been received from the Comintern. The Egyptian Communist Party had sent two delegates to the third congress of the Comintern. Failing to receive these instructions in time the party had to decide the question by itself. It conditioned the union on the groups’ acceptance of the Communist Party’s platform as a whole, [a condition] to which the groups agreed. It was jointly agreed to take advantage of a lacuna in the country’s political law and to legalize the party temporarily by calling it “Socialist Party.”

From the report, we may conclude that the Comintern was in direct contact with the ECP that was established in early 1920. The question of a union with other socialist groups was discussed with the two representatives of the ECP already at the third congress of the Comintern. However, internal processes and dialogues within and between the Egyptian factions preceded the Comintern’s instructions, and the ESP was established before its representatives returned from Moscow.

The Cairo and the Communist Groups in the Pre-ESP Era

The Rosenthal and the Greek groups formed the first organized communist faction in Alexandria in 1919–1920. There was also a minor group of activists in Alexandria that was organized by Victor Astor, a British soldier who served in Egypt toward the end of World War I and witnessed the up-

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rising of March 1919 in Egypt. Astor was associated with the British labor movement. A young man, Husni al-‘Urabi, who could not complete his matriculation exams at high school and therefore decided to become a cotton merchant—a very profitable occupation—attracted Astor’s attention. Al-‘Urabi showed great interest in the study of literature and read translations of many works by Peter Kropotkin, who was one of Russia’s foremost anarchists, one of the first advocates of anarchist communism, and someone who influenced the Egyptian younger generation. Astor noticed al-‘Urabi’s anarchist tendencies and tried hard to redirect him toward socialism by introducing him to socialist theory. Al-‘Urabi, who became gradually attracted to socialist revolutionary ideas, made the acquaintance of ‘Ali al-‘Anani, who had returned from Germany where he witnessed the actions of Spartacus—the revolutionary movement led by Rosa Luxemburg and Karl Liebknecht—which impressed him despite its subsequent failure. He was also impressed by the Bolshevik success in Russia. Al-‘Urabi and al‘Anani together with Salama Musa and ‘Abdallah ‘Anan formed a faction in what was soon to become the ESP.69 Parallel to the communist activities in Alexandria, there was also a small and active communist group in Cairo. Many of its members were Jews of Eastern European origin, refugees, who arrived in Egypt following the failed revolutionary attempt in Russia in 1905. A. Krauss, one of their leaders, was at some point in contact with the Comintern. Krauss recalled that soon after their arrival in Egypt, the group began to import Marxist literature from Paris, such as Marx’s Capital and The Communist Manifesto. The group had some small gatherings and found it hard to act within “a backward Egyptian society, which was not socialist-oriented.” Gradually many of the Russian and East European activists left Egypt, returning to their countries of origin, and the group dissolved. The others shifted their attention from organizational activities within trade unions, mainly to individual propaganda. On the eve of World War I, the remaining members of the former group organized a new communist group based mainly on new recruits from among the Italian community. According to Krauss, the new group followed the international socialist movement in its condemnation of the war and its true warmongers, the capitalists. The declaration of a state of emergency interrupted the young group’s activities, which became impossible when its members were called up for military service. Once again, the group, like its predecessor, disbanded. Krauss maintained that World War I ended following the Russian Revolution of 1917. The events in Russia, he stressed, had a noticeable resonance in Egypt like in many other places in the world. The Egyptians, who were fully engaged in their struggle for national liberation, looked at revolu-

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tionary Russia, which maintained a close alliance with Turkey, as a friend and a guardian of the oppressed peoples. The minor segment of Egyptian society that was of European origin was not sympathetic toward the Russian revolutionaries except for a tiny group. Although the British military regime continued, and the internal situation was still tense, Krauss and a few comrades managed to form a new organized communist framework in early 1921, receiving support from a group of exiled communist activists from Palestine (associated with Poale Zion Party and its splinter group, MPS).70 A British Intelligence report confirmed that a small group of communists was active in Cairo in 1920–1921. On 21 December 1920, the Palestine police reported that certain persons in Cairo belonged to the Central Committee of the MPS—an extreme socialist party that supported the Third International without affiliation because the latter was against its connections with Zionism. Zion Pasvolsky, one of the group’s leaders, was employed by the Maspero Cigarette Factory and professed socialistic and communist views. He was also connected with Jalal Effendi Husain, secretary of the Agricultural Union and of the Helliopolis Tram Union. Pasvolsky was said to promote an affiliation of the Egyptian National Party to the Third International. The British report noted that no connection had been traced between the Cairo group and the communist groups in Alexandria, although it did not rule out such connection.71 The Jewish couple the Elkonins were among the activists of the communist group in Cairo. Lev Il’ich Elkonin was born in Metislavl in the Mogilev region, Belarus, in 1886. He lived in Egypt from 1915 until 1927. Between 1918 and 1921, he was said to be a member of Poale Zion. In 1921, he participated in the formation of the communist group in Cairo that later joined the ECP.72 His wife Rebekka was born in Roslavl of the region of Smolensk in 1889 to a Jewish family of merchants. She joined the Cairo group with her husband in 1921.73 Another senior activist was Mikhail Kirzon (Kozhuviner). He was born in the town of Zhashkov in the Kiev region in 1890. He started to work at the age of twelve as a carpenter. In 1905, he became active in the SocialistRevolutionary Party and was arrested for this activity. In 1913, he moved to Egypt, where he started to work as a carpenter. In 1918, he was active in a trade union in the firm where he was employed. Kirzon was among the founders of the communist group in Cairo in 1920-1921. In 1921, he received the mandate to represent his group in the Comintern. Unlike Krauss (below), Kirzon spoke unfavorably of the nationalist activists within the ESP in his autobiography.74 Krauss noted that in order to act freely and to expand its propaganda, the Cairo communist group formed economic and social study circles. It also is-

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sued a bulletin and a periodical entitled “The Worker’s Life.” Within several months, the Cairo group managed to increase the number of activists who supported the Third International. In fact, its study circles became the communist section of Cairo. The link between the Cairo communist section and the newly established ESP was quickly established. Krauss reported: By late 1921, we learned from the local newspapers that the ESP was established. Contacts were established between our group and the leaders of the ESP. We read the ESP’s political credo and regulation, and after an internal debate within our group, the following decision was made: “Since without the local Egyptian element nothing serious and durable can be done in Egypt, and since the newly established party [ESP] was founded by non-communists and its members knew nothing or little about Marxist theory, we deem, they could become a suitable venue for the diffusion of our communist propaganda.” Because the ESP was not affiliated with the Third International, our group decided to join the new party in order to exert our influence from within, with a prime goal to turn this party into the Egyptian branch of the Third International. . . . In the following months, we enhanced our propaganda activity; lots of gatherings and rallies led to a significant increase in the number of new recruits.75

The Cairo communist section joined the ESP, but like the Alexandria communist section maintained a certain degree of autonomy. It is a bit surprising that Krauss did not mention the existence of the Alexandria communist section and its links with the Comintern in the pre-ESP period. As noted earlier, there was a certain level of communication between the communist groups in Cairo and Alexandria, through the good services of Lili Pitaraki, who was also a member of La Clarté. As we will soon discover, the motives behind Krauss’s omission of the fact that there was also a very active communist section in Alexandria were personal: he was not impressed by either Rosenthal’s personality or his activities.

Avigdor’s First Mission to Egypt

Yehiel Kossoy was known in Egypt by his pseudonym Constantine Weiss. He used to sign his letters and articles in the Comintern organ Inprecor under the name Avigdor. Also his fellow communists referred to him as Avigdor. He was born in Ekaterinoslav in Ukraine in 1890. He was a member of the Bund and arrived in Palestine during World War I with the Jewish battalion HaGdud Ha‘Ivri, but subsequently deserted. Later he migrated to the United States, where he joined Poale Zion and shortly afterward associated himself with the American Communist Party. Avigdor re-

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turned to Palestine to play a leading role in the socialist workers’ party, Mifleget HaPoalim HaSotsialistit (MPS). In early 1921, he was in Moscow with other members of the MPS to negotiate with the Third International the conditions under which the MPS could join the Comintern. The Comintern trained Avigdor, who stayed in Moscow. Later the Comintern sent him to Egypt to organize the first cells of a communist party, to establish contacts with workers, and to organize the labor movement. In 1921, Avigdor lived on and off in Egypt, where he was involved with the activities of La Clarté. When he discovered that he was under police surveillance, he managed to escape from Egypt. He was qualified enough to present a report on the Egyptian labor movement to the Comintern before the assembling of the fourth congress in late 1922—a congress that was to decide on the ESP’s affiliation.76 Comintern and British files shed light on the correspondence between Joseph Rosenthal and Avigdor (who became Rosenthal’s son-in-law following his marriage to Charlotte, whom he first met in Palestine in 1920). For instance, in a letter to Rosenthal dated 10 September 1921, Avigdor described the famine and the development of the revolutionary movement in Russia. Avigdor urged Rosenthal to do his utmost in order to promote a revolutionary movement among the workers in Egypt. In addition, Avigdor stated that he heard that Rosenthal had asked for the removal of the Russian consul general in Alexandria. Avigdor believed that Rosenthal should be appointed Soviet representative in Alexandria.77 Avigdor was also associated with “the United Committee of Action of the Revolutionary Society,” the members of which included Irish (Sinn Fein representatives), Indian, Egyptian, and Mesopotamian revolutionaries. With its headquarters in Berlin, the committee was established in September 1921 for the particular purpose of taking action against the British government wherever possible. The committee was directly linked to the Comintern, which showed willingness to support the committee through the European communist parties. According to a Sinn Fein activist, Avigdor “had influence in revolutionary circles in Egypt” and was recommended as a potential Egyptian member of the committee by the Communist International. At that stage, Avigdor was an active agent of the Comintern in the triangle axis: Moscow–Central Europe–Egypt.78 In his activity in Egypt, Avigdor strove to implement the line formulated and dictated by the Communist International’s Secretariat for Propaganda in the East headed by Stalin. The idea was to form a small nucleus of organized communism in Egypt that would act on behalf of the Comintern from within the country. In a report on its activity for the period February–June 1921 addressed to the Propaganda Department of the Third International and the

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Sectional Committees of the Third Congress of the Comintern, Stalin evaluated Egypt as a country of “great importance as the spiritual leader of the peoples of Northern Africa.” Because of its location, Stalin noted, Egypt was of great interest to both the West European and the Eastern secretariats.79 Shalva Eliava, a member of the Central Committee of the Russian Communist Party, recognized the need to strengthen the Comintern’s activity in Egypt. Eliava noted that comrade Teravanesov requested special funding for preparatory work in Egypt in April 1921, emphasizing the extreme desirability of such action, but the Executive Committee of the Comintern and the Peoples’ Commissariat for Foreign Affairs rejected his request because they both thought that the costs were too high. On his part, Eliava believed that under the prevailing circumstances, it was “unquestionably desirable and necessary that such funds should now be forthcoming.” Although the Comintern’s success in Egypt could not necessarily be expected in the short term, it was still of the utmost importance to invest there for future developments.80 Avigdor was the ECP’s contact and representative at the Comintern’s third congress (the other representative was David Peler).81 Soon after the congress concluded, Avigdor arrived in Egypt. His main task was to strengthen and institutionalize the relations between the ECP and the Comintern so that the former would become the Egyptian section of the Third International. Since neither he nor Peler were in Moscow, Avigdor asked Ivon Jones, delegate of South Africa, to advance the ECP’s admission to the Comintern during the deliberations of the Executive of the Comintern.82 Jones replied positively to Avigdor’s request, and on 20 October 1921, he raised the issue of admission before comrade Troiannovsky, Arabian Section colonial secretariat in the Comintern. In his appeal, Jones pointed out that the ECP was represented “at the third congress by comrade Avigdor, a workingman, who reached Moscow illegally after many difficulties.” Jones explained that Avigdor asked him to represent the ECP because he had to hasten back to Egypt “before any attention was given to the matter, for which he traveled to Moscow.” Jones stated that Avigdor tried hard to bring the question of the ECP before the Presidium of the Comintern in order to submit several proposals: First, to recognize the ECP as the Egyptian section of the Comintern; second, to appoint a committee to decide on the future relations between the practically existing ECP and the newly established ESP, which placed special emphasis on the struggle for national liberation but was also keen to establish ties with the Comintern; third, to send a permanent representative of the Comintern to North Africa “to follow up on these questions and the broad Arabian and African movements on behalf of the Comintern.” Jones begged the Comintern to reply positively to Avigdor’s proposals.83

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From Jones’s previous correspondence with comrade Mátyás Rákosi (1892–1971), the Comintern secretary, it follows, however, that the Comintern had already decided not to recognize the ECP on the ground that it was not “Arabian.” Jones did not dispute the decision, but suggested that before making a final decision the Comintern should send a representative to Egypt in order to examine the situation. He concluded his letter praising Avigdor as “a sincere, hard working revolutionary with clear ideas.” Jones’s concluding remark was quite emotional: “I should be sorry if he [Avigdor] were discouraged by this decision.”84 Despite the Comintern’s adverse approach toward the ECP, Avigdor was determined to advance his proposals. On 23 November 1921, he wrote directly to Rákosi, protesting that “there is not a word concerning the promise you made before my departure [from Moscow]. In view of the new political situation [the failure of ‘Adli Yakan’s delegation],85 we must prepare some earnest action. But do I need to tell you that we are not strong enough and cannot go on without having either moral or material support? Our monthly edition stopped for lack of money; nevertheless, we obtained a permission to publish a weekly newspaper, but we have no funds to start. We need your help [because] there is nobody except you who can help us.”86 Avigdor begged the Comintern seriously to reconsider the issue of recognizing the ECP and the possibility to provide it with a small budget. Avigdor promised that he and his colleagues “shall do our utmost to win your confidence.” Avigdor reaffirmed that Jones was still their representative in the Comintern. He also asked the Comintern to ratify the ECP bureau “already existing in Vienna.” The bureau, explained Avigdor, was established for technical purposes such as printing literature for the European workers in Egypt. Avigdor proposed that “the scope of this bureau be widened to gather information and statistical data on all the national and colonial mass movements, as Vienna offers special advantages for gathering such information and doing such printing and dispatching quickly.” Avigdor stressed that the bureau should remain under the control of the Comintern “either through the Austrian Communist Party or its Comintern representative.”87 By late 1921, the ESP became a reality. On 14 November 1921, Avigdor could inform Jones of its formation: “we have now a great success. There is now a strong body of good members.” Avigdor noted that the noncommunist faction “accepted our program, and now we have a joint committee.”88 As for the situation within the ESP, Avigdor reported that “a slight operation will be necessary.” According to him, some opportunists, who could not find a political home anywhere else, joined the party. Avigdor grumbled that it was hard to mobilize the members for action. He

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begged the Comintern to pay more attention to the Egyptian question. “We wait for their moral support not only in words but in deeds.” From his report, we may also conclude, however, that the ESP was becoming popular. For instance, 35,000 workers of Port Said applied through their committee to the ESP Executive Committee to take charge of their union. They proposed, Avigdor narrated proudly, “even all of them becoming members of the Party.” Avigdor did not hide his opinion: “I am against such a big increase of our membership. There is no use having a membership of many backward people lacking the strength to organize.”89 Avigdor’s reports to the Comintern focused on two themes: Egyptian national and labor affairs. For instance, in December 1921, he reported via Jones to the Comintern on the developments in the context of AngloEgyptian relations and the current nationalist issues. “There are signs that the people’s spirit is not as active as to take up a new struggle. They cannot go on playing high politics; they must have some clear aim before them.” We may also detect from Avigdor’s correspondence with the Comintern of late 1921 that the negotiations between the CGT and the Profintern (Krasnyy internatsional profsoyuzov—the Red International of Labor Unions) was advancing satisfactorily and that the conditions for the joining of the CGT were about to be finalized.90 According to Avigdor, Alexandr Lozovsky (Solomon Abramovich), general secretary of the Profintern (1921–1937), sponsored the CGT’s admission.91 It is noteworthy that the Profintern was an international body established for coordinating communist activities within trade unions. The founding conference attended by delegations from many countries took place in July 1921.92

Notes 1. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp.195–199; Ismael and El-Sa‘id, The Communist Movement, pp. 12–14. 2. Beinin and Lockman, Workers, p. 35. 3. Ibid., p. 35–37. According to these arrangements, foreigners residing in the Ottoman Empire were subject to the laws of their respective countries. 4. Ibid., p. 38; see also Ismael and El-Sa‘id, The Communist Movement, p. 15. Ismael and El-Sa‘id rely on the same censuses, but quote different figures; according to them, there were 489,296 workers in 1907, and in 1917, 639,929 workers. 5. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 38–39. 6. Ibid., pp. 38–39. 7. Ibid., pp. 45–62. 8. Ibid., pp. 64–65. 9. On the 1919 revolt and the labor movement, see in detail Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 83–120. See also Messeri, “Tnu‘at Hapo‘alim,” pp.

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145–153; al-Shafi‘i, Tatawwur, pp. 54–76; Mursi, Tatawwur, p. 28. Mursi called the 1919 events the “democratic bourgeois revolution.” 10. Charlotte Rosenthal’s files, Russian State Archive of Social-Political History (hereafter RGASPI), Fond 495/OP-210/D-51/L40–41b. See also, a letter from Charlotte Rosenthal to the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern, 15 April 1932, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-51/L31–34; and an extended interview with Joseph Rosenthal in H. Galitz, “The Founder of the Egyptian Communist Party Is in Israel,” Yedi‘ot Akhronot, 17 October 1965 [Hebrew]. 11. Ibid. 12. Ibid. 13. On Mustafa Kamil’s ideas and leadership, see, for instance, Gershoni and Jankowski, Egypt, Islam, pp. 6–8. 14. Ibid. See also Al-Ahram, 7 March 1924. 15. “Al-Tahqiq ma‘a al-Shuyu‘iyyin,” Al-Ahram, 7 March 1924. 16. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, p. 178. See also Husni, Al-Yahud fi Misr, pp. 152–153. On the mechanization of cigarette production, see also Shechter, Smoking, pp. 86–93. 17. Charlotte Rosenthal’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-51/L40–41b; Letter from Charlotte Rosenthal to the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern, 15 April 1932, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-51/L31-34; Galitz, “The Founder.” 18. Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 138–139. 19. Ibid., p. 139; Tiba, Al-Haraka al-Shuyu‘iyya, p. 17. 20. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, p. 185; Al-Ahram, 7 March 1924; Messeri, “Tnu‘at hapo‘alim,” pp. 155–156. 21. Letter P.F.37617 M.I.5.A. from V. A. W. Kell to N. Bland, 9 June 1921, FO371/6297, E6878/260/16, Foreign Office, Public Record Office, London. 22. FO371/6300, pp. 455–456. 23. Letter P.F.37617 M.I..5.A., FO371/6297, E6878/260/16. See also two notes attached to dispatch 723, 20 August 1921, FO371/6304, E9985/260/16. 24. Al-Ahram, 14 and 20 March 1920. 25. “Al-Intikhabat al-baladiyya—murashah ishtiraki jadid,” Al-Ahram, 3 March 1920. 26. Al-Ahram, 11 March 1920. 27. Al-Ahram, 16 March 1920. 28. Letter from W. Phillipes to N. Bland, 24 September 1921, FO371/6918, N10985/8601/38. The British National Archives (the Public Record Office) contain a large variety of documents on Egypt, in general, and the communist movements, in particular. The material from the 1920s proved to be informative and insightful. Nevertheless, particular caution is required in the use of this material, since—especially in the early 1920s—Britain as the dominant power in Egypt was obsessed with the danger of communism, not least in light of the Bolshevik takeover in Russia. The documents are sometime inaccurate and misleading, and it is essential to cross-reference them with other documents. 29. Ibid. 30. See Letter 418.754/17, 6 May 1929, FO371/13842, J1284/5/16. 31. Letter 904, 16 November 1922, FO371/7745, E13573/189/16. 32. Alex Granville headed the Labour Conciliatory Board, which was set up by the government in August 1919 following the events of March 1919. Although

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Granville’s mandate was “to receive and mediate labor complaints,” the board’s actual role apparently was “to monitor labor activity and defuse unrest.” See Ismael and El-Sa‘id, The Communist Movement, p. 16. 33. Notes attached to dispatch 723, FO371/6304, E9985/260/16. 34. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 174–177. 35. Letter E511/511/16, 26 February 1920, and telegram 140, 17 February 1920, FO371/5005, E511/511/16. 36. Telegram 208, 2 March 1920, FO371/5005, E1519/511/16. 37. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 174–177; Telegram 687, 9 July 1920, FO371/4992, E8029/354/16. 38. Telegram 687 from Allenby. 39. Telegram 661, 19 July 1920, FO371/4992, E8029/354/16. 40. Memorandum B. 2 (17), 21 July 1921, FO141/779, 9065/87, p. 217. 41. The MOPR was established in 1922 and conducted campaigns in support of communist prisoners, gathering material and humanitarian aid in specific situations. 42. Notes attached to dispatch 723, FO371/6304, E9985/260/16. 43. Charlotte Rosenthal’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-51/L40–41b. See also letter from Charlotte Rosenthal, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-51/ L31–34. 44. See more on their story in New York Times, 23 July 1917. 45. Telegram 603, 11 July 1921, FO371/6918, N8601/8601/38. 46. Memorandum B. 2 (17), pp. 214–216. Among the literature distributed and sold by the Groupe d’Etudes Sociales were Boris Souvarine’s La Troisieme Internationale; Leon Trotsky’s Le Terrorisme; and Terrorisme et Communisme by L’anti Kautsky and Leon Trotsky. The society was represented in Cairo by Stavrinos, the proprietor of the bookstore La Papeterie de l’art, who acted in Cairo as purveyor of socialist and Bolshevik literature and newspapers. See also telegram 603, FO371/6918, N8601/8601/38. 47. Ibid., p. 233. 48. Rosenthal’s memorandum to the Comintern, 23 September 1921, RGASPI, Fond-495/OP-85/D-2/L14. See also, “Akhbar al-iskandariyya: hawa’ alishtirakiyya,” Al-Ahram, 26 August 1921; RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/ L148–161. 49. Memorandum B. 2 (17), FO141/779, E9065/87, p. 233. See also al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, p. 185. 50. On the communist group of Cairo, see later sections. 51. “Groupe Clarté,” in FO141/779, p. 236. 52. Letter P.S.A. 42094, 24 August 1921, FO141/779, p. 253. 53. Letter P.S.A. 43357, 11 September 1921, FO141/779, p. 254. 54. Letter P.S.A. 43357. 55. Report 45134, FO141/779, pp. 291–292. See also, Report 47588, 6 September 1922, FO141/779, p. 305. 56. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L9–10. 57. Telegram 603, FO371/6918, N8601/8601/38. 58. Hillel Zandberg’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-37/L9–10, 17. 59. Ibid., L9–10. 60. S. Zaslavsky’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-36/L6–7. 61. Ibid.

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62. Klara Katz’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-40/L3, 11. See also Avram Katz’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-41/L1, 4. 63. Note on Edward Zaidman, 4 October 1921, FO141/779, P.F. 3753, pp. 262–265. 64. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/L148–161. 65. Letter from Ivon Jones, 20 October 1921, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-2/ L32–33. 66. FO141/779, pp. 260–261; RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L136–137. 67. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/L148–161. 68. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/L143–155. 69. “Remarks on the History of the Communist Party 1919–1925,” File 110, pp. 19–20, in Egyptian Communists in Exile (Rome Group) Archives, International Institute of Social History, Amsterdam (hereafter cited as ECE, IISH, with appropriate file reference). See also Amin ‘Izz al-Din, “Tajdid al-fikr hawla nushua’ al-hizb al-Ishtiraki al-Misri ‘am 1921,” Qadaya Fikriyya, July 1992, pp. 46–49. 70. A report on the history of the labor and communist movements in Egypt from the late nineteenth to early twentieth centuries by A. Krauss, a representative of the communist section of Cairo, submitted to the Comintern in Moscow, on 12 October 1922, in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-10/L15–17 (hereafter cited as “Krauss Report”). 71. Note on a meeting held at the Ministry of the Interior, 3 July 1921, Alexandria, in FO141/779, p. 224; and the Memorandum B. 2 (17), FO141/779, 9065/87, p. 213. 72. Lev Il’ich Elkonin’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-63/L1–5, 7. 73. Rebekka V. Elkonin’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-62/L1–4. 74. Mikhail Kirzon’s (Kuzhuviner) files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-42/ L1–2, 6–7b, 10–11b. 75. Krauss Report, L18–19. 76. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-46/L15–26. See also, al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar alMisri, p. 121. 77. Zahavi, Apart or Together, p. 449; Ben Zaken, Communism, pp. 54–55, 226. See also, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-51/L7–13. Letter B. 2. (14), 12 October 1921, FO141/779, 9065/110. 78. Letter B. 14, 25 October 1921, FO141/779, 9065/113. 79. Stalin’s document is attached to letter 10770/95, 10 August 1921, FO141/ 433, E9030. 80. Eliava’s report is attached to letter 10770/95, FO141/433, E9030. 81. Peler’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-84/L1. 82. Extracts from Avigdor’s letters to Ivon Jones, 28 September 1921, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-2/L15. 83. Jones’s letter to Troiannovsky, 20 October 1921, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP85/D-2/L32–33. 84. Ibid. 85. I discuss Yakan’s delegation in Chapter 4. 86. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-2/L37, 41. 87. Ibid. 88. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-2/L15.

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89. Ibid. 90. Ibid., L15b. 91. Ibid. 92. On the Profintern, see A. Lozovsky, Lecture No. 5, "The Red International of Labor Unions (Profintern)," at http://www.marxists.org/archive/lozovsky/1924/ no.10/ch06.htm.

4 The Formation of the Egyptian Communist Party

Soon after the formation of the Confederation Generale du Travail,

Joseph Rosenthal realized that a political party representing all socialist currents and trends in Egypt was urgently needed in order to establish a firm socialist presence in the Egyptian labor movement. The unions belonging to the CGT were at odds with each other on certain political issues, which made it difficult or even impossible to turn the federation into a political framework. Rosenthal believed that a separate labor party could represent and speak on behalf of the working class in parliament and other forums. It could also promote legislation protecting the workers.1 Although he had already formed a communist framework in Alexandria that maintained direct links with the Comintern, Rosenthal believed that to serve the working class better, his organization should join forces with other socialist groups. Indeed, Rosenthal became the architect of the Egyptian Socialist Party.

The Formation of the ESP

Several days before the proclamation of the formation of the ESP in August 1921, Al-Ahram predicted that the new party would have little influence in Egypt, “despite the socialist fire that was kindled lately.” Socialism, stressed Al-Ahram, could only strike roots in Egypt on two conditions: if there were a nationalization of the Marxist ideas and an Egyptianization of the leadership of the socialist movement while cooperation between the foreigners and the Egyptians continued.2 The ESP included a group of intellectuals from Cairo; the most prominent among them was Salama Musa. In his memoirs, Tarbiyat Salama 55

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Musa (Cairo, 1947), Musa recounted that he along with ‘Ali al-‘Anani, Muhammad ‘Abdallah ‘Anan, and Husni al-‘Urabi were the founders of the Socialist Party in 1920.3 Musa failed to mention the major role that Rosenthal played in the formation of the ESP. There may be several explanations for Musa’s omission. First, he referred to the year 1920 and not 1921 as the year of formation. Therefore, we may conclude that he referred to the founders of the socialist society that existed in Cairo before Rosenthal’s communist group of Alexandria joined forces. Second, in case Musa’s memory betrayed him and he mistakenly meant 1921, then the explanation lies in the strained relationship that developed between Musa and Rosenthal shortly after the formation, as will be discussed in this chapter. After all it was Musa himself, who stated in Al-Ahram on 31 August 1921 that “we did not form a new party, but we joined the long-standing socialist party of Alexandria,”4 which was founded by Rosenthal. Another explanation could be a combination of the two former: because of the strained relationship, Musa “predates” the establishment of the party in order to eliminate Rosenthal’s contribution. Other key figures, such as ‘Ali al-‘Anani, emphasized Rosenthal’s enormous contribution to the formation. On 19 August 1921, several days before the proclamation, al-‘Anani wrote in Al-Ahram: “Mr. Rosenthal has been active for a long time to form a socialist party in this country.” After describing Rosenthal’s constant social struggle for the workers, al-‘Anani revealed that he had been in a continuous dialogue with Rosenthal, in the course of which he became acquainted with Rosenthal’s “honorable and righteous principles.” Al-‘Anani wished him good luck with his humanist assignment as long as he acted legally.5 Rif‘at al-Sa‘id argues that while Musa’s aim was a socialist association that would focus more on teaching socialism than on politics, it was Rosenthal who convinced Musa and his friends to form a party that included all socialist currents in Egypt.6 The ESP was a pluralistic umbrella organization for a variety of socialist currents, representing Fabianism, social democracy, Marxism, and Marxism-Leninism. As a Fabian, for instance, Musa objected to social revolutions, in general, and the Bolshevik Revolution, in particular. He adhered to moderate socialism, which he understood to be pursued by gradual reforms, whereas Rosenthal believed in communism and supported the Bolshevik Revolution. On 29 August, the ESP published its program in the local press, referring to political, social, economic, and human rights issues.7 Practically speaking, the party focused on two fields: first, the national question, that is, the aspiration to get rid of British imperialism and to gain independence; and second, the proletarian character of the party, which was to be strengthened by recruiting as many workers as possible.

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The ESP made two operative decisions: that its headquarters should be located in Cairo; and that the intellectuals should direct its propaganda, “since the vast majority of the Egyptian workers are illiterate.”8

Expansion and Institutionalization of the ESP

A Comintern report stated that 467 comrades paid party dues at the conference held on 17 February. The report reasoned, however, that the number of members was in fact higher: “taking into consideration the extreme poverty of many comrades, particularly those working in agriculture earning 5 or 6 piaster a day, who cannot pay their dues regularly, and also the imperfections of the party apparatus, this figure can without exaggeration be increased to 600 or 650.” The geographical distribution of the members was as follows: the Cairo section had 152 members; al-Mahallah al-Kubra, 60; Alexandria, 54; Port Said, 45; al-Zaqaziq, 28; Tanta, 26; al-Mansurah, 23; Isma‘iliyya, 18; Banha, 12; Mit-Ghamr, 12; Bani Suwayf, 10; and the other members came from villages. The report further stated that more that 80 percent of the members were native Egyptians and the rest were Italians, Jews, Greeks, and others. With regard to the occupational structure, 48 percent were workers of various trades in town; 12 percent were agricultural workers or peasants with small holdings; 25 percent were office employees and petty officials; and 15 percent belonged to the free professions or were students.9 The ESP was composed of two major committees: the Central and the Executive Committees. The former had 15 members, of whom 11 were native Egyptians and 4 of European origin. Its plenary meetings were held at least once a month. The latter committee had 7 members, of whom 5 were native Egyptians and 2 of European origin. The meetings of the Executive Committee were held on a weekly basis. Local committees were active in the various branches and communication between them and the Central Committee was maintained by means of ordinary means of communication. We also learn from the report that an illegal organization existed within the ESP, to which about 10 percent of its members belonged. Half of them were in the industrial centers of Cairo, Alexandria, Port Said, and al-Mahallah al-Kubra (a large industrial center in Lower Egypt). The functions of the organization were as follows: “to increase the Party’s fighting capacity, politically and organizationally; to establish communications with other revolutionary organizations within the country and abroad; to collect documents of a political nature; and other secret work.”10

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The report showed a direct connection between the CGT, which was founded by Rosenthal and his associates, and the ESP. Although the CGT, which nominally represented 50,000 workers,11 was described as temporarily weak and “representing something set up from above,” the report appreciated that it would become “a revolutionary class organization.” In order to mobilize the potential of this organization for the party, the ESP took pains gradually to penetrate the unions and to establish its hegemony from within the CGT. The report noted a certain degree of success in this direction.12 The ESP had, indeed, noteworthy achievements in labor affairs. Since its formation, it managed to play a pivotal role in the industrial areas of Alexandria and al-Mahallah al-Kubra. The party succeeded in recruiting new members mainly among the proletariat. Workers were attracted to the ESP largely because of the successes attributed to its intensive effort to improve the work conditions and standard of living of the laborers. In late 1921 and early 1922, the number of strikes increased significantly— eighty-one strikes broke out in fifty factories. The strikes had positive consequences, since the workers’ wages improved.13 For instance, the ESP was very active in the strike of 20,000 tobacco workers that broke out in September 1921; and the ESP in Cairo led the strike of government employees that took place mainly in Cairo at the end of December 1921.14 The ESP wanted to participate in the international May Day (1922) demonstrations, but the Egyptian government prohibited holding them. The authorities also interfered with the printing and circulation of flyers for May Day. In late April, the Egyptian police raided the ESP’s headquarters following information they had received, possibly from an inside informer, about the planned meeting of the Executive Committee. Those present in the building were arrested and interrogated; the police kept records of their personal details. The other members of the Executive Committee, who were on their way to the meeting, realized what happened and managed to escape. The police searched the headquarters and confiscated all documents and paperwork, and a sentry was placed on the premises. The police issued an order prohibiting the members to convene without its prior permission—a violation of the order would entail criminal charges. That was the most severe blow the newly established party had suffered until then. The short-term repercussions of the police raid were the transfer of the ESP headquarters from Cairo to Alexandria—a move that caused grave frictions and disagreements between the two sections.15 The ESP, together with the CGT, was nevertheless able to print and circulate material in Arabic and European languages, and to organize May Day demonstrations and strikes in several places (Cairo, Alexandria, Port Said, and al-Mahalla al-Kubra) with the participation of thousands of workers. There were processions with banners, music, and propaganda speeches.16

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The following day, Al-Ahram published a large survey on the development of the ESP. When the party was established in the previous summer, noted the newspaper, it seemed that the party would draw its ideas from “the radical Russian socialism.” Al-Ahram recalled how it had stated then that Egypt would not tolerate such extremism. It also argued that only a special type of socialism could exist in Egypt and only among a limited circle of people. “What we see today,” the newspaper went on, “is that the ESP that was established by non-Egyptians or Egyptianized-foreigners (mutamassirun), who studied the socialist principles from the works of Gorky and Stalin, has expanded its ranks, and is now including some 2,000 Egyptian nationals, who have assembled around the socialist flag; as we understand, there are no more than 20–30 foreigners.” The paper mentioned the ESP’s branches and their sizes in terms of membership. In conclusion, the paper stated that as far as the May Day events were concerned, there was a tremendous gap between the ESP’s expectations and reality, due to the intervention of the authorities.17 The ESP maintained contacts with sister parties, notably the British Labour Party. In September 1921, a delegation of Labour members of Parliament (MPs) visited Egypt and met in Alexandria with Rosenthal and ‘Anan. In the meeting, they discussed the economic, political, and legal status of the working classes in Egypt. The British delegation expressed its sympathy for the Egyptian working classes and wished the Egyptian labor movement much success in attaining the recognition of its rights in the near future. Rosenthal and ‘Anan presented the British guests with a letter from the ESP: “The ESP gladly welcomes your visit to Egypt, which aims at backing and supporting the aspirations of the Egyptian people in their demand for liberty and independence. Only the Workers’ Party qualifies for this task. . . . A guarantee for national independence can only be found in international solidarity.”18 The ESP showed great interest in the struggle for national liberation in its declarations and in the public demonstrations that it organized and participated in. The ESP mainly emphasized the irreconcilable struggle against British imperialism in the pursuit to achieve full independence. Its propaganda activities among the “toiling masses” concentrated on increasing their awareness of the need for a class struggle against their oppressors, “the native feudal aristocracy and capitalists.” Exaggerating its own importance, the ESP considered itself as “the strongest political organization in the country.” A Comintern report declared that prominent politicians “both of the centrist party (of Zaghlul) and the radical nationalist organization [al-Hizb al-Watani] treat the Party with marked respect for its revolutionary character.” Moreover, it was said that the National Party proposed to members of the ESP to conduct a joint anti-British struggle. The

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ESP did not rule out such cooperation, although it did not delude itself that al-Hizb al-Watani would adopt the ESP methods of class struggle.19 The ESP could not compete with the mighty and most popular Wafd over the leading role in the struggle for national liberation. At best, it could act as the Wafd’s apprentice. Indeed, it publicly declared its support of the Wafd. When the talks on the terms of ending the British protectorate were opened in London in late 1921 between the Egyptian delegation headed by Prime Minister ‘Adli Yakan and the British government, the Wafd headed by Sa‘d Zaghlul led stormy anti-British demonstrations attacking both the British and the delegation of Yakan, who was portrayed as a puppet manipulated by the British. The Wafd argued that Yakan had no mandate from the Egyptian people to conclude a deal with Britain. The demonstrations were followed by violent clashes between the Egyptian authorities and the demonstrators, culminating in Zaghlul’s banishment to the Seychelles in December 1921. Rosenthal and his colleagues in both the ESP and CGT were fully involved in the riots, expressing their resolved support of Zaghlul. In December 1921, Rosenthal participated in a meeting between Makram ‘Ubaid, a Wafd leader, and an undercover British agent, which took place in late December 1921. The conversation concentrated on the current political state of affairs in Anglo-Egyptian relations. ‘Ubaid made it clear that ‘Adli Yakan did not have the mandate to come to an agreement with Britain that would not meet the Wafd’s demands. Yakan could not form a party in opposition to the Wafd, warned ‘Ubaid, and “should he do so, we shall have to crush it by all means. . . . Until now, we have only been playing with the British, but the time has come for serious work. Should ‘Adli Pasha desire to work sincerely for the country, there is only one way, in which he can prove his sincerity to the nation, and that is by allying himself to Zaghlul Pasha.” ‘Ubaid reckoned that Zaghlul might accept the Milner Commission report20 with certain reservations. ‘Ubaid revealed the Wafd’s plans should the state of affairs continue. The immediate line of action was to start “a boycott similar to that of Gandhi, to cause a strike of government officials and to start a campaign of intimidation against any one likely to form a cabinet.” Rosenthal listened attentively and raised the possibility of the CGT’s participation in the forthcoming campaign of popular resistance planned by the Wafd. ‘Ubaid replied positively without hesitation. Rosenthal immediately presented ‘Ubaid with a copy of the program of the newly established ESP. After reading it, ‘Ubaid expressed his pleasure and declared, “we must do all we can to keep the fire of enthusiasm burning in the students, for Zaghlul must conduct the negotiations with Great Britain.”21 The Egyptian Ministry of the Interior monitored the contacts between Wafd leaders and Rosenthal throughout 1921—a year that witnessed a

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marked escalation in the national struggle for liberation. For instance, it was reported that Mustafa al-Nahhas, a Wafd leader, visited Rosenthal on 10 August 1921. He showed Rosenthal (in his capacity as president of the CGT) a paper that Zaghlul was going to publish just before the elections.22 Muhammad Abu al-Ghar indicated that a direct link existed between Zaghlul and Rosenthal. According to him, Zaghlul made it clear in his conversations with Rosenthal that his main interest was Egypt’s struggle for liberation rather than social affairs. “The social aspects of the liberation were not clear enough to Zaghlul, but he appreciated Rosenthal and agreed with him,” wrote Abu al-Ghar.23 In light of the evidence, it can be said that effective work relations were maintained between the Wafd and the ESP/ECP during the time that the Wafd needed the support of as many Egyptian opposition groups as possible.

Cairo vs. Alexandria: The Crisis of Relocation

In less than a year after its formation, the young ESP faced growing internal ideological disagreements. Traces of a lack of solidarity between the party’s rank and file and the intellectuals, visible even at the founding convention that took place in February 1922, might have indicated the forthcoming, unavoidable fissures within the party. When the ESP was formed in August 1921, the founders decided that its propaganda “must be directed by the intellectuals.” The February convention meant to formulate the ESP’s program and to elect the administrative committee was attended by a large number of manual worker delegates from a variety of places, while many of the intellectuals, who founded the party, failed to come.24 The decision to move the next party convention from Cairo to Alexandria, following the police raid in April, was received with great criticism by the Cairo section, both the communist nucleus and the intellectuals. A. Krauss blamed “a few members of the Alexandria section,” while in fact he meant Rosenthal. By using the police raid as a pretext to move the next party convention to Alexandria, accused Krauss, they sowed the seeds of schism within the party. The Cairo communist nucleus that had fifteen members came to their senses and tried to patch things up with the Cairo intellectuals in order to revive the party’s activity in Cairo. Their efforts were not crowned with success, as the intellectuals blamed them: “You are Bolsheviks, and therefore we don’t want anything to do with you.”25 Krauss, who later prepared a comprehensive report for the Comintern on the ESP and Egyptian communism (in October 1922 before the ESP’s admission to the Comintern), obviously played a central role in

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the critical decline in Rosenthal’s image in the eyes of his Comintern superiors. In reference to Rosenthal’s part in the disintegration of the ESP, Krauss wrote sarcastically: “as you understand how invaluable he was from a communist viewpoint.”26 Krauss was very critical of Rosenthal, but a report prepared by Husni al-‘Urabi, the secretary-general of the ESP, in late 1922 explained that the relocation to Alexandria following the police raid was made for objective and practical reasons: “it was not possible for the party to take on wider activities, until it removed the headquarters from Cairo to Alexandria and began active propaganda among the manual workers. The move to Alexandria took place immediately after the raid.” The ESP and the CGT placed their headquarters in a shared building, because “it was too expensive for their sole use.” Under these new conditions, wrote al-‘Urabi, the party was able to proceed actively with its propaganda among the manual workers. As a result, a large number of the Alexandrian trade unions “transferred their allegiance” from the CGT to the ESP. By October 1922, the whole premises were taken over by the ESP.27 From its outset, the ESP followed two parallel lines—the nationalists and the internationalists. The latter group dominated by the Alexandria section was in close touch with the Comintern as early as 1920. Its contacts with the Comintern never halted. In late March 1922, shortly after the formation of the ESP, the internationalists sent a letter inquiring about the Comintern’s attitude toward the possibility of the ESP’s affiliation. In its reply, the Comintern expressed its disappointment over the ESP’s lack of revolutionary spirit, denouncing it for not doing enough in either the national struggle for liberation or the class struggle. The Comintern, unrealistically, expected the ESP to lead the working classes in both struggles, which showed a complete lack of understanding of the Egyptian political circumstances and the political power relations. The ESP was rebuked for its alienation from its target audience—the working classes, mainly fellahin (peasants). The party, the Comintern protested, was too busy with internal and personal quarrels at the expense of its raison d’être—the vanguard of the social revolution. “You should not wait for Russia and the international revolutionary forces to come and rescue you, but you should take the initiative and act revolutionarily”—the Comintern would help morally and materially with its limited financial resources. The ESP was asked whether it had already accepted the Comintern’s twenty-one conditions of admission. If yes, when and where was the decision made? The ESP was also asked about the composition of its membership in national and social terms and told to provide accurate figures. In addition, the ESP was asked to elaborate its political program, particularly in terms of tactics

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and practicality, and to update the Comintern more often on its internal development and on current Egyptian political affairs.28 On 21 July 1921, the ESP sent a letter to Thomas Bell, the secretary of the Anglo-American Colonial Group of the Comintern, Moscow, signed by Husni al-‘Urabi as “The Secretary” and Joseph Rosenthal as “The European Secretary” of the Central Committee of the ESP. The two referred to their previous correspondence with Georgi Safarov, secretary of the Executive of the Comintern, and to “the information, which our delegate, comrade Avigdor, has certainly communicated to you.” The two informed the Comintern that “in conformity with the wishes of our sections and in the interests of our organization, it was decided that the head office of the ESP should be transferred to Alexandria.” Rosenthal and al-‘Urabi’s letter referred also to the subject of training young cadre at the Kommunisticheskii Universitet Trudyashchikhsya Vostoka (Communist University of the Toilers of the East, KUTV), noting that Avigdor informed them that the funds needed for the journey of the party’s students, who were going to study at the KUTV in Baku, was on its way to Egypt. They praised their carefully selected students saying: “we are convinced of their ability to fulfill their task, and that they are worthy and deserve your attention.” The main advantage of their training was that they “will be very useful there, not only as good students, but also as good teachers, especially in the Arabic language.”29 On 24 August, the Comintern replied to the Rosenthal-al-‘Urabi letter. The Comintern requested the ESP to send “the data and facts about the work of the party, the labor movement and the general revolutionary movement” and other pamphlets, newspapers, and so on published by the ESP. In exchange, the Comintern would regularly send material to the ESP about its work to keep the party abreast “with the development of communism in different countries.” The letter concluded by announcing Avigdor’s impending arrival in Egypt and expressing the hope “that after his arrival the communication between us and you will be livelier than in the past.”30

Ideological Fissures and Radicalization

The ESP convention that was held in Alexandria on 30 July 1922 ratified the relocation of the headquarters to Alexandria. The protocol of the meeting reveals that representatives from all the main sections attended. Rosenthal, whom the convention elected to chair the meeting, delivered the keynote lecture on world socialism—past and present influence and its future prospects. Rosenthal placed special emphasis on its power in the

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European countries. By the end of the gathering, there were no doubts that the party was heading rapidly toward identifying itself with international communism. The unanimous decision to approve the following principles was a clear expression of this tendency: 1. Dictatorship of the proletariat, and the abolition of private property and its transformation into communist property; 2. Free and compulsory education; 3. The obligation to work, along with the prevention of all modes of exploitation and enslavement; 4. State control of the means of production and natural resources, and the establishment of a national bank, in which national capital has the monopoly, to safeguard financial security; 5. All are to work for all, and the collaboration of agricultural and industrial labor; 6. The generation of wealth by multiplying factories and means of production, and by improving waste land as well as cultivated land; and 7. Equality between women and men, and freedom of religion and thought. These principles were to be realized by revolutionary means. Therefore, the ESP convention unanimously approved the party’s desire to be affiliated with the Third International, and a telegraph to that effect was sent to the Comintern.31 The convention elected the following eleven comrades to serve in the ESP Central Committee: Husni al-‘Urabi (secretary), Joseph Rosenthal (treasurer), Alexander Sawa, Ahmad al-Madani, Antun Marun, Fu’ad Shimali (who was expelled from the party soon after, in August, for his antiparty actions and for arousing internal strife), Bayumi al-Bassusi, Muhammad Sharif, M. Mursi Khalifa, Sayyid al-Haridi, and Mahmud Ibrahim. The composition clearly reflected the Arabization of the ESP’s leadership. Rosenthal was the only member of European origin to be elected. He was also named editor-in-chief of the Worker—the ESP’s newspaper. This was obviously a vote of confidence in his leadership and appreciation of his role in the development of the communist movement in Egypt. Nevertheless, the next few months would witness his leadership being challenged from within his party.32 Salama Musa and other intellectuals who were among the founders of the ESP and abandoned it following the relocation to Alexandria stigmatized the ESP’s action as “extremist” and as contravening the reformist aims with

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which—to their minds—the ESP was founded. The convention’s decisions meant abandoning socialism and embracing communism instead. They feared that the reorientation would have adverse implications for the Egyptian national movement. That is, the ESP’s affiliation with the Third International might strengthen Britain’s objection to granting independence to Egypt for fear that pro-Soviet elements within the movement for national liberation would lead Egypt in undesirable directions. Musa declared in this regard: “Our loyalty to Egypt must be stronger than our loyalty to socialism. Independence is our primary goal and socialism is secondary.”33 In a series of articles published in Al-Ahram, Musa attacked Rosenthal, whom he held mainly responsible for the split within the ESP. Despite Rosenthal’s efforts, stressed Musa, “to spread socialism for more than 20 years, he failed to integrate the [native Egyptian] nationalists in the foreign group surrounding him. The nationalists accepted the [socialist] movement only after they witnessed its moderation and its good intentions.”34 We managed to impose our principles on Rosenthal and his fellows, who yielded and fully accommodated themselves to our line. Thus we walked together for several months, until Rosenthal realized that he could no longer tolerate our moderation and that he had failed in his attempts to drag us his way. He succeeded together with some of his friends to move the party’s headquarters to Alexandria. A preposterous situation was created whereby the Alexandrian branch joined the Third International announcing that it now became the head office of the ESP and not simply a branch of it.35

In Musa’s view, Rosenthal was very dangerous for the future development of Egyptian socialism. Even before the formation of the ESP, complained Musa, “we had known that Rosenthal represented one of the most radical socialist current (ghalat al-ishtirakiyya).” It is noteworthy that ghalat, in the Islamic terminology, refers to the radical Shi‘i groups that adhere to an extremist interpretation of Islam. Musa predicted that a socialist revolution in a country such as Egypt was bound to fail, and if—heaven forbid—it succeeded, its success would be worse than its failure.36 Musa concluded correctly, as subsequent events show, that Rosenthal’s move would hurt first of all himself. Musa promised that his party would soon renew its activities in Cairo—this time, he stated, the party would act by means of studies and education mainly for the interests of the Egyptian people.37 Musa was not able to keep his word—the Cairo branch of the ESP ceased to exist. Muhammad ‘Abdalla ‘Anan, who favored an affiliation with the Comintern, reacted unflinchingly to Musa’s harsh words. ‘Anan noted that

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a year had passed since the ESP published its program, to which the party remained committed. The program was being implemented in quiet and peaceful ways. In contrast to Musa’s gloomy prophecy, the ESP was fully aware of Egypt’s special circumstances and therefore would do nothing to harm the struggle for national liberation. The Egyptian socialists, explained ‘Anan, adhered to social and political development in line with the principles of “Marxist socialism.” They did not recognize any form of “national socialism” or “Musa’s style of socialism,” which ‘Anan called “English reactionary socialism” (al-Ishtirakiyya al-Raj‘iyya al-Ingliziyya). In addition, ‘Anan went on, the Egyptian socialists did not recognize what he described as “selfish socialism” (al-Ishtirakiyya al-Naf‘iyya) advocated by some of the democratic parties. Such forms of reformist socialism that sought to reach a compromise between the capitalists and the working classes actually supported the “military and colonial regimes.” ‘Anan poured fire and brimstone on those who supported these forms of reactionary socialism, explaining that by doing so they accepted the principles of those who despicably betrayed the workers, “robbed nations,” and were responsible for some of the world’s worst war atrocities. Socialism, concluded ‘Anan, would remain powerless unless the workers would unite and join the Third International, which would enable them to struggle unhampered against the capitalists.38 ‘Anan disputed Musa’s dogma that Egyptian socialism must be nationalist: “we became extremists, whereas he, Musa, remained moderate. The truth was that we introduced no changes whatsoever to what had been agreed upon with Musa in the recent past.” The affiliation with the Third International should not at all be interpreted as an act of extremism, he remarked, but rather as “an act of our solidarity with our socialist comrades worldwide. We maintain that Musa’s moderation is nothing, but reactionary.”39 Musa picked up the gauntlet. The following day he launched a counterattack against his former colleagues. He absolutely rejected communism once again, severely criticizing Rosenthal. Musa dwelled on his pattern of moderation, stating: “If a communist had observed the region, where we are living, assessing our environment in the past and present, [that environment] where our fellahin have grown up and live, he would realize that the word ‘revolution’ is prohibited here . . . since it is a vain word, meaningless.”40 Musa defended the capitalists, asking: “Are they not Egyptians too?” Among them, he added, there were over a million who possessed approximately a million feddan (1 feddan is about 4,200 square meters) of land. Had a communist revolution taken place, Musa alerted, it would have led

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to bloodshed and unbearable destruction. Musa reasoned that Egypt was at the first stage of a “workers’ awakening,” which developed daily. The ideas of class struggle and dictatorship of the proletariat, which communism preached, would only lead to mutual hatred between the workers and the capitalists, and subsequently to the violent uprising of workers for the sake of becoming property owners. Musa spoke favorably of “English socialism” that adhered to gradualism and moderation in peaceful manners. He regarded it as the only suitable way to social progress in Egypt. By following that path, he stressed, the social conditions of the Egyptian laborers would significantly improve, securing them a rise in their income and standard of living. The realization of Musa’s formula was based on understanding and harmony between the classes; moreover, it was largely dependent on the goodwill of the capitalists and property owners—the upper class. Rosenthal and his fellow communists were taking an opposite route, wrote Musa. They wanted to persuade the workers that the capitalists were their enemies and that they therefore should struggle against them. In response, Musa reasoned, the capitalists, who possessed all means of production, would prevent the spread of education among the working classes, since they as well would deem them enemies. The attempt to implement socialism in accordance with the Bolshevik formula, as Rosenthal wished, would only enhance the enmity between the social classes and subsequently weaken the Egyptian socialist movement. Musa went so far as calling desperately on all members of the ESP to boycott Rosenthal—the bearer of the communist bid‘a (heretical doctrine)—and to adhere to the ESP’s original plan.41 The leaders of the ESP realized that the political attack directed against them in the local press might lead to government actions against the party. They believed external help from the Comintern, material and moral, to be of the utmost importance. On 25 August, they sent a letter to the Comintern reporting that their party faced “a bitter campaign of incitement, hatred and provocation” led by the local press since the party published the resolutions of 30 July. They held Salama Musa and other former members responsible for the “unworthy and ignoble campaign” directed against “our party and against the Soviets. . . . they expose us to the government’s vengeance, and they are trying to form a party of dissidents with the intention of making them adhere to the Second International.”42 The ESP asked the Comintern for financial aid for the publication of a “daily socialist paper in Arabic” as a vehicle to advance its agenda—a counterweight to the anticommunist campaign.43 The ESP dealt peripherally also with world affairs, placing itself in the Soviet sphere of influence. The party convention of 15 September 1922 de-

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cided to oppose any treaty or alliance approved by the Egyptian government under the pressure of British imperialism. The party, together with its sister parties worldwide, would continue to fight against imperialism everywhere.44

Pulling the Strings: The Comintern’s Involvement

In the weeks preceding the fourth congress of the Comintern (November 1922), the ESP seeking admission to the Third International continued to report its activities and successes within the labor movement, in the hope to please the Comintern. Thus, it was stated: “We hope that due to the great influx of new members, we shall be able to redistribute the work in such a way as to relieve the few comrades, who shoulder it at present.” It was noted that the CGT, which was a branch of the ESP, was “gaining more and more influence over the workers’ unions. Last week five prominent trade unions joined the CGT.”45 On 2 September, the ESP opened a free evening school for the workers, reportedly “in the most populous workers quarter.” The party issued pamphlets for the project, explaining its ideas and goals. The ESP also proudly told of its involvement in the national struggle for liberation. They referred to their coordination of positions with al-Hizb al-Watani. The ESP also interacted with other parties: “We have invited all the political parties and all the labor organizations to a general conference, which will take place on our premises on 15 September in order to discuss the future campaign for the country’s independence, and especially in order to consider the impending election campaign.”46 In its reply of 20 October, the Comintern expressed its “disappointment and dissatisfaction” with the letters received from the ESP, “which are generally rather deficient with regard to details. Your reference to being overwhelmed with work does not satisfy us. The Comintern must be informed of your lives and activities in full detail.” For lack of details, the Comintern protested, “we are not able to give you advice and directions corresponding to the real state of things and bringing you real benefit.” The Comintern was particularly troubled by the fact that it was poorly informed about the reasons that led to the split within the party and about the actual explanation for the relocation of the ESP headquarters to Alexandria.47 Another issue disturbing the Comintern was the information it received concerning Rosenthal’s ephemeral resignation from the party in early October. In a letter sent on 6 October, Husni al-‘Urabi informed the Comintern that due to a disagreement on tactical issues within the Central Committee, Rosenthal resigned from the party on 2 October. His resignation could not be accepted without the consent of the General Assembly,

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al-‘Urabi added. Fortunately, he withdrew his resignation the following day, after the differences of opinion were solved.48 According to Rosenthal’s version, he demanded that the Central Committee launch an immediate investigation to inspect the work and conduct of some of its members. He demanded their removal from the party, since they showed a lack of responsibility and used the party to their own ends. Disagreements within the Central Committee over Rosenthal’s demands led to his resignation. Several days later, the crisis was settled, however, when the Central Committee decided to form an executive committee composed of three members (al-‘Urabi, Rosenthal, and Ahmad alMadani) to investigate his allegations. Consequently, Rosenthal withdrew his resignation.49 The Comintern criticized the ESP’s way of conduct in this issue: “In one letter, you informed us of Rosenthal’s exclusion from the party, and in the next letter you expressed your satisfaction over Rosenthal’s decision to withdraw his resignation. . . . since when has the party adopted parliamentary manners, according to which ministers resign, the parliament accepts and the king gives sanction to their resignation. If a party member is at variance with the party program and tactics, he either leaves the party, or the party excludes him from its ranks.” The Comintern was firm in its demand to get answers regarding the character of the dispute with Rosenthal: “What are your differences with Rosenthal. . . . Of this [matter] you never condescended to mention a word.”50 The Comintern received the information provided by the ESP about the growing number of new members with mixed feelings. That was a positive development, it was noted, yet “you know that a proletarian communist party does not run after the quantity, but on the contrary it strives to rid itself from superfluous and dangerous elements, which is especially important for a young party in the first stages of its consolidation.” To be more specific, the Comintern took the rift with Salama Musa as an example. The letter from the ESP, noted the Comintern, referred to Musa as “the traitor and counter-revolutionary,” who was expelled from the ESP with his followers. The Comintern asked: “Could you assure us that among the new members, there were no adverse elements such as Musa? You must be extremely cautious in selecting your new members. We need to know the exact number of new and old party members; their social composition and political maturity.”51 The Comintern also inquired about the tactics employed by the ESP in its contacts with the National Party (al-Hizb al-Watani). The ESP was instructed to create a united front, which would include the following social forces: radical intelligentsia from among the bourgeoisie, small and mid-

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dle peasantry, and a large number of workers. The Comintern was not satisfied with the ESP’s policy toward the fellahin, and it criticized the ESP’s failure to organize “the working apparatus of the party,” which had an adverse effect on the “working relations between you and us.”52 As far as material help was concerned, the Comintern noted that a fairly large sum of money was recently sent to the ESP, but because of differences and quarrels within the ESP’s ranks, “a fact, which greatly depressed us,” the money was returned to the Comintern. The Comintern promised that the issue of financial support would be solved when the Egyptian delegates arrived to attend the fourth congress.53 The ESP was urgently instructed to send whatever was possible from past and present newspapers and published material in Arabic and other languages as well as material dealing with the agrarian and general economic issues from the perspective of the history of the revolutionary movement in Egypt, since “this is necessary for the fourth congress.”54 The ESP prepared its homework carefully following the Comintern’s instructions. In a detailed report prepared before the convention of the fourth congress, Husni al-‘Urabi described and analyzed in detail the political situation in Egypt since the outbreak of World War I. His report also placed special emphasis on the existing political parties and the differences between them. It dealt comprehensively with “industry and agriculture,” two subjects of great interest to any social revolutionary movement. Al-‘Urabi wrote in detail on the history of the labor movement—the formation of trade unions, strikes, anti-imperialist activities in cooperation with the national bourgeoisie, relations with the socialist/communist party, and tables with names of factories and number of workers and their affiliation to trade unions. The report showed a decline in the vigor of the trade union movement “after the great sacrifices made by the masses during 1919 and 1920. We also have to recognize that the influence of the nationalists has waned.”55 The ESP seized the opportunity, began spreading active propaganda in the trade unions, and succeeded in winning the support of many workers and trade unions. The industrial development in Egypt, the report went on, “is still in a backward state.” The report gave data on companies, including the number of employees. It also noted that in September 1922 the ESP induced several new trade unions (listed in Table 4.1), all from Alexandria, to join the CGT. The rapid increase in the employment of machinery since World War I led to the replacement of thousands of manual workers. For instance, 10,000 cigarette makers became unemployed with the introduction of new machines that rolled millions of cigarettes daily. According to the report, the number of workers in Egypt was nearly 2 million, and the number of

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Table 4.1

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Alexandrian Trade Unions that Joined the CGT, September 1922

Name of Trade Union

Number of Members

Brewery workers Lamplighters Taxi drivers Shoemakers Electrical workers

300 250 1,000 1,000 200

workers who were listed in the government statistics as “unclassified occupations and unemployed” was 4,302,259, in addition to some 2 million who worked in domestic service. The report stated in conclusion that labor conditions in Egypt were deplorable and the standard of living was exceedingly low. Only 8 percent of the population were literate “enough even to sign their names.”56 The agricultural population and the situation of the fellahin, of whom 4 million were described as poor, were also discussed in detail: “It was impossible for an agricultural worker to make a living on the land of a holding smaller than 5 feddans.” Egypt had a tilled area of 5,486,135 feddans that was owned by 1,671,045 persons. However, the distribution of the land among the owners was utterly unequal, as Table 4.2 shows. That is, 12,509 persons out of a population of nearly 14 million people owned nearly half of Egypt’s cultivated land. The report, which dealt thoroughly with the ESP’s history and organizational structure, also provided a picture of the geographical distribution of the membership, as Table 4.3 shows. There were a few additional members scattered in several small branches in the country. By the end of the year, following the split of mid1922, the party had more than 800 members, in other words, more than the 600–650 members reported in February 1922, before the split.57

Table 4.2

Distribution of Agricultural Land, 1922

Number of Feddans

Number of Owners

446,154 1,026,033 2,362,714

1,046,441 479,081 12,509

Size of the Holding per Person (in feddans) 0.43 2.14 188.88

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Table 4.3 Town Alexandria Al-Mansurah Al-Zaqaziq Tanta Mahallah

Regional Distribution of ESP Members, October 1922 Number of Members 450 150 100 50 50

It was clear that the young ESP wanted to satisfy the Comintern with its achievements and successes so that the Comintern would accept the party into its ranks. In his report, al-‘Urabi took pains to emphasize the importance of “the Egyptian movement—both on account of the history of the country and on account of the particular geographical position of Egypt.” Al-‘Urabi noted that for its geostrategic location, Egypt could be of utmost importance for the Comintern in spreading the revolution to the Near and Far East, because the Suez Canal route “saves many weeks in the transport of troops and munitions to India and further east.” In addition, the railway connecting Egypt with Palestine should be considered in this context, since it was of great importance for the British troops in their fight against the Ottomans during Word War I. Another reason why the ESP could become a center for spreading communism in the Near and Middle East derived from the great difficulties of spreading communist propaganda (for instance, in the case of Palestine), because of “the enmity between the Arabs and the Jews, and the belief held among Arabs that communism was a ‘Jewish Doctrine.’” Egypt could also be highly functional in Africa because it was “the natural centre of communist propaganda among the black population.” Regionally, Egypt was highly regarded by Muslim and Arabic-speaking peoples, who “are inclined to imitate her doings.”58 Another report on the revolutionary movement in Egypt submitted in late 1922 to the Executive Committee of the Comintern also emphasized the regional significance of the Egyptian communist movement. The report stated that Egypt, as the “strongest economic centre of the whole of the Arabian East, is at present the most important factor in the nationalist revolutionary ferment in these countries.” The ECP, the report went on, could become “the beacon and the vanguard of the proletarian masses not only in its own country, but in the whole of the Arabian East, and lead it in the struggle for national and social emancipation.”59 For all the above reasons, concluded al-‘Urabi, Egypt must play a notable part in any future world revolution. The Comintern should give serious atten-

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tion to the Egyptian problems and would “do well to recognize that the time may not be far, when the Egyptian movement may prove a ready sword in the hand of Soviet Russia in its fight for the world revolution.”60 The ESP/ECP expressed its expectations of support and instructions from the Comintern, “which it undertakes unconditionally to carry out, and insists on the recognition of the Egyptian section of the Communist International.”61

The Rosenthal Affair: A Conspiracy Within the ESP?

On 4 August 1922, Husni al-‘Urabi conveyed his desire to attend the upcoming fourth congress of the Comintern. In a letter, he asked Avigdor to assist him in covering the travel expenses to Moscow. He also expressed his fear that his trip might lead to his “deportation, imprisonment or execution.” Moreover, al-‘Urabi asked Avigdor to pay attention only to letters signed by him as the secretary-general of the ESP. The later conflict between al-‘Urabi and Rosenthal stemmed from this letter, in which al‘Urabi described Rosenthal as someone who did not obey or respect instructions given by his party superior, as illustrated by his decision to enter elections for the municipality of Alexandria for the second time. “The question of Rosenthal’s candidacy in the municipal elections,” wrote al‘Urabi, “does by no means commit the party, which neither allowed him to stand as a candidate nor was apprised of the issue at all. The matter might have occurred before the party was in formation; but, we are ready to open an official inquiry into the matter, if you wish.”62 Stitching Up a Case

Avigdor informed the Comintern of his correspondence with al-‘Urabi, and on 19 August, Georgi Safarov, secretary of the Executive of the Comintern, wrote to invite the ESP to send its delegates to Moscow. The financial obstacles were removed, wrote Safarov: “we sent you [the money] for covering the expenses of the delegates’ journey as well as the journey of the six Arab students” who were due to commence their studies at the KUTV. Safarov asked that the students be sent as soon as possible. He reiterated the Comintern decision to appoint Avigdor as its representative in Egypt.63 Krauss arrived in Moscow in early October to submit his report on the history of the communist movement in Egypt to the Comintern (without being asked). He was obviously keen to submit it before the convening of the fourth congress, where the question of Egypt and the ESP’s application for affiliation with the Comintern were on the agenda. He wanted to present the Cairo communist group’s version of the split within the ESP.

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Krauss apparently wanted to ruin the reputation of Rosenthal, al-‘Urabi, and of the Alexandrian branch, who took full control over the contacts with the Comintern. The Comintern obviously did not like Krauss’s independent move and knew nothing about him or his Cairo communist group. In a letter to the ESP, the Comintern wrote: “Lately, a certain Krauss arrived from Egypt with a letter of some group of communists from Cairo. Who is this person, and what is this group? We ask you to send immediately information concerning both.”64 Krauss was well known to Avigdor, however. Krauss noted in his report the special relations established between his Cairo communist group and Avigdor after the formation of the ESP. According to Krauss, Avigdor, the representative of the Comintern, greatly impressed him and his friends during their first meeting in Cairo in early 1922. Krauss noted that Avigdor, who was active and devoted to his duty in Egypt, dedicated a great deal of his time to motivating members of the party, who admired him. Beside Cairo and Alexandria, Avigdor traveled to provincial towns, where he organized meetings and recruited new members to the party. Avigdor, added Krauss, did not delude himself that the local members were proper communists, and therefore he approached our little communist group and made it clear that in the current state of affairs, it is irrelevant to speak of a pure communist movement in Egypt. Although it is essential to support the nationalist party [the Wafd] in its struggle against imperialism, it is also of the utmost importance to emphasize the deep antagonism existing between the oppressed class—the proletariat, and the leaders of the nationalist party, who were all rich property owners. When they would take over the government, they would exploit the workers . . . if the workers would come with social demands, they [the Wafd leaders] might even execute them. In order to support our activities including the regular publication of a paper, comrade Avigdor managed to persuade the Comintern to send us financial aid.65

After Avigdor’s departure from Egypt, however, recalled Krauss, quarrels within the party increased and reached their climax following the police raid on the ESP headquarters in late April 1922.66 As mentioned, Krauss’s report reached the Comintern, which apparently knew nothing about him or his group. The report had its effect, however, since it was used by Rosenthal’s opponents, among them his son-in-law Avigdor, as another argument against Rosenthal, eventually contributing to his downfall. Avigdor, who knew Krauss, replied on behalf of the Comintern to Krauss’s report in a very supportive and amicable tone. In his letter of 18 October 1922, Avigdor expressed his regret that he would not

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be able to meet Krauss. In reference to Krauss’s accusations against Rosenthal and his colleagues, whom he held responsible for the disintegration of the ESP, Avigdor informed Krauss that the Comintern instructed him (Avigdor) to return to Egypt “in order to get full information and once for all to stop the foolish rivalry between the two groups.” Avigdor revealed in his letter that the Comintern is little pleased with R [Rosenthal]; and my task is now to put him as well as the other comrades on the right path. Due to the unclean state of the party and the dissatisfaction prevailing among the leading comrades of the Comintern, the money that had already been sent was returned. If I succeed to put the comrades on the [right] track, the money will be sent again. Anyway, it remains for you to put things right over there and then to wait for my information or arrival.67

Why would Avigdor, who was Rosenthal’s son-in-law, act against him? It appears that Avigdor was above all committed to his ideological conscience. While in Egypt, he witnessed the level of mutual hostility displayed by members of the ESP, particularly between the Cairo and Alexandria sections. Indeed, in addition to Krauss’s report, Avigdor received information putting Rosenthal’s integrity in question. For instance, Salama Musa, whose aversion to Rosenthal was well known, replied to a letter sent to him by members of various branches of the ESP in late 1922 that asked him about the reasons of his resignation and his attitude toward Rosenthal. Musa replied that in reference to their letter, he wished to inform them that “Rosenthal deceived the Alexandria section and drove it to join the Bolsheviks for his own personal reasons. Our efforts to put him on the right track were in vain, he did not even want to listen to us, because if he did, he would have lost money.”68 Musa was a well-known and respectable public figure, and even if Avigdor distrusted Musa’s adverse campaign against Rosenthal, he could not ignore the fact that Rosenthal’s credibility and integrity were at stake. Moreover, Rosenthal—himself a well-known public figure whose links with the Comintern were publicly announced by his former colleague—could be as a millstone on Avigdor’s shoulders in a crucial historical junction of the ECP. The party’s attempts to be affiliated with the Comintern, Avigdor appreciated, would possibly provoke an adverse response by the Egyptian authorities that were likely to consider Rosenthal the mastermind behind the move. For Avigdor, Rosenthal was therefore an undesirable figure who could spoil his efforts to construct a clandestine communist organization. Another explanation can be found in a personal letter sent by Rosenthal to Avigdor in September 1922. In a rather sentimental way, Rosenthal re-

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vealed that he found it very hard to function and to fulfill his duties to the ESP due to the missing communication with his daughter Charlotte, who was in Moscow. Rosenthal complained that after he received Avigdor’s last letter on 2 June 1922, he sent four letters that were not answered. “What is this deathly silence,” he asked nervously. I received no letters from Charlotte, did anything happen to her? Please update me at once. You know very well how deeply I am attached to her, and her absence hurts me a lot. What am I to blame for, to make me suffer so much? My worries and suffering greatly affect my activity for the ESP. These feelings also affect my ability to express my views in detail in this letter.69

Rosenthal tried to correct the impression that he was emotionally out of control, stating, “I do my job properly, why can’t others do the same?” He informed Avigdor that the ESP’s work was progressing brilliantly. Adverse elements such as Musa, al-‘Anani, and ‘Anan had disappeared. The ESP’s influence within trade unions and among workers had grown tremendously. Rosenthal explained that currently only a small group of hard-working members was active, and that there was too much work for them to cover. Husni al-‘Urabi, stressed Rosenthal, “works seriously and energetically”; this period was one of the hardest for the ESP. Rosenthal enclosed documents on the ESP’s principles and resolutions in his personal letter. Avigdor, the representative of the Comintern in Egypt, was clearly the type of party bureaucrat who liked things to be conducted following proper order and hierarchy. That is, party documents and resolutions should be sent by the ESP’s secretary-general, and not by other members—senior or junior. He remembered al-‘Urabi’s letter of 4 August 1922 asking Avigdor to attend only to letters signed by him as the secretary-general. Avigdor held it against Rosenthal that he had sent the material without consulting al-‘Urabi. He took it as further evidence for Rosenthal using the ESP for his own ends. It would appear that at the time Rosenthal was not fully aware of the plot that was being hatched against him by his inner circle. On 17 November 1922, he sent a letter to al-‘Urabi, who represented the ESP at the fourth congress of the Comintern in Moscow. “I am very jealous of you and wish also to be given the opportunity to touch the holy land of the world’s socialist revolution and to get in contact with the representatives of the world proletariat,” stated Rosenthal in his opening. “In spite of the distance that separates us, we are close to you with our hearts and souls. We all wish you good health and look forward to the success of the fourth congress. We are also looking forward in anticipation of your return,” stated Rosenthal sentimentally.

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Rosenthal briefly informed al-‘Urabi of the ESP’s recent activities in his absence and then discussed financial issues related to al-‘Urabi’s trip to Moscow. Rosenthal told al-‘Urabi that a check for £25, which al-‘Urabi’s family sent to him, was returned for unknown reasons. Al-‘Urabi probably did not like the next part of the letter: “Since I urgently needed to pay the rent for our office and due to our party’s liquidity problems, I had to withdraw £15 of the amount to pay our debts. I send you the remaining £10 and hope to send the rest in my next mail, if we have enough income by then. I hope that this involuntary delay has not caused any difficulties, and that you are not short of money. The cheque for £10 can be cashed in Berlin.”70 As we shall soon see, financial disorder was a part of the charges brought by al-‘Urabi against Rosenthal. Another letter, a copy of which found its way mysteriously to the Comintern, could also be used by Rosenthal’s rivals as evidence undermining his integrity. They could portray him as somebody who was in contact with people who exploited revolutionary Russia’s economic distress to make money. The letter was sent from Istanbul on 30 August 1922 by a Greek friend, who thanked Rosenthal for sending him a crowned ornament. The friend (known only as D. Y.) also added that he was planning to settle in Istanbul, where he would cooperate with Epiphaniades, the owner of merchant ships that traded with Russia. The letter contained abundant descriptions of private entrepreneurs, such as Epiphaniades, “a fake communist,” who traded with Russia in order to make money. The letter also revealed uncomplimentary stories of corruption among the leaders of the communist regime in Russia.71 The Impeachment and Expulsion: Rosenthal’s Reaction

On 10 December 1922, a day after his return from Moscow, Husni al‘Urabi briefly updated the Central Committee on his prolonged visit to Moscow and his participation at the fourth congress. He informed his colleagues of the Comintern’s conditions for affiliation to the Third International. Rosenthal’s name was not mentioned at all at this stage. On 12 December, al-‘Urabi reported to the Executive Committee of the ESP on his trip and experiences in Moscow, and it was decided to convene the party assembly on 6 and 7 January 1923 to discuss among other things the following issues: (1) a report on the state of the ESP, (2) reports by the various secretariats and branches of their activities, (3) a report on the fourth congress of the Third International and the reaffirmation of the Comintern’s twenty-one conditions, (4) a name change of the ESP to Egyptian Communist Party, (5) the ESP’s plans for the year 1923, and (6) the dismissal of the Executive Committee and the election of a new one.

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Once again, Rosenthal’s name was not mentioned apart from the fact that he was supposed to deliver a speech at the party convention.72 The turning point occurred on 15 December during a meeting of the Central Committee. What started as another routine meeting that approved the resolution adopted by the Executive Committee ended in a storm. At the end of the meeting, Avigdor asked for permission to make a statement on behalf of the Comintern. The Comintern, Avigdor declared, required Rosenthal’s expulsion from the party.73 The versions of what happened thereafter vary. One thing is certain: once thrown, the snowball could not stop rolling down the slope. At that stage, Avigdor and al-‘Urabi feigned innocence. Rosenthal recounted that after Avigdor made his statement, he revealed to Rosenthal that the expulsion was the Comintern’s instruction based on incriminating data sent by the Cairo section. Avigdor is said to have informed Rosenthal that he arrived at the conclusion that this information was groundless and that he therefore wrote a very positive counter-report to his superiors in Moscow, explaining Rosenthal’s vital importance to the party. He himself was convinced that Rosenthal was indispensable to the party. Rosenthal pointed out that Husni al-‘Urabi confirmed Avigdor’s words, adding that they both tried passionately to protect Rosenthal, but their efforts were in vain. Rosenthal noted that al-‘Urabi disclosed to him that it was Krauss who reported very negative news of the ESP in general, and of Rosenthal in particular, to Moscow. Rosenthal admitted that he had not known anything about Krauss until the Comintern asked about him in its letter of 20 October 1922. In a private conversation, al-‘Urabi told Rosenthal that Avigdor was responsible for the Comintern’s negative impressions of the ESP and the difficulties the party was facing. Al-‘Urabi stressed that Avigdor spoke unfavorably of the party: “he did not know how or did not want to represent the interests of our party loyally.” Al-‘Urabi also informed Rosenthal that the Comintern special emissary, Maurice Eden Paul,74 would be attending the party convention in January 1923, where he would reveal the Comintern’s instructions and plans for the party. Rosenthal suggested to al-‘Urabi to delay his expulsion from the party until Paul’s arrival: “I said that the question of my expulsion could be clarified with Dr. Paul and should the latter insist on my expulsion, I would resign in order not to harm our party’s development.”75 Al-‘Urabi was a shrewd man, who skillfully manipulated the party in order to achieve his own goals and advance his interests. He knew very well that Rosenthal held a well-established position as the founding father of organized communism in Egypt. Rosenthal’s image as a working-class hero within Egypt’s labor movement was unquestionable. He had a long record of activities for workers, who believed in his integrity. On the eve

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of the ECP’s admission to the Comintern, al-‘Urabi wanted to become the party’s sole and undisputed leader. Rosenthal’s unshakable position and conspicuous presence among the party members stood in al-‘Urabi’s way. He had neither the power nor the authority to expel Rosenthal from the party. The best and easiest way to get rid of Rosenthal was to invent the story that it was the Comintern’s decision and—in order to enhance his own popularity within the party—to pretend that he did all he could to prevent expulsion. The following fascinating and unique correspondence sheds new light on one of the most interesting affairs in the history of Egyptian communism, answering the questions of why Rosenthal was expelled from the party, who was responsible for the expulsion, and how the Rosenthal affair ended. During the next few days, the battered Rosenthal refused to accept the weight of the punishment—his friends’ betrayal distressed him, but he was even more troubled by the Comintern’s falling into their trap. At that point, Rosenthal clearly realized that the whole affair was a conspiracy carefully concocted by al-‘Urabi and other interested members of the Central Committee. In an angry letter to the ESP’s Central Committee of 17 December, he protested with “my last ounce of strength” against the decision made by the Central Committee on 16 December to expel him from the party. He remained loyal to the Comintern even at that sad moment, saying: “the party had no choice but expelling me, if it is essential for the admission to the Comintern. The Egyptian proletariat is not able to act without the support and backing of the Comintern. Imperialism can only be beaten by its main enemy—the Comintern.” His anger was directed at al-‘Urabi and other members of the party, to whom he referred derogatorily as “Zeroes”: They were behind the expulsion after they manipulated members of the Comintern to believe the move to be vital. They caused serious damage [to our party] and succeeded in paralyzing a militant activist like myself. It is sad that some influential Comintern members have made such a decision without checking the state of our party from within. I don’t want to make accusations, but the members of the Comintern are human beings, and they too make mistakes. I am convinced that in the foreseeable future they will realize that I am full of goodwill, devoted to and active for the communist goal, to which I have dedicated my entire life, which is my life’s ideal, and for which I’ll die.76

Rosenthal, who had already alerted his party in early October that subversive elements infiltrated the party’s leadership and resigned temporarily as a protest measure, appealed in his letter to the rank-and-file comrades to devote

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all their efforts to purge the party, rooting out all the hostile elements that undermine the party’s foundations. Afterward, he declared, the party should get united and strengthen its ranks in order to fight against the enemies of the working classes, until the triumph of the ideal communism was achieved. Only such an achievement, wrote the sad and disappointed Rosenthal, could cheer him up after he had been compelled to resign. Rosenthal asked his comrades to allow him to take an indefinite leave, doubting whether he would ever be able to get over his trauma. He expressed his wish that this step would not be interpreted by his colleagues as faintheartedness—a submission to the government order to halt his communist activities. It was needless to mention, Rosenthal concluded, that he would be willing and more than happy to join forces as soon as the party asked him.77 Several days later, the broken Rosenthal apparently accepted his expulsion as a fait accompli, quite contrary to his usual militant way of conduct. On 20 December, he submitted his letter of resignation from the party. He wrote to al-‘Urabi: “for special reasons, I have resolutely decided to resign for good from all public activity. I therefore hand in my resignation from the Central Committee, party membership and the CGT.” He asked al-‘Urabi to inform all party sections of his resignation and to announce it at the party’s general assembly within fifteen days.78 That was just the beginning of the story of the anti-Rosenthal plot, however. A day after he handed in his resignation, Rosenthal was himself again—extremely belligerent. He withdrew his resignation. In a letter to Ahmad al-Madani and al-‘Urabi, who were—apart from him—the members of the Executive Committee, he reminded them of their decision of early October, taken after his previous resignation and before al-‘Urabi’s trip to Moscow, concerning the urgent need to purge the Central Committee of adverse elements. Rosenthal noted that because one of the three members of the Executive Committee went away in order to participate at the fourth congress of the Comintern, the investigation could not be pursued. Since al-‘Urabi had returned, Rosenthal called upon the two other members to convene a meeting the same night in order to discuss these urgent issues. He revealed that he planned to make severe complaints against three members of the Central Committee at the meeting.79 Irritated by Rosenthal’s refusal to comply with his instructions, al‘Urabi replied scornfully to Rosenthal’s request to convene the Executive Committee. “I wish to inform the Jeweler Mr. Rosenthal,” wrote al-‘Urabi, that the Central Committee made the following decision in its meeting on the previous day, 21 December: “In line with the Comintern’s request ‘to expel Mr. Rosenthal because he was not a real communist; he used the party for his own benefit; and also because his utility to the party being insignificant,’

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you are expelled from the party for good. The party’s fund will temporarily be deposited in the hands of Ahmad al-Madani. The Executive Committee of the CGT that convened on the same day also decided to strike you off its list of members.” Rosenthal was requested to provide al-Madani with an account of the state of the party’s and the CGT’s funds as well as to submit all documents relevant to the party and the CGT in his possession.80 Rosenthal did not wait any longer. On the day he received al-‘Urabi’s letter, he decided to take matters in his own hands. If the Comintern was behind his expulsion, he asked, what were the reasons? He assumed that he might get an answer from those who made the decision. Therefore he appealed directly to Georgi Safarov, with whom he had corresponded until recently. Rosenthal gave his letter (written in French) an emotional flare: Only two days ago, I have heard of the Comintern’s decision to expel me from the party. I don’t incriminate myself, explain myself, or justify myself, since you have never thought it necessary to ask me for any explanation or justification for any of my deeds. My conscience is clear, and I’m totally innocent; and moreover, I don’t deserve the harsh defamations. If required, I’m willing to provide you with all the necessary proofs to demonstrate my loyalty, dedication, and utility to the party.81

At this point, Rosenthal shifted the emphasis from self-righteousness and integrity to a severe and uncompromising attack on the ESP’s leaders. The Egyptian working class possessed all the required revolutionary traits, but unfortunately it was being misled and betrayed by a group that called itself intellectuals, stated Rosenthal. However, many of them were pseudo-intellectuals, degenerated and corrupt. He presented Safarov his communist credentials: I did every thing I could to protect the interests of the working class that trusted me after they witnessed my dedication, self-sacrifice, persistence, and indefatigable efforts to advance their cause. Enjoying the trust granted to me by the working class, I managed to establish a communist party and generously assisted the organization of numerous trade unions, many of which joined my movement. To our bad fortune, I could not advance my plan to purge the party of hostile elements due to the Comintern incomprehensible decision to expel me.82

Rosenthal concluded his letter warning that under the circumstances created by his expulsion, the future of the party was at stake. He called the Comintern to open at once an investigation in order to check his allegations: “a considerable number of the members of the Central Committee are not worthy to hold such senior positions—among them, there are par-

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asites, exploiters, opportunists and worst of all: police secret agents.” As long as the investigation continued, Rosenthal recommended, the Comintern should halt all moral and material supports to the party.83 On his part, al-‘Urabi took off his gloves and embarked on taking revenge. On 23 December, he publicized Rosenthal’s expulsion in the local press, reiterating the resolution adopted by the Central Committee of 21 December.84 Rosenthal followed suit with his own statement to the press: I am not used to reply to or defend myself against those, who attack or slander me. However, the content of [al-‘Urabi’s] memorandum and the way it was formulated can dishonor me as a public figure and as private person; and stain publicly the Egyptian Socialist Party. It can hurt one of the central members of the party, a founding member and a chief activist, who enjoys the support of a large part of the Egyptian working class. Such a move on behalf of the secretary general contradicts and violates the party’s rules. These are sophisticated maneuvers that were designed to remove righteous people from the party in order to clear the way for some dubious and dishonest people, in order to exploit the working class without disturbance.85

Rosenthal concluded his statement by making it clear that the only forums to wash the dirty linen were the party’s general assembly and the Comintern.86 The public quarrel between al-‘Urabi and Rosenthal became more inflamed. In return, al-‘Urabi publicized via the press further explanations for Rosenthal’s expulsion. He characterized Rosenthal’s statement as a lie. According to al-‘Urabi, the expulsion was not simply a Comintern instruction but rather the result of domestic issues related to the ESP. First, revealed al-‘Urabi, Rosenthal failed to fulfill party tasks. Together with Ahmad al-Madani, he was sent by the Central Committee on a party mission to Mansurah, where a few party members rebelled on 7 November 1922. Rosenthal postponed his departure until 12 December and then informed his superiors that they could not travel to Mansurah for lack of funds for the train tickets. Consequently, the Mansurah section totally crumbled. Second, al-‘Urabi’s account continued, Rosenthal demonstrated extreme negligence in his capacity as the party’s bursar. He failed to submit monthly statements. Third, he forged the party’s stamp and used it for his own purposes. In his correspondence with people abroad and in his speeches to workers, Rosenthal slandered the ESP.87 What makes al-‘Urabi’s statement unconvincing and might suggest a fabrication was the fact that Ahmad al-Madani, a senior member of the ESP who allegedly failed in his mission in Mansurah, was not punished at all— on the contrary, he was promoted by al-‘Urabi as Rosenthal’s replacement in

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the capacity of the party’s bursar. Also, according to Rosenthal, soon after his return from Moscow, al-‘Urabi made the following statement: I, personally, am utterly convinced that comrade Rosenthal is dedicated and loyal [to his party] and all the things that were said about him in Moscow are pure inventions. I should be a bastard and my mother a harlot, if I did not do all I could to protect him [Rosenthal in Moscow], but unfortunately without success. I did not want to be the one, who would have to inform him about the Comintern’s decision, so I asked the Comintern to send a special envoy to inform us of the special conditions it attached to our party’s admission. . . . The General Assembly of the ESP is the only legal forum that can take decisions on such matters [as the expulsion of Rosenthal].88

Rosenthal refused to drop the matter. On 27 December, he challenged the Central Committee resolution of 21 December, regarding it as null and void, since it violated the ESP’s constitution. Only the General Assembly had the right to appoint or dismiss the party’s bursar or secretary-general. Rosenthal condemned al-‘Urabi’s decision to publish the matter of his expulsion in the “local bourgeois press,” calling it “a counter-revolutionary and anti-communist act.” He promised to file a complaint against it before the forums of the General Assembly and the Comintern. Rosenthal reiterated his proposal to solve the crisis internally in a peaceful manner—he would withdraw from the party’s operational activities while this matter was being investigated by the Comintern. If after the conclusion of the inquiry, the Comintern were still demanding his expulsion, Rosenthal would step down for good. If the matter were dealt with swiftly, Rosenthal reasoned, it would be possible to avoid public scandals, “for which I hold you [al-‘Urabi] responsible.” At this point, Rosenthal presented his own demands: the immediate suspension of Sayyid al-Haridi, Antun Marun, and Alexander Sawa—three members of the Central Committee who were proven dishonest following the investigation conducted by the Executive Committee on 21 December. Rosenthal demanded that all the money that entered the accounts of the ESP’s headquarters and the trade unions affiliated with it should be transferred to the bursar. He particularly concentrated on Alexander Sawa, who never reported the party’s money that he received. “He must provide me with an accurate report on the party’s earnings. Should he fail to do so, I shall hold you [al-‘Urabi] responsible for his misconduct,” warned Rosenthal. Antun Marun was said to have never bothered to transfer £6 that he received from two workers for the party. Ahmad al-Madani, noted Rosenthal, who was requested to replace him as the bursar, had not yet contacted him.89

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In reference to al-‘Urabi’s accusation that he was sloppy in his capacity as the party’s bursar and failed to provide monthly statements, Rosenthal replied that the party’s account was obviously run at the ESP’s headquarters—“at my disposal there is only a list of bank transactions, for which I was responsible in my capacity [as bursar]; and I retain all the documents approving them [transactions].” Should the ESP wish to investigate my conduct as its bursar, wrote Rosenthal, “I demand the appointment of a local committee of inquiry comprising three objective members.” He was willing to give a full account to this commission, if the Central Committee would submit an account of all other income and expenses of the ESP.90 Regarding himself as workers’ advocate, Rosenthal accused the Central Committee of misusing the ESP’s headquarters for their own benefit. The headquarters, he protested, was intended to serve the workers’ affairs and interests, and therefore it should not be used by a group of dishonest and suspected people.91 Rosenthal provided al-‘Urabi with a list of debts the party owed him— from occasions when he used his own money to pay for the party’s activities. According to his list, he paid the rent for the party’s headquarters for eight months (May–December 1922), amounting to £48, and also paid £38 to cover al-‘Urabi’s trip to Moscow to attend the fourth congress. These and the other ESP expenses, including office equipment, documents, and so on for which he paid, are meant to prove that Rosenthal was not a burden on the party but rather an asset—a philanthropist. Rosenthal was a generous person who wholeheartedly believed in communism. Throughout his public activities for the working class, he gave from his own, subsidizing the lofty goal of the improvement of the laborers’ lives and work conditions. He obviously would not have bothered to submit the list of debts to al-‘Urabi if the latter had not disputed and challenged Rosenthal’s integrity publicly.92 Although he had not received any reply from Safarov to his earlier letter, Rosenthal sent him another letter. He wrote that the situation had worsened since his letter of 22 December and stressed that al-‘Urabi and Avigdor joined forces for personal reasons and published a statement in the bourgeois press that defiled the young party generally and dishonored him as a public and private figure, which obviously pleased the ESP’s enemies. He reiterated his own version of the events, pointing the finger at Avigdor, al-‘Urabi, and Krauss, who concocted a plot against him.93 Rosenthal attached several files to his letter in order to prove his innocence and uncompromising loyalty to his party and the international communist movement. The first file related to the original investigation con-

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ducted by the Executive Committee against Sawa, Marun, and al-Haridi. These three, he warned, infiltrated the ESP with dishonest intentions. They were corrupt in their handling of the party’s money. In addition to these general accusations, he made more specific charges. Antun Marun, stated Rosenthal, was utterly irresponsible during the strike of the lighters of the gas lamps several months ago—a strike that Rosenthal and Marun headed. Throughout the strike, Marun’s behavior contravened the strikers’ interests and put them at risk. His misconduct led to a second strike, in the wake of which ten workers were dismissed. There also were not-yet-verified rumors that he was in touch with the secret police. Sayyid al-Haridi, a schoolteacher, reported Rosenthal, was suspected of being a police informer.94 On these grounds, Rosenthal had demanded the suspension of those members from the Central Committee, but his other senior comrades were not in favor of such a step. Moreover, Rosenthal found himself at odds with many of his senior colleagues on organizational and tactical issues relating to national questions and the trade unions. This had led to his temporary resignation from the party in early October—a crisis that had ended with the formation of the new three-member Executive Committee with the mandate to investigate these matters. Unfortunately, Rosenthal noted, for objective reasons the investigation had to be postponed, since al‘Urabi, a member of the committee, was absent for weeks representing the ESP at the fourth congress. After his return, the committee convened on 21 December. The investigation found sufficient evidence to incriminate the three members of the Central Committee. At that stage, however, the meeting was interrupted and scheduled to continue at a later date, because the Central Committee was about to convene in order to discuss the “Rosenthal issue.” Rosenthal explained that he could not participate in that crucial meeting that decided his fate. On the following day, the Central Committee announced his expulsion from the party in the local press. Rosenthal points out that Ahmad al-Madani, a member of the Executive Committee and Central Committee who had done all he could to prevent the expulsion, submitted his resignation from the party on 22 December. That was a hard blow for al-‘Urabi, who wanted to appoint al-Madani as bursar instead of Rosenthal.95 Regarding himself as a meticulous observer and a diligent and conscientious active member, Rosenthal pointed at his dilemma. If he accepted the decision and resigned from the party and the CGT, they would fall into the hands of a dishonest leadership. Under such circumstances, many members would desert the party and the CGT because of their lack of respect for and mistrust of their leaders. But,

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if I challenge their leadership and take over the party, and then find out that the Comintern was indeed behind my expulsion, it would have implied that I challenged the Comintern—a move I would never dare taking. In the last four years, I have dedicated all my strength and energy and means for the sake of the Russian revolution, the Comintern and the affiliation of the Egyptian working class to you. I find it uncomfortable to talk about my revolutionary past. I admit that I committed mistakes— who doesn’t? To quote comrade Lenin: “only active people make mistakes, unlike lazy people who don’t.” What have I done wrong? Was it that I refused to turn the communist ideal into a profession or was it that I refused to use it to my own ends?96

In foaming rage, Rosenthal continued with his questions: “Did the Comintern indeed expel me? If yes, on what grounds?” If the Comintern did so, “I protest against its measure because it was not fair that I was not given the right to clear my name; and I was not told anything about the motives and reasons for your decision.” Rosenthal also considered the resolution passed by the Central Committee of the ESP to be illegal. He concluded his letter begging the Comintern to give his matter further consideration.97 The first Comintern reference to the Rosenthal affair was made in a letter sent to al-‘Urabi in the first days of 1923. Al-‘Urabi was asked about the situation of the Rosenthal affair: “Did you find a solution?” The letter revealed the true story behind Rosenthal’s expulsion—the Comintern had nothing to do with it—it was an internal plot. The Comintern wrote: “The time has come that you’ll all stop these personal quarrels that have a damaging effect on your young party. It might be more reasonable to remove Rosenthal from the Central Committee without removing him completely from the party.”98 The Quarrels and Splits Continue

Perhaps the hardest blow for al-‘Urabi was the resignation of Ahmad alMadani. Al-‘Urabi’s tactics of divide and rule, with which he had planned to win al-Madani’s support by promoting him at Rosenthal’s expense, failed. Al-Madani was an honest man who cared for his party. Al-Madani was fully involved in the investigation of the three members of the Central Committee and did not like the perverse tricks played by al-‘Urabi on 21 December. AlMadani had his own criticism of his comrade Rosenthal, but what mattered to him was not Rosenthal’s personality, but rather the order and constitution of his party and the loss of a driving force behind Egyptian communism. Assuming Rosenthal’s expulsion by the Comintern to be an accomplished fact, al-Madani decided to take the matter into his own hands and to

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do something about it. In a long letter (in English) in a critical tone addressed to Georgi Safarov on 22 December, he defended Rosenthal and regarded the Comintern’s decision as unjustified: “With all my respect for the Comintern and its decisions, which I am obliged to obey, I feel at the same time that such a decision as that relating to Rosenthal is rather too cruel, and I consider it as a great loss for the party at present.”99 Rosenthal, emphasized alMadani, was currently “a very useful and active member.” He praised Rosenthal “as a man, who has been for over thirty years interested, heart and soul, in the communist and labor movements in Egypt and abroad; he has been regarded in Egypt as the keystone of the communist movement. Comparatively speaking, he has done in Egypt what no communist could have done anywhere else.” The decision to expel him appeared puzzling to those who knew his communist life’s work, but above all to Rosenthal himself, who was shocked by it, noted al-Madani. It would be unjust if a comrade’s fate were always pending on some calumny brought to the Comintern’s attention, he noted, hinting of a possible plot concocted by Rosenthal’s rivals. Al-Madani asked for justice to be done: a fair trial. AlMadani, who regarded himself as an objective observer, explained that his duty as a communist was “to stand by the side of a comrade, whom I believe his sincerity and faithfulness to the communist cause. . . . Rosenthal is loved and trusted by the working class in Egypt.” Thereafter al-Madani turned to pointing out some of Rosenthal’s unique actions for and his contribution to the development of socialism and communism in Egypt during the last three decades. He was the first person in Egypt to spread the idea of May Day as the workers’ day by words and deeds at a time when “no one in Egypt . . . was interested in such a question or even had the slightest idea what it meant.” In 1919, when rents of shops and business premises rose considerably, it was thanks to his efforts and uncompromising campaign that the government passed a decree protecting the tenants. In 1921, when Russia succumbed to famine and “when no one in Egypt would even dare to mention relief for Russia,” it was Rosenthal who courageously took matters into his hands and launched rescue actions and aid to “help his starving brothers in Russia.” Al-Madani described how Rosenthal mobilized his entire family for that task for more than three months and succeeded in his mission. The formation of the CGT could only be attributed to Rosenthal’s initiative: “Rosenthal’s figure in Egypt, at present and in the past, is closely connected with the entire history of the communist and labor movement in Egypt. It is only thanks to his untiring efforts, energy, activity and devotion that an Egyptian Socialist Party has come into being, and ever since the founding of this party, the most onerous burden of its existence has

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been thrown on his shoulders.” Rosenthal, al-Madani went on, was currently indispensable for the party. His communist ideas, hatred of the wealthy classes, and antibourgeoisie activities caused him a personal material loss—“his bourgeois clients.” Moreover, for his communist activities, he was threatened by the government in early December with possible deportation from Egypt should he continue with his communist propaganda. Rosenthal’s reply, revealed al-Madani, was that he could not “stop it and he will continue in spite of all consequences.”100 The next part of the letter, where al-Madani focused on Rosenthal’s awkward personality, may be seen to show that he tried to provide an objective picture of Rosenthal as a communist activist and as a person: “It might be said that Rosenthal is selfish and ambitious, and always talks about himself.” However, explained al-Madani, trying to minimize this adverse aspect of Rosenthal’s personality, “if he does speak about himself, he is doing nothing more than stating a historical fact, because he began to work and continued working for a long time alone.” Rosenthal’s enemies, who were in fact enemies of communism, continued al-Madani, used this aspect of Rosenthal’s personality for their own ends. Rosenthal, stated alMadani in his conclusion, was not the one to be expelled, but rather his enemies, who unfortunately occupied high positions in the Central Committee of the ESP, among them Sayyid al-Haridi and Antun Marun. Al-Madani characterized Marun as “a parasite living on the party, who calls himself a socialist, though he never read anything on the subject; he only attaches himself to the party compelled by the misery, in which he lives. He is a lawyer, who has no office and no work, and he is of no use whatever to the party.” As for Alexander Sawa, he was once accused of stealing money from the party and the trade unions. He returned the money, only after he was exposed, and that took him a long time. These three members of the Central Committee, wrote al-Madani, “because they know Rosenthal is too strict in whatever concerns the party, are doing nothing but intriguing against him, and they fear his honesty. . . . None of [them] has paid even the monthly membership fee to the party, since they joined it.” Al-Madani expressed an absolute mistrust of his party’s leadership and made it clear that should the Comintern not revise its decision, “I deem myself justified to resign from the party.”101 Rosenthal and al-Madani now joined forces in order to get rid of the incumbent Central Committee. The forum for the purpose was the ESP’s general convention that was to convene on 6–7 January 1923. What was meant to be a legal gathering was not approved by the authorities, who wished to prevent it. Nevertheless, on 9 January the party issued a memorandum stating that despite the obstacles by the government, the party congress was held

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on the scheduled days and made several decisions, which would be sent to all sections and the Comintern. This congress, it was emphasized, was meant as a preparation for the congress due to convene on 25 January.102 A few days before the 6–7 January congress was due to take place, Rosenthal and al-Madani sent a letter to the ESP’s members in which they stressed that the only forum to make decisions related to the future of the ESP was the general assembly. They demanded the following topics be discussed during the congress: First, a discussion of the reasons behind al‘Urabi’s decision to publish Rosenthal’s expulsion in the “bourgeois press”; second, the report from the Executive Committee on its investigation against three members of the Central Committee, including the incriminating findings and its recommendation to expel the three from the party; third, an indictment against the secretary-general Husni al-‘Urabi.103 Although he had not yet received Safarov’s reply to his letter of 22 December, al-Madani could not wait any longer, since he felt that the aggravating situation might cause devastating damage to the ESP. On 11 January, he wrote to Safarov: “I always considered it more advisable and statutory-correct that the [Rosenthal] matter should be submitted to the General Assembly, which we scheduled for the 6th and 7th of January (a gathering that the police prevented). Nevertheless, Husni al-‘Urabi instigated a majority of the [central] committee to vote against this idea.” It should be noted, wrote al-Madani, that among those who voted were the three incriminated by the Executive Committee, of which Rosenthal was a member. Al-Madani blamed al-‘Urabi for rushing to publish the Rosenthal affair in the bourgeois papers, which made “the anti-communists rejoice at the division of the party.” He explained that his resignation from the party would be valid until the three accused members were excluded, and until Maurice Eden Paul, the Comintern’s representative, would arrive. Paul, hoped al-Madani, would reveal the Comintern’s approach to the Rosenthal affair “in face of such dilemma caused by the short-sightedness of the secretary Husni al‘Urabi.” Al-Madani reminded Safarov that in his previous letter he had stressed that Rosenthal enjoyed the full trust of the Egyptian working class and that the news of his expulsion would have adverse repercussions for the party. Indeed, he emphasized, that was exactly what had happened: The trade unions of the workers in beer production and of the chauffeurs abandoned the party and were split. The party’s biggest section of Mansurah cut all relations with the Central Committee, pending its removal, and other sections threatened to follow suit. It is noteworthy, he concluded, that the party had lost its “best and strongest forces.” All this could have been avoided had al-‘Urabi handled the issue at hand more carefully.104

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The ECP’s Inauguration Congress

Prior to the congress of 25 January, a meeting of the European members of the party was held on 17 January. They gathered to discuss methods and means to improve the state of the ESP. These European members virtually formed a secret Central Committee to direct the party. It included Italians, Russians, Greeks, and Jews.105 Rosenthal, who was a key figure in that group, appealed to them in a sentimental letter. He reminded them of the history of Egyptian socialism and the unique role he played with them in the formation of the nucleus of organized communism in Egypt. He reiterated his accusations against members of the Central Committee and blamed the secretary-general for protecting them. Al-‘Urabi was also blamed for spreading false and fabricated information against Rosenthal in Moscow, damaging his image there. Rosenthal admitted that he was not sure that the Comintern was indeed behind his expulsion and made it clear that he believed that it was the Central Committee for obvious reasons. He asked the European members to call for the convention of the party’s sections, during which an ad hoc commission of inquiry would be formed to investigate the state of the party and the accusations against him and against the members of the Central Committee.106 Al-‘Urabi and his loyal Central Committee colleagues ignored the strong opposition and led the party down a precipitous slope. On 25 January, the first Egyptian communist congress gathered, formally adopted the conditions of the Third International, decided to change the party’s name to the Egyptian Communist Party, and elaborated a program for Egypt based on communist principles. The congress protocol shows a poor presence of workers—ten members of the Central Committee, thirteen members of trade unions, and eight members of six sections. The guests of honor were a member of the Italian Communist Party and Ariel, the Comintern’s representative. In order to cover up the miserable representation of workers, many of whom abandoned the party, the congress voted for the expulsion of 140 party members under the pretext that they had not paid their membership fees for several months. Meanwhile, three members of the Central Committee who had never bothered to pay their fees were promoted: Antun Marun was elected president of the ECP; Alexander Sawa and Albert Freundlich (a Russian Jew who owned a bookshop in Alexandria) were elected “secretaries of the European language”—both were also members of the Central Committee. Shaykh Safwan was elected “secretary of the Arabic language,” and M. Stern (until recently the treasurer of La Clarté) was appointed translator. In order to demonstrate that the recent crisis did not affect his position and

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that he remained the indisputable leader, al-‘Urabi resigned in order to allow himself to be reelected unanimously.107 Comrade Ariel congratulated the congress on behalf of the Third International and the Russian Communist Party. He announced that once the congress approved the Comintern’s twenty-one conditions and the change of the party’s name (he did not mention the expulsion of Rosenthal), the Egyptian party would become the Egyptian section of the Comintern. He promised that the Comintern would support materially and morally the young Egyptian party. Ariel emphasized that the party had to concentrate on the struggle for national liberation and to attract the workers and fellahin to its ranks. As for the working classes—the real revolutionary forces—there was an urgent need to form as many trade unions as possible and thus to win the workers’ support. To attract the fellahin, the party was requested to prepare a program that would meet the fellahin’s aspirations and needs. The ECP should harness these classes to the struggle for liberation as a counterweight to the Wafd, in case the latter relinquished some of its national demands and agreed to a compromise with British imperialism. Egypt’s liberation could only be achieved following a political, economic, and social revolution—national independence and the liberation of the proletariat were inextricably linked.108 Following al-‘Urabi’s official account to the Comintern of the decisions made by the preparatory congress of 6–7 January, the Comintern had sent a letter instructing al-‘Urabi to establish ties between the party and the workers of the ports, railways, the Suez Canal, construction firms, and water supply systems—workers whose professions were indispensable to the country’s functioning. The party was called to operate within the military—the Egyptian and British—to gather information about their “official plots.” The Comintern also reiterated its instruction to publish the party’s own newspaper.109

Al-‘Urabi Does Not Back Off

The opposition to al-‘Urabi’s measures continued fervently. Following the congress of 25 January, Rosenthal sent a letter to the regional secretaries and committees of the ESP’s sections. In his letter from 30 January, he dwelt on his known account of the events and briefly drafted his proposal to solve the dispute. Rosenthal portrayed a grim picture of the ESP’s future if the addressees would not act swiftly—they needed to carry out their duty and to constitute a supreme tribunal for the trial of those responsible for the party’s present state of affairs.110

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Two days later it was al-Madani’s turn. In a third letter to Safarov, he ridiculed the decisions passed by the congress of 25 January, which he deemed constitutionally null and void: “only those members, who have no objection at all to the personal inclinations of the Central Committee were invited to participate. This is proven by the fact that no more than twenty members were present.” He referred to the circular of 9 January issued by the Central Committee, which explained the reasons for Rosenthal’s expulsion. Rosenthal, al-Madani wrote, was accused of “having falsely presented a stranger as being an emissary of the Comintern.” In fact, he said, this “stranger” (whose name was not mentioned) had indeed been sent by the Comintern to transmit instructions to Egypt. Rosenthal, continued al-Madani, was accused of forging the party’s seal, with which he stamped all his letters. He explained that Rosenthal used the seal as a member of the Executive Committee and when the secretary-general was absent, and that this was well known to al-‘Urabi, who himself used that particular seal on several occasions. Contrary to the claims made by his accusers, Rosenthal was not negligent as the party’s bursar. He was nominated for that position “owing to the trust put in him.” Al-‘Urabi, concluded al-Madani, failed to provide any convincing evidence to prove his allegations staining Rosenthal’s integrity and loyalty to his party. Al-‘Urabi had persistently ignored their calls for an objective inquiry. Al-Madani begged the Comintern to issue a detailed instruction to this effect “with the perspective to end this scandalous conduct.”111 The strife between the factions continued even further. In its next step, al-‘Urabi’s group decided on a rather wicked measure attacking Rosenthal in one of his weakest and most sensitive areas—his daughter Charlotte. In a letter sent on 15 February by the ECP’s undersecretary to comrade S. Brike,112 a Jew, who was a deputy to Raskolnikov, the head of the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern, informing him: “We learn that letters from Russia that contain hostile criticism of the Soviet government and are signed by Miss Charlotte Rosenthal are reaching Egypt. We strongly believed it advisable to bring this particular issue to your attention, so that you may take the necessary precautions.”113 Al-‘Urabi wanted to exercise his authority over the European group that was known to be closely associated with Rosenthal, a measure designed to subordinate the group to the Central Committee’s command. He obviously did not like to see an autonomous faction within the ECP. The Central Committee sent a memorandum to the European group, rebuking it for not being involved in the party’s activities. “In the communist terminology, your behavior may be regarded as neglectful,” they were told. If they wanted to keep their party membership, the Central Committee alerted, they

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should pay their monthly membership fees, and those who were well off should also help the party to cover its debts. The European members were told to dedicate their free time to the party’s activities on both theoretical and practical levels—to share their theoretical knowledge with the Egyptian members. They were also asked to publish information about the party in various European languages and to send it abroad so that the ECP would gradually develop closer relations with the European communist parties. They were instructed to organize study days and conferences, making sure that their lectures were translated into Arabic. The secretary of European language and al-‘Urabi’s protégé, Albert Freundlich, was put in charge of the Central Committee’s contact with the European members. They were asked to cooperate with him and to follow his instructions.114 In an attempt to put an end to the internal quarrels within the ECP, the Comintern once again sent a letter of clarification regarding its stand on the Rosenthal matter. Rosenthal’s exclusion, it was asserted categorically, “could not be presented as a demand of the Comintern.” Rosenthal, the Comintern ruled, “must have an opportunity to respond directly to all charges raised against him. The Central Committee should decide the whole matter, keeping in mind not personal likes or dislikes, but only party discipline and party interests.” Once again, the Comintern was of the opinion that the appropriate solution would be to exclude Rosenthal from the executive, but to allow him to remain active within the ESP’s rank and file.115 In late March 1923, the Comintern discussed Rosenthal’s case extensively. The ECP was congratulated for accepting all terms imposed by the Comintern for its admission. The ECP’s efforts, it was stated, should now be directed at consolidating the party by forming “a strong nucleolus of class conscious comrades.” Moreover, the party should put an end to “dissension and frictions that may greatly damage your young organization.” Drawing its information from al-Madani’s letters, the Comintern wrote that they knew that Rosenthal’s exclusion caused “some discord and that as a consequence some unions and sections have left the party.”116 In order to avoid any further complications and misunderstandings, it was underlined, “We must point out to you that this expulsion was not demanded by the Comintern or its Egyptian commission nor was it included in the terms of your admission to the Comintern.” In fact, the Comintern reasoned, the Egyptian delegates to the fourth congress “simply informed us that there were opportunist elements among the members of the Egyptian party, having little in common with the revolutionary working class movement.” The Comintern letter stated further that the Rosenthal question was merely discussed on principle, but the decision as to whether or not he should actually remain in the party was left

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entirely to the party. To avoid any future misinterpretation of its position on the matter, the Comintern stated unequivocally:117 If Rosenthal was excluded simply because you have been misinformed about the real attitude taken by the Comintern on this matter, then your decision should be revised. All accusations against Rosenthal should be formulated concretely by those who accuse him, and Rosenthal must be given an opportunity to answer them. You will be guided in your decision by the facts at your disposal, but whatever decisions you arrive at will be taken entirely on your own responsibility; the Comintern can take no responsibility for it. This unsavory business must be liquidated as speedily as possible.

The Comintern could not be clearer on this matter—the Communist International washed its hands of the Rosenthal affair. However, this was not enough for Rosenthal’s enemies led by al-‘Urabi. Al-‘Urabi could not reply to the Comintern’s clarification, because he was in prison (March–July 1923). On 20 July, after his release,118 he wrote an emotional letter to the Comintern that may have been fueled by his disappointment over the Comintern’s lack of support throughout the four months of his imprisonment. “Did the Comintern change its position towards the East in general, and Egypt in particular?” asked al-‘Urabi bitterly, adding “we will continue our revolutionary activities whether we act as your Egyptian branch or not.” In order not to overdo his criticism and displease his addressees, he blamed “intrigues created by the enemies of our party” (that is, Rosenthal and his associates) for the Comintern’s incompetence. As for Rosenthal, the party congress had taken a decision in the matter: permanent expulsion due to “his continual campaigns and numerous reprehensible acts against the party. Moreover, he is a bourgeois and not even an intellectual; and the party has nothing to expect from him apart from discredit in the eyes of the workers.” Al-‘Urabi did not like the Comintern’s intervention and showed his readiness to confront the Comintern on its current position on the Rosenthal affair, reminding his addressees of the stand against Rosenthal that they took during the fourth congress. Al-‘Urabi claimed that he and Avigdor, each in his turn, were given clear instructions to expel Rosenthal. Moreover, al‘Urabi justified himself by arguing that one of the Comintern’s conditions for the party’s admission was the expulsion of undesirable elements, and the party considered Rosenthal indeed as undesirable. Al-‘Urabi advised the Comintern to regard the Rosenthal case as closed in order to avoid further unnecessary complications.119 Even if al-‘Urabi’s version was correct, and the Comintern actually gave the instruction to expel Rosenthal, this still does not explain why he refused

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to follow the Comintern’s most recent instructions. The entire Rosenthal affair had clearly nothing to do with the Comintern. Even comrade Ariel, who represented the Comintern at the congress of 25 January, admitted that he first learned about Rosenthal’s expulsion from al-‘Urabi, who pointed out to him that it was one of the Comintern’s conditions.120 That means that Ariel was not told anything about it before leaving Moscow. The Comintern failed totally, however, in resolving this explosive issue. It should have exerted its authority to end this domestic crisis—a practical solution that could strengthen the young party that needed Rosenthal’s experience and authority in that crucial political stage in Egypt’s history, and that might help to prevent the party’s demise, while still in its infancy. Samuel Kirzon, a member of the ECP who wrote a report in late 1923 on the state of the party, also criticized the Comintern for not handling the Rosenthal crisis appropriately, leaving the party in the hands of an inexperienced leadership leading the young party into adventures that severely damaged its chances of development. The leadership failed to recruit young students and intelligentsia who could contribute to the party’s intellectual development. The Comintern formulated a very lofty platform for action, making it compulsory to engage simultaneously in direct actions in the economic, social, and political fields, and to attract workers and fellahin in order to recruit them to the revolutionary movement—grandiose ideas, completely out of touch with Egypt’s complex reality. The Comintern had never checked thoroughly whether the ECP had, at all, the people with the necessary skills for recruiting the working classes. Moreover, it should have asked whether these classes were at this stage ripe enough to join the revolutionary forces. Kirzon was sent to Moscow in late December 1923 to deliver the report to the Comintern, but his mission was not successful. On his way to Moscow via Istanbul, the Turkish authorities arrested him, and he was sent back to Egypt.121 Rosenthal and his colleagues, who hoped that after his release from prison al-‘Urabi would become less rigid and might adopt a more moderate position, were daydreaming. While in prison, disappointed by the Comintern’s lack of financial and moral assistance to him and his colleagues, al-‘Urabi expressed his desire to resign from his position and to sever the ECP’s affiliation with the Comintern. He hoped that such a move on his part would expedite his release. “I did not want to remain in prison in order not to allow Rosenthal and his daughter Charlotte to live in freedom at my expense,” al-‘Urabi told his fellow party member Shaykh Safwan. Rosenthal, he explained in a paranoid manner, was behind the Comintern’s decision to halt its assistance to the ECP and the prisoners, and therefore he intended to break off the affiliation with the Comintern.122

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Toward a Crash

By the second half of 1923, the split within the ECP widened, and more members associated with Rosenthal resigned or were expelled from the party. The infighting within the young ECP continued. On 8 September 1923, a group of dissidents led by Rosenthal sent a letter of protest to the “general assembly of the various sections of the ECP.” The dissidents reiterated the demand to appoint a commission of inquiry. They remonstrated against the expulsion of Hasan Khair, the secretary of the al-Mahallah alKubra section, and other functionaries of the party such as Niqulas Nahhas and Isaac Fisher, who demanded an investigation. Following the takeover by a group of dishonest and corrupt people, the dissidents warned, the ECP was heading toward fragmentation. Time had proven the ECP’s achievements to be pathetic. The dissidents had waited for several months, until the members of the ECP were released from prison, somehow believing that they would agree to allow an investigation. “But we were wrong,” the dissidents wrote disappointedly. If their demand for an investigation were not met, they threatened, they would resort to all possible means to expose the guilty people in order to purge the party “from the necrosis that gnaws at it, and to bring it back in line with its original spirit.” The letter was signed by Rosenthal, al-Madani, Samuel Rosenblum, Fisher, and Nahhas.123 The message was clear, the power struggle would continue. Indeed, the British report on communism in Egypt noted that following the anticommunist measures taken by the Egyptian authorities in March 1923, the labor situation was quieter in spite of continued efforts by the communists to provoke further disorder. It was stressed that Rosenthal, however, was “endeavoring to form a new organization, and has already succeeded in obtaining a certain measure of support from the tramway employees of both Alexandria and Cairo. He is said to have secretly been in correspondence with Kamil Husain, the Cairo labor leader, who is at present under arrest. The tramway employees of Cairo have already subscribed a certain amount of money for Rosenthal’s new organization.”124 Rosenberg was reported to have assisted Rosenthal in his activities to win the support of trade unions.125 The ECP’s future was thus threatened both from within and from without. The party was surrounded by enemies—the government, the British, and political rivals. Worse than all, however, it faced endless battles within its own ranks—personal rivalries that weakened it and wore it out. The next few months witnessed the gradual disintegration of the ECP. Its external enemies had their own agenda: to crush communism by all means. As this book will show, the ECP nonetheless maintained an existence throughout the 1920s, even though some of the key figures of the early 1920s

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would vanish or play a secondary role. The founding father, Rosenthal, kept his promise and remained a communist to his last day on 31 January 1966, but from the mid-1920s onward, his contribution to organized communism would become insignificant.126 Husni al-‘Urabi and other members of the Central Committee suffered a significant loss in their influence and position in the latter part of the 1920s and early 1930s.

Notes 1. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 174–177. 2. Al-Ahram, 26 August 1921. 3. Musa, The Education, p. 136. 4. ‘Aziz Mirham, “Al-ishtirakiyya al-misriyya,” Al-Ahram, 20 September 1921. 5. ‘Ali al-‘Anani, “Al-Hizb al-ishtiraki al-misri,” Al-Ahram, 19 August 1921; Husni, Al-Yahud fi Misr, pp. 154–155. 6. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 97–98. 7. See the ESP program in ibid., pp. 216–218. See also Tiba, Al-Haraka alShuyu‘iyya, p. 17; ‘Asim Disuqi, “Al-Mashru‘a al-watani wa-al-ijtima‘i fi barnamaj al-hizb al-shuyu‘iy al-misri fi al-‘ishriniyyat wa-al-thalathiniyyat,” Qadaya Fikriyya, July 1996, pp. 38–45. 8. See al-‘Urabi’s report to the fourth congress of the Comintern (5 November–5 December 1922), in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L69. 9. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/L148–161. 10. Ibid. 11. Suez Canal workers, the tobacco workers, the Alexandria suburban home workers, the tailors, part of the tramway workers and employees, and others. See ibid. 12. Ibid. 13. Ismael and El-Sa‘id, The Communist Movement, pp. 19–21. 14. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/L148-161. 15. A report on the history of the labor and communist movements in Egypt from the late nineteenth to early twentieth centuries by A. Krauss, a representative of the communist section of Cairo, submitted to the Comintern in Moscow, on 12 October 1922, in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-10/L18–19 (hereafter cited as “Krauss Report”). RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L69; and Al-Ahram, 1 May 1922. 16. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/L148–161. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-12/L69. 17. “Numuw al-hizb al-ishtiraki al-misri,” Al-Ahram, 2 May 1922. 18. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-2/L14. 19. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/L148–161. 20. The Milner Commission was formed by the British government to investigate the causes of the uprising of March 1919. The commission began its activity in Egypt in December 1919 and submitted its conclusions to the British government in February 1921. Its conclusions included the recommendation to terminate

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the British protectorate in Egypt. See more on this subject in Vatikiotis, The History, pp. 269–271. 21. A record of the conversation, which took place on 22 December 1921, is attached to letter 1077 (13592/4), Cairo, FO371/7744, E336/189/16. 22. Report on Joseph Rosenthal, 28 September 1921, FO141/779, p. 258. 23. Al-Ghar, Yahud Misr, p. 179. 24. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L69. 25. Krauss Report, L18–19. 26. Ibid. 27. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L69. 28. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-111/L18–23. See also ‘Izz al-Din, “Tajdid alfikr,” pp. 46–49. 29. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L136–137. 30. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-8/L27. 31. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-11/L1–3. 32. Ibid. See also RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-11/L14–16; and RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L19–22. 33. Salama Musa, “Al-Dawliyya al-thalitha wa-al-ishtirakiyya,” Al-Ahram, 9 August 1922. 34. Salama Musa, “‘Am fi al-ishtirakiyya,” Al-Ahram, 4 August 1922. 35. Ibid. 36. Ibid.; Salama Musa, “Al-Ishtirakiya wa-al-Shuyu‘iyya wa-ta’rikhhuha fi misr,” Al-Ahram, 8 March 1924. On the split within the ESP, see also al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, p. 79–80. 37. Musa, “‘Am fi al-ishtirakiyya.” 38. Muhammad ‘Abdalla ‘Anan, “Ras’ul Shuyu‘iy yashrahu madhhabuhu,” Al-Ahram, 18 August 1922. 39. Ibid. 40. Salama Musa, “Al-Ishtirakiyya wa-al-shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 19 August 1922. 41. Ibid. 42. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L143–144. 43. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L77–78; RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/ L143–144. 44. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-11/L26. 45. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L149. 46. Ibid. 47. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-8/L30. 48. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L30. 49. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L27. 50. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-8/L30. 51. Ibid., L31. 52. Ibid., L32. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid. 55. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L56–76. 56. Ibid. 57. Ibid. 58. Ibid.

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59. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/L160. 60. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L56–76. 61. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/L161. 62. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L12–13. 63. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-8/L26. 64. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-8/L32. 65. Krauss Report, L18–19. 66. Ibid. 67. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-12/L154–154b. 68. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L19–20. 69. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-11/L14–16. The correspondence with Charlotte was renewed several weeks later, when Rosenthal received a letter informing him that the Soviet government “has commenced negotiations with the government of Egypt with a view to the Egyptian government recognizing the Soviet government.” Charlotte also mentioned that the fourth congress of the Comintern, which was due to be held on 7 November 1922, would discuss the Near East question. Rosenthal’s reply was to urge the Soviet government to push the negotiations “as quickly as possible as the moment is propitious.” See report attached to letter P.F. 754, 2 October 1922, FO141/504, 14980/4. 70. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-11/L34. 71. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-11/L30–31. 72. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L1. See also the letter from Joseph Rosenthal to Safarov, 28 December 1922, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/ L40–42; and “Shurut al-dawliyya al-shuyu‘iyya,” no date, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-22/L33–38. 73. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L40–42. 74. In a British report, Maurice Eden Paul and his wife Cedar Paul were regarded as “the most active and dangerous revolutionaries in Great Britain.” The pair were communist intellectuals who showed interest in the ECP and corresponded with al-‘Urabi, Zaslavsky, Avigdor, al-Haridi, and others. See report entitled “Dr. Maurice Eden Paul and Wife Mrs. Cedar Paul,” FO141/779. 75. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L40–42. 76. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L25. 77. Ibid. 78. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L26. 79. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L27. 80. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L29. 81. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L30–31. 82. Ibid. 83. Ibid. 84. See a copy of the statement in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L35. See also Al-Ahram, 27 December 1922. 85. Ibid. 86. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L36. 87. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L44. 88. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L39–40. 89. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L37–39. 90. Ibid. 91. Ibid.

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92. Ibid. See also “Mas’alat al-Shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 20 February 1924. 93. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L40–42. 94. Rosenthal’s suspicion was based on solid ground. On 9 February 1925, the Egyptian Public Security Department confirmed that al-Haridi was their agent active within the ECP. See Ref. E/2/70, “Communism,” in FO141/779, 17. B2 (70), p. 446. 95. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L40–42. 96. Ibid. 97. Ibid. 98. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-18/L3–3b. 99. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-14/L32–34. 100. Ibid. 101. Ibid. 102. On the preparatory congress, see memorandum by the ESP to its members, 9 January 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L2. 103. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L7–8. 104. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/L6–7. 105. Letter 376, FO371/8968, E6287/85/16. 106. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L9–10. 107. See a protocol of the meeting in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L11–12. On the ECP’s new program, see Disuqi, “Al-Mashru‘a al-watani,” pp. 38–45. 108. See a protocol of Ariel’s speech in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L15–16. 109. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-18/L3–3b. 110. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L39–40. 111. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/L16–17. 112. Brike was described by Y. Berger-Barzilai (himself a senior member of the PCP in the mid-1920s, and later a member of the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern, until his arrest in 1935 during the Stalinist purges) as a very educated person and witty polemicist, who did a good job in the Eastern Secretariat. See Berger-Barzilai The Tragedy, p. 43. 113. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/L25. 114. A memorandum written by the Central Committee of the ECP to its European members of Alexandria, 20 February 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-22/L25. 115. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-18/L4. 116. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-18/L5–7. 117. Ibid. 118. After the court acquitted them on 2 July 1923, Al-‘Urabi and Marun were released after four months of imprisonment. (On their imprisonment, see Chapter 5.) See Al-Ahram, 3 July 1923. 119. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/L48–50. 120. A memorandum by Ariel to a letter received by the ECP, Berlin, 20 April 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-21/L33–35. 121. An account on the state of the ECP by Ahmad Hasan (a pseudonym of Samuel Kirzon), late 1923 (no clear date), in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/ L21–24. See also Kirzon’s file, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-42/L1–7; and Letter from Samuel Kirzon, Moscow, 2 October 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-32/L1–2. 122. “Remarks on the History of the Communist Party,” F/110, p. 21

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123. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L28–29. 124. Report EG/23, 9 April 1923, FO141/779, 9065/143. 125. Report EG/45, 28 April 1923, FO141/779, 9065/147. 126. Before his visit to Egypt (9–25 May 1965), Nikita Khrushchev was approached by Charlotte Rosenthal, who lived in Russia, asking for his assistance in allowing the elderly Rosenthal to reunite with his family in Europe. Gamal Abdel Nasser apparently did not like Khrushchev’s involvement and decided to punish Rosenthal by confiscating his property. However, a few months later, Rosenthal was informed that he was allowed to leave Egypt. Rosenthal departed from Egypt, the homeland he would never see again. In Europe, he was overcome by feelings of alienation and strangeness. The land of his birth winked to him from afar, and in late 1965, he arrived in Israel to live his last few months surrounded by relatives. See H. Galitz, “The Founder of the Egyptian Communist Party Is in Israel,” Yedi‘ot Akhronot, 17 October 1965 [Hebrew].

5 In the Shadow of the Rosenthal Affair

The resolutions adopted by the party congress of 25 January 1923

and the admission of the Egyptian Communist Party to the Comintern signaled a shift to radical activism. The ECP’s new political program was the first step in this direction. The program was divided into two parts—issues of nationalist politics, and social and economic themes. In the framework of the former, the ECP called first of all for the liberation and unification of Egypt and the Sudan; the unification based on mutual respect and equality would strengthen the revolutionary movement in both countries and pave the way for their liberation from political and social repression by British imperialism and local capitalism. Second, it called for the nationalization of the Suez Canal as an essential step on the long road to Egypt’s liberation from British economic imperialism. Third, it called for the abolition of the capitulation arrangements and the remission of all state debts. In the framework of the latter part, the program called first of all for an eight-hour workday and equal salaries for foreign and Egyptian workers; second, for compulsory education for all children, male and female, and free of charge for children from the poor classes; third, for full political and economic rights for women; fourth, for a separation between state and religion; and fifth, for deeper and wider activities among the trade unions. The program also referred to issues related to the fellahin. First, it called for the abolition of the existing land regime and for the confiscation and nationalization of large domains for the benefit of the fellahin; second, it called for the establishment of cooperative banks and the organization of soviets to protect the rights of poor fellahin.1 The ECP’s admission to the Comintern was followed by an invitation to join the Young Communist International—the youth wing of the Comintern. 103

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For that purpose, the ECP was told to form its own youth movement in Egypt. The party was also asked to prepare a report on the Egyptian youth with special reference to the political and social situation in Egypt, the general conditions of the youth in the agricultural villages and the industrial areas, the prospects for establishing a youth movement there, as well as the prospects for publishing a paper for youths, legally or illegally.2 Nevertheless, close scrutiny of the correspondence between the Comintern and the ECP in the first months reveals an enormous gap between the Comintern’s expectations of the new party and the latter’s performance on both the theoretical and the practical levels. “Your letters to us,” rebuked the Comintern, “were very shallow and reflected a lack of knowledge of the present state of affairs of the nationalist revolutionary movement of Egypt.” This was said to be proven by Avigdor’s letter of 17 January 1923, in which he stated: “the special and most important circumstance in Egypt is that the British rule does not wish to crush completely our party, because our [policy] to distance ourselves from the nationalists serves British goals.” “We want to believe that that was a momentary mistake and not a defined policy,” the Comintern stressed, “because we expect you to follow the resolutions passed by the second congress of the Comintern.” That is, the communist parties in colonial countries should support the struggle of the local movements for liberation. They should form a temporary alliance with the democratic revolutionary bourgeoisie and participate together with them in the anticolonialist struggle for liberation. In the ECP’s case, the Comintern concluded, it is a struggle to expel British imperialism from one of its most important colonies.3 Wishing to demonstrate its revolutionary spirit, the ECP in conjunction with the Confederation Generale du Travail (CGT)—the largest labor organization in Egypt at the time, which was connected to and led by the ECP (Husni al-‘Urabi was the secretary-general of both organizations)—played a major role in the first and largest strikes of 1923, namely the strikes of the workers of al-Behera Company at Halq al-Jamal and of the lamplighters of Alexandria, which both took place in February. Both cases were brought before the Labor Conciliation Board, which was composed entirely of official representatives. The mediation failed, and—following forceful police intervention—the strikes were suppressed. The CGT and ECP sent two letters of protest to the Labor Conciliation Board in which the board was held responsible for the workers’ distress. The CGT and ECP, it was added, “would organize demonstrations in front of the house of each individual member, not with the purpose of doing any harm, but only to let the wives and children of these men to see the misery [of the workers].”4

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Following these letters, al-‘Urabi was summoned to the governorate, where he was warned to avoid demonstrations and that, if he failed to do so, he personally would be held responsible. Undeterred by the threat, al‘Urabi replied that he would do nothing to prevent the demonstrations, which were not a matter of his decision, but that of all the syndicates in the CGT. Al-‘Urabi promised, however, that the demonstrations would be peaceful. Indeed, on 18 March, workers gathered in large numbers, and the procession in the streets of Alexandria began when the demonstrators raised the red flag. What happened next is well described by Shaykh Safwan, a member of the ECP’s Central Committee: They had hardly reached the street, when the police attacked them. The flag was torn to pieces, and several men were wounded. Exploiting the situation, the police rushed into the building and arrested four members of the Central Committee of the CGT and the ECP; one of them was Husni al-‘Urabi, the secretary, the others being Antun Marun, Amin Yahya and Hasan Qutub. Then all the archives and papers were taken away, everything, including the small library belonging to the group La Clarté that happens to occupy two adjacent rooms in the same flat.5

Shocked and bewildered by the arrest of their main leaders, the remaining members of the ECP’s Central Committee appealed to the Communist Party of Great Britain (CPGB) for urgent help in a cable on 26 March: “Send lawyer to defend the four communist leaders arrested under martial law reply Freundlich Nine Ramleh Street Party.”6 The following day, the ECP explained in detail its immediate problems to the CPGB. Under the current legal state of affairs, it was reasoned, only British lawyers were allowed to plead before a court-martial. The few British lawyers living in Egypt who expressed willingness to represent the party demanded fees that were beyond the ECP’s financial means. They were convinced, it was stated, “that your party of all other parties is in a position to give us the necessary support in sending a lawyer at once and at your expense to defend the case and the liberty of our comrades. We say at your expense, being sure that in one way or another you will later be reimbursed.” To play on their British counterparts’ class consciousness, the ECP used the anti-British sentiments prevalent among the Egyptian masses: “It would mean a lot for them to see that a British lawyer, sent by British workers all the way from England to defend their native leaders before a British court martial, and we must not miss this opportunity to erase this [anti-British] feeling from their hearts.”7 The ECP’s appeal for financial help from the CPGB was in vain. The ECP did not put all its eggs into the same basket, however. On 20 March,

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the ECP’s Central Committee dispatched Charalambo Vatiliotis as a courier to Moscow (via Piraeus, Greece) to seek help. The letter was read, approved, and signed by al-‘Urabi in prison, and Vatiliotis was instructed to provide the Comintern with further details on the ECP’s situation following its leaders’ arrest.8 On his arrival in Greece, however, Vatiliotis’s mission was intercepted by the police in Athens. The letter’s content reveals that the ECP’s Central Committee reproached the Comintern for its passivity and asked for its immediate assistance.9 The incarceration of al-‘Urabi and Marun from March to July 1923 brought the party’s activities to a halt and also cut the communication with the Comintern. As we have seen, al-‘Urabi was disappointed over the Comintern’s failure to come to his assistance during his imprisonment. The Comintern’s internal reports on the situation in Egypt and the condition of the ECP since the arrests displayed a lack of knowledge of what was really happening to the party. Lacking safe addresses in Egypt, the Comintern was not able to correspond on a regular basis with the ECP during the time of the incarceration. Thus, money sent to the ECP from Moscow was returned.

The Comintern’s Evaluation of the ECP’s Setbacks

Following the promulgation of Egypt’s new constitution in April 1923 and the announcement of elections, the Comintern maintained that the ECP should participate in the elections. This again shows clearly that the Comintern misjudged the actual abilities of the ECP—a party paralyzed until late 1923. The Comintern wanted to see closer political cooperation between the ECP and al-Hizb al-Watani, which held radical views on the anti-British struggle. Since a large number of workers were active in alHizb al-Watani, increased cooperation between the two parties would eventually lead many of these workers to defect to the ECP once the national struggle for liberation was over. According to the Comintern, the ECP had approximately 1,500 members in April 1923. As far as labor affairs were concerned, the Comintern was not pleased with the development in the trade union movement. To get the Egyptian labor movement going, a member of the Italian communist party was sent by the Comintern to Egypt, but his mission was unsuccessful. Consequently, the Comintern considered the possibility of dispatching “a more capable representative” to Egypt to do the job.10 In April, comrade Ariel, the Comintern’s representative at the ECP’s founding congress of January 1923, wrote a detailed report on the party

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and the political situation in Egypt. He gave a very gloomy picture of the party since the police raid of March 1923. He based his analysis, inter alia, on reports he received from Albert Freundlich, the temporary secretarygeneral, who informed him that the party faced a severe economic crisis. Ariel added that the ECP was already in economic difficulties when he was in Egypt, but since his departure, the situation further deteriorated, because the Comintern’s financial aid did not arrive. Ariel maintained that since its admission to the Comintern, the party had made several major mistakes, most notably the decision to employ such radical methods as holding violent demonstrations and taking control of factories—moves that gave the government a pretext for taking action against the ECP at a time when the party was not yet well organized. Ariel emphasized that he had taken pains to persuade al-‘Urabi to refrain from such radicalism at that stage, but the latter ignored his advice. Ariel informed his superiors in the Comintern that he could not compel al-‘Urabi, since the Comintern had not granted him a clear mandate to this effect. In Ariel’s view, the Comintern should tighten its control over the ECP and provide the party with the appropriate tactics and strategies of action. Since Egypt was still totally under British control, the ECP would do better if it cooperated with radical nationalist parties in the struggle against British imperialism. Moreover, acting publicly and openly to defend the rights of a small group of workers was irresponsible, because it could risk the party’s raison d’être—leading the overall social revolution. In the meantime, suggested Ariel, the ECP should have legal and illegal organizational structures that would make its underground revolutionary activities more effective.11 A detailed report on the situation in Egypt by comrade Kapp of the Comintern set two tasks for the ECP: first, to unite all the revolutionary elements in the Nile Valley; second, to occupy a central position in the Egyptian political arena and to establish direct links with the masses. The party should reorganize its sections with special emphasis on Cairo—the country’s center surrounded by many industrial areas with large numbers of workers. The ECP must incorporate the communist group of Cairo to avoid a situation similar to that during the Comintern’s fourth congress, when Egypt was represented by two delegations, one from Alexandria headed by al-‘Urabi and another one from Cairo headed by A. Krauss. The activities in Cairo would serve as a counterweight to Salama Musa and the dissenters’ attempts to form a democratic socialist party. Al-‘Urabi was criticized for his instinctive lack of confidence and trust in the European members of the ECP. Kapp stressed that there was a syn-

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drome of xenophobia within Egyptian society, including the ECP’s elite, and while the ECP should mainly rely on local Egyptians, it also needed to make the most of the knowledge and skills of the European and Jewish members. The ECP should stop its internal quarrels and its constant arguments with the bourgeois nationalist movement and focus more on a joint anti-British struggle. Like the other Comintern reports, Kapp called on the ECP to cooperate with al-Hizb al-Watani, to use its legal press as a means of propaganda among the masses, and—if possible—to tilt that party to the left. The ECP should establish its strongholds among the fellahin and the workers. The party should penetrate the trade unions dominated by the nationalist parties and establish secret cells inside them. Kapp also suggested that the party should send agricultural experts, locals, and emissaries of the Comintern to the villages in order to propagate the cause among the fellahin.12

The Decline of Al-‘Urabi’s Image in Moscow

Since his release from prison al-‘Urabi dedicated himself to teaching Marxism-Leninism to the party’s cadres. He launched new courses and seminars, wrote two books on political and proletarian class issues, and directed the translation of Marxist theory into Arabic. However, he could not publish these works for a lack of funds. Following Lenin’s death on 21 January 1924, he instructed party members to wear black ribbons for eight days and announced that a special bulletin on Lenin’s life and his philosophical theory would be published and distributed free of charge among workers and fellahin.13 Al-‘Urabi acted in line with the Comintern’s recent instructions concerning the need to cooperate with anticolonialist nationalist parties and the necessity of establishing contacts with the main trade unions controlled by the nationalists. The CGT, he informed S. Brike on 20 July, was actually “negotiating with the other syndicates in Egypt to realize a united front on an economic basis. A congress will be held shortly to elaborate a common program for action and demands”14—a program that would include the major demands made by all currents of the labor movement: “eight-hour day, a paid weekly day of rest, higher wages, paid vacation, pensions, equal pay for Egyptian and foreign workers, protection for women and children workers, and the official recognition of trade unions.”15 Al-‘Urabi updated Brike on the efforts to form a united front with other political parties— efforts that met with very limited success. Al-‘Urabi also informed Brike that the ECP would not be able to take an active part in the coming elections, for two main reasons: first, the lack

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of funds; second, the government’s prohibition of public meetings and of the publication of papers without license—laws designed to check the ECP’s activities.16 About a month later, al-‘Urabi elaborated a little bit more on the elections issue. The ECP, he wrote to the Comintern, decided to boycott the elections because “we had no means to conduct an election campaign.” For information on the agrarian issue, said al-‘Urabi, the ECP would send two of its comrades to Moscow, who were also members of the Central Committee: ‘Ali Shahata, an intellectual from a fellahin family, and Shahhat Ibrahim, a poor fellah in his past and a worker at present. The ECP also expressed its intention to send two or three Egyptian students to study at the Kommunisticheskii Universitet Trudyashchikhsya Vostoka (Communist University of the Toilers of the East, KUTV).17 Indeed, in a series of articles in early 1924, Al-Ahram reported on the KUTV and on the departure of Egyptian students who were going to study there. The paper noted that 1,800 students of the colonial east studied Marxism and Leninism at that university. The idea was that upon the completion of their studies, they would return to their countries with much knowledge and leadership skills for spreading communism and developing their parties. On 8 February, Al-Ahram reported that four Egyptian students had already arrived in Moscow to commence their studies free of charge. The Soviet authorities, it was asserted, approved the participation of ten Egyptian students—among them two female students, one from al-Zaqaziq and the other from Samannud.18 The weeks following al-‘Urabi’s release witnessed a dialogue between deaf people. The Comintern was instructing the ECP to take part in the coming elections, while al-‘Urabi kept explaining to the Comintern why the ECP had to boycott the elections. In August 1923, the Comintern asked for an updated report on the political situation in Egypt following Sa‘d Zaghlul’s return from exile. Participation in the coming elections would provide the party with a propaganda opportunity in poor populated areas, where the people might be attracted by the communist ideas. The Comintern mentioned the Cairo area and the Suez Canal zone, underlining that the communists need to emphasize in your campaign the problems related to both workers and fellahin. You should emphasize your demands for free political organization and the rights of workers to form independent trade unions. From the political aspect, you must stress the ECP’s uncompromising approach towards British imperialism. In addition, the party should remind the voters that the incumbent British-controlled Egyptian government will continue to oppose the establishment of diplomatic relations with Soviet Russia—a wrong move particularly in economic terms, because

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Tsarist Russia, before the [Bolshevik] revolution, was second on the list of countries that purchased Egyptian cotton. Relations with Soviet Russia would positively affect Egypt’s economy, serving in particular the interests of fellahin, who grow cotton.19

Al-‘Urabi, on his part, reiterated his request for immediate financial aid in order to be able to participate in the elections. He also suggested that his party would work underground and, if the Comintern was against such a move, he advised the Comintern to send Europeans to Egypt to help the ECP to conduct its election campaign. European activists, he reasoned, would be able to act more freely and would enjoy a certain degree of legal protection within the framework of the Capitulations. Al-‘Urabi also asked for clarifications regarding the position to be adopted toward the elected parliament.20 Al-‘Urabi was invited to come to Moscow via Berlin to improve communications with Egypt, to provide further information about Egypt’s political situation, and to receive instructions for the ECP’s tactics and strategies for the near future. Al-‘Urabi, who left Egypt on 18 September, waited in Berlin nearly three weeks without receiving the expected further instructions from Moscow. He got quite annoyed and wrote a letter to Moscow on 6 October in which he did not hide his disappointment over the Comintern’s lack of courtesy in letting him wait for such a long time. Al-‘Urabi informed the Comintern that his party had asked him to return after settling the ECP’s financial matters. He explained that in line with the Comintern’s instructions, the ECP had entered the election campaign but could not make any progress without funds. “Could you ask the German communist party to grant us a part of the sum, while the rest of the amount would be sent to Egypt later?” al-‘Urabi inquired.21 He failed in his mission. Al-‘Urabi decided to return to Egypt without consulting his superiors in Moscow. On 6 November, Brike rebuked him for being impatient: “We hoped to see you here, but you returned to your country without awaiting the completion of our arrangements for your visit here, and without informing us of your intention to return to Egypt. Please explain your reasons for doing so, and send us all the details about the party’s activities as we have had no news from Egypt since your last report.” After the reprimand, Brike—employing the carrot-and-stick method—asked al-‘Urabi to provide him with the ECP’s new address for renewing the communication and for allowing the money that al-‘Urabi was so concerned about to reach its destination.22 The ECP failed to follow the Comintern’s election guidelines. Disappointed by the ECP’s inaction, Avigdor, the Comintern’s former special envoy to Egypt, asked the ECP in early 1924 to fill out a questionnaire on the numbers and qualifications of its members. From the reply by the

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ECP’s Central Committee, it followed that the ECP had 993 members, representing a large variety of professions. Alexandria with 403 members, Cairo with 158, and Mansurah with 138 members were the largest sections. Workers in the beer industry were—with 181 members—the largest professional group.23

The Intensification of the Battle Against Communism Under Zaghlul

It would appear the Comintern’s appraisal of the ECP’s ability to win the support of Egypt’s lower classes in the first parliamentary elections was groundless. Neither the ECP nor any other Egyptian party could have challenged the Wafd, as its leader Sa‘d Zaghlul became the nation’s undisputable leader. Indeed, the Wafd won with an overwhelming majority in the elections—a landslide of over 90 percent of the parliamentary seats. The other nationalist parties, let alone the ECP, could only play a second fiddle in the Wafddominated political orchestra. Al-‘Urabi and the communists, who had supported Zaghlul throughout the national struggle, would soon realize that Zaghlul had a completely different agenda toward communism, in general, and their party, in particular. Shortly after seizing the reins of government (January–November 1924), Zaghlul launched a harsh and uncompromising campaign to eradicate the ECP and its CGT satellite, causing their growing bitterness and anger toward the new Wafd government. The ECP was indeed disappointed and embittered by the government’s conduct. In late 1924, al-‘Urabi sent a detailed report on the political situation in Egypt to the Executive Committee of the Comintern. In retrospect, he explained, the Wafd’s victory was a result of the massive propaganda campaign, abroad and in the country, that the Wafd had conducted since the revolutionary events of 1919 with the aim to cultivate Sa‘d Zaghlul’s image. Dazzled by Zaghlul’s banishments by the British, al-‘Urabi stated, the Egyptian people accepted him as their national hero—the people had no clue of his reactionary background and his association with the haute bourgeoisie. The weakness shown by other nationalist parties during that period helped Zaghlul’s victory. Afterward, Zaghlul’s government repeated the same mistakes committed by its predecessors. The Wafd government, al-‘Urabi went on, oppressed its political rivals, promulgating antidemocratic decrees designed to eradicate them. Zaghlul did not fulfill any of the promises that he had made to the people in the election campaign, resulting in a wave of antigovernment discontent manifested internally by both workers and fellahin, and externally by the Sudanese, who in their

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anti-British revolt called for the immediate unification of Egypt and the Sudan and for the unconditional British evacuation of the Nile Valley.24 As we have seen, the rise of anticommunism was not a consequence of Zaghlul’s ascension, but a gradual process since the uprising of 1919. In early 1923, the leaders of the ECP were arrested and new anticommunist laws were promulgated in the same year. Al-‘Urabi showed in his report that the last months of 1923 saw a considerable aggravation in the anticommunist struggle orchestrated by both the Egyptian government and the British. The ECP’s activity became illegal, which made its task more difficult, since it had to operate underground. In addition, the ECP used the organizational framework of CGT, led by al-‘Urabi, which operated legally; this later proved to be an unwise move. The ECP focused its main activities on social concerns, while its program sought accommodation with the main nationalist parties on issues of national politics. Once in power, the Wafd was not enthusiastic about sharing the leadership of the national struggle with other political parties, let alone with the ECP. In its sociopolitical platform, the Wafd presented conservative views, and its leaders were anticommunists. In the years 1919–1924, while the Wafd was leading the anti-British struggle for independence, and the British therefore persecuted its leaders, the Wafd did not hesitate to seek assistance from all political groups, including the communists and the labor movement. The ECP’s leaders obviously misinterpreted the Wafd’s victory and were somehow inclined to believe that the new government would be more attentive to the workers’ needs. The Wafd government faced a serious internal challenge during its first weeks in power. A series of strikes that broke out in Alexandria in February 1924 came as a surprise to Zaghlul and his government. They had not expected facing their main challenge on the social front, since they believed that their hitherto sweeping popularity, as manifested in the 1919 events and the elections of 1924, would grant them the overall support of the popular classes. They looked for those responsible for the wave of social discontent, and the incriminating finger pointed at the communists. The strikes in Alexandria, noted al-‘Urabi, started in the wake of groups of workers demanding the recognition of their trade unions, the introduction of an eight-hour workday, and legislation for the protection of employees. According to him, the strikes had two distinctive features: first, workers took control of factories; and second, workers from all over the country provided the strikers with moral and sometimes even material aid. Al-‘Urabi attributed the manifestation of that proletarian solidarity to the ECP’s activities within trade unions. Many of them realized that the dra-

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conian labor regulations newly introduced by the government would eventually have a negative effect on all workers. For example, the employers could fire factory workers at any time without paying them compensation. Moreover, they were at liberty to replace an entire group of workers by another without any compensation. For this reason, trade unions supported the takeover of factories by workers. The strikes, said al-‘Urabi, which were well planned and well organized, resembled each other in their procedures: The workers placed their own guards at the factories’ gates and blocked the way that nobody could come in or leave the factories. Some of the factory managers were imprisoned in their offices and their food supply was provided by the strikers. The workers, who took control of the factories, were armed with iron rods and stones. . . . The government sent hundreds of armed soldiers to shoot the striking workers, if necessary. Following violent actions, the government managed to suppress the rebellions, and many of the strikers were arrested as well as those, who headed the strike committees or were suspected of being communists. Tens of ECP’s members were jailed and treated atrociously. The government closed the headquarters of the CGT and confiscated all of the ECP’s papers and documents that were there. The government ordered the factories to halt temporarily their production and to send home all those workers, who were associated with the red trade unions.25

Indeed, al-‘Urabi attributed all the credit for the industrial unrest in Egypt to the activities of the ECP. The government’s tolerance toward communism or any social discontent disappeared, stated al-‘Urabi. In its uncompromising anticommunist campaign, the government used the services of many lawyers, members of parliament, and the press—all were instructed to adopt a conciliatory tone toward the workers, while disparaging the communists, who were said to have “sold their souls to Russia, and fight against the country and religion.” As soon as the government outlawed the CGT, it formed a new confederation of trade unions under the auspices of the Wafd. In al-‘Urabi’s view, the efforts of Zaghlul’s government to win the support of the labor movement met with very little success. The government lost the workers’ trust as manifested in further strikes and social discontent. He concluded that the situation was not hopeless, despite the government’s vicious campaign against the ECP. He thought that the CGT could be reestablished when conditions would allow it. But the most important phenomenon that these waves of strikes revealed was, to his mind, that the Egyptian proletariat possessed the revolutionary spirit, but lacked communist culture.26

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Al-‘Urabi wrote his report to the Comintern several weeks before he and his fellow communists were brought to trial.27 He and other top members of the ECP (among them Shaykh Safwan Abu al-Fattah, al-Shahat Ibrahim, Antun Marun, and Robert Goldberg) were arrested in early March 1924, following a wave of strikes in the textile and oil industries in February. The government held the ECP responsible for inciting and instigating the workers. The first strikes took place on 22 February, when the workers of the Filatures nationals d’Egypte and the Egyptian Oil Industries (Egolin) took over their respective factories. Edmund H. H. Allenby, the British High Commissioner for Egypt, described the Egolin factory as being “largely a Russian undertaking. . . . Its founder and principal shareholder is a Russian Jew named Ilia Paenson, who lives in Berlin.” Many of Egolin’s workers were members of the ECP, including many Jews, most prominently Avram Katz and Hillel Zandberg, who were reported to be “among the 90 men to be gotten rid of under the reduction scheme, and it is hoped that they may all, at least those of foreign origin, be sent out of the country.”28 After several months in prison, while under constant and intensive investigation, the indictments against the communist detainees included the following points: instigating revolutionary ideas against the principles of the Egyptian constitution and seeking to change government institutions by violent means, in addition to intimidation and illegal activities.29 One of the detainees, Goldberg, a Jew of Eastern European origin who was the secretary of the ECP’s section in Cairo and a senior member of the CGT, was reported to have given himself up during the interrogation and confessed to the accusations made against him. He admitted that organized communism had existed in Egypt for more than three years and that the ECP was affiliated with the Comintern.30 On 1 May 1924, the Central Committee of the ECP decided to expel Goldberg from the party for displaying antirevolutionary and disloyal behavior while in prison. He refused to reveal to his superiors the reasons for his prompt release from prison and refused to return some of the party’s money that was at his disposal in his capacity as the party’s bursar. Goldberg, the Comintern was informed, had also sworn not to be involved with communism any longer. Goldberg also refused to return the ECP’s stamp and its official stationary. The Central Committee expressed its concern that Goldberg would use the party’s stamp and stationary to disparage the ECP in his correspondence with other communist parties abroad.31 The arrest of the ECP’s top leaders severely damaged the party’s activities. In an effort to fill the void, Samuel Zaslavsky and Sakellaris Yanakakis, two members of the Central Committee, took the lead. Zaslavsky, who had

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managed to escape arrest, was in charge of the correspondence with the Comintern from March 1924 until his arrest in late July 1924, which subsequently led to his deportation seven months later. In his frequent letters, he described the poor condition of the ECP and urged the Comintern to provide the party with material aid, mainly to cover the enormous costs of the legal defense of the communist prisoners. He described the awful conditions of the prisoners and the terrible attitude toward them by the authorities: Those, who don’t receive food from us, are not regarded as prisoners with full rights; therefore they are dressed in very poor prison clothes. . . . they have no right to wear shoes. . . . We cannot provide food for all of them, since we do not have the means, only 2–3 of us are free and we have to provide aid to the children and wives of the prisoners. . . . I am all the time followed by eight spies, which makes my task impossible. . . . Those of us, who are free, cannot get together. . . . We are defeated mentally and technically.32

Several days later, Zaslavsky reported that the conditions of the detainees had worsened. According to him, fourteen of the seventeen prisoners were put in cellars with no light, and they received only two glasses of water a day; and if they complained, even the water was withheld from them. Samuel Kirzon and Shahat Ibrahim are sick and poorly treated. By bribing the wardens, Zaslavsky noted, they managed to provide the two patients with beds. The jail’s doctor refused to treat them, stating, “a communist does not deserve medical treatment.”33 On 23 April, Zaslavsky informed the Comintern that Hillel Zandberg, who managed to escape from Egypt to the Soviet Union, was given a mandate by the ECP to represent its affairs in Moscow. Zandberg, who was employed by Egolin, reported Al-Ahram, was summoned to an investigation by the police on 6 March 1924 along with Klara Katz, but the two were not incarcerated.34 As he testified in his autobiography, Zandberg, who realized that his days as a free man in Egypt were numbered, was assisted in this flight to the Soviet Union by a group of German and Italian communists. He arrived in the Soviet Union in July 1924 and was given the status of a political exile.35 The Egyptian authorities knew nothing about his flight, as is evident in the fact that Zandberg’s name appeared in the list of defendants when the attorney general’s report was published in Al-Ahram on 28 May, at a time when he was making his way to the Soviet Union.36 When the trial against the communists opened on 27 September 1924, Zandberg and Avram Katz were mentioned as accused to be tried in absence,

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because the police could not find them.37 The two, along with Ibrahim Shahat and Antun Marun, were held chiefly responsible for the February strikes and the take over of the factories. The court regarded them together with al-‘Urabi and Safwan as the leaders of the ECP.38 According to A. Shami’s39 evidence, Avram Katz escaped with Zandberg from Alexandria to the Soviet Union via Palestine following the wave of arrests in March.40

A Desperate Cry for Help

On 26 May 1924, Zaslavsky and Yanakakis decided that Samuel Kirzon, a member of the Central Committee, who was released on bail only two and a half months after his arrest, would be sent to Moscow. Kirzon’s sister, who was also a member of the ECP, was the spouse of Yanakakis, and Kirzon himself was married to Zaslavsky’s daughter. On the evening of the same day, Kirzon embarked on his journey from Alexandria to Moscow via Italy and Germany.41 During the fifth congress of the Comintern in June–July 1924, Kirzon presented the Executive Committee of the Comintern with a comprehensive description and analysis of the political situation in Egypt with special reference to the critical condition of the ECP. He opened his report by explaining how Zaghlul managed to deceive the masses who had supported him while he opposed the British and their Egyptian allies. Kirzon described how the Wafd government failed to fulfill its promises to the working classes and actually implemented a policy that favored the bourgeoisie. He also analyzed the political credo of al-Hizb al-Watani. The ECP found its mission to compete with the nationalist parties impossible since they acted legally and were financially well off, whereas the ECP acted illegally and was intensively persecuted by the authorities. It also had no material means to support its activities, no newspapers, and no legal forums for its propaganda. In line with the Comintern’s instructions, Kirzon declared that the ECP’s program advocated at all costs a united front of the parties opposed to British imperialism. In order to achieve that goal, the ECP was ready to support the doctrine of revolutionary nationalism, which al-Hizb al-Watani propagated. In brief, this doctrine called for the expulsion of the British from Egypt, the annulment of the Anglo-Egyptian treaty of 1898, the abolition of the Capitulations, and the remission of the national debts—the source of foreign intervention in Egypt. On the socioeconomic level, the ECP and al-Hizb al-Watani could offer the masses an attractive program to win their support. This would include the nationalization of the Suez Canal, the confiscation of estates exceeding 100 feddans and the redistrib-

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ution of the land among poor peasants, the separation of religion and state, freedom of the press, freedom of opinion and assembly, the emancipation of women, and the fight against illiteracy. It would appear that Kirzon did not take into account the conservative nature of al-Hizb al-Watani on issues related to state and religion.42 In Kirzon’s report, much criticism was directed at the Comintern for not keeping its promises to help the young ECP materially and theoretically, and for neglecting its leaders, who were jailed for their communist activities. It required a great deal of bravery and courage from Kirzon to voice such accusations in front of the leaders of the Communist International. The Comintern, he asserted, did nothing to help the ECP’s leaders when they were in prison from March to July 1923. Nevertheless, as soon as they were released, they resumed their work among the workers with no external assistance. They did their utmost to support the workers’ strikes and were even directly involved in these strikes when the workers took over the factories. They succeeded in instigating many fellahin, who “rose and even went as far as demanding the redistribution of land.” In fact, stressed Kirzon, “with the scanty means at their disposal, they succeeded in arousing the workers to a certain extent and sowed the seeds of revolutionary thought in the country.” The ECP’s leaders could not do more, however, since they were incarcerated again in March 1924. Consequently, stated Kirzon, “the party died down for a second time.” At such time of distress, accused Kirzon, instead of paying attention to the Egyptian party, helping it to overcome the blows it suffered, the Communist International prescribed a full program of action, requiring us to fight on the political as well as on the social and economic front; to approach workers and peasants as well as political parties, without even trying to find out whether we had people, who could do all this, and if our apparatus was strong enough not to be absorbed by the nationalist parties, and to resist the government’s attacks. Well, this young party was left to its own devices, while it was fed with promises of help.43

Kirzon directed his main criticism at the Eastern Section of the Comintern for failing to look after Egypt, which in his view was a “serious error.” He also voiced self-criticism, observing that the ECP’s leaders made a major mistake by neglecting to prepare an alternative leadership in case they were all arrested as well as an alternative plan should things go wrong. Objectively, noted Kirzon, their task was not easy. They were neither revolutionary strategists nor Marxist theoreticians, and that is why it was a mistake, made by the Comintern, to neglect them and “to leave them to their own devices.”44

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Kirzon outlined the following plan in order to rehabilitate the ECP properly so that it could play its historical role in the global social revolution. First, the Comintern should send a representative to Egypt who was well qualified in colonial questions and Egyptian affairs. Such an envoy, he stressed, should have the full authority to control the ECP’s activities and to point out to its members what path to follow from a Marxist point of view. He should have enough funds at his disposal to reorganize the party. The funds should also be used to send “at least 15 students” to the KUTV for training, so that they could take the lead upon the completion of their studies. Since there was no communist or revolutionary literature in Arabic, “300 Rubles per month were urgently needed to publish a workers’ weekly.” Further funds should be used to translate into Arabic books and pamphlets related to communist theory and practice. In order to attract workers to the party, it was also advisable to establish three evening schools for basic education free of charge. The ECP’s organizational activists in the main centers should receive a monthly funding of 350 Rubles “in order to keep the party’s Central Committee in touch with the masses.” The Comintern should institutionalize its relations with the ECP and assist in the development of close relations between the ECP and other communist parties in neighboring countries and with other international communist organizations, concluded Kirzon.45 On 2 October, Kirzon informed his colleagues in Egypt in a letter about his activities in Moscow. His letter provides a detailed and instructive description of his own role as well as a general overview of the deliberations on the Egyptian case during the fifth congress. He also represented the CGT at the congress of the Profintern, which took place soon after the conclusion of the fifth congress. The ECP, he informed his Egyptian peers, “have good reasons to believe that the Profintern will provide us with substantial aid. They promised to reserve a seat for our representative in their Eastern section.” As a former secretary of the MOPR, he also participated in a meeting of this organization, during which he “presented the participants with a report on our financial condition and our protest on the imprisonment of our comrades.”46 At the conclusion of the Profintern’s congress, Kirzon planned his way back to Egypt. His autobiography tells of how the Department of International Relations of the Comintern (Otdel Mezhdunaronoii Svyazi, OMS) sent him to Odessa, where he boarded a Russian vessel for Palestine. He hoped that the way to Egypt would be open, but the authorities in Jaffa refused to allow him to disembark, and he was sent back to Odessa. There he waited for the next departure, but the port’s authorities canceled all departures. The OMS instructed him to travel to Egypt via Germany and Greece.

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In the meantime, the Eastern Section of the Comintern, which was following the events in Egypt, realized that under the prevailing circumstances (that is, the communist witch hunt), it would be best to keep Kirzon in Moscow. Orders were given accordingly. Kirzon remained in Moscow as the ECP’s representative, and on 3 November 1924, he submitted an application form to the Comintern asking to become a member of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. He asked the Comintern to take into account his terms of service in Egypt since 1922.47 In his letter of 2 October 1924, Kirzon begged his colleagues in Egypt to send him a document confirming that he was a member of the ECP since September 1922. He also asked them for a letter of recommendation to help his admission to the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.48 Kirzon’s criticism of the Comintern was based on solid ground. Generally speaking, the Comintern failed in Egypt. Except for sporadic public denunciations of the British and Zaghlul’s government, it did not do much to rescue the dying ECP. For instance, on 28 March 1924, Pravda published an article by F. Raskolnikov under the heading “The Destruction of the Communist Party of Egypt.” Zaghlul, wrote Raskolnikov, forgot that he was just recently subject to British persecution and was himself in prison and exile. He came to power after he formed a bloc with British imperialism, and since then he has not stopped viciously persecuting the young ECP. This persecution was the culminating point of his relentless counterrevolutionary internal policy. The ECP—the vanguard of the young workers’ movement—found itself fighting a twofold struggle: against the British oppressors and against the local traitors of the Egyptian people.49 The Comintern reacted positively to Kirzon’s report. Two themes were prominent in Kirzon’s critical report: funds and direct involvement in the process of the ECP’s reorganization. As soon as the fifth congress concluded, the Comintern informed the ECP that Yehiel Kossoy (alias Avigdor-Karl and Constantine Weiss) was on his way to take matters into his own hands and to assist in the process of reorganizing the party.50 There appears to have been a breakdown in the communication between Kirzon and Zaslavsky. In his last letter to the Comintern on 12 July 1924, Zaslavsky inquired whether Kirzon represented the ECP at the fifth congress and asked the Comintern to provide the ECP with protocols, resolutions, and theses related to the congress. He informed the Comintern that the ECP had managed slightly to reorganize its ranks. However, he noted, the activities of the trade unions were still “in shatters, and the financial crisis crippled our actions.” The ECP had recently been informed, wrote Zaslavsky, that the Comintern had sent them US$500 with somebody called Goldman, who was still in Istanbul. Zaslavsky asked if the

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money could be transferred to the ECP through the comrades of the Palestine Communist Party. The money was urgently needed to defend “our comrades,” since the costs of their defense were enormous. Zaslavsky urgently begged the Comintern to send money to help the defense. Zaslavsky concluded his letter sadly, asking the Comintern to be prepared to absorb a group of deportees; one of them—he predicted— would possibly be him.51 Indeed, several days later, on 2 August, he was arrested and jailed for seven months, until it was decided to deport him.52 Zaslavsky recalled in his autobiography that the Egyptian authorities tried to deport him and other comrades (he meant Joseph Rosenthal and Grigorii Shoklender) to Romania, but they refused to disembark and the Romanian authorities refused to let them enter. Consequently, they were jailed again in Egypt. While in prison, his wife contacted the Soviet ambassador in London. He provided them with Soviet passports, by means of which they managed to arrive in Odessa on 8 March 1925. He was invited by the Comintern to report on his activities in Egypt and to be registered as a member of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.53

The Banishment of Jewish Communists: The Rosenthal Saga Continues

By the second half of 1924, the Egyptian government announced its intention to deport communist activists of European origins from Egypt—many of whom were Jewish. Public opinion had been prepared for the deportation since 25 February when Al-Ahram published an article warning about the hidden danger to Egypt’s future if these Russian emigrants, who preached Leninism, were not expelled at once. The Egyptian government, the article stressed, was about to take steps in this direction.54 Several days later, Al-Ahram published a lengthy letter from ‘Abd al-‘Al Hassuna, a prominent foreman and a workers’ leader, who warned workers against the rise of the communist influence spread by a cohort of individuals who joined forces not in order to work for the improvement of the work conditions and lives of workers, but rather to sow quarrel and discord between the employees and their employers. The communists were foreigners “who had fled their countries of origin, where they had already caused great devastation.” They came to Egypt to deceive the laborers and to collaborate with certain unions. The communists’ goal was to instigate the workers to strike, but why should we follow their path, concluded Hassuna.55

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On 4 March 1924, Joseph Rosenthal was summoned to an investigation at the attorney general’s office.56 Although Rosenthal was no longer a member of the ECP, he was interrogated on the history of the movement and his part in it. He was also asked about his connections with the party and what he knew about its activities. In his testimony, published in full by Al-Ahram on 7 March, Rosenthal stated among other things that the split in the ESP and the transfer of the headquarters to Alexandria in mid-1922 stemmed from a lack of loyalty on the part of the Cairo section, whereas the Alexandria section was more effective and loyal, despite the fact that it was much smaller. The other sections of the ESP unanimously decided to move the headquarters. Following the transfer, the Cairo section attacked and condemned Rosenthal personally.57 Salama Musa, his bitter rival, reacted the following day to Rosenthal’s assertions regarding the split. He held Rosenthal, alone, responsible for the split within the ESP. Rosenthal above all, accused Musa, should be held responsible for any perils arising from communism, because he was fully aware of the conflicts between communism and Egypt’s interests.58 In his testimony, Rosenthal explained that theoretically both socialism and communism stemmed from the same source and that their basic principles were similar—they both called for the abolition of private ownership and the reorganization of society on the basis of “social ownership” (mulkiyya ijtima‘iyya). The two differed on one substantial point—the socialist party’s approach to the solution of the social problems was based on the principles of reforms and cooperation between the working classes and the bourgeoisie. According to the socialists, the working classes were not yet ripe to take over and to introduce socialism. By contrast, the communists believed that capitalism was badly hurt following World War I and the time was ripe for the working class to take over by means of a social revolution. Rosenthal denied any involvement in the formulation of the ECP’s program and refused to comment on it. Rosenthal expressed his view that the recent strikes and the workers’ takeover of factories stemmed from their desperate situation—they did not do so for the sake of ownership transfer, but rather as a means to pressure the factory owners and the government. The workers, he stressed, did not use firearms in their actions. He expressed his belief that a solution of the current industrial crisis was still possible. Rosenthal concluded by revealing that the Comintern did not expect a social revolution in Egypt at the current stage, since it realized that the conditions in Egypt were not yet ripe. He asserted that some people used the term revolution as a specter, without understanding that the term was usually employed for historical

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and scientific purposes. Different countries chose to implement communism differently, despite the fact that the principles of communism were uniform and commonly agreed upon.59 On 11 March, Rosenthal published a statement in Al-Ahram, in which he made the following points: First, he admitted that he was among the founders of the ESP, but he was not its secretary-general. Second, he said the ESP had been communist since its formation in 1921, and the change of name to ECP was done on the Comintern’s instruction. Third, he was no longer a member of the ECP, since “the political parasites” that infiltrated the party had expelled him. He resigned in order not to cause a split within the party of which he had played a crucial role in the formation and in whose principles he believed. Fourth, Rosenthal admitted that he “was, still is, and will continue to be a communist in the full sense of the word and will display unswerving loyalty to the proletariat.” Fifth, despite the fatal mistakes made by the Central Committee of the ECP, he identified himself with the party and accepted his share in the responsibility for its actions.60 Rosenthal’s fifth point complicated his case vis-à-vis the authorities. On 22 March, he was again interrogated, especially with regard to his manifesto in Al-Ahram. Rosenthal was asked about his relations with the tailors’ union and about various speeches he made. His reply was that he acted within the law and that he had not been involved with communist activities for some time. Despite his assurance that he was inactive, the authorities warned him once again to avoid any communist activity.61 On 28 May, Al-Ahram reported that the authorities considered deporting Rosenthal, Goldberg, and other foreigners from Egypt. The paper pointed out, however, that the authorities could not prove that Rosenthal was still a member of the ECP.62 Robert Goldberg was indeed expelled to France and lived in Europe until he was murdered in the Auschwitz Camp.63 Based on a British report, some studies suggested that Rosenthal reconciled with al-‘Urabi in late 1923 and was readmitted to the ECP.64 This book disputes the thesis. As we have seen, Rosenthal himself admitted on several occasion that he was no longer a member of the ECP. In fact, his relations with the ECP’s leaders were not restored and he remained very critical of al-‘Urabi. His correspondence with the Comintern in which he protested his expulsion continued in 1924. On 8 February, he wrote an emotional letter to Brike that included two personal aspects. First, he asked Brike for information about his daughter Charlotte, from whom he had not heard for more than seven months. Charlotte, noted Rosenthal, was a student at the KUTV, and was sent to Tashkent in June 1923 on the instructions from Brike and the Eastern Section. Her last letter to him, he noted, was from 31 June 1923;

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afterward, all his efforts to contact her failed. As a family, wrote Rosenthal, they were extremely troubled by the uncertainty and I particularly feel desperate because Charlotte is not just my daughter, physically and materially, but also my soul, my thought and my spirit. She symbolizes my ideal and my hope. . . . When I sent her to Moscow, the crib of the proletariat’s revolution, the center of social regeneration, I believed that through her, I would be able to merge with the masses, who were marching towards the conquest of a new world—a world of justice and happiness for the exploited and productive workers. I regard her as the one, who would continue, refine and accomplish my life’s work that I modestly commenced in Egypt about a quarter of century ago. My work has become more intensive in recent years, owing to the encouragement and influence that I received from the Russian revolution and the Comintern.65

Charlotte’s own account provides an explanation for the lack of communication with her family: “in summer 1923, I was sent with other students to Turkmenistan to serve in the barracks of the Red Army. In September 1923, I became very ill and was hospitalized in Tashkent for three months. I returned to Moscow only in May 1924.”66 In the latter part of his letter, Rosenthal referred to his own case with regard to the ECP. He protested once again against his expulsion from both the ECP and the CGT, which, he said, “I established.” Rosenthal referred to his earlier correspondence with the Comintern, to which he received no replies. Rosenthal stated sadly that all his efforts to resolve his case with the ECP’s leadership had failed. He confessed that he bitterly and painfully became removed and cut off from his party, hoping that time and different circumstances would solve the problem, but so far nothing had changed. Rosenthal requested a visa to visit Moscow in order to discuss his case with the Comintern and to visit his daughter. Rosenthal reasoned that until recently he could not leave the country because the Egyptian political authorities would not allow him to return, but he (naively) believed that things were different under the present Wafd government. He probably thought that his relations with Wafd’s leaders, whom he supported in the past, would be helpful and secure his return. What he sadly did not know at that stage was that he was already on the government’s list of candidates for deportation. Rosenthal described himself as an ordinary watchmaker-worker, a semi-intellectual, who was familiar and involved with labor affairs. He utilized his knowledge to deliver lectures and write studies for the working classes. The fact that he was well off economically and self-employed professionally allowed him to dedicate himself and his material resources to the Egyptian labor movement—a movement in which he was active, and for which he struggled. Rosenthal concluded his letter to Brike by writing

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that during his visit in Moscow he would be able to provide the Comintern with lots of information on the political and economic situation in Egypt. He also expressed his hope that the Comintern would reopen his case so that he would be able to voice his own version regarding what he referred to as the scandal behind his expulsion.67 Rosenthal’s trip to Moscow never happened. As we have seen earlier, he had been under investigation since March 1924, and in July 1924 the worst happened. On 23 July, he was arrested, after the Ministry of the Interior issued an expulsion order, and brought to the detention facility in Kum Al-Dikka. He was due to be expelled from Egypt the following day. His outcry that he was an Egyptian citizen for several decades was in vain. He argued that he lived in Palestine before he immigrated to Egypt, at a time when Egypt and Palestine were an integral part of the Ottoman Empire.68 Rosenthal claimed to be an Egyptian citizen based on the Ottoman law of citizenship that had not been abolished in Egypt. He explained that he arrived in Egypt from southern Syria twenty-five years ago and had never since left the country, and that he held no other citizenship except Egyptian. On their part, the Egyptian authorities argued that Rosenthal was not an Egyptian citizen, and that not everyone who lived in Egypt and was of Ottoman origin had the right to become Egyptian. Rosenthal was therefore not entitled to the protection according to article 7 of the Egyptian constitution that prohibited the government from deporting Egyptian citizens from Egyptian soil.69 Rosenthal was right. Even after the British occupation of 1882, Egypt was still formally part of the Ottoman Empire until 1914, and its inhabitants were considered Ottoman subjects. In the wake of the outbreak of the war in 1914, Egypt became a British protectorate (until 1922) and was cut off from the Ottoman Empire—a development that created a political and legal vacuum as far as the question of citizenship was concerned. Only in 1929 did Egypt promulgate a Nationality Law, which upheld the regulations of the Ottoman Law Nationality of 1869. That meant that anybody (including Jews) who came to Egypt from Ottoman territories after 1848 and before 1914 would have qualified as Ottoman subjects. To quote Shimon Shamir: “As such, their children born in Egypt were also entitled to Egyptian nationality . . . according to the stipulations of article 1(2) of the 1900 decree included in article 1(2) of the 1929 Law. On top of that, all Ottoman subjects among the Jews of Egypt who lived or arrived in Egypt in that period, including the most recent arrivals, qualified for Egyptian nationality as residents on and after 5 November 1914, according to the conditions of article 1(3).”70

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Rosenthal, who was fully aware of his rights, fought against his deportation using the services of his two lawyers, who embarked on a legal campaign to release him. They even sued the government for compensation, demanding the sum of 1,000 Egyptian pounds, not including their fees. Their main argument was that Rosenthal was arrested without an arrest warrant and without any formal accusation, and therefore they demanded he be compensated with 20 Egyptian pounds for every day of his detention.71 Rosenthal had mistakenly hoped that the release-on-bail of the detained communists on 3 August would also bring his saga to an end.72 Instead, the legal ground was prepared for his deportation by a decree issued by the Ministry of the Interior on 7 August, according to which “every person, who lives in Egypt and is of Russian, Armenian, Bulgarian or Turkish origins; who arrived in Egypt since January 1922, must give himself up to the police, at a time and place to be determined by the governor in charge.” These people, noted Al-Ahram, must provide the authorities with their personal details: name, age, place of birth, citizenship, place of residence prior to coming to Egypt, name of the Egyptian port of disembarkment, names of relatives, and so on. The state had the right to expel anyone it believed could pose a threat to its security, added Al-Ahram.73 The paper used the opportunity to add its own interpretation of the recent decree. This group of emigrants was responsible for the spread of communism and jeopardized the state’s security. The Egyptian people should support the government’s campaign to eradicate communism and to expel its foreign agents from the country, stated Al-Ahram.74 On 8 August, the paper reported that the Ministry of the Interior established “an office for the control of emigrants” in the port of Alexandria.75 Just about this time, without much publicity, Rosenthal was put on board the Timsis, a cargo vessel. Rosenthal absolutely objected to his deportation to Romania, stating, “In that country there is a high level of hatred for Jews, and as a Jew I shall have no rest there.”76 Margaret Travers Symons, assistant editor of the Egyptian Gazette, who was on good terms with Rosenthal, recounted his dubious adventure well: “He was given a passport or ‘Laissez-passer’ for Rumania. He had no connection with that country whatsoever, nor with any other [country there], and of course was not allowed to disembark in Rumania or anywhere else.”77 As mentioned earlier, two other Jewish communist activists were deported and accompanied him: Zaslavsky and Grigorii Shoklender.78 Al-Ahram covered Rosenthal’s voyage of torments: “When Rosenthal arrived in Rumania, he planned to disembark, but the local authorities refused to allow his entry, saying that they were not interested in turning

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Rumania into a refuge place for communists.” The paper also accused the Romanian consul in Alexandria of issuing an invalid visa for Rosenthal. If Rosenthal wished, they stressed, he could sue the consul. The vessel stopped at several Mediterranean ports, where the events followed the Romanian pattern—the man was not allowed to disembark.79 In the meantime, Rosenthal’s wife approached Prime Minister Zaghlul and testified that her husband had nothing to do with the communist movement. Her husband, she said, was a Palestinian Ottoman who arrived in Egypt twenty-six years ago. True, she admitted, “my husband believes in certain philosophical principles, but these were not particularly exceptional.” Mrs. Rosenthal asked the government to reconsider her husband’s case.80 There were lots of contradictory reports in Al-Ahram as to what happened to Rosenthal. It was suggested at some point or other that the Soviet Union was willing to grant him political asylum, that Romania did want to let him enter, and that Rosenthal plotted with the captain of the ship to keep him on board.81 On 6 September, the British paper the Daily Herald published an article dealing with the Rosenthal affair. The paper called upon the British Labour Party to intervene in the matter in order to allow Rosenthal to disembark at a British port and to conduct his legal proceedings against the Egyptian government from Britain.82 On 9 September, about a month after his deportation, Al-Ahram informed its readers that “poor Rosenthal” was back in Alexandria, and that the authorities of the governorate had sent a police detachment to prevent him from disembarking and to guard the vessel until it would leave again with Rosenthal on board. The captain, however, refused to depart until the Egyptian authorities had taken Rosenthal off board.83 Rosenthal took advantage of the opportunity before him. He realized, as Symons described, that the authorities had no intention of letting him off the hook. Their plan, she wrote, was “to set him sailing once more, without hope of landing anywhere, presumably, as the French papers put it, until he dies.” Rosenthal, she revealed, managed to escape from the vessel to a hospital “to undergo an operation.” The police found him and dragged him back to the vessel. Finally, the authorities took his poor health into consideration and allowed him to undergo a serious operation. Meanwhile, narrated Symons, “the Egyptian authorities were aware that the Labour Party in Britain was taking up the case [Labour was then in office], and suddenly Mr. Rosenthal was set at liberty, on condition that he refrained from all activity in connection with social reform.”84 While in hospital, Rosenthal himself appealed to Sa‘d Zaghlul and asked him to reconsider his deportation, emphasizing that he was an Egyptian citizen.85

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Rosenthal’s torture came to an end in early November 1924, shortly before the downfall of Zaghlul’s government. On 3 November 1924, Al-Ahram reported that Rosenthal officially pledged to refrain from now on from communist activities and from involvement in the labor movement. In exchange, the government revoked the deportation order and acknowledged Rosenthal’s citizenship. Rosenthal was grateful. Al-Ahram reported that when Zaghlul visited Alexandria on 4 November, Rosenthal went to greet him personally and to express his gratitude for the prime minister’s gesture.86 The other two deportees, the Jewish communists Zaslavsky and Shoklender, were less fortunate. Shoklender was finally deported on 11 November 1924, and Zaslavsky several months later.87 As we shall later see, the two had to go through a process of relocation in their new homeland—the Soviet Union. The verdict in the trial of the eleven communist defendants was given on 6 October 1924. The six leaders of the ECP were sentenced to three years in prison, whereas the other five junior activists received prison terms of only six months. Al-‘Urabi was accused of having played a major role in connecting the Egyptian communist movement with the Comintern. Shortly after its formation, it was stated, al-‘Urabi was involved in raising money in Moscow for ECP’s activities. Marun, Shahat Ibrahim, Katz, and Zandberg were primarily held responsible for the events of March, which triggered the trial. The court determined that al-‘Urabi, Safwan, Marun, Shahat, Katz, and Zandberg were the leaders of the ECP and therefore they were punished severely. The search for the two absent Jewish communist leaders continued, although they were already in Moscow.88

Notes 1. See the program of the new ECP in Rossiiskii gosudarstvennyi arkhiv sotsial’no-politicheskoi istorii (RGASPI), Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L3–4; see also “Barnamij al-hizb al-shuyu‘iy al-misri,” January 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-22/L30–33. A comparison between this program and that of 1949 (al-Raya) was made by Daud ‘Aziz in “al-barnamaj al-thawri—ta‘liq ‘ala al-barnamaj al-thawri lilhizb al-shuyu‘iy al-misri (al-raya),” Qadaya Fikriyya (1992), pp. 279–288. 2. Letter from the Executive Committee of Young Communist International, Moscow, to the Central Committee of the ECP, Alexandria, 19 February 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-27/L1–2. 3. Letter from the Comintern to the Central Committee, ECP, March 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-18/L34–35. 4. Letter from Shaykh Safwan, on behalf of Husni al-‘Urabi, the Central Committee of the ECP, Alexandria, to J. T. Walton Newbold, a member of the First

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Central Committee of the British Communist Party, London, 27 March 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/L34–36. 5. See the letter from Shaykh Safwan, on behalf of Husni al-‘Urabi, the Central Committee of the ECP, Alexandria, to J. T. Walton Newbold, a member of the First Central Committee of the British Communist Party, London, 27 March 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/L34–36. See also an internal document on the situation in Egypt and the ECP by Aleksei, Comintern, Moscow, 25 September 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-28/L47–53; Note on Bolshevik activities attached to letter 376, FO371/8968, E6287/85/16; and Report on the ECP’s activities by Husni al-‘Urabi, 13 September 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-23/ L10–14. 6. See the letter from Shaykh Safwan, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/L35. 7. Ibid., L36. 8. Letter from the Central Committee of the ECP, Alexandria, to the Secretariat of the Comintern, Moscow, late March 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/ L26–27. 9. Note on Bolshevik activities attached to letter 376, FO371/8968, E6287/85/16. See also an internal document on Egypt by Aleksei, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-28/L47–53. 10. See processing of reports from Egypt by Georgi Safarov and S. Brike, 4 April 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-28/L9–11; Report on Egypt by Aleksei, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-28/L47–53. 11. A minute by Ariel, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-21/L33–35. 12. Report on the situation in Egypt by Kapp, 28 April 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-21/L63–78. 13. For a report on the situation of the ECP from late 1923 until mid-1924 submitted to the Comintern by Samuel Kirzon, a special envoy of the ECP, see RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-32/L51–57. 14. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/L48–50. 15. Quoted from Beinin and Lockman, Workers, p. 145. On the program, see also Letter from Husni al-‘Urabi to the Comintern, 23 August 1923, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/L52. 16. Letter from Husni al-‘Urabi to Brike, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/ L48–50. 17. Letter from al-‘Urabi to the Comintern, 14 August 1923, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/L51. 18. “Misr wa-al-shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 31 January, 9, 14, and 22 February 1924. 19. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-18/L15–17. See also, Report on the ECP’s activities by Husni al-‘Urabi, 13 September 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-23/L10–14. 20. Ibid. 21. Letter from al-‘Urabi to comrade Grigori Naumovich Voitinsky, a Comintern official, 6 October 1923, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-25/L58. 22. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-18/L30. 23. See a report on the ECP by Alexander Sawa, secretary assistant, ECP, Alexandria, to Avigdor, Comintern, Moscow, 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-34/L114–125.

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24. See a copy of a report “La Situation Politique,” by Husni al-‘Urabi, 1 September 1924, attached to letter E8039/1916/16, 14 September 1924, FO371/10060, E8039. 25. Ibid. 26. Ibid. 27. The trial was held on 27 September 1924. 28. Details on the strike may be found in a report on the situation of the ECP, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-32/L51–57. See also notes by Alexander KeownBoyd, director-general of the European Department at the Ministry of the Interior, Cairo, to Allenby, Cairo, 28 February 1924, FO141/779, 9065/152; Letter 232, 5 April 1924, FO141/779, 9065/155; and “Harakat al-‘ummal wa-al-shuyu‘iyya fi al-iskandariyya,” Al-Ahram, 25 February 1924. 29. For the text of the indictments, see “Protest of the Egyptian Communist Party,” late 1924, in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L79–85. 30. On Goldberg’s case, see “al-Shuyu‘iyya fi misr,” Al-Ahram, 19 March 1924. See also Mursi, Al-‘Alaqat al-Misriya al-Sufyatiyya, pp. 34–35. 31. See letter from the Cairo Section of the ECP to the Comintern, 31 May 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L19. 32. Letters from Zaslavsky, Alexandria, to the Comintern, 25 and 26 March, 4 April 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L10–11, 14–15. 33. Letter from Zaslavsky to the Comintern, 4 April 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-34/L10–11, 15–17. On Kirzon’s arrest of 8 March 1924, see “Qadiyyat al-haraka al-shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 10 March 1924; and “Al-Shuyu‘iyya fi misr,” Al-Ahram, 19 March 1924. 34. “Al-tahqiq ma‘a al-shuyu‘iyyin,” Al-Ahram, 8 March 1924. 35. See Zandberg’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-37/L9–10, 17. 36. “Qadiyyat al-shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 29 May and 12 July 1924. 37. “Qadiyyat al-shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 29 September 1924. 38. “Al-Shuyu‘iyyin fi misr,” Al-Ahram, 19 December 1924. 39. A. Shami was the alias of Teper Ilya Naumovich, of Jewish origin, a representative of the PCP in the Comintern in the period 1926–1927 and a member of the Soviet Communist Party. His role in the ECP will be discussed below. 40. See Zandberg’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-37/L7. 41. See Kirzon’s files in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-42/L1–7. See also a report on the situation in Egypt in the years 1922–1924, by S. Yanakakis, late 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L86–107; and the letter from Charlotte Rosenthal, Alexandria, to Brike, Moscow, 19 April 1926, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-49/L7–14. 42. See “Report of the Egyptian Delegate to the Executive Committee of the C.I.,” by Samuel Kirzon (under the pseudonym Ahmad Hasan), July 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-32/L39–50. 43. Ibid. 44. Ibid. 45. Ibid. 46. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-32/L1–2. 47. Ibid. 48. Letter from Kirzon, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-32/L1–2. 49. Raskolnikov, “The Destruction.”

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50. Letter from the Comintern, Moscow, to the CCECP, 24 August 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-8/L27. 51. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L40–41. 52. On his arrest, see “Qadiyyat al-shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 4 August 1924. Zaslavsky, reported Al-Ahram on 12 November, was still in jail and due to be deported soon. 53. Zaslavsky’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-36/L6–7. 54. “Al-Haraka al-shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 25 February 1924. 55. “Al-Hukuma wa-al-haraka al-shuyu‘iyya: kabs manazil rijal al-hizb,” AlAhram, 4 March 1924. 56. “Qadiyyat al-shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 6 March 1924. 57. “Al-Tahqiq ma‘a al-shuyu‘iyyin,” Al-Ahram, 7 March 1924. 58. Salama Musa, “Al-Ishtirakiyya wa-al-shuyu‘iyya wa-ta’rikhhuha fi Misr,” Al-Ahram, 8 March 1924. 59. “Al-Tahqiq ma‘a al-shuyu‘iyyin,” Al-Ahram, 7 March 1924. 60. “Qadiyyat al-haraka al-shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 12 March 1924. 61. “Qadiyyat al-haraka al-shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 24 March 1924. 62. “Qadiyyat al-shuyu‘iyya,” Al-Ahram, 29 May 1924. 63. An interview with Albert Arie, Cairo, 18 February 2007. Arie’s mother was Goldberg’s cousin, and Arie himself started his communist activities in the mid1940s within the organization Iskra; later he was active in Hadetu (on Albert Arie and these organizations see Chapters 9 and 10). 64. See, for instance, Bashear, Communism in the Arab East, pp. 61–63; Beinin and Lockman, Workers, p. 147, note no. 36. Both studies relied on a letter from Allenby to Ramsay MacDonald, 23 February 1924, FO371/10060, E1916/ 1916/16. 65. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L4–5. 66. See a letter from Charlotte Rosenthal, Moscow, to the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern, 15 April 1932, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-51/L31–34. 67. Letter from Rosenthal to Brike, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L4–5. 68. “Nafy al-Misyu Ruzantal,” Al-Ahram, 24 July 1924. 69. “Qadiyyat nafy Ruzantal,” Al-Ahram, 2 August 1924. Regarding the citizenship issue, see Shimon Shamir, “The Evolution of the Egyptian Nationality Laws and Their Application to the Jews in the Monarchy Period,” in Shamir (ed.), The Jews of Egypt, pp. 33–67. See also, Laskier, The Jews of Egypt, pp. 8–9. 70. Shamir, The Jews of Egypt, pp. 49–50. See also Laskier, The Jews of Egypt, pp. 8–9. 71. “Mas’alat nafy Ruzantal,” Al-Ahram, 29 July 1924. 72. The defendants were released on bail after they signed a document in which they committed themselves to abstain from any activity within their party until the opening of their trial in late September 1924. See “Qadiyyat alshuyu’iyya,” Al-Ahram, 4 August 1924. 73. “Al-Muhajirun wa-al-amn al-‘am fi al-qutr al-misri,” Al-Ahram, 8 August 1924. 74. “Al-Muhajirun,” Al-Ahram, 9 August 1924. 75. “Mas’alat nafy Ruzantal,” Al-Ahram, 18 August 1924. 76. Ibid.

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77. See memorandum by Margaret Travers Symons, 8 December 1925, in FO371/10909, J3654/1153/16. 78. “Nafy shuyu‘iy Rusi,” Al-Ahram, 12 November 1924. 79. “Mas’alat nafy Ruzantal,” Al-Ahram, 18 and 25 August 1924. 80. Ibid., 25 August 1924. 81. “Mas’alat nafy Ruzantal,”Al-Ahram, 25, 26 August 1924; “Al-shuyu‘iy alta’iah,” Al-Ahram, 27 August and 11 September 1924. 82. Daily Herald, 6 September 1924, quoted in “Ruzantal wa-hizb al-‘ummal al-baritani,” Al-Ahram, 8 September 1924. 83. “Al-shuyu‘iy al-ta’iah,” Al-Ahram, 10 and 11 September 1924. 84. See a memorandum by Symons on “Labour Conditions in Egypt,” FO371/10909, J3654/1153/16. See also “Al-shuyu‘iy al-ta’iah,” Al-Ahram, 13 September 1924; and “Mas’alat Ruzantal,” Al-Ahram, 23 September 1924. 85. Ibid. 86. “Ruzantal yashkuru al-ra’is,” Al-Ahram, 5 November 1924. See also, Rizk, “A Diwan.” 87. On the deportation of Shoklender and Zaslavsky, see letter from the CCECP, Cairo, to the Cominern, 19 November 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/ L61–62. 88. Al-Ahram, 19 December 1924.

6 A Labyrinth of Intrigues and Betrayals

As stated earlier, the Comintern decided to delegate two of its

comrades to assist in the reorganization of the Egyptian Communist Party (ECP). The Comintern did this for the reasons referred to in Samuel Kirzon’s report at its fifth congress, but also because it had no clue of the actual situation of the ECP, which was paralyzed and impotent by late 1924. On 17 September 1924, the Comintern wrote a critical letter to the nonexistent Central Committee of the ECP stating: “We are astonished that we have not received detailed information in your last report on the conditions and work of the party at the present.”The ECP was asked once again, for tactical considerations, to join forces with al-Hizb al-Watani, which the Comintern oddly referred to as “the left wing opposition elements.” The ECP was called to prepare for a joint systematic attack on the Wafd government to “expose its opportunism and its inability to do anything correctly for the country.”1 That was no doubt an unrealistic demand considering the relative strength of the ECP and al-Hizb al-Watani vis-à-vis the strong Wafd government. Moreover, with whom exactly could al-Hizb alWatani join forces at that stage? The ECP’s leaders were either in prison or under close surveillance— some of them escaped from Egypt, and some were awaiting deportation. The Comintern instructed the ECP’s Central Committee to remain active within the trade unions, despite the government efforts to break up these organizations. Another unrealistic demand was to employ those ECP comrades who had been dismissed from their factories and sent back to their villages “for work in the villages.” The ECP was asked to stay in contact with them and to “give them systematic instruction and guidance in their

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work.” The Comintern forgot to consider a basic issue: before being able to engage in party activities, these villagers needed to make a living and to feed their families. How exactly could they do it without employment or external financial resources? As for the prisoners and their impending trial, the ECP’s Central Committee was informed that the British section of the Comintern “has given publicity in its press to the arrests and persecution of the communists in Egypt, and has passed a strong resolution of protest against the action of the Egyptian government, which is slavishly obeying the behests of the British government.” The Comintern stressed that its other sections gave publicity to the events in Egypt in every possible advertising medium. The Central Committee was also informed that “in order to assist the Egyptian party through the crisis . . . we are sending a comrade, whom we recommend to you as a good worker and well acquainted with the situation in Egypt.”2 As mentioned earlier, that comrade was Yehiel Kossoy (Constantine Weiss), alias Avigdor. The Comintern also referred to one of the most important matters for the ECP at the time—the issue of funds. A sum of money had already been sent “for the relief of the families of the arrested comrades,” the Central Committee of the Egyptian Communist Party (CCECP) was told, but “we have not heard whether or not you received it.”3 The money issue was of great interest: the ECP kept asking for funds, whereas the Comintern kept replying that sums of money had been sent. The question is what happened to the money. Could it be that it was taken by individuals for nonparty use? Was it lost? Or maybe, it was stolen by unknown factors. As we have seen, the ECP’s addresses kept changing and for that reason some of the money was sent through third parties, who did not always manage to deliver it to its destination for reasons outside their control.

Avigdor’s Mission

Avigdor arrived in Egypt on 26 October 1924.4 His wife, Charlotte Rosenthal, arrived in Alexandria at the same time. She said that in late 1924, she was sent by the Eastern Secretariat on a mission to Syria, but she had to flee the country only two weeks later and thus arrived in Alexandria.5 She did so, noted a British intelligence report, despite the fact that “there was an order from the Public Security Department to refuse her entry into Egypt.” Charlotte, the report noted, stayed with her father, Joseph Rosenthal, in Alexandria, “while Avigdor proceeded to Cairo under the

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assumed name of Constantine Weiss. He stayed in Cairo with Mr. Pollack [Sholom Polak], an employee of Morums Stores, house no. 8, Sharia Fuad, Shubra. Immediately after his arrival, he started reorganizing the Communist Party and used Mr. Pollack’s house as his headquarters, where meetings were held.”6 Indeed, Polak’s personal files confirmed that Avigdor lived in rented accommodation at Polak’s flat. The meetings of the ECP’s Central Committee took place in that flat, which was also used as the ECP’s archive.7 Two days after his arrival, Avigdor informed his superiors at the Comintern of the ECP’s severe condition. According to his account, apart from the Cairo section, which was still somehow functioning, all the party’s sections were completely ruined. There was no communication with them, and it appeared imperative to reorganize them. The only beam of light came from the Cairo section, where the comrades were enthusiastic to rebuild the party. Avigdor reported on the situation of the prisoners, who began a hunger strike to protest the prison conditions. Avigdor noted that the strike lasted for many days and that there was strong fear for their lives. He said that because the sentences were too severe and unjustified, they hired a top lawyer, who volunteered to represent the prisoners free of charge, but requested the sum of £400–£500 to cover the court expenses. The Comintern was asked to provide the funds, although Avigdor mentioned that the Mezhdunarodnoy organizatsii pomoshchi bortsam revolyutsii (International Organization for Aid to Revolutionaries, MOPR) promised to cover the expenses. Avigdor noted the tightening of the relations between his Palestinian peers and the ECP, which indicates that he was also involved with communist affairs there.8 Avigdor established Cairo as his center of activities. Along with Polak, he was joined by Ellis, Polak’s colleague in Morums; ‘Abd al-Sami’ alGhunaimi, employee at the Ministry of Education, who acted as the Cairo Branch secretary; Sha‘ban Hafiz of Nizam printing office; Shaykh Shakir ‘Abd al-Halim of al-Azhar University; Muhammad Tahir al-‘Urabi, editor at Kawkab al-Sharq newspaper (who was later discovered to be a spy working for the police); and Rafiq Jabbur, editor at the Nizam newspaper. Avigdor established another branch section at Alexandria and appointed Sakellaris Yanakakis as its head. Charlotte Rosenthal was appointed secretary to the Alexandria section, which included among others two Jewish activists: Victor Weinberg and Moshe Ben-Asher. Charlotte acted also as the bursar, a position held by her father before his expulsion.9 On 6 November, Avigdor informed the Comintern of the recent political developments in Egypt and his initial attempts to reorganize the ECP.

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He said that the ECP would send another Egyptian student in the next few days to study at the Kommunisticheskii Universitet Trudyashchikhsya Vostoka (Communist University of the Toilers of the East, KUTV), in addition to the two students who had already left Egypt for the same purpose. He dwelled on the subject of the prisoners and informed that the hunger strike that had lasted for twenty-four days ended with positive results—the conditions of the prisoners improved. They could wear their own clothes, could receive papers, and were no longer treated as criminals, but as political prisoners. There remained only the problem with Antun Marun, who refused to stop his hunger strike despite pressure from Avigdor and the party. Marun wanted his colleagues to appeal to all the newspapers and ask them to call for a second trial, in which the prospects to win would be quite high. Avigdor concluded that Marun “is a little bit mad.” Avigdor reminded the Comintern that the money that had been sent with Goldman (see Chapter 5) had not yet arrived.10 The following day Avigdor informed the Comintern of his efforts to arrange for the publication of a party weekly. He added that work on translations of communist literature into Arabic had begun in the form of brochures. The availability of funds would make their task of receiving permission to publish their weekly much easier. He reported on the political difficulties faced by Sa‘d Zaghlul’s government. It was challenged by opposition from within the Wafd—Wafd members of Parliament, who were not pleased with their government’s policy—and opposition from without—mainly the vocal al-Hizb al-Watani. Avigdor also informed the Comintern of his proposal for the new Wafd-led workers’ federation (the General Federation of Labor Unions in the Nile Valley) founded by ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, and his intention to form communist cells within this organization so that the party would have influence in the only labor organization “that represents a relatively strong body of organized workers.”11 Avigdor’s report showed that the ECP had only two active branches—a large one in Cairo and a smaller one in Alexandria. He wrote that an effort was currently being made to reestablish the Port Sa‘id section.12

Working to Reorganize the ECP

Following a close scrutiny of the reports from Egypt, the Comintern formulated a new project schedule for the ECP, taking into consideration the existing political situation in Egypt and the ECP’s capabilities to operate in a hostile environment. On 10 and 15 November 1924, the Comintern instructed the ECP, in detail, to set up “a small illegal apparatus adapted

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to serve the various needs of the party and to secure it from discovery.” The illegal apparatus, recommended the Comintern, should consist of several layers:13 1. A central committee comprising a few highly experienced workers who were most capable of working secretly. Their names and addresses should remain strictly secret. 2. Party committees, set up by the central committee, in the main towns. 3. Comrades selected by the party committees to serve as link between them and the local party organizations. 4. Communist cells organized by the local committees for activities in the framework of workshops and factories, plantations, villages, educational institutions, government offices, and so on. The procedure within the apparatus should be based on compartmentalization and secrecy, that is, the higher layers of the apparatus should not be known to any of the comrades of the lower layers. The various layers of the illegal apparatus should be kept quite separate from each other, so that the discovery of one may not lead to the discovery of the rest. The senior members of the apparatus should keep a low profile in public; they should not get involved in demonstrations or expose themselves in mass meetings or rallies. The ECP should form communist cells within the government-controlled trade unions. The Comintern instructed the ECP to “publish popular literature in the Arabic vernacular” in the forms of pamphlets and leaflets dealing with daily affairs and communist propaganda. The ECP was called to establish an illegal periodical organ, “the tasks of which should be to expose the activity of the government, the irregularities and oppression in factories, workshops and plantations, etc.” The ECP was instructed to institutionalize its relations with the Communist Party of Great Britain (CPGB), “which could assist you considerably by sending comrades to work among the English in Egypt, by publishing communications concerning Egyptian affairs in the British press, by exposing governmental persecutions in Egypt, etc.”14 It was also suggested to establish better relations with the French and Italian communist parties. According to the Comintern’s evaluation, the ECP’s failure was in part due to its failure to establish working relations with revolutionary nationalists active within the large parties such as al-Hizb al-Watani and the Wafd. The Comintern foresaw a future split within the Wafd in view of its “heterogeneous composition” and the “predominance of agrarian and bourgeois

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elements in it that are not in the least inclined to concede any of their social and economic privileges.” In the Comintern’s estimation, a split in the Wafd and “the exodus of the more democratic elements from it” were inevitable. Zaghlul—it was stated—was gradually losing his influence and a “section of his supporters is going over to the more irreconcilable nationalists, to alHizb al-Watani.” The ECP was told to make arrangements “to split off and bring over to your side the most suitable elements that follow Zaghlul due to a misunderstanding.” It was felt that the ECP’s agrarian program would secure it enormous popularity among the fellahin, and the ECP should focus its activities on this most important class. Failure to gain the fellahin’s support would certainly lead to poor results for the ECP in Egypt. The ECP should always bear in mind that the struggle against British imperialism must be given first priority. Once Egypt was liberated from foreign domination, the ground for the class struggle would be paved. The party was asked to “inform us without delay of what has been done to realize the various measures we have suggested.” The Comintern also asked for frequent reports, “not less than twice a month,” of the developments in Egypt.15 As we have seen, Avigdor did not wait for the Comintern’s project schedule—he was already implementing some of the Comintern’s guidelines. On 20 November, he informed the Comintern of the recent political developments in Egypt following the resignation of the first Wafd government headed by Zaghlul.16 Avigdor gave an account of his meeting with Hafiz Bey Ramadan, the president of al-Hizb al-Watani, who revealed to him that many members of the Wafd had some connection with his own party, and that some of them received instructions from the Central Committee of al-Hizb al-Watani. He also told Avigdor of his intention to form a peasant syndicate. Avigdor believed that relations with al-Hizb alWatani were of utmost importance for the ECP. He had some of that party’s literature in English and French and planned to send copies to Moscow. As for the foundation of a newspaper, Avigdor explained that legally it did not look realistic, but he notified the Comintern of his negotiations with the owner of the legal newspaper Al-‘Ummal (the workers), an official paper of the new federation of labor unions. He reported that the ECP wanted to dominate the editorial board, and that the editor-in-chief would become a member of the executive of the federation. Such arrangement, noted Avigdor, would give the ECP a good entrenched position among the syndicates. According to him, a number of its comrades who headed a few trade unions were about to join the federation with their unions and thus boost the ECP’s representation in the executive of the federation. Avigdor was also satisfied with the fact that the representative of the Suez Canal workers

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strongly sympathized with the ECP. Together with this powerful group, he believed, the ECP could consolidate a considerable opposition group.17 The ECP’s efforts to establish its own publication were eventually successful, when Al-‘Alam al-Ahmar (the Red Flag) was founded. It was a communist review propagating revolutionary ideas. It described and analyzed the ECP’s activities with an emphasis on the need to replace the present regime with a communist one by violent means, if necessary. The party also published the newspaper Al-Hisab with Rafiq Jabbur as editor-inchief. The newspaper became the mouthpiece of the workers and fellahin. Al-Hisab was distributed for free among workers, while it was heavily subsidized by the Comintern.18 Avigdor remonstrated to the Comintern that the money that the MOPR had sent to Egypt was taken by “our more than active comrades of Palestine. This of course is a shame, and the comrades in Palestine are to be called to order.” Avigdor expressed his view that comrade Goldman, who lived at the time in Palestine, was misled by the Palestine Communist Party (PCP), “otherwise, I cannot explain the fact that he gave money to people, to whom it does not belong.” The Comintern was asked to intervene at once, so that the money would be delivered to its destination. Avigdor sent a similar letter a month later. He also reminded the Comintern to send the promised bulletin and money for students through the MOPR.19 On 4 December, Avigdor reported that his work was moving slowly, but surely. He expressed a certain measure of optimism, saying that despite the very small number of members, the ECP could make some progress. The comrades accepted the strict discipline imposed upon them. The party’s activities among workers had improved, but “the absence of a printing press is of course a great obstacle for us, as it is nearly impossible to find a printshop willing to print our issues.” Avigdor explained that even when they offered a good sum of money, nobody showed interest in printing their material. He told of his contacts with members of al-Hizb al-Watani and his attempts to organize meetings with Wafd leaders. He reiterated his request for funds to cover the costs of a new trial for the imprisoned comrades. He also needed money to cover the costs of sending new students to Moscow. Avigdor concluded his report with a personal note: “the means for my livelihood will suffice only until the end of this month.”20 The Comintern wanted to show the ECP that its support was not only within the framework of operative directives in the form of secret correspondence, but also expressed openly and publicly. On 19 December, the Far Eastern Bureau of the Comintern published a manifesto in Pravda and The Times signed by leaders of the communist parties of India, Britain, Japan, and France. In the manifesto, they protested against the British ulti-

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matum to Egypt, which followed the murder of Lee Stack, the governorgeneral of the Sudan, on 19 November 1924, by an Egyptian extremist. Edmund H. H. Allenby, a close friend of Stack, responded ferociously and issued a humiliating ultimatum to Zaghlul demanding his government’s public apology, payment of a huge fine, and the immediate evacuation of Egyptian soldiers from the Sudan. The crisis ended with the resignation of Zaghlul’s government and with yet another blow to the young constitutional democracy in Egypt.21 The British plunderers, the Eastern Bureau accused, desired to use the assassination of General Stack as a pretext for “carrying out their predatory plans in Egypt and the Sudan.” The communist leaders appealed directly to the British workers, calling for them to “ward off the criminal hand of your aristocrats from Egypt.” They were also asked to compel their leaders “to come out actively in defense for the independence of Egypt” and to fight against the “predatory ultimatum.” The British workers were required to form a united front with the Egyptian workers and fellahin. The manifesto also appealed to workers and peasants of all countries to raise their voice in protest against the British ultimatum.22 It would appear that Avigdor’s communication with the Comintern was not always smooth. In a letter to the Comintern on 11 December, Avigdor expressed his wonder why the Comintern had not replied to his previous letters. He asked for directives regarding possible cooperation with the Wafd and al-Hizb al-Watani following the downfall of Zaghlul’s government and the probability of new elections—an issue that had been discussed before when the Comintern held that the ECP should participate in such a process.23 Avigdor introduced an organizational structure based on the Comintern’s guidelines. To quote a British intelligence report: Avigdor changed the old system of the previous organization and adopted a new one, more carefully planned and nearly similar to the system followed in Europe. Besides the Cairo and Alexandria committees, he formed several others on a small scale, in Cairo, Alexandria and Port Sa‘id. Only five members were elected for each committee, who knew each other but did not know the members of the other committees. Such committees were called “Temporary Committees.” The duties of the members included making propaganda amongst laborers and fellahin to win over to the party as many of them as possible. He also changed the system of printing the party’s publications and instead of having them printed in public presses, they now used a private lithograph machine. However, members did not write their real names on the application forms but used assumed names. Their object is to make it difficult for the government to trace the members in case the papers of the party are seized. Avigdor keeps a private book showing the real names of members.24

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In line with the Comintern’s instructions, the ECP and CPGB tightened their work relations. Indeed, Sayyid al-Haridi, a secret agent within the ECP reported in late 1924–early 1925 to his superiors in the Public Security Department of the Interior Ministry that the influence of the CPGB in Egypt increased. In his correspondence with the CPGB, al-Haridi used the pseudonym of ‘Abd al-Hafiz Muhammad (since October 1924).25 The letters he exposed showed that the CPGB was trying with its limited means to help the prisoners and the deportees, particularly “the Zaslavskys.”26 Al-Haridi’s correspondence with the CPGB also revealed that the latter was informed of Avigdor’s activities in Egypt. To quote one letter from Cedar Paul27 to ‘Abd al-Hafiz Muhammad (al-Haridi): “Tell K. [Avigdor] to be particularly careful.”28 The Public Security Department’s efforts to locate Avigdor were not successful, as they reported on 12 February 1925.29 On 22 March 1925, a secret agent (called A.N.) reported that he was searching for Mary Cornelli, who arrived from Russia to propagate communism. According to information he received, she was in close contact with Avigdor and with a Jew called Victor Weinberg. The agent revealed that he garnered useful information about Avigdor and those working with him, but stated: “I wish to be a little surer of it, before passing it on to you.”30

The CPGB Involvement: Crossley’s Mission

James Crossley (Thompson), leader of the Manchester branch of the CPGB, who arrived in Egypt in early 1925 by way of Palestine, supported Avigdor in his efforts to reorganize the ECP in line with the Comintern’s program. The British and Egyptian security services tried hard, but in vain, to trace Crossley, who was very active in Egypt. Comintern files reveal that he was in direct contact with leaders of the CPGB, including Tom Mann, who was the chairman of the National Minority Movement, an organization formed in 1924 to increase communist influence in the trade unions, and Harry Pollitt, one of the founders of the CPGB in 1920. The Comintern and the CPGB chose Crossley for this assignment because British subjects had greater freedom of action in Egypt, and such an arrangement would enable the Comintern, should things go wrong, to deny responsibility. Crossley’s activities concentrated on establishing the secret illegal apparatus behind the official ECP, which was used as “a stalking horse.” Polak’s files reveal that Crossley collaborated closely with Avigdor and Polak in the latter’s flat.31 In his first letters to the CPGB, Crossley clearly talked of his plan to develop the ECP’s ties with the PCP, as well as with other communist par-

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ties in adjacent countries under colonial domination that shared similar interests, in order to exchange views and consolidate programs of action. Crossley called on his colleagues to employ radical British members of Parliament, such as the Indian Shapurji Saklatvala, in an antigovernment parliamentary campaign, stressing the government’s adverse human rights record and the horrific way in which it treated workers, trade unions, and the ECP. He also called on the CPGB to launch a campaign throughout the country opposing the measures taken against the Egyptian labor movement by the enslaved Egyptian government. He asked them to publish a special issue of the Workers’ Weekly devoted to the lives of Egyptian workers and send it to the editors of the main Egyptian newspapers. Crossley provided his superiors with a list of newspapers and their respective addresses.32 He further suggested that the CPGB activists get in touch with Egyptian students in Britain and propagate progressive ideas so that upon their return to Egypt the students might become a tool for disseminating progressive ideas among students and intelligentsia. Crossley also revealed the plan adopted by the ECP’s Central Committee to join the existing Wafd federation of trade unions and to form communist cells, in line with the Comintern’s program. He also expressed the Egyptian comrades’ desire to see more British activists joining them and sharing their experience of working with workers in Britain. They believed that such activists could also help in infiltrating trade unions comprising European workers.33 In late February–early March 1925, Crossley visited Palestine, following Avigdor’s advice, in order to see the PCP in action—a party that Avigdor held in high regard. Crossley also wanted to convey “several important matters” to the PCP from the ECP. Crossley was indeed impressed by the PCP, which was working under difficult conditions: “Owing to their incessant attacks upon the Zionist tendencies of the various labour movements of the Jewish colonists, they have been ostracized, driven out of their jobs and boycotted everywhere.”34 Crossley reported that members of the Communist Party of Syria and Lebanon (CPSL) were attending some of the PCP’s meetings. He reported on his efforts to establish a united front between the PCP and Poale Zion in order to send a delegation to the next Profintern conference, but his efforts were not met with success. He was impressed by the PCP, however, saying: “We have got a very fine party here, young in membership, virile and audacious.” The PCP comprised a larger number of members and was politically more advanced than the ECP, stressed Crossley. Crossley recommended modifying the PCP’s tactics in line with the Comintern doctrine, “in order to safeguard our comrades’ presence in the labour movement. We must bear in mind that the Jewish organizations have

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the power to put up an economic boycott.”35 In fact, throughout his period in the Arab East (February–May 1925), Crossley was in direct contact and involved with affairs related to the PCP and the CPSL. As his correspondence with his superiors shows, he also monitored closely the developments in Morocco.36 Crossley also favored the idea of developing communism in the Sudan: “As a race they are more likely to develop a good party than the Egyptians, as temperamentally they are more dignified and rebellious than the Egyptians and have not suffered by the sophistication of contact with Europeans as is the case with a vast number of the Egyptians.”37 On 26 April 1925, the ECP held its annual conference in Cairo. There were twenty-two delegates including eleven Egyptian comrades and eleven European comrades (Avigdor and Crossley included). In his speech, Avigdor conveyed the greetings of the Soviet Communist Party to the ECP. He expressed the admiration of the conference for the steadiness of the Egyptians in adopting the communist principles. Avigdor reviewed the political developments in Egypt in recent months,38 focusing in particular on the downfall of the Wafd government and its replacement by Ahmad Ziwar’s government (November 1924–June 1926), which was bad news for the young parliamentary system. Strongly supported and dominated by King Fu’ad, who used the supra-authority granted to him by the 1923 constitution to emasculate the democratic and parliamentary life of semi-independent Egypt, the new government took a series of antidemocratic measures. The members of Ziwar’s cabinet were political opponents of the Wafd from the Liberal Constitutionalist Party (until mid-1925) and the Ittihad Party, the Palace satellite party.39 Avigdor was very critical of Zaghlul’s government. While in office, he asserted, Zaghlul failed to voice the aspirations and grievances of the people. He chose to resign following a British ultimatum, instead of leading the nationalist movement in a battle against British imperialism in both Egypt and the Sudan. Consequently, the British strengthened their control over the Nile Valley. The Wafd was weakened domestically following the departure of a group of landlords and reactionaries, who joined the Liberal Constitutionalists and the Unionists, both of which supported the reactionary government of Ahmad Ziwar. Had the Wafd been a true revolutionary party, asserted Avigdor, it could have made the most of this development by joining the other revolutionary forces, including al-Hizb al-Watani. In this political void, stated Avigdor, it was of utmost importance to form a legal workers’ and peasants’ party, “which will voice the aspirations of the oppressed people and also of the small middle and professional classes. Such a party would be of great advantage to the communist party in affording an

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avenue for approaching the broad masses of the people, and would immediately attract great masses of people to it.” There also could be some disadvantages to such a move, however, reasoned Avigdor. One disadvantage was that the involvement of the small and weak ECP in the establishment of such a party would shift its focus of attention from activities within the ECP, which was supposed to grow and develop alongside the new party. Another obstacle could be a government objection to the formation of such a party. The security authorities, he noted, had already issued threats to the workers, intimating that they would use all their power to smash completely any attempt to stir up unrest. Avigdor concluded that “we shall therefore have to prepare our grounds carefully before taking any definite step in announcing the formation of such a party, so as not to jeopardize it. We should then begin to hammer out a program of such a party, basing it on the main demands of the workers and peasants.” The conference supported Avigdor’s proposal, suggesting that articles related to that subject would be published in a series of articles in AlHisab, which would draw up a program of demands for the workers, peasants, and small bourgeoisie. Party members were asked to propagate to such effect in syndicates, national movement forums, and other public places. Members were instructed to act only upon orders and directions from the Central Committee or local committees of the ECP.40 Crossley greeted the conference on behalf of the CPGB and spoke of the need for collaboration between the ECP and CPGB. Crossley discussed the question of the party’s tasks in the creation of syndicates and a confederation of workers. The ECP’s future, declared Crossley, depended on the creation and development of a strong labor movement of syndicates and of a general confederation of labor. He designated the ECP to play the role of a driving force that would gradually push and lead the workers into the revolutionary class struggle. He emphasized that it was of utmost importance that the ECP should get itself established “on the factory nucleus basis” as soon as possible. In his view, this was the lesson from the party’s failures of 1923–1924, when the government easily managed to crack and ruin the party completely. With factory nuclei, the security authorities would find it very hard to achieve similar results. The conference supported the practical steps in this direction: “constituting groups, organizing bodies of sympathizers and carrying on the propaganda in the workshops.”41 To form effective communist cells within factories and trade unions, Crossley asked his superiors to provide him with written material “on party nucleus work, work in trade unions, formation of factory committees . . . [and] copies of the party training manual.” He received such literature in early 1925,42 and on 15 December 1925, the ECP reported to the Comintern that communist cells were formed in legal trade unions and factories.43

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The conference decided to send six students to study at the KTUV, including two women, two Sudanese, and two Egyptians. It also decided to reestablish branches in the places where the ECP had been active before the party was ruined.44 In this regard, it is noteworthy that in late May 1925 the security services in Egypt intercepted a letter from Moscow to the ECP announcing that Amin Yahya, a communist student from Egypt, was due to return to Egypt in July upon completing his studies. Yahya was among the ECP’s activists who were arrested in March 1923. The Comintern asked the ECP to replace him with another student. A meeting of the ECP’s Central Committee, headed by Sholom Polak, a confidant of Avigdor, decided that Sha‘ban Hafiz of Zaqaziq would replace Yahya.45

The Comintern’s Formula of an Anti-Imperialist Bloc

The Comintern analyzed the political situation in Egypt following the Wafd’s victory in the March 1925 elections and the subsequent dissolution of the parliament for a second time within several months. The increasingly intense struggle between the national revolutionary movement, striving toward the independence of the Nile Valley, and the aggressive policy of British imperialism was leading to the consolidation of all the national revolutionary forces in their struggle against British imperialism. The parliamentary election campaign in March was conducted on the clearly marked issue of “for or against the Wafd.” The Wafd was now described more positively, as a national liberation party that combined a large element of the Egyptian petite bourgeoisie. The political crisis created by the dissolution of the parliament after the impressive Wafd victory, predicted the Comintern, would cause the Wafd to move “more to the left and gradually to abandon all the illusions concerning the possibility of a peaceful agreement with the British imperialists and increasingly to take up a resolute fight for the actual removal of the British protectorate and for the real independence of Egypt.” In contrast to the Wafd, al-Hizb al-Watani had failed to become a party of the masses. The party was praised by the Comintern for its refusal to have any dealings with the British government as long as a single British soldier remained in Egypt. In spite of its apparent leftism, observed the Comintern, al-Hizb al-Watani “is really a peculiar form of Gandhism, which cannot become popular under Egyptian conditions.”46 In early May, the enlarged plenum of the Executive Committee of the Comintern discussed further the political situation in Egypt and the “tasks confronting the ECP.” The decisions made by this forum were sent to the ECP on 8 May. The party was instructed to “take full of advantage of the

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acute relations existing between British imperialism and the nationalists led by Zaghlul, in order to give great prominence to the struggle for the independence of Egypt and the Sudan.” The Comintern supported Avigdor’s analysis that the fact that many conservative elements had recently abandoned the Wafd “must inevitably lead to the Wafd conducting a more radical policy, in spite of the compromising character of its leader.” Once again, the Comintern told the ECP to prepare itself for the coming elections and to put forward its candidates in “suitable constituencies and to support the nationalist candidates in the others.”47 In line with Stalin’s speech delivered at a meeting of students at the KUTV, the Eastern Secretariat modified the formula passed by the fifth Comintern congress of June 1924 regarding cooperation between the communists and the national bourgeoisie in the struggle for national liberation.48 The fifth congress stated the need for communists to collaborate with bourgeois nationalists on the basis of a “united front,” the validity of which encompassed the “whole East.” The resolutions emphasized that support for the leadership of the nationalist movements in their anti-imperialist struggle was unconditional.49 While formerly the colonial East had been pictured as a homogeneous whole, declared Stalin, at present that picture no longer corresponded to the truth. Stalin spoke of three different categories of colonial and dependent countries. First, there were countries that had little or no proletariat and were quite undeveloped industrially. Second, there were countries that were underdeveloped industrially and had a relatively small proletariat. Third, there were countries that were capitalistically more or less developed and had a fairly large national proletariat. Egypt, along with China, was Stalin’s example for the second group of countries. In such countries, Stalin reasoned, where the national bourgeoisie has already split up into a revolutionary party and a compromising party, but where the compromising section of the bourgeoisie is not yet able to join up with imperialism, the Communists can no longer set themselves the aim of forming a united national front against imperialism. In such countries, the Communists must pass from the policy of a united national front to the policy of a revolutionary bloc of the workers and the petty bourgeoisie. In such countries that bloc can assume the form of a single party, a workers’ and peasants’ party, provided, however, that this distinctive party actually represents a bloc of two forces—the Communist Party and the party of the revolutionary petty bourgeoisie. The tasks of this bloc are to expose the half-heartedness and inconsistency of the national bourgeoisie and to wage a determined struggle against imperialism. Such a dual party is necessary and expedient, provided it does not bind the Communist Party hand and foot, provided it does not restrict the freedom of the

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Communist Party to conduct agitation and propaganda work, provided it does not hinder the rallying of the proletarians around the Communist Party, and provided it facilitates the actual leadership of the revolutionary movement by the Communist Party. Such a dual party is unnecessary and inexpedient, if it does not conform to all these conditions, for it can only lead to the Communist elements becoming dissolved in the ranks of the bourgeoisie, to the Communist Party losing the proletarian army.50

The ECP was therefore instructed to establish contacts with the Wafd and al-Hizb al-Watani “and help to bring about a rapprochement between the two.” The ECP was asked to form a united anti-imperialist bloc together with the two parties. The Comintern reiterated its known position regarding the urgent need for the ECP to formulate a plan for working among the fellahin in order to win their support “and to draw them into the national revolutionary movement.” The ECP was directed to carry on “more intensified party work” among the workers by organizing them in party, trade union, and educational organizations. The Comintern was of the opinion that the ECP should work more thoroughly among Egyptian students and women and to try to attract as many as possible to its ranks.51 The process of the ECP’s reorganization was interrupted unexpectedly, to the resentment of the Comintern and its representatives in Egypt, Avigdor and Crossley. The detailed plans of reconstruction did not take into account the close surveillance undertaken by the Ziwar government through its security apparatuses. Once again, the infiltration of secret agents into the party made it impossible to implement the Comintern doctrine. The Egyptian authorities also managed to intercept confidential correspondence between the Comintern and Sholom Polak on sensitive issues.52 On 31 May 1925, nineteen members of the ECP were arrested, among them Rafiq Jabbur, Avigdor, Sholom Polak, Charlotte Rosenthal, and others. (Avigdor and Polak along with another Jewish activist, Lev Elkonin, were arrested in Polak’s flat.)53 Crossley was luckier; he managed to escape the arrest. His visa was due to expire on 28 May. When he tried to extend it, “Mr. Willis” of the European Department of the Ministry of the Interior informed him that “the Egyptian Ministry had been appraised of his presence and activities with the workers in Egypt” and they were not inclined to favor any extension of his passport. Willis advised Crossley to leave Egypt at once and so he did.54 Although Crossley’s activity in Egypt was short-lived, it follows from his correspondence with the CPGB that he had done a great deal of work in Egypt and the region. Unfortunately, neither he nor Avigdor could prevent the bitter failure.

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Otomsky’s Group and the Cairo-Jeddah Axis

British intelligence reports based on information received from secret agents disclosed that the existence of another group of communists headed by a Russian called Prince Otomsky was active in Egypt. The group included many Russian refugees, Jews and others.55 According to British intelligence reports, there was no evidence to connect Prince Otomsky’s group and the ECP, which was in a process of reorganization by Avigdor. The reports suggested, however, that the two groups adopted similar tactics: “these consisted in the suppression of the purely communist note in propaganda and the exploitation of extreme nationalism, labor unrest and any local movement, which might tend to embarrass the Egyptian authorities or lead ultimately to anarchy.” The difference between the two groups, the reports suggested, was that Avigdor’s group “was more or less openly in correspondence with the Communist International in Moscow,” whereas Prince Otomsky’s group “adopted the more secret method of communication by courier and word of mouth. It is believed also that this group was working in conjunction with, if not under the direction of [Karim] Khakimov, the Soviet agent at Jeddah.”56 Indeed, Khakimov, the Soviet consul general at Jeddah, was another channel for disseminating communism in Egypt. Khakimov’s activities in Egypt were implemented by two agents: Belkin, a Jew formerly of Bombay, and Umetov, a Tartar Muslim. The report revealed the communist agents’ methods of operation: “The men leave Jeddah at regular intervals and stopping at one or two Red Sea ports, proceed to Port Sudan and upwards to Egypt, passing through Suez, Cairo, Alexandria, Rome, Berlin, to Moscow.” According to the secret agent report, Khakimov was contemplating to visit Cairo soon.57 The secret agent also revealed that the steam navigation, which the Russians wish to start between Alexandria and Odessa, will be under the name of “ARCOS” and will be under a certain Edward Goltzman, a communist Jew of Jaffa, who has made several applications to come to Egypt but was refused. His object is to establish the ARCOS Company, subsidized by the Soviets, as a great assistance to Bolshevik propaganda and the movements of persons from Russia, the surrounding countries, and Egypt.58

Prince Otomsky’s group was short-lived. In mid-1925, the leader Otomsky was deported from Egypt by the Egyptian authorities, and the rest of his group followed suit shortly after.59 It is noteworthy that neither Otomsky’s name or activities nor Khakimov’s activities in Egypt are found

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in any of the declassified Comintern files. This is not necessarily a proof that the secret agent’s reports were imaginative. It was certainly possible that Khakimov in his capacity as a senior Soviet diplomat in the Arab Middle East was involved in the dissemination of communism. This Soviet method of propagating communism was a pattern that repeated itself in other countries in different periods even in the post-Comintern era.

Charlotte Rosenthal Takes Charge

The round-up of communists by the Ziwar government, which led to the arrest of the key figures of the ECP, was the highlight of the anticommunist activities. They were charged with “criminal conspiracy to incite to murder and subvert the system of society by force, to form a league of workers and peasants to intimidate capitalists and proprietors and to spread subversive doctrines and literature etc., contrary to the spirit of the Egyptian constitution.”60 However, Alexander Keown-Boyd, director-general of the European Department at the Ministry of the Interior, maintained that the case against the defendants was “not very strong, but we hope to get convictions, and at any rate we have broken up that particular organization for the time being.”61 The case of Charlotte Rosenthal was of great interest. According to Margaret T. Symons, Joseph Rosenthal approached her and requested her help for the release of his daughter. According to him, Charlotte “has not been guilty of anything deserving arrest and imprisonment.”62 It is noteworthy that the police detained Joseph Rosenthal himself for interrogation on 1 June 1925, during which he testified that Constantine Weiss was in fact Avigdor.63 Symons stated that she believed him and that she had known him for a long time and regarded him as “an idealist far too sensible to embroil the poor unionists in acts of violence.” She also declared in a memorandum, which she sent to Ramsay MacDonald, the former British prime minister and leader of the Labour Party, that he “has been known for many years as an exemplary citizen of Alexandria.”64 Charlotte was described as well educated and as someone who “in manner and appearance is European.” Symons protested the harsh prison conditions that Charlotte experienced after her arrest on 31 May 1925: “She was placed among the lowest criminals in the native prison and was not allowed to know the nature of the charges against her; she was forced to sign documents in Arabic, which she did not understand. . . . Bail was refused, although it was granted to several men arrested about that time charged with the grossest vice and even murder.”65 According to Symons, there was no

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legal ground to Charlotte’s arrest since the only accusations were her collaboration with Joseph Rosenthal in his activities for social reforms, her studies in Moscow, and the interest she showed in the families of the deportees. By late 1925, informed Symons, her prison conditions were improved and she was transferred to the European prison. However, Symons pleaded for MacDonald to help in this matter, since Charlotte’s father feared that “owing to the attitude of the Egyptian authorities towards all efforts at social reforms, and their terror and that of the British officials still in the Ministry of the Interior at communist propaganda, a grave miscarriage of justice may be committed in the case of [Charlotte] Rosenthal as well as in that of a dozen others arrested with her, many of whom it is alleged, do not even know the meaning of the word communism.” The secret police in Alexandria considered Charlotte’s father “a dangerous man because of his moderation and because he never contravenes the law!” scorned Symons.66 In September 1925, Rosenthal also approached Nevile Henderson, the acting British high commissioner, to intervene in his daughter’s case, but he refused. To quote him from a later dispatch: “When, having enquired very fully into the case, I satisfied myself that there was no reason for me to intervene.” He noted that the court acquitted Charlotte on 19 January 1926.67 It is hard to determine the measure of Rosenthal’s contribution to the release of his daughter, but the fact that, as we have seen, she was involved with communist activities along with her husband Avigdor makes one wonder. Charlotte Rosenthal’s personal files in the Comintern contained several contradictory pieces of information regarding her release. According to one report on her communist activities by Rumiantsev, a referee of the International Department of the Central Committee of the KPSS (Kommunisticheskaya Partiya Sovetskogo Soyuza), “she behaved badly during the trial and denied membership in the ECP.”68 Tepper Ilya Naumovich (alias A. Shami and Max Kogal), a former member of the ECP, supported Rumiantsev’s argument. According to Shami, Charlotte was represented in her trial by a rich lawyer, a member of the reactionary party al-Ittihad, who was hired by her father. The lawyer argued that “she was a member of an important and respectable family and that she had no connection with the gang.” Shami went on to say that during the trial (early January 1926) her correspondence with her husband Avigdor was exposed and showed that both regarded the Egyptian members of the ECP in a patronizing and disdainful manner.69 In contrast to Shami and Rumiantsev, Elkonin argued that throughout her period in prison Charlotte behaved as an exemplary revolutionary communist.70 Charlotte was indeed luckier, since her imprisonment period of eight months was shorter compared to her husband Avigdor, his confidant Polak, and Elkonin, who were imprisoned for three years.71

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Despite the fact that the reorganizers of the ECP were imprisoned, communist activities and contacts with the Comintern did not stop. Jews of Russian origin, among them Simon Akselrod (who was possibly Moisei Markovich Akselrod, a member of the Khakimov mission to Jeddah and an Orientalist, who wrote extensively on Egypt and the Arab world),72 and members of a few other minorities carried on with communist activities. Yet, once again, the heavy hand of the Egyptian and British security services reached them. On 28 February, Akselrod and twenty-two Russian Jews as well as five Italians, a Syrian, a Pole, and a Romanian were arrested and placed in preventive detention pending deportation.73 Charlotte was instructed by her imprisoned husband to take the lead and establish contacts with the Comintern and the outside world, and she complied with his instructions. She also renewed her activity within the MOPR. Her correspondence with the Comintern indicated that she was far from being as naïve as her father portrayed her. On 28 February, Charlotte was due to meet with the members of the Cairo branch in order to get hold of the ECP’s office equipment and paperwork. Just a few hours before their meeting, her colleagues were arrested along with others, including members of the Groupe d’Etudes Sociale, La Clarté, and the former Confederation Generale du Travail (CGT). Some of the Jewish detainees, noted Charlotte, were not communists in the proper sense, but rather used the party as a tool, by means of which they hoped to resettle in Russia. Charlotte narrated the story behind Rafiq Jabbur’s deportation to Syria. Jabbur, who was Syrian in origin, was released from prison in early 1926. He was not careful and continued vigorously with his party activity, to the resentment of the Egyptian authorities, who decided to deport him. According to Charlotte, because he was a chatterbox, she refused, for reasons of safety, to provide him with a letter confirming that he was a party member. Moreover, she stressed, he threatened that if the party would not provide his family with a large amount of money, he would inform on it to the police. Her refusal to comply with his demands, she explained, was because his family was not in a bad financial state.74 Jabbur, who died in Jaffa in June 1927, had continued his communist activity within the frameworks of both the PCP and the CPSL.75 In contrast to her criticism of the Jabbur family, Charlotte praised the exemplary behavior of the Polak family. Charlotte said that while she was in prison, Polak’s wife handled the party’s administrative matters: “she supported the party materially by selling all her belongings and was left with her two children in poverty.”76 In her letter to Brike, Charlotte focused on several themes. First, she informed Brike of the preparations to dispatch three Egyptian students to the KUTV. Second, she reported the recent revelations regarding the existence

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of spies and traitors within the party, some of whom were responsible for incriminating many of the ECP’s members. According to Charlotte, the most prominent were Yanakakis and his spouse, Kirzon’s sister. The latter, who wanted to avoid deportation, informed the police of her communist colleagues; and so did her spouse, Yanakakis, who asked to meet personally with the judge, to whom he revealed the party’s secrets. The two did so, stressed Charlotte, “in order to save their love story, which like in all American films ended happily with marriage—Yanakakis was recognized as an Egyptian citizen and Miss Kirzon was not deported.” Moreover, Charlotte warned Brike that one of the ECP’s students in Moscow, “a painter or an amateur painter,” was acting as an informer for the Egyptian government.77 Third, Charlotte portrayed a gloomy picture of the ECP’s imprisoned leader. Husni al-‘Urabi, she wrote, was planning to announce in public his resignation from the ECP after his release. She suggested that the Comintern would invite him to stay in Russia upon his release to avoid further party scandals. Charlotte also noted that Avigdor asked her to do everything possible for a reconciliation between her father and al-‘Urabi. Avigdor, like many other ECP activists, realized that it was a grave mistake to expel Rosenthal. Indeed, despite the fact that Joseph Rosenthal was forced to quit politics, many Egyptian nationalist figures still regarded him as the authentic representative of the Egyptian left. While in opposition to Ziwar’s government, the Wafd took pains to rally all political opposition groups in an effort to discredit the government’s public support. At one point, the Egyptian press reported in amazement of Mustafa al-Nahhas’s surprise visit to Joseph Rosenthal in Alexandria. Nahhas, who was soon to take over Zaghlul’s position, maintained contacts with the Egyptian left. The purpose of his meeting with Rosenthal was to ask the latter for his opinion on a manifest that the Wafd was going to publish. Unfortunately, there were no further references to the Nahhas-Rosenthal dialogue.78 Charlotte made it clear that al-‘Urabi was not the right person to lead the party. It was not hard to discern in Charlotte’s account that the sediments of the past dispute between Joseph Rosenthal and al-‘Urabi left their marks on the Rosenthal family. Her information of al-‘Urabi’s intention to leave the ECP was, however, based on information that she received from Ibrahim Shahat and Shaykh Safwan Abu al-Fattah—al-‘Urabi’s confidants, who shared his prison experience.79 Charlotte Rosenthal concluded her report by asking the Comintern to send somebody highly qualified to assist in the reconstruction of the ECP before the final vestiges of the party disappeared. Like her colleagues before her, Charlotte complained about a shortage of money and asked for immediate financial aid to help the families of the prisoners.80

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The Comintern’s Emissaries to Egypt and the Decline of the ECP, 1926–1931

The period 1926–1931 witnessed complete chaos within the ECP and its split into several rival groups. During that period the Egyptian political arena was also characterized by instability—the Egyptian people witnessed the rise and fall of six cabinets. The Wafd won the elections in May 1926 with 165 parliamentary seats; the Liberal Constitutionalists gained 29 seats, and al-Hizb al-Watani as well as the Ittihad Party (the Palacedominated party), only 5 seats each. Despite the victory, the Wafd leader Sa‘d Zaghlul could not form his own government due to British opposition. Zaghlul was elected as the president of the Chamber of Deputies, and his party formed a coalition with the Liberal Constitutionalists, while the premiership was given to two independent politicians: ‘Adli Yakan (June 1926–April 1927) and ‘Abd al-Khaliq Tharwat (April 1927–March 1928). Following Zaghlul’s death in August 1927, Mustafa al-Nahhas was elected the party’s new leader and became prime minister in March 1928, heading the same coalition for merely a short period. He was forced to resign following a financial scandal in which he was allegedly involved, but later was proved innocent. In June 1928, Muhammad Mahmud of the Liberal Constitutionalists formed a new cabinet without the Wafd. His dictatorial reign, which lasted until October 1929, emptied the newborn parliamentary system of its democratic content. Comintern theoreticians thoroughly analyzed the election results of May 1926. The Wafd that the Comintern had regarded more positively following its actions against Ziwar’s government was now viewed more critically. The Wafd that gained an overwhelmingly strong position owing to the support of the masses “has deliberately omitted to take up the challenge of the British imperialists,” condemned the Comintern. Instead of forming its own government, as the voters wished, the Wafd gave in to British pressure and gave the premiership to a member of the Liberal Constitutionalists—a minority party. The Comintern explained what it regarded as the Wafd’s leading fears as follows: for sometime, large layers of the country’s nationalist bourgeoisie have increasingly ceased to be revolutionary and withdrawn from the leadership of the popular movement of national liberation. Their policy certainly remains one of opposition to British imperialism, but not one of active revolt against it. The masses, whose interests demand a policy of active revolt against the imperialist exploiters of Egypt, will not for long support the Wafd, if it—like the other bourgeois parties—embarks upon a policy of compromise with British imperialism.81

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The Egyptian national bourgeoisie was divided into a large group of upper bourgeoisie and a smaller group of petite bourgeoisie. The former, like British imperialism, became richer by exploiting the Egyptian fellahin and therefore did not demand a complete separation of Egypt from the British Empire. They were moving further and further away from the revolutionary popular movement of workers and fellahin. The petite bourgeoisie could become a partner for the communists in the struggle of the national revolutionary movement for complete independence.82 During a meeting of the Executive Committee of the Comintern in December 1926, the Egyptian representative raised the question of how to alter the position of the Egyptian nationalist movement toward the ECP and the USSR. He criticized the Comintern for not supporting the Syrian nationalists, who were fighting against French imperialism. The Comintern, he charged, neglected its branches in Syria, Palestine, and Egypt. The time had come for the Comintern to take the lead, in order to help these communist parties pursue their revolutionary goals.83 The Comintern digested this criticism slowly and took action only half a year later. In a directive letter of 23 July 1927 from the Eastern Secretariat to the PCP’s Central Committee, the former expressed its great interest in the anti-imperialist struggle and the revolutionary movement in Egypt. The hard blow that the ECP experienced following the wave of arrests and persecution in 1924–1925 required the urgent and immediate support of the Comintern and the sister parties in reviving the ECP. The PCP was instructed to send a comrade of stature and abilities to Egypt to assess the situation generally and to help rebuild the party by gathering veterans and new recruits and organizing their activities in industrial areas, trade unions, fellahin areas, and so on—in other words, the Comintern rehashed familiar themes. The party should give priority to the struggle against imperialism and liberation, and emphasize in its propaganda campaign the utmost importance of a united nationalist front against the British. Although the ECP was required to establish contacts and join forces with the Wafd and al-Hizb al-Watani, the Comintern made it clear that the ECP should remain independent. The ECP was also asked to take part in the formation of a left wing within the Wafd, in order to enhance the revolutionary forces.84 Abu Ziyam’s Failed Errand

The PCP responded swiftly to the Comintern’s request by dispatching its founder and most senior member, Abu Ziyam (alias of Wolf Averbukh), in summer 1927. Before his arrival in Egypt, two members of the ECP claimed leadership—Muhammad ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, who returned to Egypt in

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March 1927 from his studies in Moscow, and the former secretary-general Husni al-‘Urabi, who was released from prison. Yanakakis favored ‘Abd al-‘Aziz and believed that his training and studies in Russia would contribute to his leadership. The party endorsed Yanakakis’s recommendation and elected al-‘Aziz its new secretary-general.85 ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, as we will soon see, was in fact a police agent, whose leadership (1927–1931) turned the Comintern’s efforts to reestablish the ECP into a mockery. Abu Ziyam stayed in Egypt for nearly six months, during which he held many meetings with his local communist pals in an effort to put the ECP back on track. He also held meetings with Joseph Rosenthal and other nationalists. Abu Ziyam, who did not speak Arabic, used translators during his meetings.86 Several months after his arrival, he sent a detailed report on his activities and impressions. Abu Ziyam reported that he was cautious in his contacts with ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, in order not to give him the feeling that he came to take over the party. It follows from his report that the party’s veterans were also quite suspicious and did not show much trust in ‘Abd al-‘Aziz. On his arrival, Abu Ziyam discovered that the ECP was in fact a oneman party—a defunct organization. Many of its members, who were released from prison, lost confidence in the party and left. Under the state of “police terror” at the time, it was impossible to act, he observed. Abu Ziyam pointed out that the division within the party into European and Arab groups deepened. The European group with its dominant Greek element was in close contact with the Greek Communist Party, whereas the Arab group was isolated and under permanent surveillance, he wrote. The first step that Abu Ziyam took was to bridge the divide between the two groups. He succeeded in forming a central committee comprising seven members: three Arabs and four Greeks. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz remained the leader and enjoyed the party’s trust, but not for long. He was soon accused by his peers of wasting the party’s money for his own purposes. Abu Ziyam defended ‘Abd al-‘Aziz saying that he did not take a penny and that his family suffered from hunger. Rumors that the police had informers in the party did not help the attempts to rehabilitate the party. Consequently, the Central Committee disintegrated, and a new one was formed with three members only. Even this central committee was not effective, since two members remained passive, leaving ‘Abd al-‘Aziz to lead the party by himself. This state of affairs, noted Abu Ziyam, divided the ECP into four splinter groups that were struggling against each other. The first group, informed Abu Ziyam, was led by Charlotte Rosenthal. It comprised seven veteran members, who conducted an ugly campaign against the leadership, accusing it of collaborating with the police. The second was the Greek group that comprised eleven members including the four

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previous members of the central committee. The third group, under Husni al-‘Urabi’s lead, comprised the veteran members of the central committee who were imprisoned in 1924. The fourth group, headed by ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, included Arabs and a few foreigners. Abu Ziyam observed that the struggle and quarrels between the four groups were mainly of personal character, although there were also some ideological disagreements between them. For instance, Charlotte’s group maintained that the time was not ripe to form communist parties in the Arab East, whereas al-‘Urabi’s group maintained that it was possible under certain conditions, one of which was that the Comintern would provide the political and material backing. If these conditions were not met, it preferred to dissolve the party and to rely instead on a few propagators of the communist ideas.87 Abu Ziyam mediated between the groups in order to bridge the gulf between them. His efforts led to the following results: Charlotte’s group agreed to collaborate with ‘Abd al-‘Aziz’s group if the latter would accept certain conditions, which Abu Ziyam did not specify. As for al-‘Urabi’s group, Husni announced his resignation from the party and promised to refrain from any action directed against it. He also agreed to continue with propaganda activity for the party. Abu Ziyam reached a temporary arrangement with the Greek group, according to which they would join forces after the party had purged itself of undesirable elements and the internal quarrels had ceased. A clear picture of the party’s gloomy state of affairs may be seen in Abu Ziyam’s report on its sections and membership. The Cairo branch had only thirty-five active members; in Tanta were twenty-five members and fiftyfive sympathizers (among the railway workers, the port workers, shoemakers, and carpenters); the Alexandria branch had eighteen members; Zaqaziq had eleven members; and a few others were scattered all over the country. Abu Ziyam also described the party’s involvement in labor affairs. According to his account, the party was involved in the strikes of the workers of the trams and the tobacco factory. However, the party failed to gain influence in the trade unions. Attempts to establish working relations with the nationalist parties were not fruitful. The Comintern’s request to form an Arab communist federation, which would bring together the PCP and the ECP, was approved, and the PCP’s Central Committee suggested that the central committees of the two parties would prepare a program for such a federation and present it to the coming sixth congress of the Comintern. It was clear from the report that the PCP regarded itself as the senior partner in such a future cooperative framework.88 Abu Ziyam, who tried to establish ‘Abd al-‘Aziz’s leading position, realized that one of the main obstacles was Husni al-‘Urabi. In a letter to

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the Comintern on 13 November 1927, Abu Ziyam and ‘Abd al-‘Aziz asked to make it possible for al-‘Urabi to leave Egypt.89 Indeed, al-‘Urabi was frustrated and very bitter with the Comintern. Since his release from prison, he wanted to travel to Moscow to express, personally, his disappointment with the way the Comintern handled the ECP’s affairs. ‘Abd al‘Aziz endorsed his desire and sent him to Moscow on 28 July 1927. In Moscow, al-‘Urabi presented his hosts with a report explaining the ECP’s present situation and suggested ways to rebuild the party. Al-‘Urabi criticized the way the Comintern treated the ECP since its formation. He particularly criticized the decision to send Avigdor as the Comintern’s delegate to Egypt in late 1924. He blamed the Comintern for neglecting the party after Avigdor’s arrest. The ECP was now a pale shadow of its predecessor, the ESP—the legal and large party. The ECP comprised groups of five members—“at the head of every group, a European comrade protected by the capitulations. The groups ignore each other. They are all under a central committee of 7 members, which holds its meetings when necessary and generally not more than once a month.”90 In al-‘Urabi’s view, the ECP failed for several reasons. First, it was not “formed from real conscious understanding communists,” but from sympathizers, who ran away in each wave of persecution, because “there is no communist culture in the whole Orient.” Second, it failed due to the intensive and obsessive persecution by successive Egyptian governments that promulgated anticommunist laws and the special security forces that infiltrated the party by creating a spy network. Third, the failure stemmed from “the Comintern’s promises that were repeatedly not fulfilled, and the party’s belief in the promises leading it to extend its work beyond its strength, so that the failure was as rapid as the progress.” The Comintern also listened to the intrigues of the ECP’s enemies. The active members, who were imprisoned and received neither moral nor material support, lost their faith in the party. Fourth, on the propaganda level, the ECP failed to publish a party organ for financial and legal reasons. Soviet Russia’s image in Egypt was in decline. While communist Russia had been a source for inspiration and hope for the repressed Egyptians in the past, they now hardly remembered Russia. Al-‘Urabi put forward a proposal for rebuilding the party. The proposal made it clear that he was against closer cooperation with the PCP and rather preferred cooperation with the European communist parties in Britain, Austria, and Greece. To eradicate British imperialism, cooperation with the CPGB was of utmost importance, and therefore the party should have a permanent representative in England and in the Comintern. Overall, there were hardly any new ideas in his proposal, which in fact rehashed familiar themes.91

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The Comintern viewed some aspects in al-‘Urabi’s report favorably and endorsed his idea of setting up a political bureau abroad to guide the activities of the ECP’s Central Committee. Relations with the CPGB had already been proposed and implemented in the past, and the Comintern encouraged such cooperation. The Comintern regarded, however, closer cooperation with the PCP as essential. The ECP was asked to “coordinate its tasks and adapt them to the actual possibilities.” The Comintern’s response to al-‘Urabi’s request for material support was obviously not one that he had expected: the ECP “must rely on its own resources in the near future and aim at securing resources at home also in future, without expecting help from outside.”92 An account by the leaders of the Democratic Movement for National Liberation (DMNL)93 in the late 1940s sheds more light on al-‘Urabi’s visit. They recounted that al-‘Urabi informed them of his meeting with the Executive Committee of the Comintern—a meeting attended by Stalin. The latter’s presence, however, did not stop al-‘Urabi from criticizing the Comintern. He made harsh accusations against the way the Comintern handled the ECP’s case. Al-‘Urabi particularly criticized the Comintern’s policy, which placed Palestine at the center of communism in the Arab East, and noted that the influence of Zionist elements on the Comintern was noticeable. He requested that the center and leadership of Arab communism be transferred from Palestine to Egypt. According to al-‘Urabi, Stalin interrupted him and asked, “Was the Comintern the only one to commit mistakes?” Stalin told al-‘Urabi to write an account of his views and ordered an investigation of his accusations. The head of the Eastern Secretariat, who understandably had reasons for concern because such an account would have presented the Eastern Secretariat in adverse light, urged al-‘Urabi to leave Moscow, telling him, “There are many English spies here, who could bring about the downfall of the ECP.” The head of the Eastern Secretariat promised to submit al-‘Urabi’s account to the investigation committee and to inform him of the results. Al-‘Urabi followed his advice and left Moscow the following day.94 ‘Abd al-Rahman Fadl, an Egyptian student who met al-‘Urabi in Moscow, recounted that the Comintern ignored his account in the course of the investigation, which led al-‘Urabi to lose his remaining confidence in the Comintern.95 Like al-‘Urabi before, Fadl and Muhammad Duwidar, another Egyptian student studying in Moscow, criticized the role played by Jews in the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern, some of whom were members of the PCP. Fadl thought that some of them served the Zionist goal. He described Abu Ziyam as “the most dangerous one, who refused to see any Arab in a leading position in the communist parties of the Middle East.”96

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Fadl quoted Abu Ziyam as saying that “the Arabs were not suitable for leadership, because they were backward.” According to Fadl, the Comintern deviated from Lenin’s line, according to which Zionism was more dangerous than capitalism and therefore the Arabization (ta‘rib) of the communist parties of the Arab East was mandatory. Foreign elements in the Comintern, many of them Jews, did not adhere to Lenin’s line, because they wanted to control the Arab communist movements either from within (people like Rosenthal and his daughter) or from without (people like Avigdor and Abu Ziyam).97 ‘Abd al-Fattah al-Qadi as well expressed his regret over the fact that most of the Comintern’s emissaries to Egypt were Jews.98 Such statements do not necessarily indicate, however, that the two were anti-Semitic. They both (together with Muhammad Duwidar, Husayn Hasuna, Shaykh Safwan, and Muhammad ‘Amr)99 joined the Egyptian Movement for National Liberation—a communist organization founded and led by a Jew of Egyptian origin, Henri Curiel. Their observations were made in the late 1960s, several decades after they, like many other Egyptian communist veterans, had distanced themselves from internationalist communism, embracing instead nationalist communism—a new wave of communism that was developed in the late 1930s and early 1940s by the next generation of Egyptian communists, many of whom were Jews. It remains uncertain, however, if the allegations made by al-‘Urabi and his Egyptian communist peers regarding a Jewish hegemony within the communist movements had any effect on Stalin’s decision to order the Arabization of the communist parties of the Arab East in the late 1920s.100 Several weeks after al-‘Urabi’s trip to Moscow, the Comintern prepared a detailed account with the repetitious title “The Social Political Situation in Egypt and the Tasks of the Communist Party.” The undoubted merit of the ECP, it was proudly stated, was the great influence it secured among workers in its earlier days. The report determined categorically that this achievement was deeply rooted and uninfected by the various breakups of 1923–1924 or 1925. The evaluation makes one wonder whether the Comintern really meant it, or whether it was just within the realm of propaganda. The Comintern pointed out several mistakes, however, that the party committed in the past. First, until 1924, the ECP was built as a legal apparatus without an underground mechanism. True, the party had a large number of members, at one point over 2,000, but the rank-and-file members were not trained for independent work. When the party was persecuted, and its leaders were arrested, there was nobody to take the lead and to guide the rank-and-file members, who—despite not wanting it—left the party. Second, the party’s leadership did not understand adequately the role and significance of the national revolutionary

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movement and hardly worked on this issue. Third, since the abolition of the CGT, the party did not work sufficiently within the existing trade union organizations. Fourth, the party failed to work closely with fraternal communist parties. As a result, when the authorities managed to root out the party, the sister parties were unable to assist in its immediate restoration.101 The Comintern outlined the tasks facing the communist movement in Egypt at the time: the reestablishment of the party organization, the unification of the various splinter groups and individuals who were loyal to the party, and the consolidation of the party’s cadres, in order to establish firm contacts with the workers and fellahin—the popular classes. The party was asked to operate underground and to utilize all legal possibilities within its reach. The ECP was advised to train new cadres of workers, who were not known to the police as party members in the past. The party was directed to penetrate the existing trade unions “no matter what the political physiognomy of their leaders may be.” The formation of trade unions by the party was restricted only to those industrial areas where no union existed. The party should disseminate popular ideas such as the right to organize trade unions, trade unions amalgamation, the organization of factory committees, the foundation of strike funds, eight-hour working day, the struggle for labor legislation, and higher wages. The directions on cooperation with the national bourgeoisie remained similar to those mentioned earlier.102 Abu Ziyam’s six-month mission in Egypt was not crowned with success. The rivalry between the various groups continued, particularly after al-‘Urabi’s bitter experience with the Comintern. Al-‘Urabi now called to detach the party from the Comintern. He believed that the party should continue working clandestinely, but at the same time act publicly by propagating ideas that would be regarded legal. His line of detachment was not endorsed, however, by the largest faction of the split party.103 The Mission of A. Shami

By the end of 1927, contradictory reports from the various groups reached the Comintern. For instance, a letter signed by M. Zaki (alias of ‘Abd al‘Aziz)104 informed the Comintern in late November of the party’s trial against Charlotte Rosenthal. She was incriminated for refusing to cooperate and work with the party’s comrades. She refused to provide the party with necessary equipment (stamps, stationery, etc.), which she received from Avigdor after she was released from prison. She was blamed for stirring up the rivalry and discontent among the comrades by trying to win their support and—if she failed—speaking badly of them. She tried to prevent al-‘Urabi’s journey to Moscow. She used her husband’s connections

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to hurt the party and also collaborated with Ibrahim Shahat and her father, Joseph, who were no longer party members.105 Charlotte and her father were also victims of intrigues and accusations from outside the party. In early October 1927, the Egyptian press published that ‘Ali Effendi Muhammad Shahata informed the security services in June 1927 of a plot by former members of the ECP and Hafiz Ramadan, the leader of al-Hizb al-Watani, to assassinate the king Fu’ad during his visit to Europe, to overthrow the monarchy, and to establish a republican regime. It was noted that communist Russia supported the plotters. The main accusations were directed at Charlotte and Joseph Rosenthal, who denied them and in turn filed a complaint at the police against Shahatta for perjury. After two months of investigation, the police determined that the plot was Shahatta’s fancy, and the press blamed him of being himself a communist.106 The dates of Avigdor’s release from prison and his subsequent deportation from Egypt are not clear. It would appear that he left Egypt after March 1928. A letter to his wife, Charlotte, who was already in Germany and Russia, was sent from Egypt on 13 March 1928. We may conclude from the letter that he was released from prison and not deported at once. We also learn that he was still in touch with Joseph Rosenthal, his fatherin-law. Avigdor asked her to send him material in English on the laws of Soviet Russia: civil, criminal, constitutional, law of management, as well as material on Soviets—the way they work, and laws of labor and syndicates. Charlotte was instructed to send the material via Germany or France, but definitely not from Russia, for security reasons.107 Indeed, Charlotte continued to work from Moscow for her Egyptian party. On her arrival, she took pains to persuade the Comintern to take the case of Egypt more seriously. In April 1928 she expressed her desire to present the ECP’s case before the Comintern and asked to launch a debate on Egypt with the participation of Avigdor, who was possibly already in Moscow after his deportation from Egypt.108 Charlotte revealed the story behind her arrival in Moscow in early 1928. According to Charlotte, her colleagues in Cairo sent her to deliver a letter to the Comintern, expressing their disappointment with ‘Abd al-‘Aziz’s leadership, manipulations, intrigues, and his destruction of the party. They asked the Comintern to expel ‘Abd al-‘Aziz from the party. She met with comrades Kitaiegorodski and Abu Ziyam, who refused to refer to her letter because “it was not signed by ‘Abd al-‘Aziz himself.” She noted that the two were in correspondence with ‘Abd al-‘Aziz and recognized his leadership, believing his “letters, which were full of lies and intrigues.” Charlotte asked the two to allow her to return to Egypt, but they refused, stating that she needed to stay with her husband, who had already arrived in Moscow.109 Charlotte kept in touch with her family in Alexandria.

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From her correspondence with her brother David, we learn that her father, Joseph, and this brother were engaged in business and that they lived happily in Alexandria. We also learn from her private letters that even when she was abroad, she continued to look after the interests of the communist prisoners through the good offices of their lawyer Zuhir Sabri.110 On his part, Avigdor summarized his activities in Egypt in a report that he wrote on 28 February 1928. Avigdor argued that from May 1925 until June 1926, the Egyptian labor movement was paralyzed by government terror. Things began to look better with the return of the Wafd to power.111 Trade unions associated with the Wafd renewed their activities, but also trade unions such as the Cairo and Heliopolis tramway workers’ unions, which in the past were linked to the ECP. In his view, the current Egyptian labor movement was lacking a clear structure, and Egypt experienced simultaneously a twofold struggle: national and class. Because of this unique situation, he thought the ECP should cooperate with nationalist groups, in order not to become a negligible sect. Avigdor criticized al‘Urabi and other comrades who were inclined to seclusion: they lacked political experience and did not comprehend the nationalist components of the struggle, while overestimating the ECP’s capabilities. “In order to expand and strengthen our party, we should remove these adverse elements.” Avigdor proposed to put an end to the internal quarrels and to get united under an experienced leadership. He reiterated the need to publish a legal paper and to join the federation of trade unions, where the party should form a left wing and vie for leadership. Although al-Hizb al-Watani was in decline and was hardly influential, Avigdor, as well as other Comintern observers and delegates, called for cooperation with that party. Avigdor asked the Comintern to send an experienced delegate with wide competences, who should be assisted by a group of comrades from Palestine. He also suggested sending those Egyptian students who were studying at the KUTV for the past two and three years back to Egypt.112 As we have seen, the Comintern had already replaced Avigdor with Abu Ziyam, who was trying to rebuild the party for a short while. In line with Avigdor’s and Abu Ziyam’s recommendations, the Comintern decided to send Abu Ziyam’s colleague, A. Shami, who was a senior member of the PCP, a member of the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern (1926–1927), and a temporary member of the newly established Communist Party of Syria and Lebanon (CPSL) (1925–1926). Shami was involved with the ECP’s affairs while he was in and out of Egypt throughout 1928. Shami was born in Odessa in 1893 to a Jewish petite-bourgeois family. As a child, he studied in a religious school and later joined an external high school. He studied in Paris at the faculty of mathematics, 1913–1914. He re-

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turned to Odessa with the outbreak of World War I; there he worked in a factory and became acquainted with labor affairs and was introduced to socialist literature. He became a member of the anarchist Socialist Revolutionary Party. In 1919, he joined Poale Zion Party (he described that party in his autobiography as the “Jewish Communist Party”). During summer 1918, he volunteered to serve in the Red Army in the Kiev region. In the early 1920s, he joined the communist movement in Palestine. With the formation of the PCP, he left Poale Zion. In Palestine, he worked as a cottager in orange groves and farms, a builder, and a porter. In 1923, he was sent to Egypt to establish contacts with the ECP after the wave of arrests in March 1923. In 1924, he was arrested in Palestine for his involvement in an illegal activity. In 1927, the British deported him from Palestine to the USSR.113 Shami’s wife, Sofia Roginskaya, was also a PCP activist in both Palestine and Egypt. She was in Egypt during Shami’s mission there and was deported from Egypt to the USSR in 1929. The two got married in Russia in 1930. Shami’s first reports to the Comintern were mainly on the political and social situation in Egypt, in line with the Comintern’s request to learn more thoroughly the Egyptian case before its sixth congress in July 1928. The revival of the Egyptian labor movement under the Wafd-led coalition was given prominence. The number of strikes in 1927–1928 increased, but the emphasis was on their organizational weakness. The work dispute between the tramway workers and their employers, which reached its peak on 23 November 1927 when the workers abandoned their work and the activity of the trams came to a halt, was praised. The labor movement, it was observed, failed to produce a leadership from within. Although there were nearly 100 trade unions all over the country, most of them were dominated and manipulated by political parties, mainly the Wafd. They were not united, and the links between them were weak. The remaining members of the weak ECP participated in many of the significant strikes of 1927–1928 and gained some success. They managed to distribute some legal written material, which was designed to demonstrate the Wafd’s betrayal of the people and to call for “real revolutionism of the labor movement.”114 The political events of March 1928, following the decision of the Wafd-led coalition to break off negotiations with Britain, were discussed in detail. This move was attributed to the pressure exerted by public opinion manifested in the press campaign and student demonstrations. The British were not happy with the intention of al-Nahhas’s cabinet to liberalize the law with regard to meetings and public demonstrations. The Comintern and Shami predicted correctly that this law would lead to the dissolution of parliament. They also predicted the political cooperation between al-Ittihad Party and the Liberal Constitutionalists against the Wafd. The Comintern

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discerned already in March 1928 that the left wing within the Wafd and alHizb al-Watani that had organizational influence among the workers, students, and the petite bourgeoisie “may try to organize a mass protest movement (strikes and demonstration), keeping that movement within the limits of a defense of the constitution.”115 Shami appreciated that revolutionary conditions were created following antidemocratic measures taken by the Mahmud government in late 1928: the dissolution of parliament, the restriction of the political freedom of speech and action guaranteed by the constitution, street clashes, strikes, and general social discontent. The Wafd that until recently had hardly helped the popular classes, and betrayed them when it had been in power, was now leading an antigovernment popular movement. The ECP should take advantage of this situation by launching a propaganda campaign against the monarchy, Egyptian reactionaries, and British imperialism. The ECP should increase its activities within the trade unions and emphasize the need for an agrarian revolution in order to win the support of the fellahin. It needed to strengthen the links between the workers and fellahin. It was obvious that the ECP could not act alone and therefore it had to cooperate with the “small bourgeoisie” on the condition that they recognize its “ideological infrastructure.”116 Shami supported the idea of unifying all revolutionary forces on a democratic revolutionary basis, which would include the following political platform: fight against imperialism, with the liberation of Egypt and the Sudan; the abolition of monarchy and the establishment of a republican regime; extensive legislation to improve the life and work conditions of workers and fellahin; a solution of the agrarian land problem and water issues; and the establishment of contacts with the USSR. Shami was of the opinion that the revolutionary movement should also act in the Sudan to propagate the essential concept of a common struggle for both Egypt and the Sudan against British imperialism, which took pains to separate the two peoples by encouraging Sudanese separatism.117 It did not take Shami long to conclude that the ECP’s weakness was primarily a result of the internal quarrels and disputes, which led to the emergence of tiny and ineffective splinter groups. He came to the conclusion that a communist party in Egypt did not exist at the time. Shami determined that neither Abu Ziyam’s mission to Egypt nor al-‘Urabi’s visit to Moscow helped the situation of the ECP, which had continued to deteriorate. Two of the splinter groups formed their own central committees and announced in turn the expulsion of comrades who belonged to the rival group. The accusations were severe, and some comrades were accused of espionage. Shami believed that only the Comintern’s intervention could cure the situation. He

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asked the Comintern to send the graduates of the KUTV back to Egypt as well as sending other groups from the PCP and CPSL. Shami recommended that the Comintern put an end to the existence of two central committees and instead form a single one that would unite the whole movement. It followed from his request to dispatch an authoritative Comintern figure to Egypt in order to deal with the situation that he had failed to establish his leadership and authority as the Comintern special delegate.118 A special committee of the Comintern endorsed Shami’s requests. It authorized him on 8 June 1928 to form a temporary united central committee as a first step of a plan to revive the ECP. The new central committee (that comprised inter alia ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, al-Shahat Ibrahim, and Shami) should mediate between the rival groups to halt the internal quarrels and to propagate among them the Comintern’s plan for Egypt. The Comintern instructed the central committee to form an underground apparatus, which would also publish an underground publication; and the ECP was directed to concentrate its activities among the Arab masses.119 After several months in Egypt, Shami was thinking more realistically. In his view, the communists should not form their own trade unions, but rather increase their actions within the existing ones to reduce the national bourgeoisie’s influence there. He pointed out that many workers were directly connected with the villages, and therefore believed that the ECP should take the issues of land and water seriously. The ECP should recruit fellahin for propagating its program for the nationalization of the agrarian land and its transfer to its cultivators. The fellahin’s water should be subsidized. Shami spoke of the need to build and maintain an extensive irrigation system, which would require centralized coordination and direction in both Egypt and the Sudan. Since both countries were under British control, the solution of the agrarian and irrigation problems could be achieved only after the removal of the British. The ECP’s propaganda campaign among the workers and fellahin should therefore focus on the central role of British imperialism in their misery. The British, who controlled the water resources in the Sudan, could off-handedly ruin Egypt’s agriculture. Shami was aware that such a campaign would not be simple and that the ECP’s tactics should take into account the delicate political state of affairs in the country. The ECP should first build its infrastructure thoroughly and extensively, and only then take its leading role in the movement for national liberation. It could then cooperate, if necessary, with other leftist elements such as the Wafd’s left wing and members of al-Hizb al-Watani. The ECP could also cooperate with national-bourgeois elements under certain circumstances, such as anti-imperialist actions. The idea was to tilt these elements toward the left and at the same time to expose the treacherousness of the na-

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tional bourgeoisie toward the Egyptian people. Shami maintained that if another world war were to break out in the near future, the ECP should be prepared to conduct a general uprising all over the country in order to get rid of the colonialist domination, and to support the USSR.120 During the sixth congress of the Comintern, Egypt and the role of the ECP in the struggle for liberation were discussed. The Comintern did not deny that by 1926 the ECP “no longer played any noticeable role in the political life of the country.” The national movement in Egypt, the Comintern noted, was represented mainly by the Wafd and al-Hizb al-Watani. The Wafd was described as “an Egyptian Kuomintang along its own lines, and still in the first stage of its development,”121 whereas al-Hizb al-Watani was viewed as small, lacking influence, and chiefly intellectual. Drawing conclusions from the social discontent of 1927–1928 among workers, fellahin, and students who were disappointed with the Wafd government for which they had voted in the 1926 elections, the Comintern put forward several potential lines of advance open to the ECP. First, the ECP could base itself on the social discontent and work for the overthrow of the present leadership of the Wafd and the reorganization of that party as a national revolutionary party, “as Egyptian left-Kuomintang.” Second, the ECP could base itself on the dissatisfied popular classes and organize a new “left Wafd” in addition to the existing Wafd. The Comintern stated, however, that “one cannot recommend either of these courses to the ECP,” because the ECP had been facing major obstacles, such as police persecution, which hindered it from penetrating the popular classes. The main obstacle was the Wafd itself, whose leaders were experts in manipulating the masses and in winning their support by pointing to their party’s glorious past as an anti-imperialist revolutionary force. The first task of the ECP was to tear away the Wafd leaders’ mask of friendliness for “the workers and implacable hostility to British imperialism,” by revealing their true physiognomy to all the popular classes of Egypt. This task, noted the Comintern, should be carried out in parallel to the work of rebuilding the ECP’s infrastructure and establishing its links with both the workers and fellahin. In order to establish its stronghold among the workers, the party had to work within the trade unions and gradually to take over their leadership. Without the support of the working classes, the ECP would remain insignificant, and its capabilities to form a “left Wafd” would be seriously weakened. The Comintern concluded that under the circumstances, the chief tasks of the ECP were to consolidate the party “on a basis of a resolute struggle alongside the Wafd, the capture of the trade unions, and the expulsion of the Wafd traitors from the unions.” In other words, the ECP was instructed to take part in the struggle for national lib-

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eration and to cooperate with the Wafd as long as that party was committed to a resolute and uncompromising struggle against the British.122 According to a British report, Shami established indirect contacts in the autumn of 1928 with “certain extremist elements in the Wafd” who were tentatively considering the advisability of turning to Soviet Russia for assistance.123 The Comintern’s program for Egypt based on Shami’s reports and on past experience suffered another hard blow when Shami was arrested and deported from Egypt in December 1928. The Egyptian security authorities had an earlier success in their battle against communism in May 1928, when they broke up a communist cell that was formed in 1926 and consisted of some forty activists, many of whom were of foreign origin: Greeks, Italians, and Russians.124 The Comintern’s perplexity following these developments may be well expressed in a letter sent from Russia by Charlotte Rosenthal to her father. She informed Joseph that the Comintern “would not send another delegate to Egypt for at least another year due to the blows, which the Egyptian government had dealt communist propaganda.”125 ‘Abd al-‘Aziz protested that during Shami’s mission their work relations were inefficient. Shami ignored him and developed closer relations with his rivals Shahat and Husni al-‘Urabi, and—worst of all—with Joseph Rosenthal, who had left the party a long time ago. Shami also maintained contacts with activists who were actually police agents. This explained, according to ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, the reasons for his failure.126

Reformulating the Comintern’s Doctrine Following the Sixth Congress

The void caused by Shami’s deportation displeased the Comintern, which felt that the rise of Mahmud’s dictatorial regime created new revolutionary opportunities for the Egyptian communist movement that the weak ECP did not seize. The Comintern was particularly furious because the communists were split and—after Shami’s deportation—renewed their quarrels and intrigues, refusing to unite under a single central committee. The Comintern called ‘Abd al-‘Aziz to order following his request to recognize a new central committee, which he formed shortly after Shami’s departure. The Comintern ruled unequivocally that it only recognized the temporary central committee, approved in its letter of 8 June 1928, that included ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, al-Shahat, Husni al-’Urabi, and Shami, who was already out of the game. Should the need arise; these comrades could extend the committee by adding two to three members.127

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The Comintern instructed the ECP to unite and to renew its activities at all costs. The Wafd was a cowardly opposition force and therefore could not be a reliable partner to lead the working classes in their struggle against imperialism—all it cared about was to win public support in its struggle to defend the 1923 constitution, which served its own political interests. The Comintern went even so far as to describe the Wafd as playing the role of an agent in the service of imperialism—a party that betrayed the popular classes. The ECP should conduct an uncompromising struggle against that party; a necessary precondition for achieving a victory over reaction and imperialism was defeating the Wafd. Should the ECP fail to exploit these major revolutionary opportunities, nationalist reformist factors would beat the revolutionary movement to it and use the chance. The ECP was instructed to disseminate revolutionary slogans such as the struggle for national independence; demolition of imperialism; self-determination for the Sudan; confiscation of agrarian land from wealthy landlords and its redistribution among the fellahin; eight-hour workday; freedom for workers, fellahin, and craftsmen; freedom to publish, assemble, and demonstrate.128 The ECP was directed to form an anti-imperialist front without the participation of national-bourgeois groups, notably the Wafd. The ECP should play a central role in such a front, mostly comprising workers and fellahin. The inclusion of fellahin was a realistic necessity because they were the largest social class in Egypt, constituting more than 80 percent of the total population. To win the support of this class, the ECP should formulate clear and correct agrarian slogans. Another necessary condition for success was to infiltrate the existing trade unions by forming communist factions from within. Such factions would act under the instructions from the party’s relevant committees; their chief goal was to remove the nationalbourgeois leadership and to take the lead. After the ECP consolidated its dominant position within the anti-imperialist front, it could include other patriotic elements, such as students and “certain positive elements from the Wafd and al-Hizb al-Watani.” In order to avoid a situation in which once again the police could easily break up communist cells, the ECP was instructed to operate with particular caution. The police recognized the veteran comrades, who were under permanent surveillance. The new comrades should therefore avoid interactions with the veteran comrades to prevent their exposure. The new comrades should be engaged in the illegal actions, whereas the veteran comrades should be less involved with party activities and be engaged in basic functions, unrelated to the illegal operations. The ECP’s rank-andfile comrades as well as its leadership should be taught the “conspiracy theory.” They should study Marxism-Leninism thoroughly and systemati-

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cally in order to broaden their horizons. The ECP was reprimanded for failing to make even a single proclamation in the recent months. As soon as possible, illegal apparatuses should be established in vital places in the center and periphery. Correspondingly, the ECP should also develop a legal apparatus. The Comintern advised the party to open a branch of the “anti-imperialist league”—an organization that was already active in other countries. The party was also encouraged to develop close work relations with the PCP and the CPSL based on mutual ideological and material support, exchange of experiences, literature, and comrades. The Comintern stated unequivocally that it opposed the idea of unifying the three parties as Abu Ziyam and members of the PCP had suggested earlier. Each party, it was stressed, was a special section of the Comintern and should remain so, because that was the correct order under the circumstances.129

Revolutionary Situation! Where Is the Revolutionary Vanguard?

By mid-1929, both the Comintern and the various rival communist factions understood that the ECP was dysfunctional throughout its short history for serious internal reasons: a shaky organization and a quarreling leadership. If the internal conflicts were at least based on ideological disagreements, one could have said that the party had a high ideological consciousness. Unfortunately, the party’s reality clearly showed that the internal conflicts emanated from personal grudges, which gave rise to ugly mutual accusations. Since Shami’s deportation in December 1928, the Comintern barely maintained contact with the ECP for one simple reason—there was no recognized central committee, but rather several tiny ones, each presenting itself as the real ECP.130 It was obvious that the Comintern refused to recognize either ‘Abd al-‘Aziz’s separate faction or Husni al-‘Urabi’s inner circle or any other group. The Comintern remained persistent in its recognition of the temporary central committee approved in its letter of 8 June 1928. For instance, ‘Abd al-‘Aziz’s letter of 22 March 1929 to the Comintern was completely ignored. The letter, which was entitled “my practical proposals,” was an effort to persuade the Comintern that his group could rehabilitate the party and lead it to success. He asked the Comintern to ignore the other groups and concentrate on his group, requesting material and moral support. Shami’s mission failed, reasoned ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, because he did not maintain close contacts with “my group” and relied on unreliable elements.131

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Emile Zayd was the next external communist activist to get involved in the ECP’s affairs. Born in 1905 in Zephath, Palestine, Emile Zayd saw himself as an Arab Jew and a member of the CCECP (according to his application form to the KUTV of January 1930), and he knew both Hebrew and Arabic. Zayd worked as a carpenter and was a member of Poale Zion in his youth; later he joined the Komsomol (Kommunisticheskiy Soyuz Molodiozhi, Communist Union of Youth) and studied at the KUTV, where he graduated in 1928. The circumstances behind Zayd’s arrival in Egypt remained controversial, as we may conclude from his personal files. According to him, comrade Williams informed him in January 1929 of the Eastern Secretariat’s intention to send him to Egypt. The plan changed a month later, and he was sent to Syria. He was instructed to travel via Egypt to Syria, in order to deliver a letter from the Comintern to the ECP. The letter contained a message reaffirming the temporary central committee, recognized by the Comintern in June 1928 and approved by the third congress of the ECP in November that year. Zayd stated that he was also asked to help distribute and explain the letter to the various groups of the ECP. While in Egypt, his superiors in Moscow gave the instruction for him to be stationed in Palestine. Zayd did not explain why he arrived in Egypt only in July. We learn from his files, however, that it was the secret International Liaison Department (Otdel Mezhdunaronoii Svyazi, OMS) of the Comintern Central Committee that sent him to Egypt in July without money and without passport.132 In Egypt, Zayd revealed, he met with “members of the CCECP,” to whom he delivered the Comintern’s letter and asked for their help to facilitate his trip to Palestine. He was told that for his own safety, it would be advisable to stay temporarily in Egypt. The Comintern, noted Zayd, approved the decision to stay in Egypt.133 A different version of his arrival in Egypt may be found in a letter sent by the Eastern Secretariat to the Comintern’s Executive Committee, according to which the latter was asked to investigate the circumstances of Zayd’s mission. Zayd was accused of failing to comply with his instructions from the Eastern Secretariat. He was first instructed to move to Syria in order to work with the CPSL and to visit Egypt on his way there. He was instructed to work temporarily in Odessa until the technical issues of his mission were completed. After a couple of months, he returned to Moscow, stating that he could not go to Egypt because he did not receive any addresses of local communists whom he should contact. While in Moscow, the Eastern Secretariat offered him the possibility to move to Palestine and to work with the PCP, but he refused.134

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According to Shami, Zayd was already active in Egypt in 1928. He described him as “a young man from Palestine, who proved his heroism. He was an excellent student at the KUTV and, in 1928, succeeded courageously to arrive in Egypt, where he dedicated himself to the ECP. He was highly regarded by the veteran comrades.” Therefore, we may conclude that he was twice in Egypt, once in 1928 and again in 1929. This could explain his desire to operate in Egypt. He was already a member of the ECP’s Central Committee in 1928, when Shami was in charge.135 As soon as he arrived in Egypt in 1929, Zayd realized that the ECP was nearly a defunct organization. With his limited experience, he took pains to succeed in a task that many other more-experienced Comintern emissaries had failed. His primary goal was to unite the various groups under one central committee. He confessed that the reasons for the split “were utterly nonsensical and based on long standing personal reckonings from 1927.” In September 1929, his efforts were met with success in the formation of a united central committee, which comprised the comrades approved by the Comintern in June 1928.136 A few months after the unification, Zayd testified, there was a marked increase in both the ECP’s activities and the ECP’s members, most of whom were workers. He also noted the communist activity within the trade unions, which included the formation of cells, propaganda, and efforts to disclose the treacherous character of union leaders. Zayd also mentioned some activities among the fellahin, which included the formation of two committees in al-Sharqiyya.137 On 4 September, the ECP issued a manifesto condemning the talks conducted between Prime Minister Mahmud and Arthur Henderson, the British foreign secretary, that aimed at reaching an Anglo-Egyptian treaty. It stated that the alliance between the Egyptian high bourgeoisie, which constituted a very tiny percentage of Egypt’s population, and the British would worsen the situation of the working classes and called upon them to oppose any treaty that would perpetuate their enslavement to British imperialism.138 According to Zayd’s accounts, contacts between the ECP and the Comintern were completely cut, despite his and his colleagues’ efforts to maintain proper channels of communication. On the other hand, he made conspicuous the contacts they managed to establish with the sister parties in Syria, Britain, and Greece. The work conditions were very hard; the Egyptian authorities still persecuted the party constantly; and the party was attacked by former comrades, who had abandoned the party, but still held a high level of influence among ECP’s members. These included Husni al‘Urabi and Salama Musa. Their actions weakened the party, stressed Zayd. He warned that they tried to establish a legal socialist party and then to join

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the Labor and Socialist International (founded in 1923 as the counterweight of the social democratic camp to the Third International).139 Zayd arrived in Moscow in December 1929 to submit his accounts to the Comintern and to create a better mode of communication with the latter. He was soon to realize, however, that his decision to appear personally in Moscow was a grave mistake. His cry for help fell on deaf ears. What mattered more to the Comintern’s bureaucrats was Zayd’s failure to arrive in Palestine in mid-1929, rather than his vital experience in Egypt.140 The Comintern replaced Emile Zayd with Paul Dietrich, a representative of the German Communist Party (Kommunistische Partei Deutschlands, KPD) in the Reichstag (parliament), who arrived in Egypt sometime in late 1929 to early 1930. Dietrich contacted ‘Abd al-‘Aziz only after several months. According to ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, the Comintern did not instruct Dietrich to meet him on his arrival. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz argued that with Dietrich’s assistance, they managed to renew the ECP’s activity by recruiting new members, funding clubs, issuing leaflets, and publishing articles in the newspapers. However, he ruled, neither Dietrich nor Abu Ziyam met their needs and high expectations in terms of economic assistance. The ECP’s activity continued to be slow and ineffective.141

Intrigues and Espionage

The developments in the ECP could provide a great deal of background material for a detective novel on scandals of espionage, intrigues, hatred, and denunciations. It is difficult to draw an authentic portrait of the ECP after ‘Abd al-‘Aziz took over the party’s apparatus in 1927. In the following paragraphs, I shall present several versions of the ECP’s story as presented by the representatives of the various groups that had a sparse correspondence with the Comintern, mainly in the period 1930–1931. All Comintern emissaries appear to have fallen into the trap laid by ‘Abd al‘Aziz, except for Zayd, who read the map correctly and dissociated himself from ‘Abd al-‘Aziz. No wonder that after a short period the emissaries failed in their mission, including the last one, Paul Dietrich. By 1931, the accusations against ‘Abd al-‘Aziz that he was a police informer reached their peak; even his allies abandoned him, and he lost his grip on the party. Dietrich was arrested at a time when a meeting between him and ‘Abd al-‘Aziz was scheduled (the accurate date was not given, but it was sometime in late 1930) in order to discuss the formation of a new central committee. Dietrich and the other senior participants, who expected to see ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, were astonished to see police forces instead,

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who raided the building and arrested the Comintern emissary without much noise. The fact that ‘Abd al-‘Aziz remained free left no room for speculation among the other factions—they categorically claimed ‘Abd al‘Aziz to be a traitor. The circumstances of Dietrich’s arrest followed by the allegations against ‘Abd al-‘Aziz had adverse effects on Dietrich’s attempts to rehabilitate the ECP. Dietrich’s assistant, a member of the PCP who arrived in Egypt in August 1930 to act as intermediary between the Comintern’s emissary (who did not speak Arabic) and the local communists, took over. He argued that the mutual trust among the comrades was seriously hurt and that their self-confidence was weakened. They feared to get together or to be involved in party activities. The ECP’s work became even more difficult, because the party’s money was at Dietrich’s disposal. The PCP member (the name was not mentioned in the reports) argued that the ECP had all the required means to succeed in leading the workers. The presence of an authoritative representative of the Comintern with financial means was not used by the party’s cowardly leadership, whose defective understanding of the revolutionary political situation of Egypt led many comrades and workers to abandon the party. The PCP member also blamed Dietrich for putting all his eggs in ‘Abd al-‘Aziz’s basket. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, he argued, was always an obstacle to any attempt to act progressively. He was against cooperation with other revolutionary elements, including the party’s efforts to get closer to the masses. The PCP member was also very critical of the ECP’s veteran leadership, notably of Hasuna’s142 and al-‘Urabi’s groups, which challenged ‘Abd al‘Aziz’s leadership and—for personal calculations—acted as though their group was the only authentic party. Their actions deepened the split within the party. The PCP member concluded that there was a need to rebuild the party under a new leadership. Several months after his arrival in Egypt (his mission in Egypt continued until December 1931), he traveled to Moscow to ask for the Comintern’s endorsement of his plan to rehabilitate the party, including the formation of a new central committee.143 An unsigned report on the ECP’s situation and achievements for the period 1929–1930, which was written on 18 November 1931 (possibly prepared by Dietrich himself to summarize his activities in Egypt until his arrest), portrayed a more positive picture. The report indicated a marked improvement of the party’s situation in the period under review. It was noted that the ECP had increased its membership to nearly 400 members. Two-thirds of them were Arab workers, junior clerks, and merchants, and a third comprised a group of Arab intelligentsia and a group of Armenian and Greek workers. The party had branches in Cairo, Alexandria, Tanta, Zaqaziq, Port Said, Aslan, and

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Asyut. In spring 1929, the ECP was scattered in various parts of the country and was composed of various groups that did not maintain work relations and often quarreled with each other for no substantial reason other than personal rivalry. The process of reuniting the party was not easy. Some of the leaders of the splinter groups, notably ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, did everything possible to spoil the process—his main argument being that the party should operate legally. We also learn from the report that the majority imposed its will upon ‘Abd al‘Aziz and the other dissenters. The communist movement was making headway within the struggling labor movement at a time of a world economic depression (1929–1930) that had serious effects in Egypt. While there had previously not been any party cells in the main trade unions, the party successfully penetrated large trade unions in winter 1929–1930 and established its cells there. To improve the qualifications and methods of underground actions, many of the new members were trained thoroughly, and frequent meetings were held to update them on current relevant issues. Consequently, there was a marked increase in the party’s activities among workers. When the process of the reconstruction of the party’s infrastructure was completed, the next stage was to rebuild the executive level, but that was not simple at all. Differences of opinion burst out between ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, who represented members of the Cairo section, and Hasuna of Alexandria. Hasuna’s group was eventually persuaded to comply with the party’s resolutions. One of the obstacles in the process of reunification was the refusal of the veteran members of the Greek and Armenian communities to join the party. Their refusal was based on their belief that many provocateurs had infiltrated the party. They feared to take the risk, since they faced deportation if arrested. The irony was that they overcame their fear only after ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, who was later uncovered as a traitor, inspired their confidence. When the organizers proposed the issuance of new party membership cards and discussed the scale of the membership payments, a stormy debate was unleashed and the proposals faced objections from members from all walks of life.144 The party, the report went on, took pains to elevate the ideological level among party members but faced difficulties, because there was not enough Marxist literature in Arabic. Appeals to the comrades in Palestine to help in this matter were in vain. The leaders organized study evenings to teach and discuss fundamental theoretical themes of Marxism, but the lack of literature undermined the projects. The report noted that the party started to rehabilitate its position among the lower classes. On May Day 1930, they managed to organize a number of demonstrations and processions, during which the proletariat took control of the streets, protested against the dictatorship of Isma‘il Sidqi, and condemned the Wafd’s

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treachery. The report failed to mention, however, that Sidqi became prime minister only on 20 June 1930. The May Day demonstrations could not have been directed against his dictatorial regime, but rather against the Wafd government (January–June 1930). In summer 1930, the report stressed, the party’s influence among the workers and fellahin increased significantly, and the efforts to build a bridge between workers and fellahin proved successful. At the same time, ECP reconsidered its attitude toward the Wafd. Those in the study circles, who had believed that the Wafd was a revolutionary force, altered their approach—the prevailing belief was that the Wafd generally played an adverse role in the struggle for liberation. Although the major trade unions were under the control of the bourgeois parties, especially the Wafd, the report asserted that in the last year the party had strengthened its grip and influence within the tram workers’ union and, to a lesser extent, within other trade unions. The report estimated that nearly 1,000 unionized workers supported the ECP. The ECP could lay claim to a major success—its takeover of one of the builders’ trade unions with sixty members that had been controlled by the Wafd. This union, it was proudly stated, decided to join the Comintern and adopted the principle of class struggle. To assist its comrades and supporters within the trade unions, the ECP distributed a biweekly with relevant articles on social and political affairs and elementary explanations on communist political tactics and strategies. The report indicated that the party had some success in its clandestine activities among the fellahin. It revealed that some 150 fellahin were recruited to the ECP within a short period.145 The ECP’s Central Committee appointed Kreidman in his capacity as secretary of the control board of the ECP (lajnat raqabat al-hizb al-Shuyu’i al-misri) to head a committee investigating the reasons behind the arrests of Paul Dietrich and comrades Blau, Erlich (alias ‘Aziza), and Elenburg (the last two were women). The committee’s investigation lasted from 18 September until 18 October 1930. In its conclusions, the Kreidman committee pointed out that Dietrich at first maintained close working relations with Yanakakis. After a short period, Dietrich lost his confidence and trust in him. In response, Yanakakis started to criticize Dietrich’s activities and informed Husni al-‘Urabi, who had known nothing about Dietrich’s mission in Egypt. Moreover, al-‘Urabi was not pleased that Dietrich had ignored him. A few days before the arrests, al-‘Urabi traveled to Greece and returned to Egypt only after the comrades had been arrested. The committee did not rule out the possibility that his trip to Greece was connected with the arrests. However, it failed to provide evidence to prove such a link. The committee could not establish categorically who was responsible

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for the arrests, and its conclusions were based on circumstantial evidence and conjectures.146 The irony was that the committee was appointed by the Central Committee, which ‘Abd al-‘Aziz headed. The Kreidman report was more of a detective story, which failed to expose the real perpetrator— ‘Abd al-‘Aziz himself, as the communist movement sadly noticed four years after his election as the ECP’s secretary-general in 1927. The ‘Abd al-‘Aziz group took pains to show its loyalty to the Comintern and repeatedly approached the Comintern by various means of communication with the request to recognize it as the Egyptian section of the Comintern in Egypt. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz and his colleagues attacked their rivals—Hasuna, Shahat, al-‘Urabi, Sha‘ban, and Herman—criticizing that they pretended to represent the ECP in their correspondence with the Comintern and did everything possible to disrupt “our communication” with Moscow. Their rivals were said to be in close contact with and enjoyed the support of Shami, Charlotte Rosenthal, Emile Zayd, and other members of the PCP and CPSL. In particular, Shami was accused of having done nothing to unite the party while he represented the Comintern in Egypt in 1928. He joined those who disrupted Abu Ziyam’s mission. Shami, it was stated, “was no more than a narrow-minded working class man with no ideas or vision, who acted just to earn his salary . . . he supported Hasuna, Shahat, Sha‘ban and Herman in organizing groups of spies, who were in contacts with Charlotte, Zayd and others.”147 It is noteworthy that his former colleagues of the PCP also accused Shami of doing everything possible during his mission in Egypt in 1928 to convince the Comintern to turn Egypt into the center of communism in the Arab East, thus replacing Palestine as the center. He was also attacked for attributing to himself the development and achievements of the communist movements in Syria and Palestine, aiming at diminishing the role played by the PCP.148 On 27 October 1931, Shami responded to ‘Abd al-‘Aziz’s accusations. He explained that he acted strictly in line with the Comintern’s directions. According to him, ‘Abd al-‘Aziz tried to undermine his attempts to form a united central committee and raised objections against every potential member on the grounds that he considered them to be provocateurs or spies. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz could not provide proof to support his severe accusations. Moreover, Shami and his colleagues realized after a short while that ‘Abd al-‘Aziz had only a few supporters from the intelligentsia and craftsmen, hardly sufficient to form two or three cells. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz—Shami continued—studied at the KUTV for four years, but his record was not impressive. As soon as he arrived in Egypt, he started to organize internal in-

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trigues for personal calculations. He never hid the fact that he studied in Russia. In fact, there was a signboard in the shop that he opened in Cairo stating “‘Abd al-‘Aziz, who graduated from the political university of Moscow.” Upon his arrival in Egypt in 1927, his picture wearing a Red Army uniform appeared in a newspaper. He had no real contacts with the workers and always passed on false messages and information to the Comintern. He kept in touch with provocateurs and police agents—no wonder that ‘Abd al-‘Aziz was never arrested, concluded Shami. Shami believed that comrades Kitaiegorodski and Haidar (Abu Ziyam), who conducted a personal persecution in Moscow against Shami, stood behind ‘Abd al-‘Aziz’s accusations. According to Shami, Abu Ziyam was responsible for the false reports on the situation in Egypt.149 The letters of the ‘Abd al-‘Aziz group to the Comintern remained unanswered. On 31 December, M. Zaki150 wrote a desperate letter to the Comintern begging for a reply. To quote him: “it has been nearly sixteen months, since we last heard from you . . . at least confirm that you received our reports.”151 The plea was in vain. Since Dietrich’s failure, the Comintern had marked ‘Abd al-‘Aziz as persona non grata. The Comintern had already instructed Dietrich in early 1930 to minimize ‘Abd al-‘Aziz’s party activities, “because the police know him as a communist.”152 In their letters and reports to the Comintern, its emissaries and the ECP’s rank-andfile comrades described ‘Abd al-‘Aziz as the heart of the ECP’s problem— a schemer, a provocateur, and, worst of all, a traitor acting as a spy: Since his arrival in Egypt [in 1927], he has caused dissention and plots amongst all the comrades, as he used to do when he was with you [e.g., the KUTV] causing troubles and dissentions. . . . This man is a bad microbe, and we openly accuse any one, who helps him to continue his lies and swindle. . . . This man has corrupted the atmosphere here to such a degree that cannot be endured any longer; and to let him continue would be a crime, for if the time is spent on comrades fighting each other, the harm will become incurable.153

Yanakakis, who had recommended ‘Abd al-‘Aziz as leader of the ECP in 1927, was also attacked severely: “He is a real spy and traitor. It is enough for you [the Comintern] to look at his deposition on the case of our comrades in 1925, when he sold our dear comrades to the enemy for a very low price; in order not to let his wife [Kirzon’s sister] to be deported with Mrs. Polak, he gave the enemy all the information that the enemy had failed to obtain. You can ask Avigdor, Polak, Elkunin.”154 Charlotte Rosenthal made similar accusations against Yanakakis, as we have seen earlier.

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After his removal from the ECP, ‘Abd al-‘Aziz was regarded a traitor. There is not much information about his life thereafter. According to alSa‘id, there were several failed attempts to assassinate him, and he spent the rest of his life “in a state of despair and was about to lose his mind.”155 ‘Abd al-‘Aziz’s downfall gave rise to new expectations in Husni al‘Urabi, who was still enthusiastic to restore his former leading position within the ECP and to rebuild it after he received the Comintern’s green light. In late 1931, Husni traveled to Berlin via Athens. There he waited for a visa to visit Moscow. He prepared a detailed report describing and analyzing the roots and reasons for the ECP’s total failure in recent years. Needless to say, his incriminating finger pointed at ‘Abd al-‘Aziz as the core of the party’s troubles. The Comintern refused to grant al-‘Urabi a visa, and wanted to see both him and ‘Abd al-‘Aziz in Moscow in order to confront each other’s versions. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, who was (for similar reasons) also in Berlin at the time, realized that the Comintern had laid a trap for him and found refuge in the Egyptian embassy in Berlin. The Comintern immediately declared him a traitor and deleted his name from the list of its comrades. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz returned to Egypt thoroughly ashamed, after the Egyptian embassy looked after his safety. Al-‘Urabi’s trip to Moscow did not materialize, but his report, dated 22 October 1931, found its way to the Comintern.156 Al-‘Urabi opened his report ironically stating: the comedy of the ECP, which was played on the Egyptian stage in the last four years, is the greatest comedy in the history of the public movements. We have never read or heard that a few persons, who possess no talents and are no more than 5 or 6 in number, have deceived [the Comintern’s] leadership for four years without being exposed; and this happened in spite of the delegates sent to them from the [Comintern’s] headquarters from time to time. . . . they left nothing behind, except evil, ruin and destruction.

Al-‘Urabi stressed that the current situation in Egypt required a strong and reliable communist party to lead the working classes. Al-‘Urabi put forward his version of the power struggle between Shahat, ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, and Hasuna, each of whom was given a derogatory nickname. According to al-‘Urabi, they were responsible for the destruction of the party. Al-‘Urabi presented his group as a worthy alternative. Together with ‘Isam al-Din Hifni Nasif and ‘Abd al-Fattah al-Qadi, he founded the periodical Ruh al-‘Asir in February 1930. It was a legal socialist publication that voiced socialist ideas in a reformist tone; it defended the workers’ rights and discussed socioeconomic ideas. The articles dealt with the his-

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tory of socialism, issues related to labor and wage, capital, trade unions, and others. It reflected views closer to the Second International. It was short-lived, however, and its fate was similar to that of the other periodicals at the time—they were all closed down in late 1930 by order of Sidqi’s government (June 1930–September 1933).157 Al-‘Urabi noted that although his group was small, no more than ten members, it had relations with the confederation of the trade unions, and it managed to establish cells within several trade unions and to amend some articles of their programs. They published a pamphlet on trade unionism, of which 2,000 copies were sold among workers. They also operated a small illegal teaching class for the study of communism. Al-‘Urabi also dwelled on his integrity and the idealistic nature of his group and asked the Comintern to provide him with material and moral support.158 Al-‘Urabi did not succeed in his efforts to win the Comintern’s confidence in his leadership. In fact, at the time, the Comintern reduced its correspondence with the ECP to a minimum. Its few letters to Egypt displayed a lack of satisfaction with the ECP’s achievements. The Comintern went further, stating that unlike the PCP and the CPSL that made progress and achieved significant gains, the ECP just marked time. The Egyptian working class was ripe for action but lacking leadership; the ECP should therefore take its historical role and lead the workers after it had formed a responsible and serious leadership. On the margins of the severe criticism, the party was praised, however, for the fact that most of its members were Egyptian workers.159

Notes 1. Rossiiskii gosudarstvennyi arkhiv sotsial’no-politicheskoi istorii (RGASPI) Fond-495/OP-85/D-30/L47. 2. Ibid. 3. Ibid. 4. Letter from Karl, Cairo, to the Comintern, Moscow, 28 October 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L49. Karl was Avigdor’s code name. 5. Letter from Charlotte Rosenthal, Moscow, to the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern, 15 April 1932, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-5/L31–34. 6. Report by Director C.I.D., 21 May 1925, FO141/779, pp. 500–501. 7. See Polak’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-46/L11. 8. Letter from Karl, 28 October 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L49. 9. “The Communist Movement in Egypt,” FO141/779, p. 501. On the discovery that Muhammad Tahir al-‘Urabi was a spy, see “Remarks on the History of the Communist Party,” File110, p. 22. See also a letter from Charlotte Rosenthal, 15 April 1932, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-51/L31–34. 10. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L50–51.

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11. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L55. On the new Wafd-led workers’ federation, see Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 158–161. 12. Ibid. 13. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-30/L70–73, 89–93. 14. Ibid. 15. Ibid. 16. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L63–64. See also detailed reports by Karl, 27 November and 4 December 1924, on the political situation in Egypt following the murder of Sir Lee Stack, the governor-general of the Sudan, in 1924 by an Egyptian extremist and Zaghlul’s resignation, in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L68–72. 17. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L63–64. 18. “The Communist Movement in Egypt,” FO141/779, p. 502. On Al-Hisab, see al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 111–112. 19. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L63–64; a letter from the CCECP, 19 November 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L61–62; Letter from Karl, Alexandria, to the Central Committee of the MOPR, 20 December 1924, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L63–64. 20. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L71–72. 21. Marlowe, A History, pp. 267–271. 22. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-30/L102. 23. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-34/L73. 24. “The Communist Movement in Egypt,” FO141/779, p. 501. 25. The reason for changing his name to ‘Abd al-Hafiz Muhammad was that the CPGB was informed on 28 October 1924 that al-Haridi was an agent. The CPGB did not believe that al-Haridi was “a spy or an agent provocateur,” but regarded him as “an irresponsible enthusiast.” They stated, however, “we have been careful in what we wrote to him and shall be more careful in the future.” See letter from the CPGB to the ECP, 9 November 1924, in FO141/779, III, p. 449. 26. See Ref. E/2/70, “Communism,” FO141/779, 17/B2 (70), p. 446–448. See also letter from C. Paul, CPGB, to the ECP, 16 November 1924, FO141/779, III, p. 449. 27. Cedar Paul was Maurice Eden Paul’s wife. In a British report, the pair were regarded as “the most active and dangerous revolutionaries in Great Britain.” They were intellectual communists who showed interest in the ECP and corresponded with al-‘Urabi, Zaslavsky, Avigdor, Haridi, and others. See report entitled “Dr. Maurice Eden Paul and Wife Mrs. Cedar Paul,” FO141/779. 28. Letter from Cedar Paul, CPGB, to ‘Abd al-Hafiz Muhammad (Haridi), 11 December 1924, in FO141/779, III, p. 449. 29. Minute by the Director General, European Department, Public Security Department, Ministry of the Interior, Cairo, 12 February 1925, FO141/779, III, p. 449. 30. Report from “A.N.,” Public Security Department, Cairo, 22 March 1925, FO141/779, p. 445. See also intelligence report by Alexander Keown-Boyd, Cairo, 22 June 1925, FO141/779. 31. Draft memorandum attached to a dispatch by the Foreign Office, 3 July 1925, FO371/10909, J1931/1153/16; Minute by J. Murray of the FO, 18 December 1925, FO371/10909, J3654/1153/16. See also Polak’s files, RGASPI/Fond495/OP-210/D-46/L11.

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32. Letter from James Crossley (Jim) to Tom Mann, CPGB, 10 February 1925, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-41/L1–4. 33. Crossley to Mann, 10 February 1925, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-41/L1–4. 34. Crossley to Mann, 1 April 1925, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-41/L5–11. 35. Ibid. 36. Crossley to Mann, 8, 10, 20, and 25 May 1925; Crossley to the CPGB, 8 May 1925; RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-41/L41–46, 52–53. 37. Crossley to Mann, 12 May 1925, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-41/L47–48. 38. Crossley to CPGB, 28 April 1925, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-41/ L21–28. 39. On the antidemocratic measures taken by Ziwar’s government and the consequent decline of the Wafd within the labor movement, see Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 173–176; Mursi, Al-‘Alaqat, pp. 35–36. 40. Crossley to CPGB, 28 April 1925, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-41/L21–28; “The Communist Movement in Egypt,” FO141/779, p. 503. 41. Ibid. 42. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-41/L47–48. 43. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-46/L15–26. 44. Crossley to CPGB, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-41/L21–28; “The Communist Movement in Egypt,” FO141/779, p. 503. 45. Letter 667, 23 May 1925, FO141/779, p. 473. 46. Comintern report L/F 2275/10, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-39/L24–26. 47. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-39/L1–2. 48. Stalin, “The Political Tasks,” pp. 135–154. 49. Budeiri, The Palestine Communist Party, p. 2. 50. Stalin, “The Political Tasks.” 51. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-39/L1–2; Comintern report L/F 2275/10, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-39/L24–26. 52. “The Communist Movement in Egypt,” 22 June 1925, FO141/779, p. 513. 53. Polak’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-46/L11; Charlotte Rosenthal to Brike, 19 April 1926, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-49/L8. 54. Crossley to Mann, 20 May 1925, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-41/L49–51. Dispatch 493, 14 July 1925, FO141/779, J2002/1153/16. In Cairo, the following were arrested: Constantine Weiss (Avigdor-Karl), Lev Elkonin, ‘Abd al- Sami’ alGhunaimi, Shakir ‘Abd al-Halim, Mahmud Tahir al-Arabi, Sholom Polak, Riedel Harszlik, Sha‘ban Hafiz, and Rafiq Jabbur. The following were arrested in Alexandria: Sakellaris Yanakakis, Mahmud Ibrahim, Al-Samkari, Hasan Kuttub, Hasan ‘Abdu’ Bayumi al-Bassussi, Victor Weinberg, Charlotte Rosenthal, and Moshe Ben Asher. On the arrests of 31 May, see in detail RGASPI/Fond-495/OP -85/D-46/L15–16. During his interrogation, Weinberg admitted that he was a communist activist and asked to be deported to Russia, his homeland. See RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-46/L19. 55. Report from “A.N.,” FO141/779, p. 445; “The Communist Movement in Egypt,” 22 June 1925, FO141/779. 56. Dispatch 493, 14 July 1925, FO141/779, J2002/1153/16; Report from “A.N.”, FO141/779, p. 445. See also “The Communist Movement in Egypt,” 22 June 1925, FO141/779. On Khakimov’s diplomatic mission and Soviet-Saudi relations see, Baldry, “Soviet Relations with Saudi Arabia,” pp. 53–80.

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57. See agent’s report “A.N.,” 11 April 1925, FO141/779, 9065/185, p. 468. 58. Ibid. 59. Dispatch 493, FO141/779, J2002/1153/16. 60. Minute by J. Murray, 18 December 1925, FO371/10909, J3654/1153/16. 61. “The Communist Movement in Egypt,” 22 June 1925, FO141/779. 62. Letter and memorandum by Margaret Travers Symons, 8 December 1925, FO371/10909, J3654/1153/16. 63. On Rosenthal’s interrogation, see RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-46/ L16–17. Intelligence report by Alexander Keown-Boyd, 22 June 1925, FO141/779. 64. FO371/10909, J3654/1153/16. 65. Margaret Travers Symons, FO371/10909, J3654/1153/16. 66. Ibid. 67. Dispatch 50, 23 January 1926, FO371/11597, J288/213/16. 68. Report by Rumiantsev, 7 April 1959, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-51/ L7–8. 69. Report by A. Shami, 15 May 1937, in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-51/ L12–13. 70. Report by Elkonin, 21 February 1936, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-51/L18. 71. Sha‘ban Hafiz was imprisoned for one year whereas Jabbur and two other Egyptians were jailed for six months. See Dispatch 50, FO371/11597, J288/213/16. 72. On M. M. Akselrod, see Menicucci, “Glasnost,” pp. 562–572. 73. Telegram 80, 28 February 1926, FO371/11597, J494/213/16. 74. Charlotte Rosenthal to Brike, 19 April 1926, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-49/L7–14. 75. Bashear, Communism in the Arab East, p. 101. 76. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-49/L7–14. 77. Ibid. 78. Al-Sa‘id, “Al-Tali‘a al-Wafdiyya,” pp. 148–158. On Rosenthal’s relations with the Wafd leaders, see Muhammad al-Jindi’s version in Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 223–224. 79. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-49/L7–14. 80. Ibid. On al-‘Urabi’s adverse image, as seen by leaders of the communist movement of the 1940s in retrospect, see “Remarks on the History of the Communist Party,” F/110, pp. 21–22. Report by Marcel Israel (Marsil Shirizi ) in al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 262. 81. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-47/L29–34. 82. Ibid. 83. Report by “Ikhtiyar” (Abu Ziyam), December 1926, in al-Sharif, Filastin, Document 39, pp. 161–167. 84. Al-Sharif, Filastin, Document 283, pp. 173–176. 85. Al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 124. 86. Report by Varakina, CCCP of the USSR, 17 March 1956, RGASP/ Fond-495/OP-212/D-359/L19. 87. Report by Abu Ziyam, late 1927, in al-Sharif, Filastin, Document 60, pp. 176–183.

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88. Ibid. 89. Ibid., Document 58, p. 187. 90. Report by al-‘Urabi, 28 July 1927, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-55/ L18–25. 91. Report by al-‘Urabi, 28 July 1927, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-55/ L18–25; Letter from ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, 29 March 1932, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-98/L17–24, 37–44. 92. Draft resolution on comrade ‘Ali’s (alias al-‘Urabi) report, 5 August 1927, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-55/L57–60. 93. On the DMNL, see Chapter 10. 94. “Remarks on the History of the Communist Party,” F/110, p. 23. 95. Ibid. On al-‘Urabi’s bitter experience on his way back from Moscow via Berlin, see al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 234. 96. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 324–325. 97. Ibid. See also al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 230–233. 98. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 307–313. 99. Al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 237. 100. On the Arabization of the PCP see Nadab’s biography in Appendix 3. 101. Comintern report N/JS 7085/3, 20 August 1927, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-52/L10–23. 102. Ibid. 103. Al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 122; “Remarks on the History of the Communist Party,” F/110, p. 23. 104. Zaki was the code name of ‘Abd al-‘Aziz. See more about it in note 150. 105. M. Zaki to the Comintern, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-58/L1–1b. 106. Al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 107–108. 107. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-70/L3–4b. 108. Letter from Charlotte Rosenthal, Moscow, to the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern, 24 April 1928, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-70/L3–4b. 109. Letter from Charlotte Rosenthal, Moscow, to the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern, 15 April 1932, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-51/L31–34. 110. Letters from David Rosenthal, Alexandria, to Charlotte, Berlin and Moscow, 17 and 31 March and 7 July 1928, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-70/L6–11. On Charlotte’s correspondence with her lawyer, see letters from Zuhir Sabri to Charlotte, 14 February and 7 May 1928, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-70/L1–2b, 5–5b. 111. Indeed, under the Wafd-led coalition (1926–1928) the Egyptian labor movement came alive, and trade unions renewed their activities and demanded to improve labor conditions. On the labor movement’s awakening in 1926–1928, see in details Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 176–186. 112. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-68/L15–27. 113. Shami-Teper’s autobiography in Zahavi, Apart or Together, pp. 65–67. See also the memorial Web site dedicated to the Soviet Orientalists who were executed in the 1930s during Stalin’s Great Terror, http://memory.pvost.org/pages/ shami.html. 114. Comintern report on Egypt, 15 May 1928, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-66/L35–42.

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115. Comintern report on the strikes in Egypt, 17 January 1928, RGASPI/Fond495/OP-85/D-66/L1–2; report by Shami-Teper, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-66/ L9–10; report by the Information Department of the Comintern, 15 March 1928, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D66/L16–17; Comintern report on Egypt, 15 May 1928, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-66/L35–42; a report on the ECP’s goals, by Shami-Teper, to the sixth congress of the Comintern, July 1928, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-66/L64–65. 116. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-66/L64–65. 117. Report by Shami-Teper, 16 May 1928, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-62/ L7–10. 118. Letter from Shami-Teper, 1 April 1928, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-62/ L1–2. Also, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-62/L7–10. 119. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-62/L15. 120. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-62/L16–22, 24–32, 53–57. 121. The Kuomintang was the Chinese Nationalist Party that ruled China from 1928 until Mao’s revolution in 1949. The party tried to eradicate the Chinese communists in a civil war, which lasted from 1927 to 1949. The Kuomintang’s betrayal of the communists was severely condemned by the sixth congress of the Comintern. 122. See Communist International 5, no. 14 (15 July 1928), a copy of which is attached to FO371/13143, J2694/458/16. 123. Report for 1927 and 1928 by Lord Lloyd, 9 July 1929, FO371/13880, J2420/2420/16. 124. Ibid. 125. Ibid. 126. Letters from ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-98/L17–23, 37–44. 127. Letter from Williams, Eastern Secretariat, Comintern, to ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, 28 January 1929, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-75/L21. 128. Letter from Williams to the CCECP, 29 January 1929, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-75/L23–27. 129. Comintern Document EH/JS/Russian 3639/12, 22 February 1929, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-76/L43–47. 130. Ibid. 131. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-79/L20. 132. On the OMS espionage and covert action, see, for instance, Klehr, Haynes, and Anderson, The Soviet World, pp. 113–114, 130; Klehr, Haynes, and Firsov, The Secret World, pp. 42–70. See also McKnight, Espionage and the Roots of the Cold War. 133. On Zayd’s mission and biography, see a letter from Emile Zayd to comrade Kuusinen, Moscow, 24 December 1929; a protocol of a meeting of the Committee for Mandate Affairs of the Special Section of the KUTV, 18 January 1930; his autobiography as it appeared in his application form to the KUTV on 5 October 1925; in Emile Zayd’s Files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-34/L16–18b, 29, 30–31b. 134. Letter from Kuusinen, Eastern Secretariat, to the Executive Committee of the Comintern, 22 March 1929, Emile Zayd’s Files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/ D-34/L5.

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135. Letter from Shami-Teper to the Executive Committee of the Comintern, 27 October 1931, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-88/L16–19. 136. Annual report for 1929 by Zayd, 17 December 1929, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-80/L29–45. 137. Ibid. 138. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-79/L21–22. 139. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-80/L29–45; letter from Zayd to Kuusinen, 24 December 1929, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-34/L16–18b. 140. Zayd’s fate will be discussed later on. 141. Letters from ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-98/L17–23, 37–44. See also “Remarks on the History of the Communist Party,” F/110, p. 24. 142. Hasuna was among the students who were sent by al-‘Urabi (along with ‘Abd al-Aziz, Muhammad Duwidar, Hafiz Sha‘ban, ‘Abd al-Rahman Fadl, and Hamdi Salama) to study in Russia following the ECP’s admission to the Comintern. Al-‘Urabi noted the existing enmity between Hasuna and ‘Abd-al‘Aziz since their days in the KUTV. See RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-88/L9–15. 143. Report on the ECP by the PCP’s emissary to Egypt, 23 January 1932, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-98/L1–7. See more on the story behind ‘Abd al‘Aziz’s betrayal in “Remarks on the History of the Communist Party,” F/110, pp. 24–25. 144. Report on the situation in Egypt by the ECP, 18 November 1931, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-91/L1–11. 145. Ibid. 146. See a protocol regarding the arrest of the comrades signed by Kreidman, secretary of the control board of the ECP, 16 February 1931, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-90/L5–8. 147. Letters from Zaki, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-91/L24–29, 39–40, 1–11. The words against Shami-Teper, who was expelled from the Communist Party of the USSR in 1935, did not help his case during his trial of 1938, which led to his execution in that year. 148. Memorandum by the Central Committee of the PCP, 31 December 1929, in al-Sharif, Filastin, Document 94, pp. 244–250. 149. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-88/L16–19. 150. Most of the letters were signed by M. Zaki, who was probably ‘Abd al‘Aziz himself. Proof for that may be found in a letter sent by two members of the ECP under the names of Pomor and H. Zakariyya. The letter was sent to the Comintern with lots of criticism directed against Zaki’s methods of work and the dictatorial nature of his leadership. The members asked the Comintern to appoint a new leader to the ECP. See their letter that was sent from Syria on 6 April 1931 in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-90/L1. 151. Letter from Zaki, 31 December 1931, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-91/ L72–77. 152. See a Comintern reply to Dietrich’s letter of 27 February 1930, in RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-81/L1–3. 153. See, for instance, a letter signed by a large number of ECP comrades, including the veteran comrades Sha‘ban and Shahat, 27 May 1931, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-91/L101–101b. 154. Ibid.

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155. Al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 135. 156. On the story behind his uncompleted trip, see “Remarks on the History of the Communist Party,” F/110, p. 26. See al-‘Urabi’s report to the Comintern, 22 October 1931, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-88/L9–15. 157. Ibid. Al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 57–58, 147–151; "Remarks on the History of the Communist Party," F/110, p. 24. 158. Al-‘Urabi's report, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-88/L9–15. 159. Letters from the Comintern to the ECP, 25 February and 10 May 1931, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-87/L8–18 and RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-81/ L43–48; RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-85/L17–18.

7 The Quest for Comintern Patronage

From the Comintern’s files, we learn that after the expulsion of

‘Abd al-‘Aziz from the party, two groups claimed to represent the ECP; both formed a temporary central committee and took pains to be recognized by the Comintern as its Egyptian branch. The first group was established after Paul Dietrich’s arrest and cooperated with ‘Abd al-‘Aziz until the Comintern decided to expel him from the party. It comprised two factions, those who were associated with ‘Abd al-‘Aziz until his expulsion, and those who were regarded as the “Greek group” associated with Yanakakis. The two factions formed a temporary central committee that decided to reestablish contacts with the Comintern. It also decided to expel “all those veterans, who were responsible for the ECP’s grave situation.”1 They took the initiative to reorganize the party’s activities: the collection of membership fees and the formation of a few active cells, for example. The group’s efforts to establish contacts with the Comintern failed. At one point, it decided to send Pierre Joannidis to Moscow to explain personally the party’s situation, but the Comintern refused to meet him because his letter was signed by ‘Abd al-‘Aziz. Consequently, ‘Abd al-‘Aziz and those associated with him were expelled from the party. ‘Abd al‘Aziz was told that the decision would be upheld as long as his case was not settled with the Comintern. The Comintern was not impressed by the party’s promise to honor all the Comintern’s instructions and decisions. Nonetheless, the group somehow naïvely believed that the Comintern would eventually send a new envoy to Egypt to establish contacts with its leaders. It even suggested that upon his arrival, the Comintern’s envoy would meet with one of the following comrades: Sakellaris Yanakakis, Ulysse Carayannis, or Georges Pierridis (all three of Greek origin).2 187

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About two years after the expulsion of ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, the Comintern finally responded to the flow of letters and reports from the group. The communication, however, went through the good offices of the Greek Communist Party (GCP). In a letter sent on 17 May 1933, the Comintern expressed its appreciation for Nicolas Aravitis’s efforts and persistence to continue with the activities despite the difficulties.3 His attempts to form workers’ cells and to distribute propaganda literature were regarded as a sincere sign for expanding the activities to the masses. After these words of courtesy, the tone drastically changed. “Your aspirations to form a legal workers and peasants’ party and the methods, which you suggested to apply, are completely wrong,” Aravitis was reprimanded. The peasants should be led by the proletariat that was responsible to organize them in cells and local circles, to train them, and to instill in them class consciousness. Although it was the proletariat’s responsibility to organize the peasants in a common struggle, Aravitis was told, the integration of peasants within the party should never be allowed—mixing classes was prohibited. Aravitis was also condemned for suggesting the incorporation of the group led by Prince ‘Abbas Halim4 within the prospective workers-peasants’ party. “Do you really believe that the Prince is worthy to lead a revolutionary party?” Aravitis was asked. His constant contacts and endeavors to form a party with bourgeois elements were inappropriate and very dangerous. Even ‘Isam al-Din Hifni Nasif, whom Aravitis mentioned as a possible partner, was rejected because he had once been a close friend of Husni al-‘Urabi, and he “was just a petit-bourgeois intellectual.” The Comintern expressed dissatisfaction with Aravitis’s information on his group’s fieldwork—the methods of cell formation and the recruitment of new members.5 Aravitis was disappointed by the fact that the Comintern did not maintain regular correspondence with his group and that it insisted that the communication should go via the GCP. It follows from Aravitis’s correspondence with the GCP that the GCP was not in a rush to mediate. The group’s past association with ‘Abd al-‘Aziz remained a stigma, even several years after he had quit the scene. On 1 March 1934, Aravitis sent a detailed account on the political and social situation in Egypt under the dictatorship of Isma‘il Sidqi (1930–1933). Sidqi’s downfall in September 1933 (although the monarchial dictatorship survived until late 1934),6 noted Aravitis, created a great opportunity to form a new legal labor party, and for that purpose his group needed the support and guidance of the Comintern and the GCP.7 The Comintern apparently did not respond to Aravitis’s report, and the contacts with the Greek group had gradually faded out. One member of the group, Paul Jacot Descombes, who was to

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play a major part in the renaissance of organized communism, left the group in 1934, after he realized that its activities were mostly confined to “fellow Greeks and their focus really lay outside Egypt itself, their influence on Egyptian affairs could hardly be more than negligible.”8 The second group’s efforts to establish communication with the Comintern were not successful either. Among the group’s leaders was a Jew called Friedman, who was in direct contact with Willi Münzenberg, a leader of the German Communist Party (Kommunistische Partei Deutschlands, KPD) and member of the Reichstag, who was also in charge of the “League Against Imperialism” (Ligue contre l’impérialisme et l’oppression coloniale), founded in Brussels in 1927 and supported by the Comintern. Friedman and his colleagues, who took pains to reorganize the ECP, used the good offices of Münzenberg, who mediated between them and the Comintern in early 1932. The Friedman group asked the Comintern to send a senior representative to investigate the conditions of the ECP and the reasons for its fragmentation in the last years. Only a thorough purge and the expulsion of those responsible for the ECP’s gloomy conditions would lead the party on the right way toward development. Unlike his predecessors, Friedman avoided pointing out or naming comrades or groups responsible for the ECP’s situation. Prior information, he emphasized, would sabotage a fair investigation. For its current weakness and lack of organization, the ECP—noted Friedman— was in no position to establish an Egyptian section of the “League Against Imperialism,” as the Comintern proposed. Friedman revealed that one of his group’s primary goals was to gather the ECP’s fragments, including the former devoted veterans, and to establish new cells within factories and trade unions. The group hoped to create a new leadership representing the working classes. The temporary central committee, noted Friedman, would follow the Comintern’s instructions and obey them fully.9 The Comintern monitored the political and social events in Egypt through letters and reports, which it received from the various communist groups, and the internal reports prepared by its Orientalists. The Comintern viewed the internal political discontent, which gathered momentum following Sidqi’s antidemocratic policy, as a great opportunity for the ECP to play its part in mobilizing the masses. But the ECP could not deliver the goods—it was still split and weak. It had played no role in the struggle against Sidqi—a struggle, that mainly the Wafd conducted with the Liberal Constitutionalists as their second fiddle. At that stage, the Comintern was critical of the communist groups’ plan to establish a legal labor party. It stressed, however, that if such a party were established, the communists should still emphasize their uniqueness and stick to their revolutionary

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platform. At the same time, they should continue to act illegally by forming secret cells and training the more talented and advanced comrades for taking the lead in due course.10 The years 1932–1934 witnessed an impotent and weak Egyptian communist movement that could not play any role in one of Egypt’s most stormy political periods. The dictatorial nature of Sidqi’s government (1930–1933) followed by its incessant persecution of the opposition did not skip the communists. However, external pressure and existential threats were not the only factors behind the decline of the communist movement. The crisis of leadership and incessant quarrels from within the movement were to have stronger effects on its weakening. No doubt, two leaders, each in his turn, Husni al-‘Urabi and ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, ruined the young communist movement—both were intriguers, manipulators, and pursuers of power. While the ECP had some achievements under al‘Urabi’s leadership, because he wanted the party to succeed, there were no achievements under ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, and even its minor successes were only temporary, because as a traitor acting as a police informer, ‘Abd al-‘Aziz made sure that their generators would be arrested.

The Comintern’s Seventh Congress and Its Implications for the Egyptian Communist Movement

The development in the international arena following the rise of fascism and Nazism posed a severe threat to the international order generally and to Soviet communism particularly. It led to a drastic change in the Comintern’s attitude toward world affairs, noticeably toward the social-democratic camp, the reformist trade unions, and the anticolonialist national bourgeoisie. German fascism was regarded as “the spearhead of international counter-revolution, as the chief instigator of imperialist wars, as the initiator of a crusade against the Soviet Union, the great fatherland of the working people of the entire world.”11 In order to defeat fascism, the Comintern was willing to revise its stand regarding possible cooperation with social democrats, who followed the Second International, particularly after the formation of the socialist “popular fronts” in France and in Spain. The seventh congress of the Comintern stated that “the establishment of a unity of action by all sections of the working class, irrespective of the party or organization, to which they belong, is necessary even before the majority of the working class is united in the struggle for the overthrow of capitalism and the victory of the proletarian revolution.” The Comintern had only one condition for the

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unity of action, namely, that such unity “be directed against fascism, against the offensive of capital, against the threat of war, against the class enemy.” The composition of the united front would take a different form in each country “depending on the condition and character of the workers’ organizations and their political level, on the situation in the particular country, on the changes in progress in the international labor movement, etc.” The Comintern placed special emphasis on the essential need in all colonial and semicolonial countries to form an anti-imperialist united front, stressing that “in forming a broad anti-imperialist united front of struggle in the colonies and semi-colonies, it is necessary above all to recognize the variety of conditions, in which the anti-imperialist struggle of the masses is proceeding, the varying degrees of maturity of the national liberation movements, the role of the proletariat within it and the influence of the Communist party on the masses.”12 Under the circumstances, the Comintern wanted to induce nationalist elements to conduct a massive struggle against Western colonialism. The communist parties in colonial and semicolonial countries were called “to create an anti-imperialist popular front. To this end, they must engage the broad masses in a national liberation movement against growing imperialist exploitation . . . and for the expulsion of the imperialists and for national independence, actively participate in mass anti-imperialist movements led by national reformists, and arrange joint action with national revolutionary and national reformist organizations on a basis of a concrete anti-imperialist platform.”13 The popular united front was the initial step of a three-stage Soviet doctrine to establish Soviet hegemony in colonial and semicolonial countries. The revolutionary process would be connected with an extended struggle, in which the revolutionary movement was expected to pass through the following stages:14 1. The immediate aim was to put an end to colonialism and to gain full independence—this would be achieved with the creation of a united national liberation movement. 2. Upon gaining independence, the local communist parties should lead the working classes (workers and peasants) toward a social revolution. 3. Following that revolution, the communist parties would take control of their countries. Khalid Bakdash (alias Ramzi), a prominent Syrian student at the KUTV since 1934, had gradually established his position in Moscow, and

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upon completing his studies, he returned to Syria in 1936 to take the lead of the Communist Party of Syria and Lebanon (CPSL). While in Moscow, he represented the Arab communist parties at the seventh congress and became a contact between them and the Comintern. In his speech at the seventh congress, Bakdash endorsed, on behalf of the Arab communist parties, the realization of the united-front paradigm. Bakdash presented the problems facing the formation of the popular united front in the Arab countries. Referring to Stalin, who established that the revolution in colonial countries would go through two preliminary stages: first, the struggle against the external enemy—world imperialism—and second, the agrarian revolution, he argued that the final goal was the victory of communism. To achieve that goal, it was necessary to go through other stages: “Presently, in the Arab countries, we must develop the first stage, of which comrade Stalin spoke, the stage of the struggle against international imperialism, the principal enemy, the most hideous, the most detestable enemy of the Arab peoples.” In order to get rid of imperialism, the Arab countries must have a clear understanding of the problems of uniting and mobilizing a large popular front composed of all possible allies in Arab countries against imperialism. . . . We Arab communists must never refuse to support the anti-imperialist demands advanced by the bourgeoisie, however small they are . . . But we must also be ready for the eventuality of a more or less stable accommodation of the national reformist bourgeoisie with imperialism. . . . The Arab communists, all working for the creation of a popular front in each of these countries must at the same time unite their efforts in order to extend them to the pan-Arab scale. This will help in extending the influence of the revolutionary proletariat of the advanced Arab countries to other, backward countries or those having a weak communist movement.

Bakdash pointed at the CPSL’s success in completing the process of Arabization, after “smashing the chauvinist deviations of racism— Zionist and other—that hindered the development of our Syrian party for years, sabotaging its Arabization, and that still more or less hinder the development of our fraternal parties in other Arab countries and sabotage their Arabization.”15 On 10 October, Bakdash circulated a letter among the Arab communist parties informing them of the decision to form a bloc of Arab nationalist intellectuals that would advance the national revolutionary struggle against imperialism and its agents within the Arab nations. This move meant to be a step forward toward the Arab realization of the Comintern’s formula of the popular front.16 Bakdash’s letter found the ECP in the middle of a process of reorganization. Although the Comintern had reduced

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the communication with the communist movement in Egypt to a minimum in the period 1932–1934, mainly for lack of trust after the ‘Abd al-‘Aziz years, the year 1935 saw the renewal of contacts between the Comintern and a newly organized ECP that had nothing to do with the old veteran comrades or the former rival factions. By 1935, the Comintern started to look more favorably on the Wafd in light of the popular-united-front paradigm. The ECP was instructed to pay more attention to the developments within the Wafd and to infiltrate the main trade unions associated with that party. The ECP acted accordingly. First, it increased its activity within these trade unions and reported that it had managed to create a communist-led opposition from within some of them. Second, the ECP closely monitored the developments within the Wafd during and following the Wafd’s congress of 8–9 January 1935.17 The congress was held with the participation of nearly 30,000 Wafd members representing a wide range of social groups, including workers’ leaders and bourgeois women. The congress convened in a transitional period in political terms, after the downfall of the Sidqi and the monarchial dictatorship, and during the gradual restoration of democratic parliamentary life in the country. The communists reported to the Comintern in detail about the subjects discussed during the congress, which included among other things the political and constitutional situation, the fellahin issues and the reforms required to improve their lives, and the labor movement and the rise in the workers’ standard of living. The speakers emphasized in particular the Wafd’s main goal— the complete liberation of Egypt.18 Comrade Farid19 of the ECP maintained that Mustafa al-Nahhas, the Wafd leader, like his predecessor Sa‘d Zaghlul, was taking pains to win the support of the labor movement. He acted deceptively and apparently succeeded in his efforts, noted Farid. Nahhas, he stated, did not want to see a labor party uniting the workers.

The Wafd’s Centrality in the Popular United Front

Until mid-1935, Farid held a negative attitude toward the Wafd, considering it a danger for the workers. The Comintern on its part advised the ECP to unite the anti-imperialist forces struggling for independence.20 Farid’s correspondence with the Comintern was written in Arabic and was possibly directed to the Arab representatives of the Eastern Secretariat. One of them might have been Ramzi-Bakdash in Moscow, who was in touch with the ECP. The correspondence between the ECP and the Comintern reveals that the ECP had received financial aid from the Comintern.21

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The involvement of European communist parties, notably the French Communist Party (FCP) and the Communist Party of Great Britain (CPGB), in the ECP’s affairs increased markedly after the seventh congress. For instance, a representative of the FCP arrived in Egypt on 21 October to inspect the ECP’s situation and needs.22 The CPGB expressed “support with all our force” for the Egyptian struggle for independence. British imperialism was regarded as the common enemy of the Egyptian people and the toilers in Britain. The CPGB regarded the Wafd as the lesser of two evils: The Wafd is far from being a revolutionary party . . . but we also know that at the present time the Wafd has placed itself at the head of the mass movement, which is developing in Egypt under the slogans of the reestablishment of the constitution of 1923 and independence for Egypt. That is why we consider it our duty to support the Wafd as long as it fights for the vital demands of the Egyptian people.23

The Egyptian communists, stated the CPGB, should act as a watchdog to prevent any attempts by the Wafd to reconcile with British imperialism. The ECP was instructed to support with all its might the popular movement led by the Wafd and to call for the creation of a broad united front “of all the parties and organizations that want to fight for the constitution of 1923, for the abolition of Capitulations, and against the military dictatorship, to which British imperialism subjects Egypt.” The ECP was directed to focus its activities on the workers and the trade unions and to get them to join the people’s anti-imperialist movement and the various organizations formed by the Wafd. In the CPGB’s view, the anti-British struggle in Egypt would not serve the interests of Italian imperialism, since the Egyptian anti-imperialist movement supported the Ethiopian people in their struggle against Italian imperialism. The CPGB accused the British authorities in Egypt of assisting the aggressive actions of the Italian army by preventing such actions as the refusal of the Dockers of Port Said to load Italian ships. The ECP, praised the CPGB, was active in popularizing and multiplying such actions in Egypt against the provisioning of the Italian army, which “is actually taking place with the complicity of British imperialism.” Egyptian success in the struggle for liberation would serve as a role model for other peoples under imperialist domination, including the Ethiopian people, concluded the CPGB.24 The development within the Wafd and its struggle to restore democracy continued to attract the communists’ attention. The ECP reported extensively on the wave of students’ strikes and the popular demonstrations conducted by the Wafd in late 1935. For instance, the demonstrations of 13

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November that took place in all Egyptian towns received broad coverage. These demonstrations, it was noted, were initiated and headed by students, who were joined by thousands of people. The highlight of the events occurred in Cairo, at the Isma‘il Bridge, where the police opened fire on the demonstrators. That did not break their spirit, however. They continued marching toward the Zaghlul Club, where builders, who were working nearby, joined them.25 The ECP emphasized Mustafa al-Nahhas’s leading role in the social turmoil. He was supported by the masses and the educated middle classes. Thousands of people attended his political rallies shouting such slogans as “Long live the revolution,” “The constitution and revolution,” “The Sudan is an integral part of Egypt,” “Down with imperialism,” “Long live the King and Nahhas Pasha,” “Long live the King of Egypt and the Sudan.”26 Indeed, Nahhas, a shrewd politician, was a master in attracting the support of the working classes by declaring that he constantly strove to improve their lives and working conditions, “but the imperialists and their lackeys in the country depicted this as if the Wafd was trying to use the workers for its own political purposes.” The Wafd, Nahhas noted confidently, “has no need for this, because it has [the trust] of all the people, including the workers, who are the hope of civilization and the prime fighters for victory, for the constitution and independence.”27 In late 1935, Farid changed his attitude toward the popular-front paradigm. On 10 October 1935, he supported the idea of forming a united front comprising nationalist educated groups and the nationalist political groups that were determined to liberate Egypt, notably the Wafd.28 Farid presented his party’s platform for a “national bloc” (al-kutla al-wataniyya), which would ensure the country’s security and independence. Although this platform resembled some of the ideas formulated in the ECP’s program of late 1931, it was less rigid, designed to accommodate the new line formulated by the seventh congress. It called for full independence of Egypt and the Sudan; the improvement of the political, economic, social, and cultural conditions of the workers and fellahin; the eradication of illiteracy and the provision of education and culture for all classes; the social, political, and cultural liberation of women; the abolition of the Capitulations and special privileges for the foreigners; the nurturing and development of national institutions and a fair distribution of the national resources; the elimination of interparty and personal quarrels, which hurt the country’s interests; and friendship and cooperation between the peoples based on equality and mutual respect.29 The attitude toward cooperation with the Wafd changed substantially in comparison to the ECP’s program of 1931. In 1931, the Wafd was de-

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scribed as “the party of bourgeois, landowning, counter-revolutionary, national reformism . . . [that] for fear of a popular revolution favors a deal with the enslavers of Egypt . . . a party that deceives the entire population; the party of national treason.”30 The Wafd was even portrayed as a party that “completely supports imperialism in the struggle against the revolutionary movement of the working class, the peasants and the urban toilers. . . . There can be no successful and victorious revolutionary struggle without a complete and irrevocable break with the Wafd. . . . Between the Wafd’s camp and the camp of the people’s anti-imperialism and agrarian-peasant revolution lies an unbridgeable gulf.”31Instead of the broad anti-imperialist national united front, the 1931 program called for a narrower social coalition: “an alliance of the working class and the peasants under the leadership of the proletariat.” It had two immediate goals: the eradication of imperialism and local feudalism.32 On 28 November 1935, the secretariat of the Comintern directed the ECP to appeal to the masses for vigilance against any attempt on behalf of the Wafd at conciliation with British imperialism and Egyptian reaction. The main goal was to mobilize the workers in order to assert their influence and to have their demands met. The ECP had to see to it that the popular masses, particularly the workers, would take immediate actions against the “transport of war materials and Italian troops through the Suez Canal and against the supply of Egyptian-made products for the Italian army.” It follows from the Comintern protocol that the French comrade Andre Marty was instructed “to consider together with the cadre section of the CI [Comintern] all necessary measures for reconstructing the Egyptian Party, including the special dispatch of active members, who can speak Arabic.” That is, after years of detachment, the Comintern decided to renew its direct involvement in Egypt.33 Both the CPGB and the FCP were asked to take actions within their countries in support of the anti-imperialist struggle of the Egyptian masses and Egypt’s rights for independence and admission to the League of Nations.34 Farid’s detailed and continuous reports informed the Comintern that the ECP increased its activities among the workers and trade unions, particularly those affiliated with Prince ‘Abbas Halim. This is noteworthy considering that the Comintern had previously expressed its negative stand toward possible cooperation with the prince, as, for instance, in its report to the ECP on 17 May 1933. Moreover, the Comintern was not at all pleased with the ECP’s efforts to form a labor party based on workers. The ECP’s plan, as outlined by Farid, was to facilitate the participation of workers in the next general elections, so that their representatives could voice their demands and expose the opportunism of the nationalist parties.

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Farid proudly revealed that he and his colleagues succeeded in creating an anti-imperialist joint-action framework for students and workers.35 The Comintern, nevertheless, was not impressed. It instructed the ECP to pay more attention to the international importance of the Wafd-led mass movement, which was developing in Egypt against British imperialism. The message was clear; the ECP should act within the Wafd-led anti-imperialist mass movement. The ECP could increase its influence within that movement by raising “a large number of slogans and demands that correspond with the aspirations and interests of the masses of the people, in order to force the Wafd’s committees and organizations, with their mass influence, to take militant action for the realization of these slogans and demands.” It would be a great mistake should the ECP create “a new bloc of any kind . . . outside the existing anti-imperialist movement and outside the Wafd,” the party was warned. As far as the ECP’s tasks within the popular movement were concerned, the Comintern reiterated its earlier instructions of 28 November (mentioned above).36 The period 1936–1939 witnessed growing Soviet interest in the Wafd. Its bitter struggle against the monarchial dictatorship and British imperialism enhanced its positive image in Moscow. Walter Laqueur showed convincingly that the Wafd’s image was particularly enhanced while it acted as an opposition. Soviet theoreticians, he noted, were then stressing the Wafd’s achievements, “noting the good work done in the field of agrarian reform, the attempts to wipe out illiteracy, etc.”37 Already in 1934, Avigdor, who was well acquainted with the Egyptian political scene, declared at a meeting of the Executive Committee of the Comintern that the Egyptian public believed the Wafd and therefore supported it. Moscow viewed also with great interest the development of a left-wing faction within the Wafd. Avigdor as well as many Soviet Orientalists concluded that the Egyptian communist movement would not be able to unite its ranks and would remain ineffective without massive external aid. The movement, he noted, failed to follow the Comintern’s instructions: an effective illegal apparatus was never formed properly; the personal rivalry between the various factions crippled the movement; and the weak movement could not play its historical role as the vanguard party of the working classes, since the Wafd already successfully and confidently played that role.38 Two activists of the communist movements of the 1940s and 1950s, respectively, added their explanations as to the disintegration of the ECP and the disconnection of the communication with the Comintern in the latter part of the 1930s. Marcel Israel (Shirizi) was of the opinion that the communist movement of the period 1934–1935 failed to reorganize the ECP because its members thought that the objective circumstances in Egypt were not ripe for

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it. That organization failed also to unite the various progressive groups that emerged in the latter part of the 1930s, which later led to the development of a splintered communist movement comprising many groups.39 The contacts between the ECP and the Comintern declined markedly in the 1930s, declared Fu’ad al-Mursi, and the Comintern revoked the ECP’s status as its Egyptian section by late 1935. Mursi attributed part of the ECP’s failures to the fact that the ideological power struggle between Trotsky and Stalin manifested itself in the ideological rivalry within the Egyptian movement that weakened it even further.40 From that stage on, the Comintern and particularly the Soviet Union focused on the Wafd as the main party in the anti-imperialist struggle. No wonder that it was the Wafd government that established relations with the USSR in August 1943.

Epilogue: Was Communism an Episode or a Deeply Rooted Phenomenon?

Communist activity never ceased in Egypt. It started as an internal movement that, following the Bolshevik Revolution and the subsequent formation of the Comintern, took pains to become its Egyptian branch. True, the movement was persecuted and the Egyptian authorities prevented its growth and development. Survivors, who were committed to the global communist revolution, nevertheless tried time and again to reorganize the communist movement. As we have seen, the communist movement could not develop successfully and fulfill its task for three main reasons: continuous splits within its ranks and personal rivalries, often over power struggles or negligible topics; the Comintern’s failure to reorganize the movement, part of which was due to its misunderstanding of the political and social reality in Egypt; and endless persecutions by both the Egyptian authorities and the British, who—by manipulation—dominated the shaky and fragile political system in Egypt. The era of international communism reached its end in Egypt in the late 1930s. The focus of the Soviet policymakers at that time was on Europe. The political developments there—the rise to power of fascism and Nazism—posed a concrete threat to Soviet communism. The latter part of the 1930s witnessed the gradual decline of the Comintern. With the outbreak of World War II, the Comintern became a defunct political and ideological framework. Indeed, in 1943 Stalin announced its abolition explaining:

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Trotsky’s policy of Bolshevik propaganda abroad had been replaced by Stalin’s theory that Bolshevism should be strengthened in Russia itself, that the best propaganda abroad was success at home and that in view of Russia’s material wealth, this would prove a most effective policy. Stalin’s foreign policy was based on securing complete independence for countries with doubtful independence. . . . Russia would do everything in its power to help Egypt preserve its full independence. Russia’s interests were linked with neighboring countries, for examples Egypt, Turkey and Persia.41

In other words, the Soviet government decided to develop diplomatic and political relations with noncommunist governments that were struggling for their national independence. The Soviet doctrine at that stage was to neutralize the Middle East by getting rid of the traditional European powers that had dominated the region for many years. The local communist movement was not a factor on which the Soviets relied in their efforts to gain influence in countries such as Egypt. For them, the Wafd was their partner, and as we have seen, relations with that party were developing. Henry Curiel, a central communist figure in the 1940s, recalled his meetings with ‘Abd al-Rahman Sultanov, the first secretary in the Soviet Legation in Cairo—meetings that were held publicly: I met him 3–4 times. In our first meeting, he stressed that the USSR had no intentions to conduct communist activity in Egypt—a country, about which it had little knowledge. I [Curiel] presented Egypt’s situation to him. I heard that he later published an article in the Soviet press, stating that there were no communists in Egypt. In our last meeting, he [Sultanov] asked me to stop importing books from the USSR for a bourgeois bookshop [al-Maidan] because it jeopardizes their position in Egypt. I replied to him in writing, angrily, that there was no similar [Marxist] bookshop [in Egypt] such as that of al-Maidan, and that we [Egyptian communists] had many achievements. Sultanov remained stubborn and showed no interest in our activities.42

Nevertheless, the attitude of the Soviet Legation to Egyptian communist activity appears to have been ambivalent. On the one hand, in line with Curiel’s version, they avoided direct support of the local communist movement to prevent any friction with the Egyptian authorities. On the other hand, there is evidence of a steady support, mainly moral and financial, that was given to individuals and organizations to propagate pro-Soviet sentiments. ‘Abd al-Rahman Sultanov was a shrewd diplomat who used the fact that he was of Muslim origin to carry out his activities. He became the most popular member of the Soviet Legation. As a Muslim, his pres-

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tige was high in Muslim circles and it brought him into close contact with the population as a whole. He was known to have paid several visits to alAzhar University, during which he demonstrated his knowledge of Islam and attempted to prove that Islam and communism could coexist. Sultanov was also said to be active in organizing communist meetings to stimulate the development of cells.43 Overall, the Soviet Legation had little to do with the spread of communism in Egypt. As we shall see later on, the new phase of organized Egyptian communism developed from within—a homemade product with almost no links with international communism. Relations and contacts would be established with sister communist parties, mainly European, but its characteristics would be more nationalist. Communism, as an idea and doctrine of action, was implanted in Egypt by Joseph Rosenthal and has never since ceased to exist. Rif‘at alSa‘id describes Rosenthal as “one of the first successfully to reach out to the native Egyptian community and to have an impact on the development of the Egyptian communist movement.”44 An accurate and fascinating description and analysis of Rosenthal’s unique contribution to the birth of Egyptian communism was given by a British report: Rosenthal has created communism, and has, with the help of his adherents, probably organized it sufficiently to enable it to continue its activities without his help. This is in complete accord with the principles of communist propaganda, which makes use of what is called the “germcell” system. Briefly, the idea of this is that, rather than form a definite communist party in a country, it is far more efficacious to introduce into as many communities as possible a group of revolutionary enthusiasts— possibly infinitesimal in size—and proceed to undermine, disintegrate and reform them according to communistic doctrines. This work may be carried out in factories, trades, unions, labour syndicates, or whatever the field is considered most favourable for the spread of the doctrines. It appears that this is the system, which Rosenthal has been carrying out here. In all these societies and groups—notably the ESP—which may not at the outset be truly communist, his influence can be seen, and it may of course be extended even further afield. The germ, therefore, has been injected in Egypt and will probably remain [there], but there is no doubt, in my opinion, that it will not flourish so well, if Rosenthal’s influence and also that of his daughter, Charlotte, are withdrawn. At the same time, Rosenthal seems to have remained within the law, and has not up to the present “incited to violence.” There may therefore be some outcry, unless he is sent away quietly.45

Efforts by both the Egyptian authorities and the British to get rid of Rosenthal were unsuccessful. Rosenthal did halt his political activities in

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the late 1920s, but the “germ” that he had instilled in Egypt spread. The new bearers of the communist movement that he had created at the outset of the 1920s would play an important role in the social and political development of Egypt, a country he zealously regarded as his homeland. Political rivals such as Ahmad al-Sawi Muhammad also described Rosenthal as the one “who sowed and cultivated Egyptian communism, but left the labor of the harvest to our homeland’s sons. . . . Those, who followed communism, fell prey, and they are in prison, whereas Rosenthal is hanging about.”46 Indeed, Rosenthal hung about in the streets of Alexandria as a notable figure for many years to come.47

Notes 1. Letter from Nicolas Aravitis to the Comintern, 18 October 1932, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-98/L52–54. 2. Ibid. 3. Aravitis signed his group’s letters and reports. 4. A member of the royal family who was a prominent leader with the Egyptian labor movement in the 1930s. 5. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-101/L4–6. 6. On Sidqi’s dictatorial regime and the political, social, and ideological situation in Egypt at the time, see al-Shafi‘i, Tatawwur, pp. 77–86; Gershoni, Light, pp. 84–170 (Hebrew). See also Sidqi, Mudhakkirati, pp. 38–49; Lutfi al-SayyidMarsot, Egypt’s Liberal Experiment, pp. 138–170; Tignor, State, pp. 109–146. 7. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-106/L9–11. 8. Quoted from Botman, The Rise, pp. 6–7. See also interviews with Descombes in al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 243–244, 247–248. Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, pp. 41–42. 9. Report on the ECP by the temporary CCECP, 9 April 1932, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-98/L48–49. 10. See reports and letters in the period 1933–1934 in RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-101/L9–13, 19–22, 25–26. 11. See Georgi Dimitrov’s report delivered at the seventh world congress of the Communist International, “The Fascist Offensive and the Tasks of the Communist International in the Struggle of the Working Class Against Fascism,” 2 August 1935, at http://www.marxists.org/reference/archive/dimitrov/works/1935/08_02.htm#s21. 12. Ibid. See also Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, p. 196–198. 13. “Rezolyutsii VII Vsemirnogo Kongressa Kommunisticheskogo Internatsionala,” Moscow 1935, pp. 27–28, in Institute for the Study of the USSR Bulletin 15, no. 3 (March 1968), p. 31. 14. Ginat, The Soviet Union and Egypt, p. 6. 15. See the speech of “Ramzi (Khaled Bakdash), for the Arab Countries” at the seventh congress of the Comintern, 9 August 1935, at http://www.marxists.org/ history/international/comintern/7th-congress/arab1.htm. See also Budeiri, The Palestine Communist Party, pp. 80–81.

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16. Letter from Ramzi (Bakdash), Moscow, to the ECP via the CCSCP, 17 October 1935, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-109/L51. 17. Letter from the ECP, 5 February 1935, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-109/L6. 18. An account on the national congress of the Wafd of January 1935 by Ramzi (Bakdash), 9 February 1935, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-110/L1–25. 19. The full name was not mentioned in the documents. Farid may possibly be the covert name of the ECP leader. 20. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-109/L21, 23. 21. Letters from Farid, 17 June, 3 July, and 10 July 1935, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-109/L25, 28, 31, 33–37. 22. Letter from Farid, 21 October 1935, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-109/L49. 23. Document “8”/11886/3 Tr.Fr. Crosby/BT, by the CPGB, 15 December 1935, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-110/L93–96. 24. Ibid. 25. See report on the demonstrations in Cairo and other towns in document “8” 112236/4, WW/EN, 27 November 1935, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-110/ L120–121. On the wave of social and political discontent, see more in Gershoni, Light, pp. 171–175; Ramadan, Tatawwur, pp. 766–810; Lutfi Sayyid-Marsot, Egypt’s Liberal Experiment, pp. 163–195. 26. Quoted from al-Akhbar, in document “8” 112236/4, WW/EN, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-110/L121. 27. See extracts from his speech delivered on 13 November 1935, in document “8” 112236/4, WW/EN, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-110/L118–119. 28. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-109/L50. 29. See his letters of October to the Comintern, in RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-109/L55–59b, 66. See also ‘Asim Disuqi, “Al-Mashru‘a al-watani wa-al-ijtima‘i fi barnamaj al-hizb al-shuyu‘iy al-Misri fi al-‘ishriniyyat wa-althalathiniyyat,” Qadaya Fikriyya, July 1996, pp. 38–45. 30. See a program of action of the CP of Egypt, in document 3148/6/2.4.32, 11 February 1932, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-93/L186. See a translation from Russian into English, by Spector, “Program,” p. 430. The program was first published in Arabic in Ila al-Amam, the organ of the PCP, in 1931, a copy of which was found in RGASPI archives. 31. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-93/L189; Spector, “Program,” p. 431. 32. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-93/L191; Spector, “Program,” p. 432. 33. Document 11457/6, Fr./Wheeldon, 3/12/35, Protocol No. 16, 28 November 1935, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-108/L6–7. 34. Ibid. 35. See letters and reports from Farid to the Comintern, 29 November, 13 and 22 December 1935, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-109/L68–70, 73–74. 36. Document 11823/2, Tr.Fr. BC/MS, 14 December 1935, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-85/D-108/L27–29. 37. Laqueur, The Soviet Union, pp. 121–122. 38. Mursi, Al-‘Alaqat, pp. 39–41; al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 98–99; Laqueur, The Soviet Union, pp. 121–122. 39. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 29–30. 40. Mursi, Al-‘Alaqat, pp. 39–41.

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41. See a record of the conversation between Ivan Maisky, the Soviet ambassador to London, and Hasan Nash’at Pasha, Egypt’s ambassador to London, in telegram 915, 6 May 1943, FO371/35589, J2029. 42. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 21–22. 43. On his activities in Egypt, see report on “The Development of Communism in Egypt,” 7 April 1945, FO371/46003, J2211/440/16. Report by the US Embassy, Cairo, 8 April 1945, General Records of the Department of State, Record Group (RG) 59, 861.20283/4-845, National Archives and Records Administration, College Park, MD. The reading of the recently declassified Russian archival material, including the personal files of Henri Curiel and Hillel Schwartz, two of the founders of the main communist organizations in the early 1940s, reveals that these organizations had no contacts whatsoever with the Kommunisticheskaya Partiya Sovetskogo Soyuza (Communist Party of the Soviet Union, KPSS). They were deemed as anarchists disconnected from the proletariat. In fact, they dissociated themselves from the international communist movement associated with the USSR. See, for instance, Henri Curiel’s personal files, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-210/D-129/L2–9; Hillel Schwartz’s personal files, RGASPI/Fond-495/ OP-210/D-30/L1–8. 44. Ismael and El-Sa‘id, The Communist Movement, p. 13. 45. Letter P.F. 3753, 4 October 1921, FO141/779, p. 262. 46. See Ahmad al-Sawi Muhammad’s article in Al-Ahram, 1 May 1925. See also al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 20–21. 47. H. Galitz, “The Founder of the Egyptian Communist Party Is in Israel,” Yedi‘ot Akhronot. Interview with Arie Albert, Cairo, 18 February 2007.

8 The Rise of “Homemade” Egyptian Communism

The latter part of the 1930s witnessed the gradual demise of the

links between organized communism in Egypt and the Comintern. These years also marked the decline of the Comintern’s role in shaping Soviet foreign policy. As a result of the Stalinist Great Terror, many of the Comintern leaders were executed or arrested—among them were many Jews who were formerly active in Egypt.1 The decline of the Comintern’s involvement in Egyptian communism was to have an effect on the course of the latter’s development. The political developments in Egypt at the time led to growing social and political discontent, which manifested itself in the rise of street politics. Due to the economic crisis and the political suppression of the early 1930s, the appearance of young educated middle-class groups—known as the effendiyya—became noticeable. This new class regarded itself as a vanguard force acting in order to rescue Egypt from social and economic distress, with the aim to lead the country toward political independence. Parts of the effendiyya integrated within the old political establishment, mainly within the Wafd, whereas other groups were active within new extra-parliamentary radical political frameworks, such as “Young Egypt” (Misr al-fatat) and the Muslim Brothers. Many studies have considered the emergence of these frameworks as manifestations of fascist and Nazi influences on the educated Egyptian youth.2 Al-Sa‘id argued that they were a tool in the hands of the palace in its struggle for power against the Wafd. He noted that in the 1930s, the popularity of Nahhas and the Wafd was the main obstacle hindering the spread of the religious extremism and fascist tendencies represented by these movements.3 However, a recent study disputes such

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views, arguing that the majority of Egyptian political currents rejected fascism and Nazism in the 1920s and 1930s.4 In the international arena, the tightening alliance between Italy and Germany, two rising European powers, was a source of concern worldwide. Moreover, the occupation of Ethiopia by Fascist Italy (1935–1936) and Britain’s weak and inappropriate response to this development greatly affected the Egyptian public opinion and the internal political discourse on fascism and Nazism. Following the occupation of Ethiopia, many Egyptians realized that the fascist danger to Egypt was closer than ever before. In order to restore its hegemony in street politics by gaining the support of youth groups, the Wafd joined the “club of the colorful shirts” in December 1935, with the formation of its youth movement—“the blue shirts,” which was similar in its external symbols and patterns of action to the other groups with which it vied for hegemony over the effendiyya.5 The gradual structural change within the Wafd’s socioeconomic composition in the 1930s manifested itself in pressure from within to introduce social reforms. The Wafd’s left-wing faction became more noticeable, but the party was still dominated by the old-guard right wing. By the early 1940s, the right wing was led by Fu’ad Siraj al-Din, an ambitious and conservative politician. Despite the fact that the party embraced a program for agrarian reform, including the redistribution of lands at its 1935 congress, stated alSa‘id, the so-called “reactionary elements” within the Wafd prevented its realization while the party was in power. The left-wingers, he noted, were attacked by the “reactionary press” arguing that they maintained contacts with the Comintern. Such accusations, stressed al-Sa‘id, were made against Muhammad Mandur, the editor-in-chief of the party’s newspaper Al-Wafd al-Misri; and even once in 1937, during a cabinet debate on social reform, a proposal put forward by Prime Minister al-Nahhas (who held office from May 1936 to December 1937) was described by his political rival Ahmad Mahir as “similar to Bolshevik actions.”6 Many among the Egyptian liberal educated classes and a considerable number within the foreign communities were frustrated with the sociopolitical situation at the time. They were disappointed with the Wafd’s failure to introduce social reforms and, in particular, with its failure to reach a satisfactory treaty with Britain in 1936. At the same time, they perceived the alternative to the Wafd—namely, radical Islam or radical nationalism (the solutions suggested by the two strong extraparliamentary movements, the Muslim Brothers and Misr al-fatat, respectively)—with growing concern, especially under the prevailing international circumstances of the rise of fascism and Nazism. They were looking for an alternative, and the communist formula of worldwide antifascist popular fronts, as presented by the seventh congress of the Comintern, appeared attractive to many of them.

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Communism could offer an attractive alternative—secular and modern. Egyptian communists could have the best of both worlds—condemning Western economic imperialism, while retaining Western culture and political orientation, stated Roel Meijer. According to him, the revolutionary and progressive character of the communist movement allowed it “to take the leadership over the nationalist movement away from the secular liberalism of the 1919 Revolution, while keeping a strong western cultural orientation. This process of ‘overcoming’ allowed the communists to leave Egyptian national identity largely undefined and to concentrate on reform and modernization.”7 Indeed, despite the fact that the communist movements of the late 1930s and 1940s were homemade products and accommodated themselves to local social and political conditions and circumstances, they nonetheless did not abandon their doctrinal commitment to internationalism. In fact, in terms of their identity, the movements combined radical territorial nationalism, with regard to the struggle for political and social liberation, with internationalism, with regard to their commitment to the line dictated by the Soviet Union on international affairs. For instance, Marcel Israel sheds light on the existing links between the Democratic Movement for National Liberation (DMNL)—al-haraka aldimuqratiyya lil-taharrur al-watani (Hadetu)8—and international communism. According to him, the DMNL maintained formal contacts with the colonial office of the French Communist Party (FCP). It also sent two delegates to Italy in late 1947 to discuss tactical issues with the Italian Communist Party, related to the formation of a communist party and the role to be played by foreigners in the Egyptian case. Upon their return, the two submitted a report to the Central Committee that discussed it.9 The initiative to reorganize communist frameworks was taken by members of the foreign communities, mainly Jews and antifascist Italians and Greeks. While both Egyptians and foreigners featured prominently throughout the genesis of organized communism in Egypt, the rise of the new Egyptian left in the late 1930s was led by educated foreigners, many of whom were from well-to-do Jewish families, who regarded themselves as Egyptians, even if Arabic was not their first language (and some could not speak Arabic at all). However, their efforts to become Egyptians were met with scant success, since they remained outsiders in the eyes of the vast majority of Egyptians. Until 1942, a communist report noted, the Jewish founders failed to recruit Egyptian intellectuals to their organizations, since many of them “were affected considerably by fascist propaganda and were isolated from progressive literature.”10 Joel Beinin and Zachary Lockman examined the relationship between Egyptian Jews and communism and concluded that for Jews “communism was the only political alternative to the declining Wafd, that promised to

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protect their status in Egypt.” In their view, this may explain the involvement of a large number of Jews in the reorganization of the Egyptian communist movements. “These Jews, especially those fluent in Arabic in addition to European languages,” they argued convincingly, “provided a bridge between the foreign communists and the indigenous Egyptian intelligentsia and helped forge the link between communist intellectuals and the workers’ movement.”11 Indeed, as we shall see, Jews played a central role in the formation of nearly every leftist organization. Even those that were led and dominated by indigenous Egyptians and claimed to be purely Egyptian had a Jewish figure behind the scene—Marcel Israel. In fact, Marcel Israel’s central role in the emergence of the new Egyptian left in the late 1930s–early 1940s was somehow not given the appropriate prominence in the extensive literature on Egyptian communism. His role was overshadowed by Henri Curiel, whom many regarded as the founding father of the organized communism of the 1940s. The two Jewish activists started as partners and ended up as political rivals. Curiel was indeed to play a major role in providing many Egyptians and Sudanese with a Marxist education; his organizations were deeply involved in domestic politics, and their contribution to the radicalization of the Egyptian political scene and to the emergence of a revolutionary platform in pre- and postrevolutionary Egypt will be discussed in detail. Israel, on his part, was a mentor and theoretician, who placed a great emphasis on Marxist education. As we will see, many of the key communist figures of the 1940s and 1950s started their communist career as his students in one of the many frameworks in which he was active. Sharif Hatata, who got his start in Schwartz’s Iskra12 just before joining forces with Curiel, observed in retrospect that Marcel Israel and Curiel had been parties to a bitter dispute, brought on by differences in social background, personality, intellectual capabilities, and the fact that they both needed to compete for the hearts and minds of their constituents. Marcel Israel, he stated, was an outstanding activist, who trusted his instincts and acted accordingly. He was full of vigor and energy. On the other hand, he was relatively narrow-minded and short-sighted when it came to the rapidly changing world around him. Henri Curiel was the boldest of his contemporaries; he was also the most inventive and adaptive of them. He knew how to read the conditions at hand and adapt his revolutionary tactics to fit them.13

The Formation of New Leftist Frameworks

Les Essayistes, a scientific-cultural society, was founded in the late 1920s by Leon Castro, a wealthy Jewish lawyer who was closely associated with the Wafd. Following the 1919 uprising, he propagated for the Wafd in

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Europe, and upon his return to Egypt, he founded and edited La Liberté, a pro-Wafd newspaper in French. In his articles, Castro praised Sa‘d Zaghlul, describing him as a moderate statesman. He was against the idea of compromising with the British on the issue of independence. His activities for the Wafd traveled parallel with his Zionist activity in Cairo. He was among the founders and leaders of the Egyptian Zionist Union (alIttihad al-Sahyuni al-misri) in 1917. Castro was among Prime Minister Zaghlul’s aides during his talks with the British in London in 1924, where he also acted as translator. La Liberté published articles related to state and society—the national question and the liberation of Egypt and social progressive ideas.14 Les Essayistes represented a variety of ideological trends—liberals, democrats, and leftists that attracted many Jews, Italians, Greeks, and other foreigners as well as a small group of Egyptian intellectuals. Castro himself, wrote Botman, “was a leftist Zionist, and he was active in trying to mobilize minority Egyptian intellectuals against anti-Semitism. He encouraged campaigns against Nazism and called for the boycott of German goods and literature.”15 As part of his antifascist campaign, Castro also founded the League for the Combat of Anti-Semitism (Jam‘iyyat Mukafahat al-‘Ada’a lil-Samiyya), which had many Jewish members and was very active in the school network of the lycées. A leftist trend was consolidated within that group that maintained contacts with the FCP.16 Many of them joined Paul Jacot Descombes’s new organization, the Union of Peace Supporters (Ittihad Ansar al-Salam), which was founded in 1934.

Ittihad Ansar al-Salam and the Origins of Tali‘at al-‘Ummal (al-Fajr al-Jadid)

Descombes’s group was linked to the international organization Rassemblement Universel pour la Paix, and its main goal was to attract as many Egyptians as possible to its ranks. Descombes was born in Egypt in 1905 to a father of Swiss-German origin and to a protestant mother of German origin. Like many other foreign communists at the time, he received his education in foreign schools. He attended high school in Zurich and studied music at a conservatory in Vienna in the period 1923–1928. Afterward, he went to Germany, where he established contacts with the German communist party but did not become a member. In 1933, he returned to Alexandria after the Nazis came to power and for a while worked for his father in Aswan in an electricity project.17 According to him, this was the first time that he witnessed the exploitation of the workers and the fellahin. This experience led him to the conclusion that there was no es-

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cape from an organized struggle “in order to rescue these people.”18 His first move was to establish contacts with the Greek communists, but these did not last long. The members of Ittihad Ansar al-Salam (IAS) were mainly Greeks, Britons, and Jews (Rafael Duwayk, Raymond Aghion, Sami Hanuka [brother of Raymond Aghion’s wife], Marcel Israel (Shirizi), Yusuf Darwish, Eli Mizan [Descombes’s brother-in-law], and Raymond Castro [Leon’s son])—most of whom were educated youngsters. There was also a small group of Egyptians, most noticeably including Huda’ Sha‘arawi and ‘Abd al-Fattah al-Tawil. It operated as a legal platform, which—for outward appearances—focused on issues related to democracy, antifascism, and antimilitarism, but it was actually a leftist organization. The group laid the foundation for the future cooperation between “the foreign Egyptian left and local Egyptians,” as Edward Levi, a Jewish member of IAS who was also the president of the League for the Combat of AntiSemitism in Alexandria, pointed out. Veteran communists such as Shaykh Safwan attended the meetings of IAS, recalled Levi.19 Descombes strongly believed that communism in Egypt could only be successful if it was solely based on Egyptians. Foreigners, he maintained, could merely assist temporarily in providing Egyptians with Marxist guidance and education. Descombes was very cautious in his activities within Egyptian society, which until World War II remained mainly within the framework of theoretical discussions. His group, however, was mostly known for its antifascist campaign. It attacked the Italian occupation of Ethiopia in the mid-1930s and supported the Republicans (who were also supported by the USSR and the socialist camp) in their war against the nationalists (promonarchists, who were supported by Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany) during the Spanish Civil War (1936–1939). IAS expressed willingness to send volunteers to fight along with the Republicans—a popular front comprising a variety of political groups (democrats, socialists, communists, and anarchists).20 Eli Mizan, the chief of the Cairo branch of IAS, noted that their group called for the formation of a broad popular front to the fight against fascism. The slogan of a popular front, which was endorsed by the USSR, became the essence of the group. To quote him: “We started as Jews fighting against anti-Semitism, and we ended up as communists.” The founders of the group, he added, were leftists—a matter that affected its course of development.21 It is noteworthy that many young Jews, including Marcel Israel, Henri Curiel, and the teenage boy Hillel Schwartz, wanted to volunteer to fight on the side of the Spanish republicans or at least to provide them with material support. Israel approached the Spanish embassy in

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1937 asking to join the international brigade that fought against Francisco Franco, but the ambassador persuaded him that it would be better for him to support the Spanish democratic forces by conducting antifascist and anti-Franco propaganda activities within Egypt. He followed the advice and worked with IAS and other antifascist frameworks, publishing and distributing books and articles on Republican Spain and the danger of Franco and his fascist movement. His dedication and contribution to the antifascist campaign was highly appreciated by the international brigade, which awarded him a silver medal.22 Schwartz’s attempts to volunteer remained unsuccessful for a simple reason—he was too young.23 With the outbreak of World War II, IAS ceased to exist. By that time, there were a few schools that took different routes. A small group of Jews continued to work together with Descombes in Le Groupe Études until the early 1940s. Among them were Yusuf Darwish, Raymond Duwayk, and Ahmad Sadiq Sa‘d—the three were to play a central role in the communist movements in the 1940s and 1950s. Ahmad Sadiq Sa‘d (Isadore Salvator Saltiel) was born in the Shubra neighborhood in Cairo in 1919 to a Jewish family of Turkish origin. The family, which had immigrated to Egypt in the late nineteenth century, was socioeconomically of a petit bourgeois background. Sa‘d received a French education, and—before he started his studies at Fu’ad University—he learned Arabic with a teacher who was an al-Azhar graduate.24 Sa‘d recounted that Anna Kayenko, his high-school history teacher at the lycée in Alexandria—a school that belonged to the Jewish community there—was the reason behind his decision to establish links with IAS. “Her materialistic interpretation of the French revolution stimulated me,” he stated. Consequently, Sa‘d went on, “I began to read Marxist literature in French. I remember particularly the Communist Manifesto of Marx and Engels, which excited me because of its logical structure. As soon as I commenced my studies at the engineering college of Cairo in 1937,25 I started regularly to visit the headquarters [of IAS].”26 Sa‘d became acquainted with Descombes, Darwish, and Duwayk—figures who would walk a long Marxist road together, full of bumps and pits. At this stage, Sa‘d recalled, he enriched his Marxist education while participating in one of the IAS weekly study groups, where they read and discussed books on political economy. According to Sa‘d, he benefited enormously from these meetings, and his Marxist thought sprouted in this natural habitat for progressive ideas.27 Sa‘d claimed that the process of his cultural and spiritual Egyptianization started with his participation in the Egyptian national movement and gathered momentum due to his Marxist education, which enabled him to perceive Egypt’s unique social, political, and cultural features.28

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It is noteworthy that Marcel Israel recounted that in his capacity as secretary of IAS, he was the organizer of this Marxist study circle and that through his links with the Lebanese Communist Party, he received Marxist literature, which the group used. He also revealed that he played an important role in the Marxist education of Sadiq Sa‘d and Raymond Duwayk. Among other things, he mentioned reading Fascism and Social Revolution: A Study of the Economics and Politics of the Extreme Stages of Capitalism in Decay (1934), by the British communist of Indian origin Palme Dutt, in these meetings.29 Indeed, Duwayk confirmed Israel’s account. Raymond Ibrahim Duwayk was born in al-Sakakini neighborhood in Cairo in 1918 to a family of a lower-middle-class socioeconomic background. His father was born in Aleppo (Syria) and his mother was brought up in Harat al-Yahud (the Jewish quarter) of Cairo. The father was a great admirer of the Arab culture and heritage and identified politically with the Wafd. Despite the family’s financial difficulties, he was sent to a foreign school, but to his bad luck he could not finish his studies. In 1934, he started to work as a clerk at the Egyptian Broadcasting Authority.30 According to his own account, at the age of seventeen, Duwayk was influenced by two figures: Marcel Israel and Thodosis Pierrides. He described Israel as a broad-minded man, who exposed him to progressive literature, Russian culture, and in particular to Leo Tolstoy’s writings. Duwayk was also influenced to a large extent by Israel’s anti-Zionist approach, which he embraced. Duwayk revealed that he initially supported Israel’s idea to form an Egyptian communist party, but eventually Thodosis Pierrides, a leader of IAS who was himself communist, persuaded him to drop the idea for the time being.31 Other sources of influence on Duwayk’s Marxist education were the Comintern’s weekly newsletter Al-Murasalat al-Dawliyya (International Press Correspondence) in its French version, and participation in the activities of Le Groupe Études. Politically, Duwayk showed great interest in the Wafd and, particularly, in its students and young members. He attended the party’s conferences, gatherings, and special events. In the early 1940s, he was active in recruiting students of the Faculty of Humanities at Fu’ad I University to Le Groupe Études—including Abu-Sayf Yusuf and others, who followed him in al-Fajr al-Jadid.32 Yusuf Darwish received his higher education in France, where he studied law and commerce from 1930 to 1934. Upon his return to Egypt, he worked as a lawyer in the Mixed Courts, and in 1944, after studying Egyptian law, he received from the University of Alexandria a license to appear before Egyptian courts. He was first introduced and attracted to Marxist literature in France. He became active in the French Students’ Committee

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Against Fascism and War, which was founded in 1933 and sponsored by the French Communist Party. Along with his work as a lawyer, he joined IAS in 1934. In his autobiography, Darwish argued that IAS focused its activities on antifascism, antiracism, antimilitarism, and the promotion of peace among the nations, and that therefore IAS fought against the Zionist movement, which they regarded as racist.33 One of the most effective actions of the IAS, Darwish recalled, was a meeting organized by Descombes in Cairo in 1938 between the Indian leader Jawaharlal Nehru, in his capacity as leader of Rassemblement Universel pour la Paix, and Mustafa al-Nahhas. This meeting, he noted, was to have a long-term effect on the development of the warm relations between the two countries.34 Perhaps one of Darwish’s main revelations was that despite the fact that Descombes left the “Greek communist group” in 1934, he continued to maintain links with that “large communist group” throughout the 1930s. The origins of that group, he remarked, were in the old Egyptian Communist Party of the early 1920s, and Descombes, who nurtured an Egyptian Marxist nucleus within IAS (consisting of the three young Jews Duwayk, Sa‘d, and Darwish), maintained secret channels with “the Greek group,” which was also composed of other foreign nationals. The purpose of this multinational communist group,35 said Darwish, was to spread communism in Egypt wherever it was possible and to allow the comrades to act in an organized way. This may explain Descombes’s reservations regarding open actions that were noted by the founders of the new communist organizations. At the beginning of World War II, the multinational communist group disintegrated, and in 1941, Descombes gave the three Jewish Marxists the order to act independently. The three complied with the instruction but nevertheless maintained contacts with their former mentor and his partner Pierrides.36 Darwish recounted that his Marxist nucleus cooperated with Israel’s Munazzamat Tahrir al-Sha‘b (MTS) in 1945 within the framework of the Committee for the Dissemination of Modern Culture (Lajnat nashr althaqafa al-haditha). They published several issues of Al-Usbu‘ together, organized conventions and lectures, and exchanged views for a short period. Soon afterward, Darwish diverted his activities toward the proletariat, while Duwayk and Sadiq increased their activities within the Wafd.37 While studying closely the Egyptian labor movement, Darwish established relations with Mahmud al-‘Askari, the secretary-general of the Shubra alKhaima Mechanized Textile Workers’ Union, and with his close colleagues Yusuf al-Mudarrik and Taha Sa‘d ‘Uthman; the three Shubra alKhaima worker leaders would have a long future together with the three Jewish Marxists.

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Taha Sa‘d ‘Uthman, who has written widely on the history of the Egyptian labor movement, referred favorably to his Jewish communist peers of Tali‘at al-‘Ummal (TU). In a recent memorial volume in honor of Yusuf Darwish (1910–2006) and Nabil al-Hilali (1928–2006),38 ‘Uthman paid tribute to his former Jewish colleague Yusuf Darwish. Their special relationship began in the late 1930s, while ‘Uthman was the chairman of the Mechanized Textile Workers’ Union of Cairo and its suburbs, and Darwish was a lawyer at the Mixed Courts. ‘Uthman, a worker leader, was initially suspicious of Darwish’s motives—for him, Darwish represented a higher social class, someone from a well-to-do background. At the time, ‘Uthman and his colleagues were trying to get rid of the influence and domination of politicians of the higher classes, who cynically manipulated the labor movement to their own political needs. His fears soon faded following a conversation with his close colleague Yusuf al-Mudarrik, who told him: “This is a lawyer of a special type; he rid himself of the social characteristics and status of the wealthy and embraced the socialist idea of the proletariat. Time will show you that he is not less loyal to our cause than you or me and will sacrifice no less than both of us.”39 Indeed, stressed ‘Uthman, his trust and that of thousands of workers in Darwish grew enormously. Darwish became a working-class hero—he was highly regarded by both workers and their trade unions’ leaders. Darwish provided workers with legal services free of charge; he supervised them upon request, without patronizing them or seeking a leading role for himself. When the police interrogated workers, Darwish was present at their request. He presented workers’ cases in the Mixed Courts, because most of the owners of the factories were foreigners. He did so, noted ‘Uthman, for a nominal fee that trade unions paid, and in many cases he charged no money.40 The notable socialist intellectual Salama Musa approached Darwish, Duwayk, and Sadiq Sa‘d with an offer to cooperate with him and with a small group of Trotskyites—including Lutfallah Sulaiman and Ramsis Yunan—in the publication of Al-‘Ahid al-Jadid, a journal designed to support the USSR internationally. Darwish was the one to sign the contract with the owner of the publishing house, and the three featured prominently among the left-wing writers of that periodical. The periodical was shortlived; however, the cooperation with Salama Musa continued in Al-Fajr al-Jadid (FJ, “The New Dawn”), a periodical founded by Darwish, Sadiq Sa‘d, Duwayk, and Ahmad Rushdi al-Salih—the last three of whom were also among its most prominent and prolific writers. FJ was first published on 16 May 1945. It was al-Salih who used his family ties to bureaucrats in the Ministry of the Interior to obtain a license for the periodical.41 The publication had a decidedly Marxist/Wafd orien-

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tation, and among its writers were a host of well-known intellectuals.42 While the group frequently changed its name over the years, it was widely known as the FJ group.43 The periodical’s writers were greatly influenced by the events taking place on the world stage at the time, particularly the fall of fascism and Nazism, as well as the demise of British and French colonialism. The latter occurred in conjunction with the emergence of two new superpowers—the United States and the Soviet Union. For the periodical’s writers, the Soviet Union’s role in the defeat of fascism endowed it with a special place on the world stage. These events undoubtedly influenced the name chosen for the publication: The New Dawn.44 FJ initially took a conservative stance, abstaining from any direct criticism of the Egyptian government and its policies. At this stage, the periodical focused its attention on criticizing the social reality of Egypt at the time, pointing to the many flaws in the capitalist-feudal system of the day. Yet the paper quickly found itself in direct opposition to the Egyptian government, becoming a clear voice of dissent on many of the issues that preoccupied contemporary public discourse: democracy, negotiations with Britain, the question of the Sudan, Zionism, and Egypt’s place in the growing East-West conflict. Due to the paper’s positions on these matters as well as its increasingly militant editorial style, the Isma‘il Sidqi government (February–December 1946) shut the paper down in July 1946; the government also took harsh measures against Egyptian Marxist groups, arresting prominent activists. “We will publish [the paper], even if it’s just one page,” Ahmad Rushdi al-Salih wrote defiantly in the forty-second issue of FJ; the issue also announced Salih’s arrest.45 Yet this personal final cry was also the final cry of the periodical itself; it was announced that its staff would be going underground indefinitely. Owing to his new alliance with the three worker leaders of Shubra alKhaima—al-‘Askari, Mudarrik, and Taha ‘Uthman—Darwish had access to the labor movement, and together they founded the workers’ paper Al-Damir. The paper was first published on 26 September 1945 as the journal of the Workers Committee for National Liberation. Al-‘Askari was the editor-inchief, and Taha ‘Uthman became its secretary. The journal aimed at spreading political awareness among the workers, defending the rights of trade unions, and increasing the workers’ awareness of proletariat solidarity, internationally and nationally. Darwish wrote the opening article under the pseudonym Mahmud Khairy. The fate of Al-Damir was similar to that of FJ—it was closed by the government in July 1946 and ceased to exist.46 Evaluating the political and social state of affairs in light of the steps taken by the Sidqi government, the three Jewish Marxists consulted their peers and decided in September 1946 to form an underground communist

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organization called al-Tali‘a al-Sha‘biyya lil-taharrur (The Popular Vanguard for Liberation). This decision was preceded by two days of discussions conducted between Darwish, al-‘Askari, and Taha ‘Uthman in the Abu Mahmud village in August 1946. The founding convention, which took place at the house of Sadiq Sa‘d’s brother in Cairo, was attended by twenty-four members, who were divided into several cells on a geographical basis and according to places of work. The convention approved the political platform that was prepared by Sadiq Sa‘d; the labor and social program prepared by Darwish, al-‘Askari, and al-Mudarrik;47 the organizational structure, drawn up by Darwish; and the working relations with progressive elements within the Wafd as proposed by Duwayk and Rushdi al-Salih. The convention elected a three-member central committee: Sa‘d headed the political bureau; al-‘Askari was in charge of trade unions and popular affairs; and Darwish was the organizational head. The organization grew quickly, and shortly after its formation, it had seventy-five members, including veteran communists of foreign origin such as Zenon Caramanian, Jerry Caramanian, Odel Misan, Henriete Misan, Renato Forfara, Alice Jambarzy, and Margot Sheffard. The foreign group was organized separately and was sponsored by Darwish in his capacity as the organizational head. Their acceptance as full members was conditioned on their learning of Arabic and the study of and familiarity with Egyptian reality. Until then, they could not vote, but the organization used their theoretical knowledge on ideological concerns. It was decided that those who would not fulfill these conditions should return to their countries of origin and continue to be active in the communist movements there. Indeed, some of them did so, as Darwish recalled. Sadiq Sa‘d regarded that group as the factotum of the organization, providing it with financial aid and theoretical knowledge, while remaining without any rights.48 The organization went through various organizational and ideological changes in the wake of the national and international developments in the latter part of the 1940s.49 In 1949, al-Tali‘a al-Sha‘biyya lil-taharrur joined forces with a group from Munazzma Tahrir al-Sha‘b that split from Marcel Israel’s organization following the decision to unite with Iskra and the Egyptian Movement for National Liberation (EMNL).50 The new organizational framework was first called al-Dimuqratiyya al-Sha‘biyya (The Popular Democracy), and in the early 1950s changed its name to Tali‘at al‘Ummal (The Workers’ Vanguard). In 1957, following a rise in membership, it was decided to turn the organization into a political party—Hizb al‘Ummal wa-al-Fellahin al-Shuyu‘i al-Misri (The Egyptian Workers and Peasants Communist Party).51

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FJ and al-Tali‘a al-Wafdiyya

As we have seen, the communists supported the Wafd’s anti-imperialist struggle, which it pursued mainly while in opposition. While in power, however, the Wafd (as was seen with Zaghlul’s government) persecuted the communists. By the mid-1940s, when the Wafd was in opposition, the communists played a major role in the radicalization of the political discourse and the mobilization of the anti-imperialist struggle for liberation. The FJ group cooperated with leftist members of the Wafd, who aimed at radicalizing their party.52 Abu Sayf rejects Selma Botman’s thesis, however, according to which the FJ group took pains to radicalize the Wafd by “penetrating the party from within the Wafdist Vanguard and fomenting dissent from within.”53 According to Abu Sayf, FJ had never tried to “nibble at the Wafd from within” in order to get the party to sympathize with the communist cause. The strategy of the group vis-à-vis the Wafd was to support the latter as long as it advanced the anti-imperialist and antimonarchial struggle and pursued effectively the national question. The group criticized the Wafd, however, when its conservative elite deviated from the national and democratic cause. Abu Sayf confirmed that FJ cooperated with the Wafd’s “popular basis” against the conciliatory tendencies of its leadership.54 Indeed, members of FJ, the EMNL, and Iskra were active in the Wafdist Vanguard (al-Tali‘a al-Wafdiyya) and had a great impact on its political development. Al-Tali‘a al-Wafdiyya came to the fore after the end of World War II, when the Egyptian youth again raised their expectations for national liberation; it attempted to shift the Wafd’s center toward the left. Acting as a pressure group within the Wafd, al-Tali‘a al-Wafdiyya provided the party with a revolutionary social and nationalist program, devoting considerable attention to the struggle for Egypt’s national liberation from British imperialism and to the support of national liberation movements in other countries. The group expressed support for the USSR and other socialist powers and maintained that these powers could promote Egypt’s interests internationally.55 The failure of successive governments, formed without the Wafd’s participation, to advance Egypt’s struggle led, as we shall see, to closer cooperation between the Wafd’s left wing and the communists. In December 1947, the FJ group expressed its desire for closer cooperation with the Wafd on the national question. The history of Egypt’s anti-imperialist struggle, it was remarked, clearly showed that the Wafd spearheaded it in its most significant stages—the 1919 Revolution; the treaty of 1936 (that was a great step forward); the February 1942 events, “when the Wafd saved Egypt from

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those in the Palace, who spied for Germany”; and recently, its campaign against the Bevin-Sidqi draft treaty,56 demanding the transfer of the national question from the Anglo-Egyptian bilateral stage to the international scene. The current anti-imperialist struggle was dual: the expulsion of the external enemy—the British, and a war against the internal enemy—the reactionaries. The leader of this struggle, that is, the Wafd, would not be able to separate the two. Supporting the Wafd was essential in order to prevent the reemergence of the fascist forces in Egypt (‘Ali Mahir, Hasan al-Bana, Ahmad Husain, and ‘Abd al-Rahman ‘Azzam). Supporting the Wafd would also sharpen the differences between its left and right wings. The former would possibly tilt even further to the left and get stronger at the expense of the latter. The group justified its support for the organization and consolidation of the left wing. FJ was of the opinion, however, that it would be a mistake to split the Wafd, since it could weaken the national movement. The growing influence of al-Tali‘a alWafdiyya became noticeable in the latter 1940s; it then posed a tangible challenge for the conservative forces within the party. FJ wanted to see the left wing take over the party. Nevertheless, FJ emphasized the need to disengage from the Wafd on matters related to trade union activities—as past events had demonstrated, the Wafd always sided with the capitalists and landowners, reasoned FJ. It did not rule out, however, the cooperation between “Wafdist and socialist workers” in industrial areas, as was the case in Shubra al-Khaima. Under the prevailing sociopolitical circumstances in Egypt, the proletariat needed the Wafd’s support for advancing its cause. Close cooperation with the Wafd was therefore of utmost importance for the progressive forces in order to advance the national question and social affairs.57 The constructive ideological interaction and political cooperation between FJ and the Wafd’s left wing bore dividends when the latter became the leading and most influential faction in the last Wafd government (1950–1952)—the faction that determined issues of foreign policy, especially those related to the government’s decision to take a neutral stance. Indeed, a few years before the formation of the Wafd government, when the Cold War was still in its formative stages, the beginnings of the notion of neutralism with a decidedly Soviet slant could be seen on the pages of FJ.58 The writers of FJ were persistent in their call for the termination of the 1936 treaty with Britain, because only by taking such action could the Egyptian government negotiate with Britain as an equal partner, and not from the inferior position in which the treaty placed it.59 FJ’s publicists strongly emphasized the need for cooperation with external forces for the solution to the Anglo-Egyptian dispute. They called upon the Egyptian

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government to tighten relations with the Soviet Union, which “demands the evacuation of the British army from Egypt and Palestine.”60 The USSR was described as the main enemy of imperialism and as a friend of peoples who were struggling for their independence. FJ therefore felt that Egypt should establish friendly relations with the Soviets, because the two countries had a common interest in the struggle against British imperialism. It recognized that Soviet support in the international arena could assist Egypt in its aspiration to achieve full independence.61 In brief, FJ’s ideas with regard to foreign affairs included the following: abrogation of the 1936 treaty, British evacuation from Egypt, the establishment of friendly relations with the Soviet Union, and the manipulation of the emerging East-West conflict in order to advance Egypt’s national aspirations. Many of these ideas (which were also expressed and advocated by other leftist groups) were later embraced and institutionalized by Muhammad Salah al-Din, the foreign minister, who represented the left-wing faction within the Wafd government. He elaborated, modified, and implemented these neutralist ideas, which became Egypt’s interbloc policy of “calculative/pragmatic nationalist neutralism”—later to be followed by Gamal Abdel Nasser’s revolutionary regime.62

The Democratic Union: The Cradle of the EMNL, Iskra, and MTS

The Democratic Union (al-Ittihad al-dimuqrati) was founded in 1938–1939. The question of who established it, and when, has remained a matter of dispute. Both Henri Curiel and Marcel Israel argued that they were the founders. The former claimed that he established it in 1938 in order to conduct the antifascist campaign in line with the resolution passed by the seventh congress of the Comintern—that is, to form an antifascist popular front.63 In another place, Curiel remarked that Marcel Israel and his group initiated the formation.64 Marcel Israel claimed that Curiel was not a founder, but joined the organization with a large bourgeois group after he returned from medical treatment in France in 1938, and that he himself founded the organization following his failure to persuade Descombes to Egyptianize IAS.65 There is no dispute, however, that the founding nucleus of al-Ittihad al-dimuqrati was based on Marxist dissenters from IAS, among whom were Britons, French nationals, Greeks, Italians, Jews, and a few Egyptians. This organization that emerged in the late 1930s was significant for the future development of Egyptian communism. It included three Jewish

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figures who were to establish the new communist movements of the 1940s: Henri Curiel, Hillel Schwartz, and Marcel Israel. Eli Mizan, Raul Curiel, and Raymond Aghion were also among its leaders. The Democratic Union maintained contacts with Art et Liberté (“Arts and Freedom,” alfann wa al-huriyyaa)—a group of Egyptian artists and intellectuals led by Georges Henein, who held Trotskyite views.66 Members of that group published a Marxist newspaper in French called Don Quichotte. The editorial board included Henri Curiel, Raymond Aghion, Georges Henein (who was in charge of the literature section), and Ramsis Yunan. The paper focused on social and class issues related to Egyptian society. In its articles, it repeatedly called for raising the salaries of both workers and fellahin. According to Aghion, who was in charge of the section of international politics, Jewish communists constituted the majority of writers in Don Quichotte. The paper was shut down, Aghion went on, because his chief editors came to the conclusion that it exhausted itself among the small French-speaking community and that there was a need to publish a paper in Arabic that could reach a wider audience. The answer was the organ AlMajala al-Jadida, which was first published in 1940.67 Israel added that Don Quichotte’s anti-Soviet line displeased many Marxist members of the Democratic Union.68 According to al-Sa‘id, the paper was short-lived because Israel had disagreements with Raul Curiel and Raymond Aghion regarding the political trends expressed by the paper, which later also led to the disintegration of the Democratic Union.69 The main bone of contention between the leaders of the Democratic Union and Descombes was strategic: the latter thought that under the prevailing circumstances, time was not ripe to Egyptianize IAS and to turn it into a Marxist organization, whereas the dissenters maintained that such a move was inevitable. They criticized Descombes for his excessive cautiousness with regard to taking action and his suspicion of the authorities.70 Descombes admitted that he refused to establish contacts with foreign communist organizations, as, for example, suggested by George Pointée, an activist within IAS. Pointée, of Swiss origin, was a high school teacher of French. While in Egypt, he continued to be a member of the Swiss Communist Party and tried to persuade Descombes to use his connections in order to establish contacts with the Comintern. Descombes also referred to the request made by the communist veteran Husain Hasuna to send reports to the Comintern’s headquarters in Europe. In both cases, Descombes declined. Unlike Raul Curiel and his fellow Marxists, Descombes was against the idea that foreigners should found a communist organization and take its lead, even temporarily.71 The FCP tried to unite the two groups in 1939, when representatives of IAS and al-Ittihad al-dimuqrati met in Paris.

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These efforts were not successful, since the talks were interrupted by the outbreak of the war.72 The Democratic Union was short-lived. The fact that it gradually came to wear Marxist apparel detached it from other non-Marxist groups. Moreover, conceptual differences of opinion and personal rivalries between three of its main leaders led to its disintegration. Henri Curiel, Hillel Schwartz, and Marcel Israel held different views concerning its short-term strategies. Curiel placed great emphasis on what he regarded as an urgent need, namely, the Egyptianization (tamsir) of the organization, which meant that the cadre and leadership should be based on indigenous Egyptians, rather than on members of the foreign communities. Such composition, he believed, would guarantee that the movement’s ideas and actions would be relevant and address the genuine issues distressing Egyptian society. Hillel Schwartz regarded tamsir as a Soviet slogan and rejected the idea of drawing a distinction between Egyptians and foreigners within the movement. In his view, such a distinction contravened the spirit and essence of internationalism. Marcel Israel, like Curiel, preached tamsir, but was more extreme in his interpretation, insisting that foreigners should not be allowed to play any role in the organization’s leadership. Another bone of contention related to Israel’s attitude toward religion. According to Curiel, Israel adhered to total secularism and was willing to seek open confrontation with religious figures, whereas Curiel respected the deeply rooted religiosity among Egyptians and said that this factor should be taken as a given. Moreover, he and his associates were active among students at al-Azhar University.73 Curiel pointed at the Egyptian authorities as another factor that interrupted and disturbed the organization’s activities. The Egyptian authorities, he stressed, were sympathetic to fascism and did not like the antifascist nature of the Democratic Union. When World War II broke out, he went on, there was a debate within the Democratic Union on the possibility of cooperating with the British against fascism—no agreement was reached. Curiel rejected the idea, maintaining that they should fight both fascism and imperialism at the same time. The fact that many Britons attended the meetings, including secret agents, caused outrage and dissention within the Democratic Union. Under the pressure exerted by Curiel and Pointée, the group defined itself as communist, thus hoping to get rid of the conservative elements, who regarded the union as antifascist liberal democratic; this was followed by a name change to the Democratic League.74 Marcel Israel had a different explanation as to why the Democratic Union disintegrated. According to him, Curiel was against the idea of establishing a secret organization, and even criticized Israel later for founding

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MTS. Curiel declined Israel’s invitation to join the new organization. Curiel, stressed Israel, was not a true adherent of tamsir and surrounded himself with a large bourgeois group that turned the organization into an “aristocratic union.” This, said Israel, made it impossible to realize the tasks of al-Ittihad al-Dimuqrati. Israel quit the union, after he had established close contacts with al-fann wa al-huriyya and founded MTS, which recruited its Egyptian members from al-fann wa al-huriyya. Israel vehemently repudiated the claims made by his rivals regarding his strong antireligious approach. On the contrary, he stressed, “I wrote in [the past] that in a country under colonial rule, religion has a progressive nationalist content.”75 Israel held Curiel responsible for the disintegration of the Democratic Union because of his constant strife for leadership, a matter that weakened Egyptian communism, causing crises, schisms, and factions. Both imperialists and reactionaries could easily use Curiel’s pursuit for power in order to distort and weaken the movement by employing a slogan such as: “the Jewish millionaire, who founded the Egyptian Communist Party.” They used him as the symbol of Egyptian communism, explained Israel.76 He attacked Curiel’s concept that only bourgeois elements could lead the movement and bring about changes, because they were broad minded.77 Nevertheless, the personal and ideological quarrels that led to the demise of the Democratic Union would not prevent Curiel, Schwartz, and Israel from reestablishing close cooperation in the mid-1940s.

The Short-Lived Trotskyite Trend

In 1934–1935, a group of Egyptian intellectuals—artists, poets, writers, and educated youngsters led by Georges Henein—adopted the methods of surrealism in their rebellion against art, philosophy, and society. They represented a small group of Egyptians within Les Essayistes. The key figures were Lutfallah Sulaiman, Ramsis Yunan, Anwar Kamil, and Kamil alTilmisani. Al-fann wa al-huriyya, which held Trotskyite views, published its periodical Art et Liberté in French, the first issue of which was published in March 1939. The group called for a social transformation and totally rejected the existing regime and its ruling elite. Al-fann wa al-huriyya changed its form and name repeatedly: in 1940, it became “Bread and Freedom” (Pain et Liberté, al-hubuz wa al-huriyya); in 1944–1945, it changed its name to the Socialist Front, and then intermittently to the Egyptian Section of the Revolutionary Communist Party, the Egyptian Section of the Fourth International, and the International Communist Group (1945–1946). Although they spoke Arabic, these

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Egyptian intellectuals chose French—the language of cosmopolitan Egypt—for their inner cultural circles.78 While the leftist organizations of the early 1940s were founded and dominated by what Sadiq Sa‘d termed muta’ajnabi members—Westernized, or Europeanized, Egyptians79—this group was founded by indigenous Egyptians, although the key figure behind the formation of Bread and Freedom in 1940 was Marcel Israel, who kept a low profile.80 Israel explained his strategy at the time, saying that he joined al-fann wa al-huriyya and Salama Musa’s Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA, Jam‘iyat al-Shaban al-Masahiyiin) in order to spot and recruit worthy Egyptian candidates for a secret Marxist organization that he planned to establish. In 1940, he narrated, he founded MTS together with Egyptians and Nubians. He continued with the same strategy when the secret organization founded Bread and Freedom—a public and legal framework that was designed to appeal to workers and educated Egyptians. His primary goal was to recruit the Marxist cadre for his organization from those legally active leftist frameworks. Israel opened a school to train his new recruits in Marxist theory, in general, and its application to Egyptian society, in particular. Israel himself wrote the textbook in French and translated it to Arabic with the assistance of two of his Egyptian colleagues. He stressed that despite the fact that MTS was behind the activity of Bread and Freedom, he himself “had never made an appearance in the association’s headquarter, in order not to spoil its [pure] Egyptian character.”81 As he put it, “my role was twofold—theory and propaganda.”82 Israel recalled the story behind the formation of Bread and Freedom as follows: During a meeting of Arts and Freedom, Henein suggested “to form committees that would answer the people’s call for [Surrealist] art, which would push the Egyptian people towards [anarchist] freedom.” Israel noted that Henein’s speech being out of touch with reality irritated him. He responded immediately, stating that what the Egyptian people needed was “bread and freedom.” Following this confrontation, he formed a nucleus within Arts and Freedom that would hold popular and realistic views on issues related to state and society—the group thus established was called “Bread and Freedom.”83 Israel noted that as soon as he established contacts with Arts and Freedom, he realized that its leaders’ Trotskyite views and their hostile attitude toward the USSR posed a danger for the future development of the Egyptian left, since Arts and Freedom was the first Egyptian group that had considerable influence among wide circles of artists and educated Egyptians. According to him, in order to check this danger, he convinced a large number of activists to move from Arts and Freedom to Bread and Freedom.

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Many of these activists, noted al-Sa‘id, were leftists. Unlike Henein, who had an aristocratic background, they were originally from lower socioeconomic classes.84 Israel said that he taught them methods of action among the masses, and the group’s goal was to establish contacts with workers in order to provide them with a basic education. The group comprised very different people: aristocrats and paupers; foreigners and Egyptians; educated people and workers. There were also ideological differences—Anwar Kamil and Fathi al-Ramli were Trotskyites who were against any kind of clandestine activity, while As‘ad Halim, Salah ‘Urabi, and ‘Abd al-‘Aziz Haykal were communists who were also members of Israel’s secret organization, MTS. Bread and Freedom was short-lived. The internal ideological, social, and class contradictions complicated and hindered its activities and subsequently led to its disintegration.85 Arts and Freedom as well as the creature of its loins, Bread and Freedom, pretended to speak and represent the Egyptian masses but in fact remained an exclusive club of intellectuals detached from the masses, using French and not Arabic—the language of the masses—as their main language. In 1940, Arts and Freedom published the short-lived, but nevertheless highly regarded socialist journal Al-Tatawwur. Most of its articles were written in French and only a few in Arabic. Georges Henein provided the funds for the journal, and its editor-in-chief was Anwar Kamil, who was also chairman of Bread and Freedom.86 Many of the writers represented Trotskyite views, but there were also writers who belonged to the secret communist organization MTS, who reflected different views in their writings. On the national question, the journal opposed British occupation; it spread Marxist theories, but emphasized anti-Soviet Trotskyite views, although there was no reference to the Soviet Union. The journal rejected old traditions, whether religious or ethnic. The ideological differences between its Trotskyite and communist writers, however, led its financial sponsor to halt his support—leading to its shutdown several months after its inauguration.87 The contribution of the Trotskyites in their various historical forms to the development of the Egyptian left is a matter for debate. Botman argued that “behind its lofty slogans, the organization was a hollow shell which never developed a concrete program and never captured the spirit of more than a handful of people. . . . it existed as a clique of independent, isolated socialists, estranged from the communist movement in Egypt and incapable of contributing in any significant way to either the nationalist movement or leftist politics.”88 In contrast, David Renton, a British historian and socialist activist, held that

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it would be wrong to see the group as a total failure. Between 1940 and 1946, it introduced the idea into the Egyptian socialist movement that there was no need to wait. There was no automatic reason why socialism could only be achieved in stages. There was no need to put the liberation of the Egyptian bourgeoisie before the liberation of the working class. The experience of the 1940s as a whole does show the possibility of change from below. . . . The Egyptian Communist groups were determined to prevent class politics from being learned. In so far as they succeeded, they facilitated a defeat, which scattered the entire Egyptian left for a generation. The Trotskyites represented a small and partial alternative. Simply because they existed, they opened up an alternative and internationalist politics, which offered the possibility of genuine revolution, and which remains the best hope for Egyptian workers in the struggles to come.89

Both sources agreed that the movement ceased to exist in 1946, but Renton suggested correctly that attempts to revive the group continued after 1946: “In December 1946, the continuing presence of Bread and Freedom could be seen in the fact that the Culture Bookshop in Alexandria could order 50 copies of Socialist Appeal, and 10 copies of each issue of Workers International News from Britain.” What was not mentioned is the fact that the owner of that shop was Arturo Schwartz—a Jew who was born in Alexandria in 1924 to parents of European origin (the father from Germany, and the mother from Italy). The role that he was to play in the Trotskyite group indicates that the group’s leadership was at that time opened to mutamassirun (foreign nationals, who were permanent residents). Arturo Schwartz opened his bookstore in 1946. It was similar to that of Henri Curiel in Cairo,90 offering Marxist and progressive literature in various languages. Schwartz was in contact with the Russian publishing house Mezhdunarodnaya kniga and maintained a certain degree of cooperation with the Cairo communists, Curiel and Hillel Schwartz, but he did not like their Marxist indoctrination, which included inter alia the study of the Soviet constitution, issues related to the USSR, and the Egyptian proletariat. Arturo Schwartz admired Leon Trotsky, the quality of his publications and their social messages, which he found to provide the right solutions to society’s problems. By that stage, he was utterly disappointed with Stalinism and its implementation—a dictatorial regime that violated human rights and deviated completely from the enlightened values of socialism. Schwartz admitted that he was both an internationalist as well as an Egyptian nationalist, explaining this approach as follows:

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I wholeheartedly supported Egypt’s struggle for democracy and its transition to a republic. Internationally, I was Trotskyite, that is, I did not identify with either the West or the Soviet bloc. I advocated a global social revolution and in order to advance that goal I founded a branch of the Fourth International [a Trotskyite organization] in Egypt. Our organization was based on secret cells, and we conducted propaganda activity. The membership of our group was based on Egyptian students and Europeans. We did not maintain contacts with workers or fellahin, and in fact we were a very small group of only a few dozen activists. Between 1946 and 1948, I was arrested several times. My last arrest was in 1948, along with other communists and Zionists, and we all shared the same detention camps. My organization was in fact terminated. As Jews we were accused for being communists as well as Zionists—since the Egyptian authorities created the equation: communism and Zionism were identical. The Egyptian political police was efficient and improved its methods systematically using the services of former German Gestapo officers, who had much experience in spotting Jews.91

We may conclude that by the late 1940s, Trotskyite frameworks ceased to exist in Egypt. They might have had some contribution in the dissemination of progressive literature among the educated classes, but their contribution to the development of Egyptian communism was indeed marginal.

Notes 1. On former Jewish-Egyptian communist activists and the Stalinist purges, see Appendix 3. 2. See, for instance, P. J. Vatikiotis, The History of Modern Egypt (Jerusalem, 1983), pp. 311–325 (Hebrew); Botman, The Rise, p. 20; Reid, Cairo University, p. 128; Kedourie, Politics, pp. 186–187; Beinin and Lockman, Workers, p. 313; alSa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 49–53. 3. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 88–89. 4. Gershoni, Light; Jankowski, Egypt’s Young Rebels. 5. Jankowski, “The Egyptian Blue Shirts,” pp. 77–95. 6. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 69–70. 7. Meijer, The Quest, pp. 96–97. 8. The formation of the DMNL and Israel’s role therein are discussed in Chapter 10. 9. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, p. 120. 10. See a draft report by Labib on the crisis within the Egyptian communist party (DMNL) submitted to the Colonial Bureau of the French Communist Party and to the coordinating committee of the three factions that constituted the DMNL, n.d., p. 2, in File 111, Egyptian Communists in Exile (Rome Group) (ECE), International Institute of Social History (IISH), Amsterdam (hereafter Labib’s Report).

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11. Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 313–314. See also, al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh almunazzamat, p. 104–119. 12. On Hillel Schwartz and the formation of Iskra, see Chapter 9. 13. Sharif Hatata, “‘An al-wahda wa-al-inqisam fi al-haraka al-yasariyya,” Qadaya Fikriyya (July 1992), pp. 303–308; Hatata, Fikr al-Yasar, pp. 111–125. 14. Ghanim and Abu Kaff, Al-Yahud wa-al-haraka al-Sahayuniyya, pp. 85–94; al-Ghar, Yahud Misr, pp. 63, 94; Beinin, The Dispersion, p. 34; Botman, The Rise, p. 6; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 104. 15. Botman, The Rise, p. 6. See also, interviews with Edward Levi, Eli Mizan, and Paul Jacot Descombes in al-Sa‘id, al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 238–239, 241, 247–250. 16. Al-Sa‘id, Tar’ikh al-munazzamat, pp. 120-121. 17. Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, pp. 44–45; al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 243. 18. Interviews with Descombes in al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 243–244, 247–248. 19. Al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 239, 244; Schrand, Jews in Egypt, p. 95. 20. Al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 241–242, 243–250; Botman, The Rise, pp. 6–7. 21. Al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 241–242. 22. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 18, 142. 23. Interviews with Hillel Schwartz, Paris, 19 and 21 May 2005. 24. Abu Sayf, Watha’iq wa-Mawaqif, pp. 51–52. 25. He graduated from the department of engineering at Fu’ad I University in 1942. See ibid. 26. Sa‘d, Safahat min al-Yasar, pp. 39–40. 27. Ibid., p. 40. 28. Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, pp. 51–52. 29. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 141–142. See a copy of Palme Dutt’s book at http://www.plp.org/books/Dutt.html#7.%20PREFACE%20TO%20THE% 20SECOND%20EDITION. 30. Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, pp. 50–51. 31. Ibid., pp. 41–42. 32. Ibid., pp. 50–51. 33. Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish (1991), pp. 1–9. I was given a copy of Darwish‘s private draft by Ovadya Yerushalmi. 34. Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, pp. 44–45; Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, p. 11. 35. Including Descombes, Zenon Caramenian (Armenian), Odele Mizan (Jewish), Lambis Rappas, Yani Critieos (Greek), Allen Whittleton (British), Renato Farfara (Italian), Anna Kayenko (Russian), Dina Forte (Italian), Constantine Vergopaulo (Greek), Alice Gambazagi (Yugoslav), Nicola Bandalids (Greek), Yani Hadjiandria (Greek), Jacot Tulie (British), Thodosis and Alexandra Pierrides (Greek Cypriot). See Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, pp. 13–15; Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, pp. 41–45. 36. Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, p. 18; Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, pp. 41–45. Descombes himself continued to be active in Egypt until 1946. In that year, he was not allowed to return to Egypt from abroad. He settled in France and continued his communist activities in the FCP. He continued to support the various communist frameworks to which Darwish, Duwayk, and Sadiq Sa‘d belonged. He died in France in 1985.

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37. Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, p. 19; Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, pp. 52–54. 38. Nabil al-Hilali started his Marxist career as a member of the radical organization al-Munazzama al-Shuyu‘iyya al-Misriyya, led by Odette Hazan and her husband, Sidney Solomon. 39. ‘Uthman, “Malamih min Sirat Nidal al-Muhami al-Markisi Yusuf Darwish,” in Hulm Wahid, pp. 48–49. 40. ‘Uthman, “Malamih min Sirat Nidal al-Muhami al-Markisi” pp. 47–50. Goldberg, Tinker, Tailor, and Textile Worker, p. 156. 41. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 206; Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, p. 27. 42. Al-Sa‘id, Munazzamat al-yasar, p. 300. 43. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 311. 44. On FJ’s intellectual activity, see in detail Ginat and Noema, “Al-Fajr,” pp. 867–893. 45. Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, p. 27; “Sawt al-munadilin al-ashida’ ‘ala alisti‘mar wa-a‘wanihi,” FJ, 10 July 1946; Ginat and Noema, “Al-Fajr,” pp. 867–868. 46. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 210–212. Darwish wrote also for FJ on labor affairs. He criticized the unprogressive labor laws and stressed the urgent need to introduce major changes in the workers’ favor. See, for instance, his articles under the pseudonym Hasan Zaki, “Al-Tashri‘at al-‘ummaliyya fi misr,” FJ, 16 August 1945 and 29 May 1946. See also, Goldberg, Tinker, Tailor, and Textile Worker, pp. 34–37. 47. See a critical review of the program in an internal document of Tali‘at al‘Ummal, “Barnamaj hizb al-‘ummal tahwish wa-tantana farigha!” 3 November 1946, File 59, Tali‘at al-‘Ummal‘s Collection (T\U), IISH. 48. Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, pp. 28–29; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 309–311. 49. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 246–251, 254, 300–314; Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, p. 60. 50. The unification of the EMNL and MTS and the formation of the DMNL are discussed in detail in Chapter 10. 51. Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, p. 60; Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, p. 22. 52. Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, p. 19; Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, pp. 52–54. 53. Botman, Egypt from Independence, p. 62. In a recently published collection of articles to commemorate the lifework of Yusuf Abu Sayf, who was a prominent member of the FJ group, Abu Sayf made it clear that his group refused to recruit members of the Wafdist Vanguard, unless the Wafdists insisted on joining their group. “It was more important for us that they would be more active within the public,” he recalled, “and thus pursue our joint progressive goals.” See Zaki and Nasim, Abu Sayf Yusuf, p. 80. 54. Ibid., pp. 15–17. 55. Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 311–312, 337–338, 369; Botman, The Rise, pp. ix, 54–55; Gordon, Nasser’s Blessed Movement, pp. 20, 24–25; Ginat, “The Egyptian Left,” pp. 5–24; Ginat and Noema, “Al-Fajr,” pp. 867–893. 56. The Bevin-Sidqi treaty is discussed in Chapter 11. 57. An internal document, “Mawqifuna min al-wafd,” 14 December 1947, File 89, T/U.

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58. M., “Nazra fi al-siyassa al-dawliyya,” FJ, 16 May 1945; M., “Mushkilat alwisaya wa-al-duwal al-‘uzma’a al-khams,” FJ, 16 June 1945. 59. Ahmad Sa‘id, “Mu‘ahadat 1936: limadha nunadi bi-ilgha’iha,” FJ, 27 March 1946, p. 10. 60. “Qadiyatuna al-wataniyya duwaliyya,” FJ, 19 January 1946, p. 21. Sa‘d Taha ‘Uthman, “Al-amana al-qawmiyya,” Al-Damir (Cairo), No. 272, 3 October 1945, p. 1. 61. Sa‘id Khiyyal, “Innaha ma‘rakat al-wataniyya wa-al-dimuqratiyya,” FJ, 11 January 1946, p. 7. 62. See a broader discussion in Ginat, “The Egyptian Left,” pp. 5–24. On the “calculative/pragmatic nationalist neutralism,” see Ginat, Syria and the Doctrine, pp. 13–7, 234. 63. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 6–10; interview with Curiel, in alSa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 283. Didar Fawzi Rossano emphasized the antifascist and anti-Nazi character of this organization that attracted many young Jews, foreigners, educated Egyptians, and a few Muslims from large families. Fawzi-Rossano, Rasa’il, pp. 45–47. 64. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, p. 23. 65. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 77–78, 142–143. 66. The formation of this group and the Trotskyite trend will be discussed in the next section. 67. Interview with Raymond Aghion by Ovadya Yerushalmi in Paris, a copy of which Yerushalmi provided to the author. 68. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 154–156. 69. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 289. 70. Interview with Mizan, in al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 241. 71. Interview with Descombes, in al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, pp. 245–246. See also, Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 6–10. 72. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 30–31. 73. Interview with Henri Curiel, in al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 284; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 179; Amitay, Egypt–Israel, pp. 32–33. Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 325–326; interviews with Hillel Schwartz, Paris, 19 and 21 May 2005. 74. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 9–11, 53; interview with Curiel, in al-Sai‘d, Al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 283. 75. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 145–146. 76. Ibid., pp. 77–78. 77. Ibid., p. 78. 78. David Renton, “Bread and Freedom: British Soldiers and Egyptian Trotskyism,” at http://www.dkrenton.co.uk/research/egypt.html. 79. The term muta’ajnabi is conceived in opposition to mutamassir (Egyptianized). See Schrand, Jews in Egypt, p. 150. 80. Interview with As‘ad Halim, in al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 275; Schrand, Jews in Egypt, pp. 202–203. 81. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, p. 20. 82. Ibid., p. 22. 83. Ibid., p. 33. 84. Ibid., pp. 33–34; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 157–158.

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85. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 334; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 161–162. 86. See more on the Trotskyite group and its publication Al-Tatawwur in Botman, The Rise, pp. 12–16, 158. 87. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 204–205; Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, p. 76. 88. Botman, The Rise, p. 16. 89. Renton, “Bread and Freedom.” 90. On Curiel’s bookshop, see Chapter 9. 91. Interviews with Arturo Schwartz, Milan and Jerusalem, 26 February and 5 March 2001.

9 The New Communist Organizations

The reemergence of communist organizations in Egypt occurred

during World War II. The development is well described and analyzed by Henri Curiel. According to him, the period starting in June 1941 (the year the Germans attacked the USSR), continuing with the national humiliation of February 1942 (with the harsh British interference in Egyptian internal politics), and reaching its peak in February 1943 (the great Soviet victory at Stalingrad) may be regarded as the formative phase of the new wave of organized communism. Curiel stressed that the German attack on the homeland of communism was traumatic news for every communist and motivated him to intensify his antifascist actions. The events of February 1942 shuttered the image of Egyptian political institutions in the eyes of large groups of nationalist Egyptians. They were disappointed with the Wafd for taking over the government following a British ultimatum. The king’s submission to the British demands considerably undermined his authority. The communists, however, preferred the overthrow of the “reactionary government” led by ‘Ali Mahir (1939–1940), who, in their view, was sympathetic to the fascist Axis powers, and they were content when Husain Sirri’s government (1940–1942) was replaced by a Wafd government that “supported the Allies (including the USSR) in their war against fascism and Nazism.” The Soviet victory over mighty Germany at Stalingrad and their achievements at the Eastern front during the war greatly impressed the Asian and African peoples—the victory proved that the Soviet communist state was strong, socially and militarily. The communists appeared to offer a rational alternative to the existing Egyptian political system. As a result of the Soviet achievements and due to the Anglo-Soviet alliance, the Egyptian Left enjoyed a more favorable 231

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atmosphere. One may add another important development—the rapid growth of the industrial sector that occurred in Egypt during World War II, resulting in the expansion of the working class. During the war, the labor unions were strengthened, and contacts were established between the labor and Marxist movements—the latter aspired to develop the political consciousness among the proletariat. The rise of the students’ power during the war was noticeable, and many of them were influenced by communist ideas. The Egyptian nationalist movement dominated by the Wafd was influenced by ideas of national liberation, which spread worldwide following the rise of the Soviet Union, which vigorously defended the rights of the colonized peoples for national liberation. Indeed, the years 1942–1943 saw the emergence of new communist groups influenced by the Soviet Union’s success in the war.1 It is noteworthy that Egyptian communists preferred to overlook the Stalinist Great Terror of the 1930s, regarding it as insignificant compared to Stalin’s great achievements during the war. Sidney Solomon, a Jew of a petit bourgeois socioeconomical background born in Egypt in 1923, was a senior activist of Iskra.2 He believed that the progressive forces should work together with the Soviet Union in its struggle against a common enemy—Nazism and fascism. The time, he stressed, was not ripe for any kind of criticism, which could weaken the struggle for “our common goal.” Another phrase used by communist leaders at the time was: “you cannot make an omelet without breaking the eggs.”3 In a retrospective analysis written a few years later, a communist activist under the name Labib stated that the Soviet victory “changed our situation radically.” The ban on progressive books and literature was lifted, he stressed, and the Egyptian press that until then had been a “faithful lackey of British imperialism” was now “full of praise and admiration for the USSR.” The Wafd was in power and, generally speaking, had a more liberal attitude toward the working class and the progressive elements. For the first time in Egypt’s history, the government legalized the trade unions. Consequently, a large number of trade unions were immediately formed. The government was more attentive to demands by the working class to better its living conditions. Because of the war requirements, it was emphasized, “the working class grew numerically, industries expanded and new ones were formed.” Under these circumstances, the work of recruiting new members to the existing communist “circles” became much easier. Until 1945, noted Labib, “the overwhelming majority of the recruits were Egyptian intellectuals and especially students. The movement had to wait until a stable nucleus of Egyptian intellectuals was formed before it succeeded in recruiting workers.” Labib claimed that until 1945 the communist movement

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focused its activities mainly on propaganda work in narrow circles. Even then, he argued, two important features of the movement laid the basis for future deviations, which led to a crisis in the late 1940s: “a grave theoretical weakness and almost complete isolation of the movement from international communism.”4 Labib’s analysis provides a few useful insights as to the factors leading to the decline of the communist movements in the late 1940s. Chapters 9–13 will provide a broader and a more precise explanation as to the roots of the crisis within the communist movements, yet they also describe and analyze the stages in the development of Egyptian communism as well as its achievements and failures.

Marcel Israel and MTS

As we have seen, Marcel Israel and a group of Egyptians founded Munazzama Tahrir al-Sha‘b (MTS) in 1940. Marcel Israel was born in Cairo in 1913 to a Jewish father who held Italian citizenship. The father’s family had settled in Egypt in the early nineteenth century, when his grandfather was appointed head of the Jewish community in Egypt by a firman of the Ottoman sultan. Under Khedive Isma‘il, the grandfather was a member of the Advisory Board. The grandfather became a great feudal lord. Israel’s father was a mutamassir who spoke Arabic and wore a tarbush— and most of his friends were Egyptians. His mother was of Iranian origin, spoke Arabic, and wore Egyptian apparel. During his childhood, Israel’s family was well off, and he had an Egyptian nanny to whom he was emotionally attached. As a little boy, he identified with the suffering and exploitation of the fellahin who were employed by local landlords—formative experiences that would play a major part in his leftist tilt. Soon after the end of World War I, his father went bankrupt and became a clerk in a cotton ginning plant. The decline in his family’s status did not affect his education. He attended a Christian primary school, where the use of Arabic was prohibited. Like many other young middle-class and well-to-do Jews, he was trained at the French lycée (high school), where he graduated in commerce and economy. Thereafter he started to work as a banker and simultaneously proceeded with his higher education at the French college, where he studied law and sociology. He refused to take the final graduation exam for a conscientious reason: “getting a degree from an imperialist institution was a bourgeois deviation.” In retrospect, he described his decision as “left and romantic extremism.”5 Israel narrated that during his intellectual development, he showed great interest in philosophy and read a broad range of related literature. He

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was particularly fascinated by Muslim philosophers such as Ibn Sina’, Ibn Rushd, and Ibn Khaldun, and by the Jewish Rambam (Rabbi Moshe Ibn Maymon). Ibn Khaldun’s scientific interpretation of historical phenomena impressed him very much. Before he became a Marxist, he was greatly influenced by the Russian writer Leo Tolstoy and the Jewish philosopher Baruch Spinoza. The latter, Israel noted, taught him first and foremost to believe in the human mind, whereas the former taught him to regard “every human being as a brother, whom we have to respect and love, and for the happiness of whom we have to sacrifice ourselves.”6 Israel’s path to Marxism went through his childhood experiences— first he closely witnessed the exploitation of fellahin, and later he was disgusted by the exploitation of very young workers in the cotton ginning plant where his father worked. He recalled: “at the beginning of every season the contractors collected thousands of children and juveniles at the ages of 7 to12 years, to work in these plants. Their work day was about 15 hours, during which their employers beat them with whips for no reason. By the end of each season, many of the children had died as a result of diseases and neglect.” One day, Israel went on, while visiting his father, he witnessed the brutal beating of a child and could no longer remain silent. He jumped at the inspector, attacked him and took the whip out of his hands. Israel was also annoyed by the inspector’s explanation for his action. The inspector remarked that if the children were not beaten, they would not take their work seriously, and that he was paid to beat them. This incident was for Israel clear evidence of prevailing social exploitation and consolidated his belief that his society was divided into rich exploiters and the exploited poor. As a youngster, he attended the popular demonstrations held by the Wafd against the dictatorship of the Palace in the period 1930–1935—he was injured in some of these demonstrations. In 1933–1934, he started to read Marxist literature—the first book was Bukharin’s Historical Materialism (Al-madiyya al-ta’rikhiyya). His further reading included Marx’s Capital and the Manifesto of the Communist Party. He noted that when he read Marx’s description of the exploitation of children by the British textile industry, he immediately saw the Egyptian children in the cotton ginning factory in his mind’s eye. In 1934, he suffered from severe asthma and could hardly breathe. He therefore resigned from his work at the bank and was unemployed for nearly three years. During that period, he had lots of free time to broaden his Marxist knowledge. In 1935, his doctors advised him to travel to Lebanon for medical treatment. In Lebanon, he established his first contacts with organized communism. He talked with Niqula Shawi, Faraj Allah al-

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Hulw, Fu‘ad Kazan, Khalid Bakdash, and other members of the Communist Party of Syria and Lebanon (CPSL).7 Israel stressed that Shawi persuaded him that every communist living in Egypt had the task to establish contacts with the workers and educated circles. Shawi also asked him to write articles on the Egyptian reality for his paper, Sawt al-Sha‘b. Israel did so for nearly two years, writing about the work and living conditions of Egyptian workers and Egyptian nationalism. In the mid-1930s, he started his political activity within Ittihad Ansar al-Salam (IAS). He nevertheless retained his contacts with his Lebanese communist fellows, who persuaded him that IAS, which was largely based on foreigners, was not the political framework that Egypt needed. A communist organization, they stressed, must be established in Egypt, and such an organization should be based on indigenous Egyptians.8 Marcel Israel’s wife, Janet, started her activities within the Egyptian Left as a teenager. She was a fourteen-year-old student at the lycée when the Nazis took over in Germany. Like many other Jews, she was anxious following the Nazis’ initial anti-Jewish actions. At the lycée, she was a member of a small group that campaigned to boycott German goods. The group met with a French Jewish communist, who arrived in Egypt to preach Marxism and glorify the USSR. They were fascinated by the Soviet success, and the USSR served as their role model. Janet stressed that, unlike her husband, she and her friends were foreigners who did not speak Arabic and were cut off from Egyptian society. As a teenager, she came for the first time in contact with Egyptians when her parents permitted her to use Dar al-Kutub library. Janet participated in a Marxist study group, and when she met Marcel Israel in 1937, she was already a Marxist. She and Marcel were the only activists of Jewish origin in MTS. Janet emphasized the foreigners’ role in the formation of the communist movement, but stressed that after they successfully spread Marxist and communist ideas among the local Egyptians, their historical role came to an end. Like Marcel, she believed that it was inevitable that Egyptians would take over the movement, even if the foreign leadership was still reluctant to give up its position.9 Israel’s strategy was to form many clubs and associations within different sectors and to pinpoint and recruit the worthy elements to his secret organization. Israel believed that the organizational structure should be based solely on Egyptians. He banned himself from interfering in the organization of day-to-day activities, albeit he concentrated his efforts on providing the cadre with a Marxist education. In addition to its activities within legal clubs and associations, MTS was quite active in the Marxist and progressive press such as Al-Tatawwur, Al-Majala al-Jadida, Al‘Usbu‘, and Dar al-fajr.10 Israel explained that throughout his activities, he

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constantly tried to establish a link between Marxist theory and the Egyptian reality.11 As‘ad Halim, a member of the organization, said that Israel was the impetus and the organizer of their activity. Israel made outstanding efforts in 1939 to recruit the Egyptian cadre and was the only knowledgeable source for their studies of Marxism, noted Halim. He broadened their Marxist knowledge and political horizons, stressed Halim, since “he was much older and more educated than us.”12 In the late 1930s to early 1940s, Israel worked in a pipe company in al-Ma‘asara, where he was in charge of the warehouses. He seized the opportunity to get acquainted with workers, with whom he held talks and discussions on social affairs. Israel managed to recruit workers from this company and from the Sugar Company of Hawamdiyya and even to organize a strike at the sugar company. He organized evening meetings in workers’ homes, and he stressed that he acted as a coordinator and observer, while the workers themselves conducted the debates. When the plant management discovered his activities, he was fired. In that period, Israel revealed, he recruited a large number of Egyptians to his organization, among them Nubians and Sudanese, for whom he provided a Marxist education. To quote him: “In that period, I worked vigorously and enthusiastically around 16 hours a day.”13 The organization was under close surveillance by the authorities, who did not do much to hide their sympathy for the fascist/Nazi camp with the outbreak of World War II. On 15 October 1941, the police shut down Culture and Leisure—a club associated with the organization—and arrested ten activists, including Israel. All of the detainees were released several weeks later, except Israel, who was transferred to a detention camp for Italian prisoners. That was a hard blow for the young organization. In February 1942, when the German army was progressing from the Western desert toward Egypt, a group of antifascist Italians, with whom Israel had cooperated in the late 1930s, and Abu Bakr Hamadi Sayf al-Nasr, the son of the Egyptian war minister, intervened with the authorities, and Israel was released from prison but was expelled to Palestine, where he stayed in exile until 1944.14 His long absence paralyzed MTS—the group disbanded, and its activists joined other frameworks. After his return to Egypt in 1944, Israel took pains to reorganize MTS. His goal was to establish an organization of Egyptians, and indeed, he and Janet were once again the only mutamassirun. He refused to take any leading role and remained active at the organization’s base complying with the instructions from his Egyptian superiors. As before, his main activities were in the cadre school, where he gave lessons and wrote studies for the organization. In the years 1945–1946, he was involved along with his

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Palestinian, Lebanese, and British fellows in attempts to unite the various Egyptian communist groups.15 Israel’s list of publications is noteworthy. He started with textbooks for the study of Marxism. In 1937, he published his first study—a booklet in French on the world and the Egyptian peace movements. A few years later, he published his study on workers affairs, based on his interviews and research while working in al-Ma‘asara. He emphasized that his work there contributed a lot to his comprehension of Egyptian reality with regard to the workers and, to a lesser extent, the fellahin. This study was followed in 1941 by Tafsir al-‘Alim (Interpretation of the world)—a textbook interpreting Marxist theory. It contained analytical studies of materialism, the relations of production, and the evolution of societies. It also had chapters on issues concerning the state, law, sciences, and religion. In the same year, Israel published another book entitled Al-Masa’il al-‘amaliyya waal-nazariyya lil-thawra al-misriyya (Practical and theoretical issues for the Egyptian revolution), which consisted of four parts: the formation of the Egyptian Marxist cadre; an analysis of the political, social, and economic reality in Egypt; integration with the workers; integration with the fellahin. In 1944, he published two studies. One dealt comprehensively with the fellahin issue, and the other dealt with Egyptian industry. In 1945, he issued his report on themes related to the possibility of uniting the communist groups. In 1947, his publications concentrated on Jewish affairs within the Egyptian context: the first dealt with the history of the Jews of Egypt, their political role, and the possible means for transforming them from allies of imperialism into allies of the Egyptian people in their struggle for national and social liberation. Israel, who founded the Jewish League to Combat Zionism (al-lajna al-yahudiyya li-mukafahat al-Sahyuniyya) in his capacity as the head of the foreigners’ section in the Democratic Movement for National Liberation (DMNL), wrote the league’s famous manifesto, which called for Jews to shake themselves free of dangerous Zionism. He published studies on the history of the schisms in the Egyptian communist movement and the reasons why a communist party had not been established; on the state of the Egyptian communist movement and the possible ways to unite it. These studies were published in 1948—a year marked by the weakening of the movement due to growing rivalry between the various groups. There were many other articles, reports, and manifests published by him until his deportation from Egypt in 1953.16 As stated, Israel saw himself as a mentor who wanted to lay the basis for a communist organization to be run by Egyptians. Although as an atheist he obviously would not like the comparison, we may compare his role, as he presented it, to that of Moses preparing the ground for his people to

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arrive at the promised land, in his case, the land of communism. Once they had arrived, however, his role as a mentor within the communist movement would come to an end. Israel shed new light on his methods of action. According to him, he established contacts with as many workers and educated Egyptians as possible. Thereafter he would select the most loyal and clever ones, regardless of their political views. He revealed that in this way, he managed to recruit many members of Misr al-fatat to his organization. The guiding principle in his relations with the new recruits was not to patronize them, but to treat them as equals, respectfully and honestly, without giving up his principles. His tactic was to make a connection between the issues of national and social liberation. His analysis of the national movement focused on its class content. He emphasized the highly important role played by the USSR in the fight against imperialism and advocated an alliance with the Soviet Union in order to help Egypt’s struggle for national liberation. Throughout his dialogue with the candidates of various political groups, he drew on moderately Marxist principles but took pains to relate them to Egyptian reality. Those who were selected for his organization started their Marxist education in study groups. During his lectures, he used simple language and spoke zealously to his audience, telling them that despite their temporary weakness, they were a part of a worldwide communist movement that fought everywhere to liberate mankind. Israel explained that even if the movement was beaten temporarily by imperialism and reactionary forces in some places, the future belonged to communism, and the communist movement would prevail in the long run. Israel noted that his recruitment methods were successful. Indeed, he managed to recruit many Egyptians and Sudanese to his organization.17

Iskra-Sharara, 1942–1947

The founder of Iskra was Hillel Schwartz, a Jew born in Cairo in 1923 to parents of foreign origins: the father Yona was born in Romania, and the mother Yevgena was born in Odessa. The parents met in Switzerland, where they studied medicine. After they had completed their studies, they went on a trip to Egypt just on the eve of World War I. The father, who was antiGerman, volunteered to serve as a physician in the British army. At the end of the war, the father persuaded his wife to stay in Egypt, a country that was to his liking. The father worked as a physician and the family’s standard of living was high—a well-to-do bourgeois secular Jewish family.

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Since their home was dominated by French language and culture, Hillel and his two older sisters (born in 1910 and 1916) were cut off from Egyptian society. He attended a French-speaking elementary school for foreigners and afterward the French lycée. He lived in a European milieu in Egypt, and his friends were all from a similar socioeconomic background, all members of the foreign bourgeoisie. As a child, Schwartz spent long holidays in France, where he became acquainted with European culture. In his teens, he went through the phase of youth revolt—estranged from his parents and his socioeconomic class, he searched for an alternative way of life. During that period he found himself spending most of his time reading foreign literature. Schwartz’s interest in politics started during the Spanish civil war. The foreign European newspapers read at his home enriched his knowledge on current world affairs. He was only thirteen years old when the war in Spain started, and he immediately felt sympathy toward the antifascist forces, expressing naïvely his desire to volunteer to fight with them—a plan that his father ridiculed. When the family visited France in 1939, however, Hillel, who was then three years older, seized the opportunity and approached the representative of the International Brigade, asking to volunteer. But his plans were spoiled by the deteriorating political situation in Europe. Feeling the danger, his father decided to take his family back to Egypt just shortly before the outbreak of World War II. Disappointed about his failure, Hillel decided to do something in Egypt, and that was the first time that he came into contact with Egyptians.18 His first contacts with Marxists were with the Curiel brothers and their cousin Raymond Aghion, who were among the leaders of the Democratic Union. They used to get together in a small group to study Marxism. The Marxist literature, which was prohibited in Egypt, was provided by the Curiel brothers, even before Henri opened his bookshop-library in Cairo in 1941. Schwartz was active in the Democratic Union and noted that it had a mixed membership including Egyptians, but that the language spoken was French. Since the organization’s primary goal was to defend democracy, its members adhered to various political trends with a common denominator— democracy and antifascism. Schwartz narrated that there was also a small group of left-wingers. After several years of joint work with Henri Curiel and the others, which mainly focused on the study of Marxism, Schwartz felt that the time was ripe for action. The enormous amount of Marxist literature that he had read throughout his youth convinced him that the solution to the social gaps in Egypt should be linked to the internationalist solution offered by Marxism. Unlike other Jewish communists, such as Henri

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Curiel, Schwartz never regarded himself as an Egyptian—but as an internationalist with a French orientation. He founded a small secret group of like-minded Marxists in 1942; the organization was called Sharara (Iskra), a “spark” in Russian.19 They started recruiting new members, who were initially all French speakers from among the foreign communities, but gradually they opened their ranks to indigenous Egyptians. Schwartz admitted that he had no clue that Henri Curiel was building his own organization at the same time. He thought that Curiel was only interested in the study of Marxist theory—at that stage, the two former colleagues did not know of each other’s organizations. Schwartz never acquired a formal higher education beyond his studies at the French lycée. As far as his Marxist education was concerned, he was an autodidact in the full sense of the word. He read professional literature regarding the formation of the vanguard, the initial phases of the Russian Communist Party, the ways of forming secret cells, the methods of attracting progressive intellectuals to Marxism. He managed to acquire material published by the French Communist Party on Marxist modes of organization, as well as material distributed by the CPGB in the colonies on the initial stages in the formation of Marxist organizations. Among the themes discussed in these publications were strategies for entering a factory and transforming its workers into communists and patterns of actions in industrial areas and in universities. Structurally, Schwartz’s organization was based on a secret Marxist pattern, which he drew from the available Marxist literature. The first nucleus was based on five to six members only. As a result of their successful recruitment process, the number of members increased rapidly, and the organization spread to Alexandria. It comprised many cells, and members of each cell knew nothing of the others—it was well compartmentalized. The organizational structure was based on layers. First, there were candidates, who belonged to study groups and knew nothing about Iskra, although they were trained by the organization’s senior leaders. After their admission, they acted in small cells that were connected to a larger cell of eight to ten members. Each larger cell had a secretary, who provided his/her superior with a weekly report of their activities. The organization was divided into sections: Europeans, students, intellectuals, workers, women, Sudanese, and others. Usually, each section was responsible for recruiting its members. The central committee led by Schwartz was the highest authority. Many of Iskra’s members, stressed Schwartz, were Jews from bourgeois families. But Iskra was also successful in recruiting Egyptians—mostly students. At that stage, they had no contacts with the working classes. The activists’ placement in the various sections was based

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on the communist principle of affiliation: the activist’s place of work and his/her broader frame of reference.20 One of Iskra’s particularities was the large number of female members, many of whom were of Jewish origin. Avraham Farhi, a young dynamic activist in Iskra, noted that Muslim Egyptian women, mainly students, joined Iskra because they were disappointed with the Wafd and knew moreover that they would never enjoy full equality there. Iskra attracted them with its openness. In its first years, Iskra operated a legal study group called Dar al-Abhath al-‘Ilmiyya (house of scientific studies).21 Latifa al-Zayyat’s case illustrates Farhi’s evaluation. In the special political climate of the post–World War II period, she stated, any real nationalist had to make a choice, a decision, to become a communist or a member of the Muslim Brothers. This was especially true after the failure of the established parties to meet the needs of the country. Being a woman and having a temperament—that is being a rebel and not a conformist—I could not join the Ikhwan. In my second year at university . . . I was asked by a woman student to attend Dar al-Abhath. I went . . . later I became a member of Iskra.”22

Inji Aflatun, a lycée graduate, who later became famous as an artist, feminist, and communist activist, was also among Iskra’s members.23 Their primary goal, remarked Schwartz, was a social revolution, which would be preceded by the expulsion of the British; they conferred these ideas on their members and candidates by means of education—from elementary to advanced studies of Marxism and its relevant application to Egypt. Schwartz said that they were encouraged and impressed by the Soviet achievements. Although he wanted to see Egypt gaining its national liberation and going through a social revolution, Schwartz regarded himself as an internationalist and not an Egyptian nationalist. According to him, they could not establish contacts with the USSR, even after the establishment of diplomatic relations between Egypt and the USSR—the Soviets knew nothing of them. Contacts with the French Communist Party (FCP) did exist, however, and Iskra received help and guidance from that party.24 Former Iskra members described Schwartz as a sympathetic and pleasant person. Joe Adler, who—like Farhi—was promoted promptly from recruit to head of circle (of a few cells), recalled: “Hillel was regarded in Egypt as a kind of God, he was indeed a clever, wise, and courageous man.”25 He acquainted himself with Iskra’s activists by means of joint leisure activities such as walks along the Nile, which involved talks about various issues. Schwartz wanted to turn these youngsters into people willing to sacrifice themselves for ideals—something that goes against human

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nature. He saw himself as a vanguard struggling against the culture of consumption, egoism, and individualism. His secret charm was his message to youngsters that their lives had value and meaning. He offered a solution for their identity problems by becoming the world’s saviors, people who could change others. Moreover, another distinguishing characteristic of Iskra was the ability to recruit fellahin and members of al-Azhar to its ranks. Schwartz envisaged a small group that would change Egyptian reality by means of the most dynamic element in society at the time—the students. His goal was to bring students in line with Marxist concepts and to separate them from the Wafd’s students. In his work among middle-class and lower-middle-class students, Schwartz emphasized the Marxist social messages in combination with the Wafd’s banner of national liberation. The students associated with Iskra sensed that for the first time someone cared about them and acted in order to improve their future and that of their families. The twofold message—national and social liberation— proved to be successful.26 Mishil Kamil said that they recruited from among family and friends and focused on ideological persuasion. During the training period, the studies centered on reading Marxist literature followed by debate and exams—no popular actions at that stage. The training period was long and the graduation exam was based on the reading of twenty-eight books, which the examinees were expected to memorize, summarize, and relate to in their answers to questions. Only those who passed the exams were admitted.27 Iskra under Schwartz opposed the idea that there was an immediate need to Egyptianize (tamsir) the communist movement as advocated by both Curiel and Israel. Schwartz believed that class consciousness in Egypt should develop in a three-stage process: first, the bearers and disseminators of Marxism should come from among foreign intellectuals. At the second stage, Egyptian intellectuals, members of the bourgeoisie, would join forces with the foreign intellectuals, who would instill Marxist ideas in them. At the third stage, the Egyptian intellectuals would act as the bridge to Egyptian society. Their role would be to impart revolutionary awareness to the Egyptian proletariat. The first and second stages of Schwartz’s concept were realized satisfactorily. Iskra managed to recruit an impressive group of Egyptian students of high class and culture. They were all French lycée graduates influenced by teachers who held Marxist views. Among them were Anwar ‘Abd al-Malik, Shuhdi ‘Atiyya al-Shafi‘i, Muhammad Sid Ahmad, Latifa al-Zayyat, Sharif Hatata, and ‘Abd al-Ma‘abud alJibaili. The third stage just reached its initial phase when Iskra united with Israel’s and Curiel’s groups.28

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It is noteworthy that nearly forty years later, Sid Ahmad criticized Schwartz’s three-stage program, arguing that it “indicated the determination of Jews to retain their leading positions and their capability to impose their order.” This was a tangible obstacle, he reasoned, which put off the development of the communist movement following the reemergence of the nationalist movement in the post–World War II period and became a destructive element in 1947–1948, when the Palestine question moved to the front.29 Schwartz’s three-stage plan and Iskra’s political program were published in a booklet entitled “Our National Goals.” In brief, it called for full independence, including a complete British evacuation; the termination of British presence and involvement in companies that held a monopoly; the liberation and cleansing of the Egyptian army, police, bureaucracy, and culture of all kinds of colonial influences; support for the democratic forces among Arabs and Jews in Palestine in their struggle for democracy and liberation; a call to improve the standard of living and quality of life of the workers and the Egyptian public. As far as the Sudan question was concerned, Iskra raised the slogan “united front for freedom and democracy,” whereas Curiel’s group called for a “common struggle against a common enemy.”30 According to Curiel, there were several differences between his movement and that of Schwartz. First, his organization implemented the principle of Egyptianizing on all its levels and had ties to the poor petite bourgeoisie and the proletariat, while Iskra rejected the idea of Egyptianization as a chauvinistic seal and drew its members mainly from the wealthy and educated Jewish bourgeoisie, through whom it attracted intellectual elements from among the wealthy Egyptian bourgeoisie. Second, the two groups differed in their way of action—Curiel’s group developed methods of action that reached out to the lower classes, while Iskra adopted a policy of factionalism as a basis for political action and as a method of recruiting new members. Third, Curiel’s group developed and elaborated the concept of “the unity of struggle,” while Iskra developed and practiced the principle of the “the unity of studying.” Fourth, the two groups took different stands on Browderism. Iskra supported the theories of Earl Russel Browder, chairman of the Communist Party of the United States of America (CPUSA, 1932–1945), who stated toward the end of World War II that communism and capitalism could peacefully coexist and distanced the CPUSA from the USSR. This policy, known as Browderism, was harshly condemned by the international communist movement, and in particular by Jacques Duclos, a

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leader of the FCP, who published an article against Browderism in 1945. Browder was expelled from the CPUSA in 1946. Curiel reasoned that his group regarded Browder’s theories as reformist and firmly supported Jacques Duclos’s line, which represented also that of the USSR and the rest of the international communist movement.31 Iskra started the publication of its paper Al-Jamahir (The masses) in April 1947 with Shuhdi ‘Atiyya al-Shafi‘i as its editor in chief. A political committee was set up in order to monitor the paper’s activity. It included al-Shaf‘i, ‘Abd al-Ma‘bud al-Jibaili, Sidney Solomon, Eli Mizan, and Muhammad Sid Ahmad. Al-Jamahir had many subscribers (in early 1948, it issued 15,000 copies) and it was also distributed in industrial areas to reach the workers. Iskra hoped to reach wide sections of Egyptian society through Al-Jamahir and by means of creating new study groups in different places, such as the eminent Dar al-Abhath al-‘Ilmiyya, and the popular university (al-Jami‘ah al-Sha‘biyya), where Iskra’s teachers aimed at providing basic education to workers (lessons in reading and writing, history, geography, and English). The organization diverted its activities to the more populated areas, introducing itself to workers and peasants—at first, with scant success. It was more successful, however, after the unification with Curiel’s group, noted Schwartz.32 Iskra gained a firm grip on students through Rabitat al-talaba almisriyyin (the Egyptian students association), which Iskra’s activists and sympathizers founded. They also published a student newspaper, entitled Saut al-Talib (The student voice), of which 5,000 copies were distributed on the campuses, and founded a student publishing house under that same name, which disseminated Iskra’s propaganda material among students. Both Farhi and Rif‘at al-Sa‘id saw a connection between Iskra’s central role among the educated classes and its considerable influence within the universities, on the one hand, and the formation of the National Committee of Workers and Students (NCWS) and the students rebellion of 1946, on the other. Young Marxists, including Farhi, took part in the rebellion, and some of them were among its leaders.33

Iskra Through the Lens of Its Former Rank-and-File Members

Members came to Iskra through many routes. Many were recruited as students after attending ideological study groups. Some were selected to Iskra through social networks. The fact that many of Iskra’s members were edu-

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cated in prestigious schools contributed to the intellectual development of that organization. Sharif Hatata

Sharif Hatata came from a wealthy socioeconomic background and had Jewish roots in his family.34 Hatata, who was born in 1923, recalled the way he was recruited to Iskra in 1946. According to him, ‘Ali al-Shalaqani invited him to join the group. His first task was to read and study leftist literature. Each member presented the book he read, and his presentation was followed by a discussion. In retrospect, he said, the studies in this group were theoretical with no substantial relevancy to Egypt’s reality. However, he emphasized, one could not deny the fact that these studies contributed to their intellectual development, opening “the world of left thought” with its different views of life and particular ways to putting an end to all forms of exploitation and oppression—the proposed solution to multilateral social problems was a revolution against corrupt society and its failure to restore justice. Hatata acknowledged that he had no clue that Iskra ran the study group he attended and that he was a member of that organization. When he began to take part in Iskra’s clandestine activities within his cell, he had the feeling that he participated in an adventurous and important activity, although he did not know what the overall action was all about. This did not undermine his belief, however, that it would eventually make his dreams come true.35 Unlike Adler, Hatata was very critical of Schwartz’s role in Iskra. Schwartz, wrote Hatata, was the prototype of a bureaucrat, who had worked his way up through the ranks (too high up, in Hatata’s opinion), and lacked the educational, cultural, and linguistic skills that the position that he had chosen demanded of him. Schwartz, stressed Hatata, established his hegemonic position within the communist movement as a result of the privileges that foreigners enjoyed at one time in Egypt.36 Avraham Farhi

Avraham Farhi was born in Cairo in 1927. His parents were of European origin—his father born in Paris, and his mother in Germany. His father immigrated with his family to Egypt at the age of fifteen and later worked as a lawyer and businessman. The father spoke Arabic well and maintained close contacts with indigenous Egyptians. Farhi was an example of an activist who went up the ladder—from a junior to a senior member of Iskra. The British occupation of Egypt, Farhi remarked, was felt everywhere and

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created a feeling of suffocation. For a young Egyptian, who wanted to get involved in politics, there were few possibilities: joining the Muslim Brothers and employing terrorist means to achieve that movement’s goals; becoming active in the liberal democratic current led by the Wafd that put all its eggs in the national liberation basket; embarking on the boat of ultraradical nationalism navigated by Misr al-fatat; or following the rays of hope for change by joining the Marxist trend, which promised to create a new social and political order. When a young Egyptian read that Stalin had written a book on the liberation of the oppressed peoples, he realized that Marxism as presented by the homeland of communism was not all about social change, but also strove for something no less important—national liberation. Schwartz, noted Farhi, knew how to turn the Marxist option to something very attractive.37 Avraham Farhi gave a detailed picture of the relationship between education at the French school network of lycées and the recruitment to Marxist organizations. There were two main streams of education opened to foreigners of the middle and higher classes, he noted: the liberal/secular one of the French lycée, which gave its students the feeling of being part of the French nation and culture, and the Catholic school network, which was rigid and conservative in its approach to education. For Jews there was another option: the Alliance school network, which was very efficient and gave its students a feeling that they were the emissaries of France and the Jewish heritage. Many of those who joined the communist organizations came from French lycées, and only a few were graduates of the Catholic school network. The feeling of belonging to French culture among Jewish students was reinforced, he noted, by reading the works of French Jews, including the linguist Marcel Cohen and the novelist Marcel Proust, in the French language and literature lessons. The contribution of Jewish intellectuals to French culture and society, remarked Farhi, “gave me the feeling of being republican and progressive, someone who belonged to a group of intellectuals that formed the League of Human Rights (La Ligue française pour la Défense de Droits de l’Homme et du citoyen),” which the republican Ludovic Trarieux founded in 1898 to defend captain Alfred Dreyfus, a Jew wrongly accused and convicted for treason. Among Farhi’s teachers were a few Marxists, some of whom were sent by the FCP. He particularly remembered Jean Rafnoi, a French literature teacher who openly preached his Marxist views to his students in a very stylish and attractive manner. For instance, he depicted the battle over Stalingrad as an example for a Cornelian hero—the heroic self-sacrifice for ideals. In his lessons, literature was not an abstract thing, but alive and tangible. It was understood and accepted at school, Farhi stressed, that

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“somebody with a French background is very close to God, because God does not speak Hebrew but French. . . . You were born with a feeling of supremacy and therefore you should not make it conspicuous because it is obvious.” The history teacher Olivier was another schoolteacher who left his mark, said Farhi. Olivier used history books that represented liberal and Fabian trends in order to show his students that humanity was progressing toward socialism, and that socialism was its final destination. He emphasized that the French revolution was the starting point of this process in human development. He used the encyclopedists—a group of French philosophers who produced the Encyclopédie in the eighteenth century—as one of his examples of France’s central role in the development of mankind, recalled Farhi. In France, noted Farhi, many acknowledged the fact that their country was totally defeated and that the spread of French culture worldwide would be the best way to restore France’s central role. In Egypt, this manifested itself in the opening of many French cultural clubs. The mixture of French culture, the rising image of communist Russia, and the defeat of fascism, explained Farhi, gave us the feeling that socialism was a just idea. To quote him: Adherence to Marxism was an attempt to fill the void and to create an ideal, religion or vision that was stronger than the natural environment. We were a group (jama‘ah) of young Lycée students, boys and girls, who enjoyed our lectures and studies—we were very similar: we spoke French and shared common ideals and perspectives. Many of us were Jewish, but there were also Greeks, Armenians, Italians and Egyptians, the most prominent of whom was Muhammad Sid Ahmad (his nickname was Michu). . . . Sid Ahmad established close relations with the group, because we all spoke French. He had a Jewish girlfriend by the name of Mimi Silvera. The secret of the group’s charm was its intellectual uniqueness, [stemming from the fact that] the cultural values absorbed in Lycée featured prominently in our discussions. The group had a club, where we met, and once a week there was a lecture on everyday matters; some lecturers were French writers. . . . Marxism gave us the identity that we were lacking. Belonging to Marxism meant to belong to the international proletariat, the peasants and the French intelligentsia . . . we felt as an integral part of the big world, not as members of a small community. Marxism gave us the feeling that we contribute and that we are part of a great movement.38

Sid Ahmad added his own version of the prevailing atmosphere of openness in Iskra and the interrelations between boys and girls. He remarked that “this behavior triggered a negative reaction, because it was not in accordance with the values of the Egyptian people.” One may argue that

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his recollection, which was written more than half a century later, reflects a chauvinist and backward approach, which definitely goes against the progressive views that he shared with his Jewish friends while they were young cadre in Iskra: In Iskra, there were really easy Jewish girls (banat yahudiyyat mutasahilat), though I cannot say that this was intentional. . . . There was a degree of openness. Relations were easy, even sexually. Iskra encouraged boys and girls to associate. . . . I do not say permissiveness (ibahiyya), but without narrow mindedness (tazammut). Many would marry, or some such thing. The relations were European, and the way of thinking was European as well.39

Curiel’s bookstore was the place where Farhi introduced himself to a large amount of Marxist literature. The publications of the French Communist Party, which were available there, impressed him and influenced him greatly. In the post–World War II period, there was an atmosphere of admiration for the USSR for its role in crushing Nazism and fascism, and many of the books and newspapers in Curiel’s shop were full of praise for that rising superpower. Like many other youngsters who visited the shop, Farhi was captivated by this trend. He spent a great deal of time in the bookshop. According to him, the modes of payment for the literature were flexible, “sometimes you paid, sometimes you paid as much as you could, and sometimes you received it for free or stole it. . . . Curiel encouraged stealing from his bookshop.” Farhi’s first contacts with Iskra were through Sidney Solomon, a senior member of Jewish origin. Farhi became acquainted with Solomon through his sister’s boyfriend, who was Solomon’s friend. Solomon, who was older than Farhi, became his friend, and the two studied together history, philosophy, and psychology employing Marxist methodologies. Solomon saw to it that other members recruited Farhi to Iskra—at that point Farhi did not know about Solomon’s role in the organization. Solomon was in fact in charge of a very important section, that of the intellectuals (university lecturers and professors, teachers, etc.). Farhi’s peers in al-jama‘ah also joined Iskra. Farhi recalled Schwartz’s appearances in some of their theoretical debates: “he was bright with a sharp tongue and mind.”40 Many young Jews were going through a crisis of identity. “Who are we?” and “What could be done to reinvent our identity?” were common questions among young Jews. Farhi arrived at the conclusion that Judaism had nothing new to offer; for him, it was passé. He wanted to feel Egyptian and convinced himself that his future was tied to Egypt.

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I was an idealist, who believed that one day I would become a schoolteacher for French and English, teaching many young Egyptians and fellahin European values and culture. My childhood recollections always reminded me of the Egyptian people’s suffering and oppression. I wanted to see the formation of a communist party, like in Russia, that would totally change the social structure of Egyptian society—a new sociopolitical order, of which I—as an individual—would be an integral part.

That was his goal, and he was determined to realize it: “Jews, generally speaking, have a great potential to persuade and attract others to fulfill a goal, in which they believe.” His parents were understanding and accepted his conversion to Marxism, after he convinced them of its vitality and human values. In his contacts with Egyptians, he presented himself as an ultrapatriotic Egyptian in order to win their confidence. Farhi’s analysis supports one of Selma Botman’s arguments regarding the reasons for Jews adhering to Marxism. To use her words, “Espousing radical ideas was a way for Jews to build into the majority culture. It was a path toward self-identification with the larger Egyptian society and a means of absolving themselves of the bourgeois traditions from which, for the most part, they emerged.”41 One of Farhi’s first missions in Iskra was to recruit new members. His persuasiveness was an asset for the organization that promoted him following his success. A great deal of his recruiting activities took place in clubs, particularly in the Jewish club Macabi. Both Zionist and communist movements were propagating there, hoping to attract and recruit young Jews to their organizations. The power struggle with the Zionists was not easy, recalled Farhi. He also remembered that one of his early missions was to raise money for the purchase of a copying machine and to hide the machine in a safe place. Joe Adler

Joe Adler’s route to Iskra was completely different from Farhi’s. He was born in Cairo in 1926, to parents of Ashkenazi origin who had lived for several generations in Zephath. Both his parents had similar backgrounds: they immigrated to Egypt at the time of a famine in Palestine, at the age of eight and ten. His grandfather (on his father’s side), was an Ottoman tax collector in the Galilee area, also owned a flour mill in Tiberius, and was well off. Around 1908–1909, he went bankrupt and a year later decided to try his luck in the big city, Cairo. The families of both his parents lived in Cairo in poverty, as members of an Ashkenazi minority separated from the poor Jews, who lived in Harat al-Yahud. Joe Adler’s father was ambitious.

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He started his career as a dental technician and later became a dentist; as a result, his socioeconomic status improved remarkably. Joe Adler, who was six years old when his father opened his dental clinic, and witnessed the transition from poverty to wealth, recalled, “As an Ashkenazi Jew living in Egypt, I always had the feeling of deprivation.” However, he was not led astray by his feelings, as future events were to demonstrate. He was educated at private schools: first at a Jewish and Zionist school—the Herzl College for children of wealthy families, later at the lycée, where he took his matriculation exam. Unlike Farhi, who stressed the centrality of lycée in the shaping of his worldview, Adler ascribed the school a more limited role in the formation of his worldview. His later decision to embark on the voyage of Marxism, he emphasized, had nothing to do with that school. One thing that he did remember was Leon Castro’s lecture at the lycée in 1942 on the concentration camps in Europe and the genocide of Jews. This lecture shocked him so much that he ran away from home for nearly two weeks, during which he approached a British barrack asking to volunteer. Since he was only sixteen years old, he was asked to provide the military with his mother’s permission—a matter that spoiled his plans. In 1943, he started to study dentistry at the Jesuit University in Beirut. At that stage, he claimed to be a Zionist and was sympathetic with the Jewish struggle over Palestine. In summer 1944, while on vacation in Egypt, he met the Mizan sisters, Shishi, Lydia, and Pollet, at the Jewish sports club HaKo’ah. All three were members of Iskra who arrived at the club for the purpose of recruiting youngsters. Adler had a long conversation with Shishi, who eventually succeeded in recruiting him to Iskra, where he was active in Shishi’s small cell. Shishi was in charge of their Marxist education, which included political economy and philosophy. Adler made it clear that although he joined Iskra, he did not accept the organization’s adverse attitude toward Zionism. Before departing for Beirut to continue his studies, Adler received a more thorough Marxist training and passed the entry exams. Iskra used him as its courier to deliver Marxist and clandestine material to the communists in Lebanon. His narrative proves that Iskra, like MTS, maintained working relations with the CPSL. In Beirut, Adler commenced his activities on behalf of the local communist party. He employed the recruitment methods he learned in Egypt visiting Jewish cultural and sports clubs as well as the Jewish quarter in order to recruit Jewish youths to the CPSL. He delivered literary lectures in a Marxist communist vein—the idea, he stressed, was to create an intellectual environment and gradually to instill Marxist ideas in them. By the end of World War II, his task became easier, since many young Jews

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showed growing interest in Marxism. Indeed, he managed to recruit a considerable number of them to the CPSL. Throughout the period 1944–1947, he was in contact with Iskra. In fact, he was involved with Iskra’s affairs during his extended visits to Egypt, usually on Christmas and his summer holiday. When Iskra’s Jewish section was involved with Marcel Israel in al-lajna al-yahudiyya li-mukafahat al-Sahyuniyya, Adler expressed his opposition, but his voice was hardly heard. Although Adler was brought up in a secular family, his parents never hid their Jewish identity. After his bar mitzvah, he attended synagogue on Sabbath regularly for several months, until he decided at the age of fourteen that he was an atheist, to his father’s resentment. He explained his internal perception of a conflict between Zionism and communism: I was looking for a protective framework for the Jewish people from a national historic point of view, not from a religious perspective. I embraced the Zionist solution only at a much later stage of my intellectual development. Generally speaking, my attitude towards Judaism was totally different from that of my communist colleagues. . . . I joined communism because of my sensitivity to the Jewish problem. I was neither a member of the proletariat nor poor or exploited—I lived at a high standard of living. I believed that by embracing communism I solve the Jewish problems, not just for the Jews but for all the peoples.42

Albert Arie

Albert Arie’s formative period was not dissimilar to that of many of Iskra’s members. Arie was born in Cairo in 1930, to a mixed SephardicAshkenazi family. His father, who was born in Anatolia in 1889, immigrated to Egypt in the early twentieth century. His mother was born in Cairo in 1889, to parents from Odessa. One of her cousins was the Egyptian Communist Party (ECP) activist Robert Goldberg, who was imprisoned in 1924 and subsequently expelled from both his party and his country. Arie saw no connection between Goldberg’s communist record and his own decision to become a communist. A cosmopolitan atmosphere prevailed in Arie’s home—his mother’s education at French schools had instilled French culture and language in her, and that manifested itself in the way she ran her household. His father, though less educated, was well integrated into Egyptian society—he spoke Arabic and was outwardly assimilated. He opened a sports equipment shop in Cairo during World War I and, like many small entrepreneurs, had to look for another job in the wake of the economic depression of 1930. His father found employment in a larger business firm and in the course of time the

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family’s economic situation improved significantly. Like many of Iskra’s members, he had a privileged upbringing. Like Farhi, Arie received his primary and secondary education at the French lycée—eleven years. At the age of seven he started to read books, and already then he—like the rest of his family—sensed the danger of fascism. His schoolteachers’ progressive views, he declared, helped shape his worldview. He defined his socioeconomic status at the time as upper middle class. Like many of his Egyptian and Jewish classmates, he spoke French; he admitted that he did not speak Arabic at that stage. The developments during World War II that he witnessed—the French collapse in 1940, the German blitz on British cities, General Rommel’s military achievements in the western desert of North Africa, and, the turning point, the Soviet victory at Stalingrad—were the chain of events that attracted him to communism. His admiration for the Soviet Union and his appreciation of communism increased considerably. At the age of twelve, he was exposed to communism through his sister, who was a member of a progressive club that was founded on the ruins of the Democratic Union— possibly, the Social Cultural Centre (al-markaz al-thaqafi al-ijtima‘i).43 The reading of Maxim Gorky’s book Mother—The Great Revolutionary Novel (that was at his sister’s disposal) made an impression on him. Arie mentioned Lucian Kramer, a Jewish Iskra activist, as the one who recruited him and many other lycée students, including Muhammad Sid Ahmad. Before he joined Iskra in 1946, he was a member of a Marxist study group run by Hans Finkesfeld, a Jew who was in close contact with Curiel and Schwartz. He attributed his primary education to Finkesfeld, whom he met through his sister. Arie ruled out the possibility that he joined communism in order to save his skin from fascism. Why communism and not Zionism, he asked. “Palestine could be a better refuge for me to protect myself of fascism. Why would I join communism and take the risk that one day I may be arrested. By choosing communism, I made it clear that Egypt was my homeland, and only from here I could fight fascism. My roots were in Egypt, and I had never considered the possibility of uprooting myself from there.” Zionism and communism represented the margins of the Egyptian Jewish community, whereas the vast majority regarded themselves as Egyptians, remarked Arie approvingly.44 Arie emphasized that it was a matter of chance that he joined Iskra and not Curiel’s group. He revealed that he did not like Schwartz, who was patronizing, whereas Curiel was more popular. Arie acknowledged that he spent a great deal of time in Curiel’s bookshop reading Marxist literature. The place was very accessible. He recalls that his relative Henriett Arie, who

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worked at the shop, was one of the few Jewish members of the Egyptian Movement for National Liberation (EMNL).45 Curiel, noted Arie, did not want to have many Jews around him; he thought that their role was to bequeath their Marxist knowledge to Egyptians, and he called to Egyptianize the communist movement. Arie criticized Isma‘il Sabri ‘Abdullah and Fu’ad Mursi, the founders of the ECP, in 1950, for denying the fact that it was a Jew, Raymond Aghion (who left Egypt in 1945 and became a member of the FCP), who was behind their Marxist education, while they pursued their academic studies in France. These two, criticized Arie, refused to allow Jews to lead or even be members of their organization.46 Naomi Canel

The case of Naomi Canel was not dissimilar to Farhi’s, although her socioeconomic background was slightly different; she came from a petit bourgeois family. Canel was born in Cairo in 1927 and was also a lycée graduate—her high-school studies focused on philosophy. Like many other young, educated Jews who witnessed and feared the rise of fascism and Nazism and the ensuing appearance of anti-Semitic groups in Egypt, Canel believed that communism could provide the most suitable solution for the socially polarized Egyptian society, in general, and for the Jewish minority, in particular. Her social conscience, she stated, directed her to get involved in a movement that acted under the banner of radical social change for her compatriots, the fellahin, who suffered under miserable living conditions. Her activity in Iskra started in 1945 after she joined a threemember cell, where she acquired her initial Marxist education. Canel continued her communist activity within the DMNL in the late 1940s and 1950s, when she enriched her Marxist knowledge and took some daring actions that—under the martial law (declared in May 1948)—led twice to her arrest, in 1949 and from 1954 to1959.47 Berthe Matalon

Berthe Matalon, Schwartz’s wife, whom he met while they were both active in the Democratic Union, was also active in Iskra and later in the DMNL. The fact that she came from one of the most distinguished Jewish families in Egypt helped Iskra to make its first steps in politics. Part of her duties in Iskra was to provide the new recruits with Marxist training. Her family lineage was not of great help later on. In 1948, she was arrested and gave birth in prison. Schwartz plotted her release. A woman, a member of Hadetu (DMNL), was to visit his wife in prison. Her cell was on the first floor. Hillel

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Schwartz was waiting with a car at the other side of the road opposite the cell. The Hadetu member went into the cell, shut the door, and opened the window. Berthe, her baby, and their assistant slipped out of the window, straight down into Schwartz’s car. The mission was successful—they all disappeared, leaving the prison guards open mouthed when they discovered what had happened. They escaped to Alexandria, where they remained in hiding until the police caught them in 1951. Schwartz was put in a concentration camp and deported from Egypt in 1953. He was given the choice of either giving up his Egyptian citizenship by signing a document or staying in prison indefinitely. Schwartz chose the former. He was then expelled to Italy, accompanied by his wife and Robert Setton. From there, he managed to enter France. His attempts to establish contacts with the FCP were not successful—they ignored him. His bitter experience with both Soviet and French communism led him to abandon international communism. In retrospect, Schwartz was not surprised by the demise of communism and the disintegration of the USSR: “my bitter experience with international communism—the way an orthodox communist was treated personally, and the cynical approach to and lack of interest in the young Egyptian communist movement in general—indicated that communism as an international political movement was rotten and defunct.”48

The Egyptian Movement for National Liberation, 1943–1947

Henri Curiel founded the Egyptian Movement for National Liberation (alHaraka al-Misriyya lil-taharrur al-Watani) in 1943. Curiel has been given prominence among the forefathers of Egyptian communism by his former colleagues and rivals and in the vast literature written on the Egyptian communist movements to the present day. In retrospect, one may argue that his unique role in the development of post–World War II Egyptian communism has been exaggerated. In fact, the focus on Curiel obscures the indispensable role played by other Jewish and Egyptian leading figures, including Marcel Israel, Hillel Schwartz, Sa‘d Sadiq, Yusuf Darwish, Raymond Duwayk, and others. The following section draws a biographical portrait of some of the EMNL’s Jewish activists—on both leadership and rank-and-file levels. Naturally, Curiel as the founder and indisputable leader should feature more prominently. His life story has been described and analyzed in detail in Gilles Perrault’s well-written book, A Man Apart: The Life of Henri Curiel, and by other works. To avoid repetition, this study briefly reiterates central stages in Curiel’s early biography and then moves to the biographi-

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cal sketches of other activists. The parts of Curiel’s political biography relevant to our study are dealt with comprehensively in the later sections of this chapter. In our discussion in the following section, we often skip from one biography to another in order to emphasize points of convergence, similarities, or dissimilarities between the activists. Sometimes our analysis does not follow the chronological order; occasionally it is imperative to broaden the historical debate by reviewing later historical occurrences. References to Curiel’s personality and distinctive function in organized communism in Egypt are made by his comrades throughout the discussion. It is noteworthy that although a Jew played a dominant role in the EMNL, it was—unlike Iskra—a communist movement with a membership characterized by a prominent Egyptian representation. Biographical Sketches

Henri Curiel was born in 1914 to Daniel and Zéphira. His father was a banker, a wealthy businessman, and a landlord who owned properties in several places. His father was the second generation in Egypt, and his mother was born in Istanbul. Henri received his education at prestigious European educational institutions in Cairo, including a bachelor’s degree in law from the École Française. His primary education at the Jesuit school, where he was “a Jew at a Christian school,” bestowed him with human values and a general worldview that led him to Marxism.49 Perrault stated that Henri’s older brother Raul introduced him to Marxist literature and that Henri sipped it in thirstily. He had firsthand experience of the fellahin’s misery and exploitation—on his father’s agricultural land, which he often visited in his youth. As a young man, he worked there for his father and took advantage of his special position to improve the fellahin’s work and living conditions, to his father’s resentment. His close friend and colleague Joseph Hazan (Susu) noted that Curiel never forgot that it was the Egyptian people’s distress and wretchedness that led him to politics. It kindled in him a flame that was never extinguished, Hazan stated.50 Like Curiel and Marcel Israel, Hazan was educated and from a well-todo socioeconomic background; he turned to communism for similar motives—a strong conviction in rectifying the social disparities in Egypt. Hazan was to follow Curiel on a long road full of pits and stumbling blocks, in both Egypt and France—their second homeland after they were expelled from Egypt at the very outset of the 1950s. In 1951, Curiel, together with Hazan and other Egyptian Jewish communist émigrés, founded the Rome Group (Majmu‘at Ruma) in Paris, which was the DMNL’s branch abroad. Although Majmu‘at Ruma supported the DMNL financially, translated the

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DMNL’s material into French and distributed it in Europe, and represented the Egyptian movement in international forums, the Rome Group was disbanded in 1958, following instructions from its Egyptian headquarters. During that period (1951–1958), Curiel and his fellow émigrés continued to be involved in ideological guidance and exchange of views on current affairs both on the international and national levels.51 Curiel was defined by his confidant Joseph Hazan as “an Egyptian of Jewish origin.” Although Hazan states that Curiel was an internationalist in essence—his internationalism was “generous,” since he neither asked the international communist movement or “organized revolutionism” for help, nor did he expect them to offer help—all that he wanted was to learn from their experience.52 Muhammad Yusuf al-Jindi, who worked with Curiel in the DMNL, stated that although Curiel defined socialism as his long-term goal, his primary goal was to liberate Egypt and the Sudan from British imperialism. His doctrine for national liberation was “social and popular” in its content, al-Jindi wrote.53 Curiel regarded himself as an Egyptian and dedicated himself to the twofold revolutionary cause—national and social—in his homeland of choice; but Egyptians, including many of his fellow communists, saw him as a foreigner. He was not alone—this was the lot of all Jewish Egyptian communists with few exceptions. Most of the latter converted to Islam in order to safeguard their Egyptian citizenship or for other practical reasons.54 Shahata Harun was an exception in more than one sense. He remained Jewish, a communist, and an Egyptian until his last breath in March 2001.55 Harun was a respected lawyer. He courageously fought to keep his religion and his Egyptian citizenship, appealing directly to President Gamal Abdel Nasser on 28 February 1967 to lift the laws discriminating against Egyptian Jews—a call that apparently led to his arrest on 5 June 1967.56 Harun, who was born in Cairo in 1920, had Egyptian and Syrian grandparents. His father, a hardworking man of lower-middle-class origin, spoke Arabic fluently and held Egyptian citizenship. Although his family was not well off, Harun’s education resembled that of Henri Curiel: a prestigious Christian school, where French was the language of instruction; later a bachelor’s degree in law from Cairo University, where he broadened his knowledge of Islam, Islamic law, and the Arabic language. The fact that—unlike Curiel—Harun spoke Arabic fluently paved the way for his integration in Egyptian society; outwardly, he was not a foreigner. Harun and Curiel established amicable relations ever since they shared a prison cell following their arrest by the police at the time of Isma‘il Sidqi’s government in October 1946—the days of social and political discontent that

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manifested itself in a wave of riots by students and workers. For Harun, Curiel was and always remained “my master and teacher.”57 Didar Fawzi Rossano was born in 1921 to a moderate, traditionalist Jewish family—her father was of Algerian origin and her mother’s family was deeply rooted in Alexandria. Socioeconomically, she came from a wellto-do background—her father was a bank manager. In this regard there was no difference between her upbringing and that of many other Iskra members of Jewish origin; they were not in touch with real Egyptian day-to-day life. She, too, studied in the French lycée in Cairo, and French became her main language, although she revealed that she and her brother took Hebrew lessons with the local rabbi. After her father’s death, it was discovered that he had been a member of the French Free Masons. Her father instilled in her his hatred of fascism and Nazism: “we belonged to a generation that experienced the anti-fascist struggle and the awakening of the Egyptian national movement. As Jews we had to make our choice.”58 Jews, like herself, explained Fawzi-Rossano, were very excited about the victory of the Soviets over the Germans. Since they had come from a cosmopolitan milieu, they were not attracted by Zionism. French was their culture and language, and Marxist literature was accessible for those who were interested. Although she was a member of the same movement to which Shahata Harun, whom she knew since her childhood, belonged, it was only in the early 1950s that she discovered that he was a communist.59 Didar married ‘Uthman Fawzi, a young Egyptian officer, in 1942. A year later, she was recruited to the EMNL by David Nahum, a Jew with connections to French leftists. Didar was active within the foreigners’ section; at a later stage, Curiel asked her to act as the EMNL’s contact with the military officers. She would later recruit her husband to communist activities, although he did not formally become a member of the EMNL. She also established close contacts with Ahmad Hamrush, an officer who would become the DMNL’s contact with the Free Officers.60 Also her husband, ‘Uthman, provided the EMNL and later the DMNL with contacts to the military. His colleague Khalid Muhyi al-Din followed suit, and the two would later be among the group of officers who led the July 1952 revolution.61 Marie Rosenthal-Kamil’s biography is particularly interesting, because she represents a prototype of communist activists who were born to religiously mixed families: her father was Jewish, and her mother was Catholic. Following Marie’s marriage to Sa‘d Kamil, a communist activist of Muslim origin, they started a family. They had two daughters, whose religious origins resembled, in a way, the Egyptian flag under the monarchy—the color was green with a white crescent and three stars in the mid-

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dle, supposedly representing the three monotheistic religions: Christianity, Islam, and Judaism. Marie’s father, Elie Rosenthal (not related to Joseph) was born in Egypt to a father who immigrated to Egypt from Odessa in the late nineteenth century. Her mother, who was of Italian origin, was visiting Egypt when she met Elie. Marie was born in Cairo in 1931 to a lower-middle-class family—the father was an electrician, who spoke Arabic, and the mother was a housewife, who spoke Italian. As a young girl, Marie regarded herself as Jewish, although her mother remained a practicing Catholic. Marie was educated in Italian convent schools and, as a teenager, attended the Palestra Italianiya Cairo—an Italian youth club. Among her friends were many antifascist and left-wing Italians as well as Italian-speaking Jews, such as Max Cohen and Leo Batino. It was during a summer camp in Italy that she converted to communism following “instructive and fascinating lectures” by Mario Petuchi, an Italian Marxist. She joined Curiel’s group several months before the formation of the DMNL. She took her initial Marxist classes in the framework of small study groups “under the strict discipline of my superior Gabriela Casuto, who was of Jewish origin.”62 Her first mission was to help the casualties of the cholera epidemic of 1947.63 In the DMNL, she belonged to the Italian group of the foreign section, dominated by Marcel Israel. She was instructed to learn Arabic or, alternatively, to leave Egypt and join the Communist Party in Italy. “I refused to leave Egypt, and in the meantime I acted as a courier delivering and distributing the DMNL’s publications,” she remarked. In 1949 she was arrested for the first time, along with ‘Abd al-Sattar Tawila, after she aroused the police’s suspicion—a woman in a Western-style dress in Saiyidah Zinab district, a popular, lower-middle-class Islamic quarter of Cairo. She was interrogated. The police found no incriminating material. Under the then-existing martial law, the authorities could keep detainees as long as they wished— Marie remained in prison for a year and a half. In prison she had the privilege to share a cell with Janet, Marcel Israel’s wife; with Berthe Matalon, Hillel Schwartz’s wife; and with Mimi-Naomi Canel. At some point, the women conducted a hunger strike demanding the improvement of their conditions. The demands were eventually met with success. After her release, Albert Arie provided her with the initial assistance required to resettle. Through Arie, she became acquainted with Halim Tusun, who worked at the Hungarian embassy. Tusun helped Marie get a job at the embassy, where she met in 1951 her future husband, Sa‘d Kamil, and Yusuf Hilmi—two leaders of the Egyptian Partisans of Peace Movement (Harakat Ansar al-Salam). Kamil and Hilmi maintained close contacts with the Hungarian embassy. Marie Rosenthal’s love affair with

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Sa‘d led to her active involvement in the Partisans of Peace Movement, to which prominent DMNL activists also belonged, notably Kamal ‘Abd alHalim. Along with their activities in the peace movement, Marie and Sa‘d were also active in the DMNL. When Nasser’s short honeymoon with the DMNL came to an end in early 1953, following the events of Kafr al-Dawwar (August 1952) and the Free Officers’ decision of January 1953 to abolish the political parties, the DMNL supported the group of Yusuf Sadiq, who demanded more democratization, to Nasser’s resentment. Moreover, after the formation of the illegal National Democratic Front (NDF, al-Jabha al-wataniyya aldimuqratiyya) in February 1953 that included the DMNL, the Wafd’s left wing, and a part of the Muslim Brothers, the DMNL was marked—Nasser waited for an opportunity to settle his account with his former allies. The NDF issued a manifest calling for the overthrow of the military dictatorship and the restoration of democracy. Both Marie and Sa‘d were active in the NDF, and by late 1953, they were arrested for interrogation. Albert Arie was also arrested when he got caught with a typewriter in his car. Marie and Sa‘d were released after four months, for lack of evidence. They got married in March 1954; Marie converted to Islam and adopted the name Naila. Their honeymoon period was very short—they were arrested along with many other communists in the wave of arrests related to the NDF in 1954. This time, they were imprisoned for five years. After her release, Naila embarked on her long career as a journalist in Hawwa, a women’s periodical founded and edited by Amina al-Sa‘d in 1955. Sa‘d, who had previously been the editor of AlKatib, Harakat Ansar al-Salam’s periodical, continued his journalist activity for the newspaper Akhbar al-Yawm.64 Joyce Blau was a very young teenager when the EMNL was founded. She was born in Cairo in 1932; she was a year younger than Marie and, like her, was educated in Catholic convent schools. Both her parents were born in Egypt—the father was of Romanian origin, and the mother of Polish origin. Socioeconomically, the family could be classified as middle class—not well-to-do. The father worked as a schoolteacher and the mother was a housewife bringing up their three children. Blau’s social milieu included Jewish, Christian, and Egyptian classmates. Blau testified that she had no issues of identity: “I lived in an apolitical home and my parents had no citizenship. I was given a Tunisian passport thanks to my grandfather’s Tunisian past. I was brought up in a warm home and a united family—the atmosphere at home was very pleasant.”65 Blau’s route to communism went through her high school—it was her Jewish math teacher, Jacques Kamer, who invited her to a lecture by a left-

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wing French lecturer—she was only fifteen years old. The lecture on socialism and communism fascinated her: “communism seemed to me at the time to be a humanistic ideology—no wars, fraternity between nations, etc.—I believed the lecturer and realized that communism was the key to solve the problems of human society.” Consequently, she read a wide range of Marxist literature and discussed social issues with her friends including Henri Cohen and Raymond Stambouli’s cousin. By 1947, they were all members of the DMNL associated with Curiel. Her first meeting with Curiel, revealed Blau, was only in 1953, when she visited France. After that meeting, she—like Naomi Canel—became Majmu‘at Ruma’s contact with the DMNL in Egypt, acting as a courier. She was arrested in October 1954, while delivering material to Henri Cohen; the latter, she noted, had failed to take the necessary precautions. In 1955, she was released from prison and—along with her brother—expelled from Egypt. Blau joined Majmu‘at Ruma and collaborated with Curiel until his assassination by unidentified assailants in 1978 in the doorway of his home in Paris. For Blau, Curiel was an outstanding human being, “the most human person, very cultured, very clever—everything in his mind was in order . . . he was brilliant in solving problems and always encouraged us to learn and learn. . . . He was a communist in the proper sense of the word—an idealist, who loved his fellow Egyptians and respected them. He was not an Egyptian nationalist—he did not speak Arabic like an Arab. Curiel wanted to see the liberation of all the oppressed peoples, not only the Egyptians.” Blau believes that Egyptian Jews contributed significantly to the development of modern Egypt: “they spoke many languages and imported new modern ideas to Egypt. They imported foreign literature to Egypt and translated it into Arabic.” For Blau, they were agents of change introducing many Egyptians to progressive Western ideas—ideas of freedom and democracy. In nearly every communist group, Blau noted, even the smallest one, there were Jews who wanted to develop their society in an egalitarian way within the framework of the communist movement— for them, all people were equal.66 Curiel’s EMNL Steps on the Egyptian Scene

Curiel was an autodidact as far as his Marxist education was concerned. He searched in this literature for solutions to Egypt’s manifold problems. He soon realized that it was first of all necessary to disseminate Marxism to as many Egyptians as possible, since only a negligible number of them comprehended the meaning and importance of communism. He aimed at obtaining Marxist literature, preferably translated into Arabic67—a task

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that was not easy at the time. Marxist literature, he noted, had been prohibited by law since 1924—with the exception of Trotsky’s works. Many Egyptians, he stressed, became communists via Trotskyism. To facilitate the spread of Marxism, Curiel opened, with his father’s money, his famous bookshop in central Cairo, called Maydan—a word with several meanings, one of which was “battlefield.” Maydan, explained Curiel, was a tool to promote Marxism rather than a profitable business. In fact, the bookstore served also as a library for those who could not afford to buy the reading material. Moreover, students were allowed to take books free of charge. Curiel had to subsidize his business. The bookshop received material from abroad, often with the help of left-wing soldiers who served in the Allied forces during World War II and frequently visited Maydan.68 In the first half of 1942, when the situation in the battlefield was not in Britain’s favor, and Rommel was heading toward Egypt—a development that was welcomed by many political circles in Egypt that wanted to see Britain defeated—Curiel, unlike many communists, who left for Palestine, courageously stayed “to organize the anti-German resistance.”69 With the assistance of a handful of followers, including George Pointée, Curiel distributed leaflets addressed to the Egyptian people saying: “don’t think that the Germans are better than the English.” In June 1942, the Egyptian political police arrested Curiel. In his opinion, he was arrested because the Egyptian political police considered him a collaborator with the British and believed that the arrest of “a communist Jew could be used to prove their true feelings, when the Germans would take control of Egypt.”70 He was jailed in al-Zaitun prison, where most of the prisoners favored the Axis and—according to him—were anti-Semitic. The period in prison was a formative experience for Curiel. He got protection from an unexpected source—Husni al-‘Urabi, the former leader of the ECP, who converted to fascism. Al-‘Urabi took pains to persuade Curiel to convert to Islam. The latter refused, reasoning that such a move “would reflect weakness and a selfish attempt to save my skin. I thought that there was a need to fight for Egypt and religious conversion was not a real war.”71 In the prison, he was among the organizers of a successful strike intended to improve their conditions. During the Ramadan fast, Curiel participated in a hunger strike along with members of the Muslim Brothers—he gained a place of honor in al-Zaitun. He remained in prison for several months. Soon after his release, Curiel decided to form a new organization. As stated earlier, 1943 was a turning point in the war. Encouraged by the Soviet victory at Stalingrad, Curiel established contacts with a small group of educated Egyptians, and through them he managed to recruit workers, some of whom were employed at the technical section of the air force—

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most prominently, Sulaiman al-Rifa‘i. With the assistance of ‘Abdu Dhahab Hasanayn, a poor Nubian-Sudanese, who had already been Curiel’s confidant in the Democratic Union, the movement recruited Sudanese and Nubians. Perhaps one of Curiel’s main achievements at that stage was the recruitment of former ECP members, including ‘Abd alFattah al-Qadi, Shaykh Safwan Abu al-Fattah, Sha‘ban Hafiz, ‘Abd alRahman Fadl, Husain Hasuna, and Muhammad Duwidar.72 Curiel disputed Rif‘at al-Sa‘id’s argument regarding the role played by foreigners in the communist movement at that stage.73 According to alSa‘id, Curiel noted, it was easier for foreigners to get involved in communism because the Egyptian political police focused their concern mainly on the old-guard Egyptian communists—a matter that made the latter’s task impossible. By contrast, Curiel held that most of the old-guard communists remained active within his movement, with the exception of Yanakakis (who joined them later) and ‘Isam al-Din Hifni Nasf. The latter conditioned his joining on becoming secretary-general—a demand that was politely turned down. ‘Abd al-Fattah, noted Curiel, was active in translating and publishing theoretical books and became a member of the central committee; Hasuna, a dentist, was active in organizing the underground printing press. All the former activists, stated Curiel, were active despite the fact that they were well known to the political police.74 It was to Curiel’s credit that they were willing to accept his leadership and join his movement without preconditions. There was thus an element of continuity as far as the activity of organized communism was concerned. Tamsir (Egyptianization) was the essence of Curiel’s movement. Joe Matalon, of Jewish origin, and Curiel were the only “foreigners” in the central committee, which comprised indigenous Egyptians and Sudanese, including Tahsin al-Misri (an engineer), Musa ‘Abd al-Hafiz Kazim (clerk), Sulaiman al-Rifa‘i (worker), Sid Hafiz (worker), Kamal Sha‘ban (student), Mukhtar al-‘Attar (student), Sabha’ Zaghlul (student), ‘Abdu Dhahab Hasanayn (worker), ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Thaqafi (student, alAzhar University), Kamal (student, al-Azhar University), ‘Abd al-Fattah al-Qadi (physician), and Muhammad Shatta (worker).75 Nevertheless, the policy of tamsir would later be used by key figures in the EMNL, such as ‘Abd al-Fattah al-Qadi, ‘Abd al-Fattah al-Sharqawi, and Fauzi Girgis, as a sacred principle that required the removal of Curiel and Matalon from the leadership. In an internal report, Girgis argued that “we are struggling against imperialism and our movement’s enemies could argue that our ideas are imported from abroad . . . I don’t cast doubt on the loyalty of these people [the foreigners], but they should reaffirm their loyalty by stepping down from the leadership centers.”76 This argument would also

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be used by Curiel’s rivals in his next organizational creation—DMNL—an argument used as a pretext for schisms and internal power struggles. Curiel’s doctrine of tamsir was to become a double-edged sword throughout his activities within the Egyptian communist movement, which would lead to his final removal in 1958. Curiel called his movement the Egyptian Movement for National Liberation—a name that reflected the prevailing circumstances. They did not choose the word “communist” for security reasons, noted Curiel. In the eyes of the public, he reasoned, communism was—generally speaking—a negative thing. The masses cherished expectations, however, that the communists would serve as the spearhead in their struggle for national liberation. Curiel went on: “We chose the term ‘movement’ and not ‘party,’ because we were at the beginning of our organizational development. The term ‘Egypt’ was chosen because the process of Egyptianization was to run parallel to the movement’s development. National liberation was one of our main goals even at the peak of our campaign against Nazism—it had a very clear popular message.”77 At that stage, the EMNL identified itself as a movement for national liberation that had several aims: to form a communist party; to promote and realize the idea of agrarian reform; to mobilize the Sudanese and Egyptian peoples for a joint struggle for liberation. Curiel was of the opinion that the process of introducing communism to Egypt would take some time, and that, in the meantime, the spread of Marxism by means of education was of utmost importance—for that purpose, he remarked, al-Maydan bookstore was to play a major role.78 To avoid police surveillance, the EMNL shifted its activities from Cairo to the countryside, where it was easier to establish contacts with the masses. To quote Curiel, “we soon managed to recruit new activists there, some of whom were to become very important [communist] figures. We recruited about twenty people, with whom we initially founded the movement.”79 The first step toward the movement’s consolidation was to hold a workshop for leadership training. The material issues related to the project were solved “by my bourgeois means,” narrated Curiel. The course took place on one of his father’s big estates—a farm, which Henri Curiel managed. The meeting lasted for fifteen days and included fifteen participants, including poor students (one from al-Azhar), workers, and petit bourgeois. A group of six to seven instructors gave the course, which dealt with a variety of themes, including Egypt’s resources and poverty; analysis of Egypt’s social class structure; political economy and Marxist philosophy, including Stalin’s texts on dialectical and historical materialism; the history of the Soviet Communist Party; and the achievements of Soviet communism. Since the course, which took place in October 1943, was—in

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Curiel’s eyes—a great success, he regarded that date as the birthday of the EMNL: “here we conferred Marxism to the real representatives of the Egyptian people—the masses, who adopted communism.”80 Structurally, the EMNL resembled a three-layer pyramid—its large basis consisted of small cells. The sections constituted the second layer and comprised a large number of cells. Different sections were established for military men, students—foreigners and Egyptians (later on, al-Azhar students constituted a separate section)—workers divided in accordance with their place of residence, women, intellectuals, Nubians, Sudanese, and professionals. At the top layer was the central committee—a small group of fourteen senior members, and a central secretariat of four leaders. Curiel explained that the sectional structure was designed to maintain the balance between the various sections within the movement. Some sections, such as the students, grew considerably at some point, and it was feared that the development might jeopardize the class, political, and national composition of the organization. The activities were undertaken in defined fields by cadres specializing in those particular fields, which yielded good results. Curiel thought that Egypt was in need of sectional popular organizations such as special unions for students, for workers, and for women. Fauzi Girgis was very critical of the sectional structure, calling it the biggest disaster. The critics argued that a communist movement was a oneclass (the proletariat) movement, and not one of sections.81 Fauzi Girgis, who also opposed the role played by foreigners in the EMNL, left the movement, together with ‘Abd al-Fattah al-Qadi, in 1946 to form the Marxist Group (al-‘Usba al-Marksiyya). Already in October 1945, ‘Abd al-Fattah al-Sarqawi had left the EMNL to form the Union of the Peoples of the Nile Valley (Munazzamat Ittihad Shu‘ub Wadi al-Nil). His bone of contention with Curiel related to religious matters (he wanted the Islamization of Marxism) and to his desire to see the removal of foreigners from the EMNL. Both groups were insignificant for the development of organized communism.82 The EMNL was in contact with the Greek Communist Party (GCP) during the initial stages of the Greek civil war. Following the German occupation of Greece in 1941, the British forces and Greek government took refuge in Egypt. A Greek government-in-exile was established in Cairo, and the few Greek troops that had escaped to Egypt were put under the command of the British army. In 1943, a group of Greek soldiers in Egypt, who took the side of the Greek communists in their war against the monarchists (who were supported by the Allies), started a rebellion against the British. The British forces in Egypt acted emphatically to suppress the rebellion. The GCP asked Curiel to help the rebels. Curiel willingly agreed

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and his group assisted in distributing bulletins, hiding many wanted rebels, and supplying material aid to the encircled forces. Once again, Curiel utilized the bourgeois means of his father to support his communist activities—food and petrol were taken from his father’s agricultural farm. The rebellion was eventually suppressed by the British. The young Egyptian communist movements were divided in their attitudes toward the Greek rebellion. Iskra condemned the rebellion and refused to assist the rebels because it thought that the rebellion could harm the Allies in the war against the fascist and Nazi armies. By contrast, the EMNL argued that communists should always support their fellow communists in their struggle against imperialism and that the British authorities in Egypt were to be blamed for harming the Allies’ war efforts.83 As noted earlier, the EMNL was the first communist organization to strike roots in the Egyptian army. It started with the recruitment of aircraft mechanics, who formed a secret unit of eighty members associated with the EMNL. The secret unit maintained contacts with influential pilots, such as ‘Abd al-Latif al-Baghdadi—a member of the Free Officers. It gradually recruited also military men from outside the air force. Moreover, it maintained contacts with Muhammad Najib—through Salah ‘Urabi, one of the EMNL’s Nubian members—and with Salah Salim—through Ibrahim al-‘Attar (a pilot). Ahmad Hamrush, who was a member of the minor communist group al-Qal‘ah (the group merged with Iskra before the formation of the DMNL), and Khalid Muhyi al-Din, who was recruited to Iskra by ‘Ali al-Shalaqani, were to play a major role within the army and the Free Officers movement.84

Activities Within the Working Class and Cooperation Among Communist Groups

February 1946 was marked by anti-British demonstrations and strikes led by students from the university and institutes of higher education and workers, who were inspired by various communist groups and other antiestablishment political groups. These demonstrations culminated violently in bloody clashes with the Egyptian police and British military personnel and claimed the lives of more than forty people. Several hundred were injured, many of whom were students and workers.85 The wave of social discontent continued in the following months until it was brutally crushed by the Egyptian government in July. In its first years, the EMNL focused its activities on the lower classes in an effort to expand its membership and to realize its double goal: tamsir

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and ta‘amil (proletarianization). In 1944, the EMNL was very active in industrial areas, mainly Shubra al-Khaima—the largest industrial zone on the outskirts of Cairo (with some 17,000 workers, mostly textile workers). The EMNL also established itself in the industrial quarters in Alexandria and—through Sulaiman al-Rifa‘i—developed its infrastructure in the air force and gradually in other sections of the army. Mahalla al-Kubra, a large textile industrial zone, with its 27,000 workers was another area where the EMNL concentrated its activities. The EMNL was also active among civil servants, workers employed by government companies, workers of the Suez Canal Company, and railway workers. In addition, the EMNL was active among the fellahin, who were socioeconomically divided into poor, average, and rich fellahin.86 Curiel paid tribute to the role played by Muhammad Shatta—a militant and charismatic worker in Shubra al-Khaima, who joined the EMNL and contributed significantly to the establishment of the EMNL’s position there. In the period 1945–1946, Shubra al-Khaima became the center of workers’ discontent, which culminated in a series of strikes in which Shatta played a leading role. Workers from Shubra al-Khaima, who joined Curiel’s communist movement, were to play a great role in the anti-British and antigovernment events of 1946.87 David Nahum was also among the workers who were recruited to the EMNL. He served as the secretary of the Union of Commercial Establishment Employees. Together with Muhammad ‘Abd alHalim (president of the Misr Press Workers’ Union) and Murad al-Qaliyubi (a member of Iskra who was also a representative of the Cinema House Workers’ Union), Nahum was sent by the EMNL to attend the first congress of the World Federation of Trade Unions (WFTU), which took place in Paris, 3–8 October 1945.88 Curiel stated in his autobiography that there were only two major rival communist organizations in Egypt—Iskra and the EMNL. According to him, the EMNL represented the revolutionary trend, whereas Iskra and the other tiny groups represented the opportunist trend. His remark does not correspond with the situation at the time. He oddly overlooked the third influential group, Tali‘at al-‘Ummal (TU), that—similar to the EMNL—was establishing its position in Shubra al-Khaima and other industrial areas and was considerably developing its influence among the proletariat. In the contest over the proletariat’s support, the EMNL’s chief rival was not Iskra, but TU. Moreover, neither Iskra nor TU could be characterized as opportunist. True, there were a few opportunist elements within Iskra, as future events were to demonstrate, but there were also such elements in the EMNL, though to a much lesser extent. Both Iskra and TU were revolutionary organizations that adhered to Marxism, but each aimed at arriving

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at the social revolution via a different route. TU, as we shall soon see, acted differently than the EMNL and Iskra, but it was thorough and systematic in the pursuit of its goals. It is difficult to ignore the fact that the communist movement of the 1940s, similar to that of the 1920s and 1930s, was predominantly characterized by personal rivalries and mutual aversions between the various groups and sometimes from within the organizations themselves. Even TU’s attempt to send its representative to the WFTU’s congress in Paris was accompanied by intrigues and the EMNL’s attempts to prevent it, as Yusuf Darwish recalled in his autobiography. The EMNL, he remonstrated, took pains “to persuade the French embassy to put pressure on the French airline company not to sell a ticket to [TU’s delegate, Yusuf] alMudarrik.” However, Darwish narrated, the leaders of TU managed to thwart the EMNL’s plan.89 Darwish’s version is supported by Taha Sa‘d ‘Uthman,90 whereas Rif‘at al-Sa‘id argued that the EMNL and TU agreed to send a joint Egyptian delegation to Paris, which included Nahum and alMudarrik. The split within the delegation, al-Sa‘id stressed, took place as soon as it arrived in Paris.91 In their authoritative study on the Egyptian labor movement, Joel Beinin and Zachary Lockman presented a detailed account of the events that led to the fact that the Egyptian labor movement was represented by three rival delegations in Paris. According to their account, the third delegation comprised Muhammad Ibrahim Zayn al-Din and Ahmad al-Misri, “who claimed to represent the Egyptian trade union movement”—the former was a paid British agent and the latter represented the Labor Party. AlMudarrik and Nahum yielded to pressure exerted by Arab delegates and the credential committee of the WFTU and agreed to form a united delegation. Muhammad Ibrahim Zayn al-Din and Ahmad al-Misri refused to join Nahum and al-Muddarik—leaving once again the Egyptian labor movement splintered and manipulated by the established political parties.92 An internal document of TU confirms that Nahum and al-Mudarrik worked together in Paris—al-Mudarrik was elected as the chief representative of Egypt’s trade unions, and Nahum acted as his deputy.93 Although the EMNL and TU were active in the same proletarian environment and even cooperated on several occasions,94 they failed to unite their organizations and the other communist groups, leaving the labor movement split. A united communist movement supported by the Egyptian proletariat could have played a major role on the Egyptian political scene and could have used the revolutionary conditions created in post–World War II Egypt to advance the communist cause. The termination of the existing political order by revolution was not feasible, however, under the pre-

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vailing circumstances. Even the formation of the Congress of Trade Unions of Egypt (CTUE, Mu’tamar Niqabat ‘Ummal al-Qutr al-Misri) on 30 May 1946—an attempt by worker-leaders related to the EMNL and TU to strengthen the trade union movement by uniting their trade union federations—was a short-lived experiment. After extended and exhausting negotiations, the parties accepted the following formula as a theoretical basis for the new framework: the complete British evacuation—political, military, and economic—from the Nile Valley; a campaign against unemployment by preventing the closure of plants by their owners and their takeover by the government, and by reemploying sacked workers; the release of workers imprisoned for their activities within their trade unions; a halt to the dismissals and deportation of workers of Shubra al-Khaima; a forty-hour workweek; and other issues related to labor affairs.95 For the leaders of the CTUE, the struggle for national liberation and the struggle to change the unbearable work conditions by the labor movement were inseparable. In fact, this formula was acceptable for all communist organizations. To advance its program, the CTUE called for a general strike, which was due to take place on 10 June 1946. The proposed strike was only marginally observed, stated Beinin and Lockman. According to them, “the internal disunity of the CTUE and its organizational weakness, which were due to its recent formation combined with the government’s efforts to blunt the proposed general strike, left the CTUE unable to implement its threat.”96 Marcel Israel argued that if the communists were united in one party and had a public and strategic plan, they could have taken the leading role in the Egyptian national movement. The CTUE, he stressed, committed a serious mistake by not establishing ties with the fellahin.97 By July 1946, following months of social discontent expressed in strikes, riots, and demonstrations by workers, students, and the general public, the Sidqi government held mainly the communist organizations responsible for the events. Many of the worker-leaders had already been arrested prior to the proposed general strike, and during the first half of July 1946, more than 200 persons were arrested on charges of communist activities, including many workers, members of the Wafdist Vanguard, and communist activists. Curiel was among the arrested. Prime Minister Sidqi, who held also the office of minister of the interior, called the events of 1946 “the great communist conspiracy.” In a report prepared by “the Public Security Department” for the “communist trials” of late 1946, Curiel was identified as “the effective leader of the communist movement, and its financier, who provided all the culprits with money.”98 In the indictment, Curiel was accused inter alia of publicly agitating for communism, “which aims at changing the

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principles of the constitution and the fundamental institutions of society by force.” The opening of the bookshop was also held against him. In that bookshop, it was stated, he sold books and publications to the public “which were mentioned in the ‘procès-verbal’—they were all urging for a new classless society, in which capital and property would be taken from the owners’ hands, and the ‘dictatorship of the working class’ would take over by force and violence, according to the communist teachings.”99 The defense denied the accusations, emphasizing that the defendants “were influenced by the Allies’ propaganda in favor of the political regime in Russia during the war.” The defendants were therefore tempted to study more on that country’s political institutions and its social and economic system.100 The report on communism prepared by the Department of Public Security reveals that the Egyptian authorities had hardly any information on the rise of organized communism in Egypt. Indeed, the authorities failed to provide solid evidence against the defendants. After a short period in prison, they were acquitted.101 One of the main activist groups behind the wave of social and political discontent (February–July 1946) was the NCWS, which was an umbrella organization including members from the Wafdist Vanguard, communists from the EMNL and Iskra, students, and workers. FJ (TU) and its worker organizations were less active, since three of the main worker-leaders were imprisoned. There was also criticism of the central role played by students in the NCWS. The NCWS raised the banner of the twofold struggle—the nationalist and the social—and adopted three main goals: [First], to struggle for national independence and to combat the military occupation and economic, political, cultural, and colonial domination; [second] to eliminate the local agents of colonialism, i.e., feudalists and big financiers connected with foreign monopolies; [and third] to unite all the anti-colonialist nationalist forces, to support mass demonstrations and strikes, and to forge contacts with international anti-colonial and democratic movements.102

The NCWS had some success in mobilizing the anti-British national struggle. Many Egyptians participated in the demonstrations and strikes organized by the NCWS. The NCWS was a spontaneous phenomenon, suggested Beinin and Lockman, “the product of an upsurge of popular participation and militancy in the nationalist movement unparalleled since 1919.”103 Thus, for instance, the NCWS’s call for the public to observe a day of mourning on March 4, in remembrance of the victims killed in February, met with a positive response. On that day, factories, newspapers, schools, universities, and stores remained closed, and also other daily pub-

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lic activities came totally to a halt. As Botman puts it, “the Egyptian people were responding to the new nationalist leadership.”104 Nevertheless, like many other radical groups at the time, the life of the NCWS was very short, for three reasons: an unstable organizational structure, the lack of a cohesive ideology, and the split leftist leadership that could not get sufficiently united at that crucial moment in Egypt’s history. Isma‘il Sidqi’s antidemocratic government took very harsh measures against its political rivals and oppositional groups and completely stamped out the activities of the NCWS.105 Although short-lived, the NCWS contributed a new formula to the Egyptian political arena for the collaboration between various leftist and nationalist political groups. It demonstrated that new radical forces had to take the lead in the struggle for national liberation out of the hands of the “old” nationalist parties, mainly the Wafd.106 It also reflected the ideological struggle within the Wafd between the “old guard” represented by the right wing, and the “new left” that represented a totally different sociopolitical agenda and that was, in many ways, closer to the “nationalist-communists.” Curiel, who attributed the formation of the NCWS to the EMNL and stated that his movement was the driving force behind the national fermentation,107 exaggerated his movement’s role, as Ra’uf ‘Abbas critically pointed out.108 One should nonetheless not belittle the EMNL’s contribution to the radicalization of the working class and to the ties established between the workers’ struggle and that of the students, that is, the broader struggle for national liberation. Moreover, despite the fact that the leadership of the leftist groups failed to unite and to coordinate more efficiently their cooperation during the revolutionary situation created by the social and political discontent of 1946, the two larger communist groups, Iskra and the EMNL, did manage, to a certain degree, to work together. These first steps of cooperation would soon lead to a major development within the communist camp—the unification of the main movements.

Notes 1. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 11–14; Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 108–109, 111–113; interviews with Hillel Schwartz, Paris, 19 and 21 May 2005; Ginat, The Soviet Union, pp. 24–25; Ginat, “British Concoction,” pp. 39–60; US Department of State, Foreign Relations of the United States—1947, Volume 5 (Washington 1971), p. 546; Botman, The Rise, pp. 33–35; ‘Abbas, Al-Haraka al‘Umaliyya, pp. 418–419; Agwani, Communism in the Arab East, pp. 31–32; Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 4–8.

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2. See his personal file in Rossiiskii gosudarstvennyi arkhiv sotsial’nopoliticheskoi istorii (RGASPI), Fond-495/OP-210/D-7/L2. On Iskra, see later in this chapter. 3. Interviews with Avraham Farhi, Yahud, Israel, 4 January and 3 February 2005. 4. Labib’s Report, in File 111, Egyptian Communists in Exile (Rome Group) (ECE), International Institute of Social History (IISH), Amsterdam, p. 2. 5. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 12–14. See also Perrault, A Man Apart, pp. 52–53. 6. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, p. 14. 7. On the establishment of the communist movement in Syria and Lebanon, see Ismael and Jacqueline Ismael, The Communist Movement in Syria, ch. 1. 8. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 16–17, 76–77. 9. Ibid., pp. 163, 194, 222–223. 10. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 290–291; Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 19–20. See also, Al-Ghar, Yahud Misr, pp. 112–113; ‘Abbas, Awraq Henri Curiel, p. 28; al-Hilali, Al-Yasar al-Shuyu‘iy, pp. 10–11, 16–17. 11. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, p. 19. 12. Interview with As‘ad Halim, 20 October 1969, in al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar alMisri, p. 276. 13. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 20–21. 14. Ibid., p. 21; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 290–291; ‘Abbas, Awraq Henri Curiel, p. 26. 15. Shirizi, Aawraq Munadil, p. 21; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 290–291. 16. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 23–25. Israel’s hostility to Zionism and the state of Israel led him to change his family name to Ceresi (his original family name) “in order to prevent any confusion or connection between myself and the State of Israel.” Ibid., p. 12. 17. Ibid., pp. 26–27. 18. Interviews with Hillel Schwartz, Paris, 19 and 21 May 2005. See also Hillel Schwartz’s personal file, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-30/L7. 19. Schwartz named his organization Iskra after the name of the political newspaper of Russian socialist emigrants, which was founded in Stuttgart in 1900 and was managed by Lenin until 1903. 20. Interviews with Hillel Schwartz, Paris, 19 and 21 May 2005; interviews with Avraham Farhi, Yahud, Israel, 4 January and 3 February 2005; interview with Arie Albert, Cairo, 18 February 2007. See also, Botman, The Rise, pp. 47–54. 21. Interviews with Avraham Farhi, 4 January and 3 February 2005. 22. Latifa al-Zayyat is quoted from Botman, The Rise, p. 52. 23. See Botman, The Rise, p. 23; Schrand, Jews in Egypt, pp. 171–173. 24. Interviews with Hillel Schwartz, Paris, 19 and 21 May 2005. 25. Interview with Joe Adler, Haifa, 26 January 2006. 26. Interviews with Avraham Farhi, Yahud (Israel), 4 January and 3 February 2005; interview with Joe Adler, Haifa, 26 January 2006; interview with Albert Arie, Cairo, 18 February 2007. Arie said that he did not like Schwartz’s personality and found him patronizing.

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27. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 319–320. 28. Ibid., pp. 318–324; Amitay, Egypt–Israel, pp. 33–34; interviews with Hillel Schwartz, Paris, 19 and 21 May 2005. 29. Sid Ahmad, Mustaqbal, pp. 114–115. The role of Jews in the development of revolutionary ideas is broadly discussed in Chapter 13. 30. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 195, 323. 31. “Les principales étapes de la lutte intérieure qui s‘est d éroulée autour du MDLN de mai 1947 à juin 1948, dite ‘année de l‘unité,’” a report by Henri Curiel, Paris, to members of the DMNL in late 1955, F/402, ECE, IISH, p. 2. 32. Interviews with Hillel Schwartz, Paris, 19 and 21 May 2005; ‘Abbas, Awraq Henri Curiel, pp. 28–29; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 222, 321–323, 391. The ideas and themes published by Al-Jamahir will be discussed in Chapters 11–13. 33. Interviews with Avraham Farhi, Yahud (Israel), 4 January and 3 February 2005; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 322–323. The activities of the NCWS are discussed in detail in the following sections. 34. On his Jewish roots, in detail, see Hatata, Al-Nawafidhu al-maftuha, pp. 11–12. Hatata hid the fact that his grandmother (on his mother’s side) was Jewish, explaining that: “It is not useful to sacrifice the fact that my grandmother is Jewish, especially, as one of the weapons used to attack socialism in Egypt is the argument that socialist thought is closely linked to Zionism. Therefore, the disclosure of this fact could become a disgrace.” Ibid., p. 11. 35. Ibid., p. 218. 36. Sharif Hatata, “‘An al-wahda wa-al-inqisam fi al-haraka al-yasariyya,” Qadaya Fikriyya (July 1992), pp. 303–308. Indeed, the treaty of Montreux of 1937 stipulated that the Capitulations in Egypt would come to an end only in 1947. 37. Interviews with Avraham Farhi, Israel, 4 January and 3 February 2005. 38. Ibid. See also an interview with Muhammad Sid Ahmad, 17 May 1997, in Good Guys, Bad Guys, Episode 17, at http://www.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/coldwar/ interviews/episode-17/ahmed1.html. 39. Sid Ahmad is quoted from Schrand, Jews in Egypt, p. 175. 40. Interviews with Avraham Farhi, Yahud (Israel), 4 January and 3 February 2005. 41. Botman, The Rise, p. 30. 42. Interview with Joe Adler, Haifa, 26 January 2006. 43. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 179. 44. Ibid. 45. The EMNL is discussed in the following sections. 46. Interview with Albert Arie, Cairo, 18 February 2007. 47. An interview with a former Egyptian Jewish activist who requested to remain anonymous, Israel, 25 April 2006. Naomi Canel was expelled from Egypt along with many other Jewish communists after the end of the Palestine war. Like many other Egyptian Jewish communist émigrés, she settled in Paris and joined Henri Curiel’s Majmu‘at Ruma. In 1953, she was sent on a mission to Egypt with a new identity and a forged passport. In 1954, she was caught (together with Sharif Hatata) with incriminating material by the Egyptian authorities and imprisoned for several years. Canel was married to the poet Kamal ‘Abd al-Halim, a member of the DMNL and a leader of the Egyptian peace movement Harakat Ansar al-Salam in the early 1950s. During her long period in prison, she continued to act as the

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contact between Curiel’s group and the DMNL. Interview with Marie RosenthalKamil, Cairo, 10 February 2007; Amitay, Egypt–Israel, p. 91; ‘Abbas, Awraq Henri, pp. 56–57, 241–246. 48. Interviews with Hillel Schwartz, Paris, 19 and 21 May 2005. 49. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, p. 23. 50. Perrault, A Man Apart, pp. 51–54. 51. On Majmu‘at Ruma and its correspondence with the DMNL and other foreign groups, see the unique collection of “Egyptian Communists in Exile (Rome Group) Archives,” in IISH. See also, Beinin, The Dispersion, pp. 148–159. 52. Curiel, Min Ajil Salam, p. 6. 53. See Yusuf al-Jindi’s introduction to Curiel’s Min Ajil Salam, pp. 3–4. 54. For instance, the three Jewish leaders of FJ—Yusuf Darwish, Raymond Duwayk, and Sa‘d Sadiq—converted to Islam. See Beinin, The Dispersion, p. 144; Abu Al-Ghar, Yahud Misr, pp. 113–114. 55. See Harun, Yahudi fi al-Qahira, pp. 37–47; interview with Marcel (Harun’s wife), Nadia, and Magda (Harun’s daughters) Harun, Cairo, 21 February 2007. 56. Harun, Yahudi fi al-Qahira, pp. 9–14. 57. Ibid., p. 68; interview with Marcel, Nadia, and Magda Harun, Cairo, 21 February 2007. 58. Fawzi-Rossano, Rasa’il, pp. 21–36 (quotation is from page 36). 59. Ibid., pp. 48–49. 60. The name of the group of young military officers associated with Gamal Abdel Nasser, who overthrew the monarchial regime on 23 July 1952. 61. Fawzi-Rossano, Rasa’il, pp. 81–82, 90, 107. On the special relations between the Free Officers and the military officers of the DMNL in the prerevolution period and the latter’s involvement in the July 1952 revolution, see Hatata, AlNawafidhu al-Maftuha, pp. 369–370; al-Jindi, Masirat Hayati, p. 107; al-Azhari, Yusuf Sadiq, p. 41. Didar Fawzi left Egypt in 1957 when her husband, ‘Uthman, was sent on a diplomatic mission to Hungary. She went to live in Paris with her two daughters and joined Curiel’s Majmu‘at Ruma. 62. Interviews with Marie Rosenthal-Kamil, Jaffa, 26 May 2006, and Cairo, 10, 16, and 22 February 2007. 63. On the DMNL and the cholera epidemic, see Chapter 10. 64. Interviews with Marie Rosenthal-Kamil, Jaffa, 26 May 2006, and Cairo, 10, 16, and 22 February 2007; and with Sa‘d Kamil, Cairo, 16 and 22 February 2007; Abaza, “Saad Kamel.” On the Kafr al-Dawwar strike, the clashes with the police and the military, and the execution of two workers, Mustafa Khamis and Muhammad al-Baqri, see Ginat, The Soviet Union and Egypt, p. 157; Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 421–426. On the abolition of the political parties in January 1953, see Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution, p. 2. On Harakat Ansar al-Salam, see Chapter 12; and al-Sa‘id, Munazzamat al-Yasar, pp. 45–53. On the NDF, see ibid., pp. 141–184. 65. Interview with Joyce Blau, Paris, 20 May 2005. 66. Ibid. 67. Lutfi al-Khuli, a former member of the DMNL and a leading Egyptian Marxist, acknowledged that until 1944 there were hardly any Marxist books in Arabic. Those that were available “were translated into Arabic; many of them by Khalid Bakdash . . . [and they] were written very simply and primitively.” Interviews with Lutfi al-Khuli, Cairo, 28 September and 2–3 October 1994.

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68. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, p. 15. 69. Ibid., p. 26; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 329. 70. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, p. 27. 71. Ibid., p. 28. 72. Ibid., p. 37; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 333. 73. See al-Sa‘id’s analysis in ibid., pp. 128–146. 74. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 36–37. 75. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 337. 76. Girgis is quoted from ibid., pp. 340–341. 77. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 32–33. 78. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 329. 79. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, p. 34. 80. Ibid., pp. 34–35. 81. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamatt, pp. 348–349. 82. See more on the two groups and the other splinter groups in ibid., pp. 357–369. 83. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 19–20. See also a report, “L‘histoire de la lutte du Mouvement Egyptien de Libération Nationale (MELN) et Mouvement Démocratique de Libération Nationale jusqu‘à la declaration de la Loi Martiale, en mai 1948,” by Henri Curiel to members of the DMNL in September–October 1951, in F/110, pp. 2–3 (also in F/402), ECE, IISH. Didar Fawzi-Rossano was the EMNL’s activist who supported the Greek rebellion. See her version in Fawzi-Rossano, Rasa’il, pp. 85–86. 84. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 234–239; Hatata, “Henri Curiel,” in Al-Haraka al-Shuyu‘iyya wa-Haykal (Cairo: Dar al-‘alam al-Thalith, 2006), pp. 57–58. 85. On the February events, see telegram from the American Embassy, Cairo, 14 July 1946, General Records of the Department of State, Record Group 59, 883.00/7-1446, The National Archives and Record Administration, College Park, MD (hereafter cited as RG 59 with appropriate filing reference); Airgram (A)4499, 18 July 1946, RG 59, 883.00B/7-1846; dispatch 1741, 14 August 1946, RG 59, 883.00B/7-2246. See also, Heikal, Sphinx and Commissar, pp. 47–48 ; Botman, The Rise, pp. 58–62. Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 340–342. 86. Curiel, “L‘histoire de la lutte du Mouvement Egyptien,” pp. 2–3; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 342–347. 87. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 38–39; Botman, The Rise, pp. 41–42. 88. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 247; Botman, The Rise, p. 42. On the Arab delegations, see Khairi Mahmud, “Wufud al-bilad al-‘arabiyya fi mu’tamar baris,” Al-Damir, 10 October 1945, p. 3. 89. Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, unpublished manuscript from private collection, Egypt, pp. 24–25. 90. ‘Uthman, Wahdat al-Haraka, pp. 18–21; ‘Uthman, Min Turath Shaikh alNiqabiyyin, p. 32. 91. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 253. 92. For a detailed account of the road to the congress, the agreements and disagreements as well as the role played by the EMNL and Tali‘at al-‘Ummal (FJ) in the Egyptian labor movement, see Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 327–335.

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See also Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, pp. 24–25; ‘Uthman, Min Turath Shaikh alNiqabiyyin, pp. 24–25. 93. A letter to the Egyptian workers from the secretary of the representative of Egypt’s trade unions in the WFTU, June 1947, File 66, T\U, IISH. 94. For instance, they were both active in the formation of the Congress of Private Sector Trade Unions (CPSTU). See Beinin and Lockman, Workers, p. 327. Taha Sa‘d ‘Uthman, a leader of the textile workers of Shubra al-Khaima at the time and a historian of the Egyptian labor movement, noted that despite the fact that Curiel and Schwartz acted separately in trade union affairs, they were of one mind already in 1945. He held them responsible for the split within the trade unions movement. See Taha Sa‘d ‘Uthman, “Khawatiru ‘an ‘alaqat al-tabaqa al-‘amila almisriyya bi-al-haraka al-ishtirakiyya al-thaniya 1944–1956,” Qadaya Fikriyya (1992), pp. 193–198. On the communist activity among textile workers and their successes, see in detail, Goldberg, Tinker, Tailor, and Textile Worker, pp. 139–172. 95. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 255–256. 96. Beinin and Lockman, Workers, p. 348. 97. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, p. 115. 98. See a report on the “communist trials” in File 405, ECE, IISH. 99. Ibid. 100. Ibid. 101. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 38–39; Botman, The Rise, p. 46; telegram from Cairo, 14 July 1946, RG 59, 883.00/7-1446; dispatch 1741, 14 August 1946, RG 59, 883.00B/7-2246. On communist activities in Port Said at the time, see dispatch 34, 21 September 1946, RG 59,883.00B/9-2146. 102. Quoted from Botman, The Rise, p. 60. On the NCWS, see also Laqueur, Communism and Nationalism, pp. 54–55. Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 335–344. 103. Ibid., p. 342. 104. Botman, The Rise, p. 63. See also, Muhammad Yusuf al-Jindi, “21 Fibrayir: dawr bariz lil-shuyu‘iyyun al-misriyyin fi al-haraka al-wataniyya alMisriyya,” Qadaya Fikriyya, July 1992, pp. 236–241. 105. Botman, The Rise, pp. 61–67. On the rise and fall of the NCWS, see also Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 340–344. 106. See also Shuhdi ‘Atiyya al-Shafi‘i’s analysis of the events in Tatawwur alHaraka, pp. 87–109. 107. Curiel, “L‘histoire de la lutte du Mouvement Egyptien,” pp. 5–10. 108. ‘Abbas, Awraq Henri Curiel, p. 60.

10 Ephemeral Unity

The cooperation between the various communist factions in the

political and social arenas during 1946 and the uncompromising campaign conducted against them by the Isma‘il Sidqi government paved the way for unification. Analyzing the events of 1946 in retrospect, a member of the Democratic Movement for National Liberation (DMNL) criticized both Iskra and the Egyptian Movement for National Liberation (EMNL) for not uniting in 1946, instead wasting precious time on pointless arguments, mainly on technical issues. According to him, “there were no political or organizational differences for a simple reason—there was no political or organizational policy so to speak of.”1 Indeed, the main groups, notably Iskra and the EMNL, realized that the ideological differences between them were bridgeable. Henri Curiel and his movement favored unification. As he put it, “I never disdained the other organizations and saw certain qualities in them.” According to him, Iskra wanted to enter the union as the stronger and larger partner. To strengthen its position, Iskra approached alQal‘ah and Munazzamat Tahrir al-Sha‘b (MTS) with a proposal for unification. Marcel Israel, who favored unification, agreed, and so did alQal‘ah (some of its members joined Iskra, and others the EMNL). Marcel Israel considered the unification of all factions to be of utmost importance and—as Curiel acknowledged—played a major role in the formation of the DMNL.2 According to Israel, the communist parties of Lebanon, Palestine, France, and Britain asked him to mediate between the various organizations because “he was a veteran activist and a comrade in an organization that was regarded as neutral.” His efforts to bring Tali‘at al-‘Ummal (TU) to agree to a union were unsuccessful because its leaders in general refused to unite with the EMNL and made Curiel’s removal a 277

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precondition. Curiel, who was a centralist, persuaded his colleagues to go ahead, despite objections raised by rank-and-file members of the EMNL. He did so, noted Israel, for two reasons: to comply with the request made by the sister communist parties, and to avoid the establishment of a union without the EMNL—a matter that could have had adverse political implications for himself and his movement. Hillel Schwartz and his Iskra cadres had no objections and accepted Israel’s formula for unification. MTS, which was divided over the issue of unification, posed the main obstacle. Later, the dissenters, who refused to work with foreigners, would join forces with TU to create an opposition to the DMNL.3 Sharif Hatata asserted in retrospect that TU posed the strongest obstacle to unity. Through the contributions of several revolutionary intellectuals among its members, “the group had been a party to the development of the progressive idea” in Egypt, yet it viewed the unification as a plot designed to derail leftist groups, and later the Egyptian liberation movement. TU, wrote Hatata, saw the unification as an opportunistic attempt to found a united communist party before certain basic conditions had been met: further economic and social development was needed to give rise to a truly united leadership. The Egyptian Left was not yet capable of leading the struggle for national liberation; the workers did not yet possess the political and intellectual clout needed to replace the bourgeoisie at the forefront of the nationalist struggle. While many saw this position as divisive and sectarian at the time, history would show that the union was in fact detrimental to the Egyptian Left.4 In the new framework, noted Curiel, Israel was in charge of the foreign section, which included Yanakakis and his Greek associates, Armenians, Italians, and many “dedicated, modest and generous Jews”—in Curiel’s estimate, nearly 1,000 members. Many were new members, from higher social strata, who had no satisfactory Marxist training, but were idealists with plenty of motivation. Nevertheless, he stressed, the foreigners did not play a crucial role in the DMNL—in fact, the leadership was largely Egyptian and included only two “foreigners”: Curiel and Schwartz. The women’s section was headed by Aimée Setton (Amira), who was of Jewish origin, and her brother Robert Setton (Paul) was in the students’ section. Joe Matalon, Curiel’s confidant, was active in Al-Jamahir.5 Marcel Israel recalled that several months after the formation, the Central Committee asked him to become the deputy head of the central propaganda office. In this capacity, he first organized the office on the basis of committees and their duties. He then founded a Marxist school for workers, established a theoretical periodical under the name al-Wa‘i, and prepared a summary in Arabic of articles published in the international journal Cominform as well as pamphlets on Marxism and analyses of the Egyptian reality.6

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279

A short while before unification, Iskra promoted its candidates to full membership. Consequently, it became—with 900 members—the largest component of the union, whereas the EMNL had only 500 members. This did not change the fact, however, that unification was based on full equality. The DMNL was a national front rather than a party, stated Marcel Israel. The organization, he noted, was based on sections that developed separately. Some sections, like the students and workers, grew rapidly. The DMNL looked like a federation of various sections, led by a central committee, in which each section had its own representative. Consequently, the debates within the Central Committee were conducted between the representatives of the sections, and it was difficult to formulate a general agenda that would unite and mobilize the organization, which lacked sound leadership. Nevertheless, he concluded, the formation of the DMNL was a great step forward for Egyptian communism.7 Table 10.1, prepared by Curiel, shows the number of members and the relative size of each section in the two main organizations that formed the DMNL.8 It clearly shows that Curiel’s movement mainly comprised members of lower-class origin, whereas Iskra had members from a higher socioeconomic background and had a large number of educated members (44 percent) as well as foreigners (40 percent). We can also see that the EMNL succeeded in accomplishing two of its main objectives: ta‘mil and tamsir. It is nevertheless odd that Curiel did not note a small subgroup of twentyfive foreigners (himself included)—he himself was neither a worker nor a student. The data of Table 10.1 might differ slightly from other sources,9 but it nevertheless reflects a general picture of the socioeconomic composition of each of the two groups—one with a popular character and the other with an educated and bourgeois character.

Table 10.1

Workers Students Youth Intellectuals Foreigners Al-Azhar Sudanese Total

Composition of the Two Main Components of the DMNL EMNL

Iskra

250 (50) 80 (16) 90 (18) — — 25 (5) 30 (6) 500 (36)

140 (16) 200 (22) — 200 (22) 360 (40) — — 900 (64)

DMNL 390 280 90 200 360 25 30 1,400

(28) (20) (6) (14) (26) (2) (2)

Note: The number of members is followed by the percentage of members in parentheses.

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The unification was completed in mid-1947. In a circular letter sent by the leadership of the newly established DMNL to the members of the various sections, the significance of the union was emphasized: “We have striven for unity in order to make the revolutionary movement secure and to do away with all cross-currents . . . such currents may become dangerous as political deviations lead to the weakening of the working class.”10 Three issues dominated the talks on unification—ta‘mil, tamsir, and democratic centralism. Curiel insisted that the first two elements, which were the air that the EMNL breathed, would remain the chief goals of the DMNL. Schwartz, on the other hand, wanted the new organization to be based on the principle of democratic centralism, which established the commitment of the lower ranks to the decisions of the higher ranks. It also entailed free elections “from the foundation to the summit” (min al-qa‘ida ila al-qimma). Schwartz believed that free elections at a time when he enjoyed a majority would guarantee Iskra’s hegemony. Curiel and the EMNL refused to accept Schwartz’s demand and the latter yielded for the sake of unity—a move other Iskra leaders resented. It was agreed that the issue of elections would be resolved at a united congress be held five months after the conclusion of the unity agreement—the congress convened in September 1947. Shortly before unification, Schwartz promoted two Iskra activists— Shuhdi ‘Atiyya al-Shafi‘i and ‘Adil ‘Abd al-Ma‘bud al-Jibaili—to senior positions, and with the formation of the DMNL, they became members of the Central Committee, comprising eleven members—five from Iskra, five from the EMNL, and one from Tali‘at al-Iskandriyya, a group from Alexandria that joined the DMNL. The two, however, would soon rebel against their leader and against what they regarded as Curiel’s and the EMNL’s domineering nature. There was another bone of contention: the religious and ethical aspects. The EMNL’s attitude toward religion was very tolerant and respectful. As we have seen, it established a stronghold in al-Azhar University. The movement kept complete segregation between its male and female activists. Iskra was utterly different. Men and women mixed and socialized in Dar al-Abhath, parties, and trips. Curiel explained that one of his goals was to “put an end to the sexual scandals” that prevailed in Iskra by adopting the EMNL’s pattern for the DMNL. Curiel was also particular about “reducing the adverse influence of Iskra’s intellectuals on the workers, most of whom were former members of the EMNL. He did not want the intellectuals, who were experts in Marxist theory, to look down on the workers, who knew little about Marxist theory, but were—to Curiel’s mind—the most indispensable component, without which a communist organization had no right to exist. The DMNL’s

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organizational structure was temporary; the idea was to create a more elaborate form of organization, noted Curiel. For this purpose two secretariats were formed—workers and nonworkers. Each secretariat had to coordinate and conduct the activities of the sections related to it. Curiel chose to be a member of the nonproletariat secretariat—a move he would later regret because, as he put it, he temporarily lost touch with the workers. The workers were manipulated by Iskra’s senior activists, who encouraged schisms within the young movement. Schwartz was in charge of organizational matters; al-Ma‘bud al-Jibaili (‘Adil) was in charge of the propaganda (both were from Iskra); and Sulaiman al-Rifa‘i, from the EMNL was responsible for activities within the popular classes.11 Curiel’s proposal to call the new movement “DMNL” was accepted without any noticeable objection. According to him, he replaced only one letter in the name of his former movement, the EMNL. Instead of “Egyptian” he suggested “Democratic”—that is, national and democratic liberation, two of the new movement’s chief goals. ‘Abd al-Ma‘bud alJibaili’s proposal to name it “the Workers’ Movement for National Liberation” was rejected unanimously, because it viewed the struggle for national liberation through a sectional lens and did not represent the true socioeconomic composition of the movement.12

The DMNL’s First Steps in the Egyptian Political Arena

The DMNL became the biggest communist organization, with the aim to establish an Egyptian Communist Party. Apart from TU and small insignificant groups, the DMNL comprised nearly 90 percent of the Egyptian communists. It had no program, no tactics, and no rules, however, as an internal report admitted several years later. Although the DMNL wanted to create a party, “it did not formulate a communist platform or a communist policy.” Its conception of the party was purely quantitative: the party would be created, if a sufficient number of people would join; and its slogan was: “let us build a mass party.” The DMNL, noted the report, did indeed double the number of its members soon after its formation. Organizationally, the existing sections (workers, students, intellectuals, women, provinces, Nubian, Sudanese, foreigners, military, and neighborhoods) were subdivided according to trade or profession. For instance, the workers’ section was divided into different sections of workers in the textile industry, government offices, transport, and so on. The intellectuals’ section was divided into lawyers, doctors, engineers, and so on. The women’s sector was divided into workers, students, housewives, and so on.13

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In the first months of its existence, the movement was rapidly gaining strength among workers and students, and there was also a limited infiltration into the ranks of the army and the police. The movement was involved in both the national and the social struggles. In September 1947, DMNL activists led the strike of the textile workers of Shubra al-Khaima with 27,000 strikers and organized the successful strike of the railways workers. In January 1948, the DMNL’s students organized a strike at Cairo University, during which the Sudanese question featured prominently. When the police officers went on strike, the DMNL organized demonstrations in support of the strike in Cairo and Alexandria, which led to clashes with the military. Also the big strikes in the autumn of 1947 at MahallaalKubra textile factory and at Qasr al-‘Aini hospital in Cairo in April 1948 were known to have been, to a considerable extent, communist inspired.14 During the cholera epidemic of the latter part of 1947, the DMNL provided extensive humanitarian aid to the victims of the epidemic. The large cell in Farhi’s charge was sent to Harat al-Yahud (the Jewish quarter) to provide poor Jews with material aid and—taking advantage of these difficult circumstances—to propagate the DMNL.15 Albert Arie, a young cadre who was only seventeen years old when he was assigned to that mission, recalled: I even didn’t know that there was a place called Harat al-Yahud until the outbreak of the cholera epidemic. The socialists organized committees to go in and to fight the epidemic and lead an awareness campaign, and I was assigned to Harat al-Yahud. We were students at the time and it was a shocking experience. I had never imagined that there were poor Jews. I remember taking pictures of Jewish children and men in Jalabeyyas, not to mention Jewish women, whom you could easily have mistaken for Umm Muhammad.16

Sharif Hatata told of how Hadetu17 under Curiel’s leadership decided to concentrate all its energies on helping the cholera victims in every contaminated area. He noted that Curiel showed his hypersensitivity to social distress. DMNL acted on two levels: they ran an information campaign on preventive hygiene measures, using Al-Jamahir to reach the masses and a monitoring committee that was set up to distribute leaflets; and took practical measures—residents of the popular neighborhoods were recruited to sterilize houses and streets, and the women’s section of the movement instructed housewives and their daughters on what was to be done. The DMNL recruited physicians and nurses to offer help to poor and needy people.18 Through Al-Jamahir, the DMNL’s legal publication, the movement spread its ideas to the public. It published its manifests, proclamations,

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analyses of Egypt’s political and social reality, investigations related to workers and their strikes, issues related to the fellahin. Al-Jamahir defined itself as the voice of the millions of workers, fellahin, and nationalist students and intellectuals who struggled against imperialism for full independence. The paper placed great emphasis on the need to achieve true democracy and to protect human rights. The paper dealt also with international affairs, supported the Soviet Union, and attacked US imperialism. In addition, it provided a forum open to left-wing intellectuals from other currents, who published on a variety of subjects, and thanks to their activities, a new school of poetry grew roots.19 Like the EMNL before, the DMNL took pains to gain influence and support inside al-Azhar. A pamphlet circulated among the DMNL’s comrades may serve as an example of the movement’s activities within organizations and institutions holding key positions in Egypt: We now aim at forming a democratic party, which would be free of all imperialist and reactionary control. Men of religion in this country have always played an important role [in the struggle] against imperialism— French, Turkish and English. At present, al-Azhar is standing at a crossroad, between the people and the bourgeoisie. The importance of alAzhar is as follows: they are the religious body that assists reaction; their men represent the working class; they enjoy spiritual confidence among the people; their roots go deep among many classes of Egyptian teachers, preachers, Imams, etc.

Because of their importance, the pamphlet went on, it was imperative to win the men of al-Azhar, turning them away from the “reaction and the palace” and making them join the struggle for national liberation. These men could be the best Egyptian fighters against the “reaction and imperialism.”20 Reports from Cairo confirmed that communism at al-Azhar became stronger. Moreover, these reports went further, stating that there had been a marked increase in communist activities in Egypt since early 1948.21

The End of the Honeymoon: Continuous Internal Splits and External Pressures

Already at a very early stage, the DMNL went through several organizational changes and reshuffles within its leadership, and the congress that convened in September 1947 sowed the first seeds of schism. Curiel’s obsession with tamsir and ta‘mil was soon to become a double-edged sword for himself. Shuhdi ‘Atiyya al-Shafi‘i from Iskra, who did not like the fact that members of the EMNL wanted his removal from the editorial board of Al-

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Jamahir, believed that the EMNL’s position within the movement could be weakened significantly by removing Curiel from the leadership. During the congress, he called to complete the Egyptianization of the DMNL’s leadership by removing both Curiel and Schwartz. ‘Atiyya exploited the opportunity created by growing discontent among many of Iskra’s former members, who felt that the Central Committee was dictatorial, that there were no rules, and that the principles of democratic centralism, to which Iskra adhered, were not implemented in the DMNL.22 The Central Committee warded off the offensive and defended its way of conduct in a statement issued in Cadre (the central organ of the DMNL): “The Central Committee . . . during this period played the role of a coordinator rather than that of a director. All the members of the Central Committee assumed the most important responsibilities in the sections, which was their most essential task at that period, and which stopped them from concentrating on the general directions of the movement. A unified central direction for the movement was impossible to realize.”23 In late 1947, the political bureau of DMNL instructed Curiel to prepare a political guideline for the movement. In January 1948, he submitted a working paper to the Central Committee, entitled “The Line of the National and Democratic Forces” (Khatt al-quwwat al-wataniyya wa-aldimuqratiyya). The Central Committee endorsed the “Khatt” and circulated it among the members for reading and comments.24 Briefly, the Khatt reviewed the international situation and established the DMNL’s goals: to achieve national liberation, to form a popular democratic regime, and to establish socialism as its socioeconomic system. It also discussed the role to be played by the Egyptian social classes during the struggle to achieve these goals. The Khatt’s strategy was to form, first and foremost, a solid alliance between the proletariat and the fellahin that would then be expanded to include the petite bourgeoisie in the towns and villages and all those social elements who wanted to fight imperialism. Curiel called for the movement’s proletarianization by increasing the number of workers and by training some of them for leading positions. The Khatt stressed the need for theory to accommodate itself with the special circumstances and conditions of Egypt. It laid the foundation for the DMNL’s transition from a movement based on sections to a MarxistLeninist party comprising cells of professional revolutionaries who adhered to the principle of “the united struggle.” The Khatt maintained that a new social and political reality was created in post–World War II Egypt that allowed for the incorporation of nonproletarian social forces in the revolutionary movement. Such elements joined the Egyptian communist movement and occupied a leading position

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in it, with the intention to open its ranks to as many of the toiling masses as possible in order to create a large revolutionary movement. Curiel wanted to see the formation of a revolutionary party that would represent the interests of the whole people, not only those of the proletariat. Curiel had never abandoned his desire to found a traditional communist party, which would be based on the proletariat, but he was of the opinion that under the prevailing circumstances, it might be possible that the communist leadership would not be proletarian in nature and would derive its legitimacy from the victories of socialism and from the rising prestige of the Soviet Union, internationally. The recent internal and external developments, noted Curiel, would affect the nonproletarian toiling masses, which would now be ready to fight for socialism on the same footing as the working class, and therefore the communist party should not be exclusively a working-class party. He also argued that the Egyptian proletariat was not yet sufficiently developed to form a party purely on its own.25 Curiel was sagacious as it turned out: Some theoretical and organizational aspects of Egypt’s socialist experience in the 1960s resembled Curiel’s Khatt. In retrospect, wrote Sharif Hatata sixty years later, those who attacked Curiel did not understand the revolutionary stage that Egypt underwent. Curiel was farsighted with sharp insights. He realized that the only possible way to defeat imperialism and feudalism was the formation of a broad national democratic front encompassing all the anti-imperialist forces. His opponents, who attacked him based on the reading of Marxist texts that exaggerated the role to be played by the proletariat, were proven wrong. Their only contribution was ideological sectarianism, which caused splits within the communist movement.26 Although the majority of the members of the Central Committee were in favor of the Khatt, a small group led by Shuhdi ‘Atiyya (together with Anwar ‘Abd al-Malik, Sa‘d Zaharan, and Husain al-Ghamri) that called itself the “revolutionary bloc” (al-takattul al-thawri) attacked Curiel’s paper, describing it as a deviation to the right. Muhammad Sid Ahmad, who was, at the time, Curiel’s rival, admitted in retrospect that the Khatt was rational and that the attacks against it were irrational and personal. The group, especially Zaharan and al-Ghamri, he noted, was generally against the presence of Jews within the communist movement. The Palestine war gave particular significance to their objection to Jews occupying leading positions within the DMNL.27 Sa‘d Zaharan explained that until the late 1940s, the Egyptian leaders had not yet reached an intellectual level on par with the former Jewish leaders of the movement. The Jews, he asserted rather critically, had a range of means at their disposal, particularly in the material sense, which

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they used to exert pressure on their Egyptian colleagues. Zaharan noted that the split between the foreign leaders, who were mostly Jewish, and the Egyptian rank-and-file members widened in late 1947, in the aftermath of the Palestine partition plan. The foreign leaders immediately rushed to back the plan, which included the establishment of a Jewish state in Palestine, and celebrated when the idea became a reality; the State of Israel wisely straddled the fence between global imperialism and the European (and global) political left. The worldwide Jewish community, Zaharan felt, had a pronounced impact on the European socialist and communist left wing and on the Second International (1889–1916) and Third International (1919–1943). The Soviets supported the partition plan, he claimed oddly, because they hoped to arrive at a long-term solution to the “problem” of the five-million-strong Jewish minority in the Soviet Union, and felt that resettlement in Palestine could be such a solution.28 The opposition to Curiel from within the DMNL had little to do with the Palestine war, but rather was factional in its nature, encompassing all sections with no exception. The war in Palestine was later used by Curiel’s opponents to undermine his leadership, despite the fact that before the split they had all endorsed the partition plan of Palestine.29 Several months after its formation, the DMNL was divided into several factions. Two were particularly dominant. The first, the Yunisiyyin (Yunis was Curiel’s covert name), was the group associated with Curiel and was referred to by its opponents as the “right deviation” or “the majority of the central committee”; Curiel called his group the “revolutionary stream.” Its rivals held the group responsible for the Khatt. Although Curiel withdrew his draft following the adverse welcome it received,30 Curiel and his supporters, who dominated the Central Committee, nevertheless adhered to the principles of the Khatt. In an internal report of the DMNL written several years later, Curiel’s group was criticized for fostering organizationally a total dictatorship of the Central Committee, which refused to accept criticism by the rank-and-file members, and for acting against the elected congress. The group, it was noted, had its own secret faction, which organized internal struggle to safeguard its domination.31 The second faction, the ‘Adiliyyin (‘Adil was ‘Abd al-Ma‘bud alJibaili’s covert name), was a group referred to by its opponents as the “left deviation,” “the minority of the central committee,” or “the opportunists” (in Curiel’s terminology). The group opposed the Khatt and advocated the formation of a proletarian party. It proposed the reorganization of the movement on a regional basis, but also the creation of a special bureau attached to the Central Committee with a skeleton leadership to continue the activities among students and peasants. They emphasized their opposition

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to factionalism, advocating the resolution of the internal struggle by organizational means, that is, by electing a congress to settle the differences. The group maintained that the organization should concentrate its activities on the workers without harming its activities within other sectors of society. In early 1948, the ‘Adiliyyin imposed on the Yunisiyyin the formation of a secret Marxist school for the leadership training of workers. Soon thereafter the first selected group of ten workers started their fourmonth-long studies, six hours a day.32 The Yunisiyyin comprised mostly former members of the EMNL, and the ‘Adiliyyin had a large representation of former Iskra members. There were a few exceptions, however. Schwartz remained passive for a short period dissociating himself from both groups, but not for long. Curiel was very critical of Schwartz’s conduct. In his view, “Shindi” (Schwartz’s covert name), who was responsible for organizational matters, failed in fulfilling his duties. Instead of doing his job properly, noted Curiel, he focused his energy on attacking the Khatt and called for the movement’s reorganization on the basis of places of residence. He was in a minority, even ‘Adil opposed his plan for reorganization. However, Curiel went on, the two Iskra members, who realized that the movement was heading in the EMNL’s direction, joined forces to weaken his position. Curiel blamed the ‘Adiliyyin for creating and encouraging intrigues and quarrels within the movement at a time when the government had declared a state of emergency and martial law following the outbreak of the war in Palestine—a move that was followed by a wave of arrests, beginning with some 100 communists, including the top leaders of the DMNL. That was not the time for an internal struggle based on personal rivalries, remonstrated Curiel, who had been among those arrested. The ‘Adiliyyin and the other internal opposition groups, he categorically determined, destroyed the DMNL. Muhammad al-Jindi, Albert Arie, Sharif Hatata, and Aimée Setton, former Iskra members, chose to associate themselves with Curiel.33

First Split

The DMNL split following the formation of Hadetu—al-‘Ummaliyya alThawriyya, founded by ‘Adil, Marcel Israel, Ahmad Shukri Salim, ‘Abd alRahman al-Nasir, Latifa al-Zayyat, and others. Marcel Israel explained the background of the split, saying that the DMNL was an Egyptian organization that was led by a secretariat dominated by two foreigners, Curiel and Schwartz, who hated each other—the former was the political secretary and the latter the organizational secretary. It was a bureaucratic and centralistic

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organization that did not give its base the right to veto or debate the policy of the leadership. The DMNL grew enormously, mainly the student and the petite bourgeoisie sections, but the organization had no program or clear strategy—it operated upon changeable tactical lines based on the need of moment. Despite the efforts to Egyptianize the movement, the foreign elements justified their presence by stressing the need of the Egyptian comrades to use their Marxist knowledge. Their command of many foreign languages gave them free access to a variety of Marxist literature, which made them indispensable for the future development of the DMNL. With this asset at their disposal, criticized Israel, the foreigners, who were dogmatic in their comprehension of Marxism, imposed their presence in the DMNL’s leadership. Unlike their Egyptian counterparts, remarked Israel, the foreigners had very little knowledge of Egyptian reality.34 In early July 1948, on the order from Curiel, who was in prison, the Yunisiyyin voted with a tiny majority in the Central Committee to expel the ‘Adiliyyin. In response, the ‘Adiliyyin called for the election of a new Central Committee and the formulation of a new political line for the movement. Marcel Israel regarded this move as correct, because—in his view— most members of the movement, mainly workers, did not like the centralistic nature of the “old central committee” and wanted to hold a congress to elect a new leadership and to open the organization for free debates.35 Several weeks later, the ‘Adiliyyin convened a congress known as “the congress of the thirty three,” for the number of representatives attending it. Marcel Israel was the only non-Egyptian representative at the congress. According to him, he was among the organizers of the congress, and in fact the congress endorsed his proposal and not that of ‘Adil. The congress decided to form a new communist party by 31 December 1948—a party that would unite all the organizations on the basis of a tactical and strategic program. It was also decided to set up a committee to discuss and coordinate with the other communist organizations an acceptable political platform. Wishing to emphasize their objection to Curiel’s Khatt, the group called itself Hadetu—al-‘Ummaliyya al-Thawriyya (DMNL—the Revolutionary Proletariat). The congress elected a new Central Committee comprising mainly workers. Among its prominent members were Shuhdi ‘Atiyya and Israel.36 Israel was very critical of Curiel’s role in the split: “Although he pushed for the Egyptianization of the movement, he refused to step down as the political secretary throughout his activity in Egypt . . . despite the fact that this went counter to the nationalist feelings [of his Egyptian comrades].”37 To safeguard his position as the sole and undisputable leader, and to destroy his

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opponents, Curiel employed the notorious Stalinist methods, noted Israel. For him, Curiel was mainly responsible for the disintegration of the DMNL. Albert Arie agreed with Israel that the leadership of the DMNL was lacking the theoretical, cultural, and organizational foundation to transform the movement to a proper communist organization.38 To their bad luck, by late 1949, the Egyptian authorities cracked down on the two DMNL factions and arrested their leaders. That was an important junction in the history of the Egyptian communist movement, which would now enter a new stage of its development.

Further Splits

In late 1948, Hillel Schwartz, who did not belong to the ‘Adiliyyin, formed a group called Toward a Communist Party (Nahwa Hizb Shuyu‘iy) together with Inji Aflatun (who attended the thirty-third congress as an observer) and Ahmad Fu’ad. Schwartz himself argued that he never quit the DMNL. Schwartz’s version of events after the outbreak of the Palestine war is of utmost importance. According to him, he and his colleagues were persecuted when the war broke out—some were arrested and some went into hiding in many different places. He himself found a hiding place in Alexandria. The movement was dysfunctional: There was no link between our Jewishness and the depressing state of the DMNL. The Egyptian authorities were to blame for creating the equation Jews-Zionism-communism. Our support for the partition resolution on Palestine had no effect on our position in the DMNL. I supported the plan because the USSR did so. It was just natural that my attitude towards Zionism would be derived from that of the Soviet Union—you make compromises with enemies—I was hostile to Zionism until the USSR dictated a new line. That was the reason, why I supported the establishment of Israel. My main concern at the time was Egypt, not Israel.

Schwartz admitted that he had disagreements with Curiel, but they acted conjointly, and the Central Committee operated democratically. Jews, stressed Schwartz, played a leading and constructive role in the Egyptian communist movement, but not because they were Jews—they never considered themselves Jewish; they were atheists, and many of them had no traditional, religious, or educational Jewish background. Being Jewish was meaningless to those who chose to be communists. As for himself:

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My colleagues had never regarded me as a Jew, but as a comrade. My Jewish origin had never played a role in my political life. I saw myself as internationalist, although the USSR and international communism had nothing to do with our movement . . . I and many other bourgeois Jews were attracted to communism from an intellectual perspective—the reading and studying of Marxism-Leninism. My Arabic was poor, and I had no direct links with the lower classes. My plan was to form a communist party hoping that one day it would be able to transform our society into socialism. I never deluded myself that we could lead a revolution. I believed in stages and one of them was to educate the workers in Marxism. I saw my role as a teacher and I maintained that non-educated workers could not take the lead, but Curiel had a different view. I think that Curiel was a great man and had no personal ambitions to lead. He always cared for his fellowman—an altruistic person. He had all my sympathy and admiration.

Schwartz concluded that the DMNL had no conceptual coherence and, soon after its establishment, it acted illegally with endless persecutions. He held the Egyptian authorities responsible for the fragmentation of the DMNL. Schwartz downplayed the internal ideological strife within the movement and believed that had he and his other Jewish colleagues not been expelled from Egypt, they would have continued to build the movement and to play a significant role in Egyptian political life.39 Another group that was very ideological, the Voice of the Opposition (Sawt al-Mu‘arada), comprised former senior members of Iskra—the Jewish couple Sidney Solomon and Odette Hazan (Joseph’s sister), Sa‘d alTawil, Fatma Zaki, and Muhammad Sid Ahmad.40 They advocated a proletarian party, in opposition to the Yunisiyyin. In its publication Sawt almu‘arada al-dakhiliyya (SMD), the group attacked both the ‘Adiliyyin and the Yunisiyyin for destroying the organization. To reunite and cure the movement, it was necessary to expose the opportunist elements and expel them. As the 1919 Revolution had shown, the national bourgeoisie failed to lead and complete the national revolution and even betrayed its partner— the proletariat. The petite bourgeoisie was an independent and revolutionary class, but was not united politically. The students could not lead the revolutionary forces, and without the fellahin, it would be impossible to gain victory over imperialism. But the fellahin were not organized or united and were manipulated by the bourgeoisie. The SMD’s conclusion was that the organized proletariat was the only class that could lead the revolution, and that “our task as a progressive force is to found the proletarian party.”41 This would become the workingclass party because this class was capable of leading the other revolutionary classes to an overall revolution. The party would be formed from “a strong circle of the best fighters, completely faithful to communism and

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experts in dealing with the police. The best of these elements will become professional revolutionaries (whether they are working class elements or intellectuals) . . . all the important illegal activity of the party will be in their hands. . . . [The party] is not based on sectarianism or anachronism, but is completely suitable to present Egyptian conditions. . . . It will be the party of the vanguard only.”42 The SMD planned to subordinate the masses of the working class and the other revolutionary classes to the leadership of that party, although formally they would be organized within external separate organizations— legal and illegal. The SMD set its immediate tasks as follows: to concentrate all its efforts in the industrial centers; to organize workers’ circles and to recruit workers from these circles to the organization; to link its activities with the daily struggle of the working class and to participate in its class struggles; to organize strong propaganda and agitation among the working class. The SMD raised the slogans: an elected congress; preparation of this congress; contacts with the rank-and-file; the consideration of the SMD as a temporary leadership; the isolation of the opportunistic Central Committee; fight against opportunism—united front against opportunism without compromise.43 Their rivals considered the SMD’s sketch for a party as a deviation to the left—a misunderstanding of the proletariat as a political force and an underestimation of the revolutionary potentials of its allies in the bourgeoisdemocratic revolution and of the democratic tasks of the proletariat. Its organizational line and method of internal struggle led in fact to a split in the movement, although it claimed to be the champion of unity.44 In December 1948, the SMD joined forces with the radical splinter group Nahwa Munazzama Balshafiyya (Toward a Bolshevik Organization) led by Mishil Kamil—a group that called for a party based completely on workers. The new framework, which was called al-Munazzama alShuyui‘yiyya al-Misriyya (MShM, Egyptian Communist Organization), was dominated by Odette Hazan and refused to recruit nonproletarian members. In its beginning, the organization had nearly 500 members, but soon most of its activists and leaders were arrested. By 1950, it existed on paper only. Paradoxically, the MShM’s leadership, which consisted of Jewish and Egyptian intellectuals without proletarian representation, was dogmatic in its doctrine of 100 percent ta‘mil. The organization called for the unification of the communist factions and outlined a formula for unity with many preconditions, some of which were unacceptable for the others.45 Besides its persecution by the authorities and its internal difficulties, the DMNL was subject to constant attacks from the FJ group, which objected to unification because of its criticism of the EMNL and Iskra—

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mainly the latter, which was regarded as an opportunist element that caused splits and intrigues within the communist movement.46 Before the formation of the DMNL, Iskra was criticized for a political platform that placed too much emphasis on the role of students and intellectuals in mobilizing the workers. Iskra chose to ignore the existence of the proletariat as an independent revolutionary class and was responsible for the failure of the National Committee of Students and Workers. Iskra was portrayed as a non-Marxist group that was completely cut off from the proletariat and did not have the required knowledge of the concept of class struggle.47 Shortly after the formation of the DMNL, FJ blamed the DMNL (Hadetu) for cooperating with the Muslim Brothers in Shubra al-Khaima under the pretext that they were a part of the working class. For FJ, the Muslim Brothers were a fascist organization that—like Hitler and Mussolini—aimed at the destruction of the working class and the ruin of socialism. The DMNL was therefore not a communist organization, but an opportunistic organization. The members of the DMNL were advised to quit and join the real communist camp represented by the communist front led by FJ.48 The MShM’s attempts to unify the communist factions were ridiculed by FJ, which regarded its formula for unity as a “danger to the struggle of the workers and the struggle of the Egyptian people. It contains treacherous Trotskyite seeds . . . it ignores the role of the proletariat in the struggle for democracy and independence.” For FJ, the social and national liberation struggles were inseparable, and therefore the communists should cooperate with the Wafd, which represented the petite bourgeoisie, and with its growing left wing.49 FJ, according to Marcel Israel, established an opposition front to the DMNL in order to destroy the latter. It encouraged the sectarian tendencies within the movement and distributed among workers and students antiDMNL publications. The enmity between the FJ’s front and the DMNL, condemned Marcel Israel, was a major factor contributing to sectarianism and the weakness within the communist movement—a matter that caused absolute paralysis in the labor movement. Consequently, many workers and trade unions, he stressed, stayed away from the communist movement.50 Marcel Israel was right, the FJ was a destructive factor and an obstacle to unification, but one cannot hold it solely responsible for the downfall of the DMNL in the period 1948–1950. Marcel Israel referred to the question of splits and the historical role of the foreigners in the communist movement. The schism, which characterized the Egyptian communist movement, stated Israel, was not a unique Egyptian phenomenon. Communist movements in countries under colo-

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nial, in particular British, domination, faced similar experiences. The roots of the schism in Egypt, Israel noted, can be traced to the mid-1930s, when the existing communist organization did not reorganize the communist party under the pretext that the circumstances prevailing in Egypt at the time were not ripe for such a party. Consequently, the newly emerging progressive currents acted separately because there was no main center of gravity to accommodate them. These currents were gradually transformed into many organizations with different theories—a situation that continued in the 1940s. None of these organizations considered the formation of a communist party, and the split movement had no detailed programs of action nor any clear strategies and tactics. Although Israel saw the state of affairs as the main reason, he nevertheless did not underestimate the role played by foreigners in the development of factionalism—they learned the Marxist theory well, but failed in comprehending Egyptian reality. There was also a tendency among some of the foreigners, many of whom were bourgeois, to patronize their Egyptian colleagues. Theory in itself was not enough; there existed a social gap between these bourgeois foreigners and their target audience— the lower classes.51 Sharif Hatata reasoned critically that the unification was rapid and largely “top-down” (‘ulwiyya). The union had no clear, democratic organizational infrastructure at its base, nor a common political platform or ideology. The new union swiftly descended into chaos and infighting. Each new division led to yet another division. The overall picture was one of grudges, old and new, devoid of any dialogue or democratic spirit. Shortsightedness was rampant, a product of prolonged stagnation. Although Iskra and the EMNL both espoused Marxism-Leninism, they were frequently unable to agree on many issues, including the proper tactics for the class struggle. Hatata concurred that the unification was premature; it would have been more productive to maintain separate organizations, which could have cooperated on various issues and fostered intellectual cross-feeding. Unity would be in order, when one group was clearly ahead of the others in its ability to influence the public at large and to rally all the voices of the Egyptian left around its ideology.52 From our analysis, we may clearly conclude that the genuine source of the DMNL’s troubles came from within its ranks—particularly the traditional rivalries and inability of its two main components, Iskra and the EMNL, to work together. The authorities were another significant source of destruction—their uncompromising crusade against communism, particularly in the wake of the events in Palestine in the late 1940s, had a devastating effect on the young communist movement. The mendacious and

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devastating equation between communism and Zionism, which they formulated and disseminated, fitted perfectly the prevailing anti-Zionist nationalist sentiments and thus delegitimized the communist movement.

Curiel’s Deportation and Thereafter

The Egyptian authorities dealt severely with the antiestablishment views and activities of the communist groups. Beginning with the outbreak of the 1948 war in Palestine, the anticommunist measures undertaken by the authorities led to the arrests of many communists and to the discovery of numerous cells throughout the country. This wave of anticommunism reached its pinnacle on 27 July 1950 with the arrest of Henri Curiel, the father and mentor of organized communism of the 1940s. A month later he was deported from Egypt to Italy. “I was driven away in darkness with no passport . . . I became a refugee on top of a boat with no homeland. In spite of that, I am Egyptian and I would remain a proud Egyptian,” wrote Curiel in a letter to the Egyptian people, which Al-Bashir published on 2 December 1950.53 His deportation launched a new era in the history of Egyptian communism. The years 1950–1952 witnessed a passage from the conspicuous presence of foreigners to the Egyptianization inside the communist movement. Curiel was replaced by Sulaiman al-Rifa‘i as the leader of the DMNL.54 Curiel, who settled in France in 1951, nevertheless continued to be active from abroad within the DMNL. A small group of Jewish Egyptian communist deportees gathered under Curiel’s leadership to found the French branch of the DMNL, known as “the Rome Group” (Majmu‘at Ruma). Curiel remained wholeheartedly committed to the Sudanese question and to his favorite Sudanese communists. He, who was the driving force behind the formation of the SMNL,55 kept in close contact with its members, taking care of their training and organizational development from both Egypt and France.56 In 1951, he sent a letter to his colleagues in the DMNL and the SMNL, calling them to continue more intensely with their common struggle for the full evacuation of imperialism from the Nile Valley and for the right of the Sudan to self-determination. The letter contained instructions for the conduct of the struggle, which should in part be armed: “the armed struggle against imperialism will succeed, if it is conducted mainly in the Sudan, with a possibility of its expansion to other African countries. The destruction or the isolation of the relatively new imperialist bases in the region could pave the way for the formation of popular governments.”57 Indeed, the anti-imperialist struggle would soon transform to armed conflict, yet its center would not be the Sudan, but Egypt.

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The last months of the Wafd government (1950–1952) saw a remarkable intensification of the Anglo-Egyptian dispute, culminating in the Egyptian government’s decision in October 1951 to abrogate the treaty of 1936. As far as the internal political scene was concerned, this step had far-reaching implications, since the presence of British troops in the Suez Canal zone was no longer legal in the eyes of many Egyptians. Consequently, radical young Egyptians embarked on anti-British guerrilla warfare in the Suez Canal zone. The fighters succeeded in their efforts to drag the British forces into a pattern of harsh retaliatory actions, including the occupation of the Suez Canal zone. The British thus lost the few sympathizers they had among Egypt’s ruling circles, including King Farouk. The king expressed his indignation, accusing Britain of making it “impossible for him and or any Egyptian government ever to accept a satisfactory solution of either the defense problem or the Sudan question.”58 Curiel was very enthusiastic about the developments in Egypt after the abrogation. He expressed his opinion that the armed struggle should continue. He urged more volunteers to take an active part in the struggle, which—according to him—was to go through three stages: first, a sporadic and unorganized struggle conducted by various groups with no common leadership; second, the unification of these small groups to larger and organized groups under a democratic leadership; and third, an armed revolution by the entire people. Egypt, remarked Curiel, was currently at the first stage of the armed struggle. He instructed his communist fellows to send many fighters and to be among the vanguard and leaders of the anti-imperialist armed struggle in order not to let it be dominated by reactionary forces. The DMNL was to place its people in each fighting group. Moreover, it should establish its own armed group comprising “our best men” that would act jointly with the military section of the DMNL and the nationalist officers. A communist success would enhance the image of the movement and would place it in a good position politically. In addition, new courageous fighters would wish to join the DMNL. The international democratic camp, stated Curiel, was looking with anticipation and with vigilance to “the struggle of the Egyptian democrats.”59 Curiel’s analysis was well-founded and correct. The communist involvement in the armed struggle along with military officers strengthened the trust and cooperation between the DMNL and those officers who were to lead several months later the July military coup. As we know, the military branch and the printing section of the DMNL were actively involved in the preparation and execution of the coup. Moreover, “the international democratic camp,” that is, the Soviet bloc, was very pleased with the abrogation of the 1936 treaty; and relations between the

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Wafd government, which was dominated by its left wing, and the Soviet Union were tightened significantly in the months prior to the Wafd’s downfall in January 1952.60 The authorities had significant successes in their battle against the communist movements in the period 1948–1952, but—like their predecessors— they failed in rooting out communism. The movement made a quick recovery and played an important role in the demise of the monarchial regime only a few years later. Moreover, it would contribute a revolutionary theoretical platform on which the new revolutionary regime would rely extensively—albeit without admitting its origins. The following chapters will concentrate on such ideological concerns, which constituted the foundations of the multifaceted doctrine of the Egyptian communist movements.

Notes 1. Labib’s Report, in File 111, Egyptian Communists in Exile (Rome Group) (ECE), International Institute of Social History (IISH), Amsterdam, p. 13. See also Tiba, Al-Haraka al-Shuyu‘iyya, pp. 29–30. 2. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 54–55. 3. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 164–167. 4. Hatata, “‘An al-wahda wa-al-inqisam fi al-haraka al-yasariyya,” Qadaya Fikriyya (July 1992), pp. 303–308. See also Hatata, Fikr al-Yasar, pp. 111–125. 5. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 54–55; Perrault, A Man Apart, pp. 142–143. 6. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 29, 167, 178–179. 7. Ibid., pp. 118–119. 8. The data was taken from a report by Henri Curiel, “Les Principales étapes de la lutte intérieure qui s‘est déroulée autour du MDLN de mai 1947 à juin, dite ‘année de l‘unité,” sent to the DMNL from Paris in 1955, in File 402, ECE, IISH, p. 30. The table shows that the total number of EMNL members was 475 and not 500 as Curiel noted. However, the omitted 25 “foreigners” together with the other 475 add up to 500 EMNL members. 9. Al-Sa‘id, for instance, argues that Iskra came to the union with 900 members— 400 foreigners, 300 students, and many educated and well-to-do members as well as a small group of workers; whereas the EMNL had 700 members, most of whom were workers, and a tiny group of 10 foreigners. See his, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 389. 10. Letter DS(E) 20/2/24, R. M. Shields to Walter Smart, 10 July 1947, FO141/1158, 66/62/47, Foreign Office, Public Record Office, London. 11. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 383–394; Curiel “Les principales,” pp. 29–34. See also Labib’s Report, p. 14. 12. Curiel, “Les principales” p. 34; Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 54–55. 13. Labib’s Report, pp. 14–15. For more information on the organizational structure, see Botman, The Rise, pp. 70–71; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 392.

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14. Memorandum DS(E) 20/2/24 from Campbell, 10 March 1948, FO371/69250, J1890/1262/16; letter RC/19/50 by E. J. W. Barnes, 1 January 1950, FO371/86751, NS/1052/12G; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 390–391. 15. Interviews with Avraham Farhi, Yahud, Israel, 4 January and 3 February 2005. 16. Albert Arie is quoted from Azza Khattab, “The Converts,” Egypt Today, the Magazine of Egypt, May 2005, at http://www.egypttoday.com/article.aspx ?ArticleID=5036. 17. Hadetu was the Arabic nickname of the DMNL. 18. Hatata, “Henri Curiel,” in Tiba, Al-Haraka al-Shuyu‘iyya wa-Haykal, pp. 47–48; interviews with Marie Rosenthal-Kamil, Jaffa, 26 May 2006, and Cairo, 10, 16, and 22 February 2007. 19. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 222–224, 391. 20. Letter 214 (501/50/48), 25 April 1948, FO371/69250, J2953/1226/16. 21. Ibid. On the activities of the EMNL and the DMNL at al-Azhar, see also Fadl, ‘An al-Haraka al-Dimuqratiyya, pp. 5–16 (at the time, Fadl was a communist student at al-Azhar); Hatata, “Henri Curiel,” p. 57. 22. See a report by N. Vasiukov, CCKPSS (Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union), on the splits within the DMNL, Russian State Archive of Social-Political History (RGASPI), Fond-495/OP-210/D-30/L5; Curiel, “Les principales,” p. 35; Labib’s Report, p. 17; Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 57–58; Hatata, “Henri Curiel,” pp. 54–55. 23. Cadre, No. 1, 26 October 1947, quoted from Labib’s Report, p. 17. 24. Fu’ad ‘Abd al-Halim, “Haqiqat khatt al-quwwat al-wataniyya wa-aldimuqratiyya yana’iru 1948,” Qadaya Fikriyya, July 1992, pp. 266–272; Curiel, “Les principales,” pp. 40–41. See also Labib’s Report, p. 17; Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 57–58. 25. Ibid. 26. Hatata, “Henri Curiel,” pp. 56–57. 27. Muhammad Sid Ahmad, “Al-Yahud fi al-haraka al-shuyu‘iyya al-misriyya wa al-sira‘ al-‘arabi al-isra’ili,” Al-Hilal, June 1988, p. 21; Zaharan, Fi ’Usul alSiyasa, pp. 138–139; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 415–416. 28. Zaharan, Fi ’Usul al-Siyasa, pp. 138–139. See also, Tariq al-Bishri, “Qira’ah Misriyya fi Awraq Henry Curiel,” Al-Hilal, April 1988, p. 20. 29. This subject is discussed in Chapter 12. 30. Al-Halim, “Haqiqat khatt al-Quwwat,” pp. 266–272; Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, p. 58. 31. Labib’s Report, pp. 19–23. 32. Ibid., pp. 23–26. On the splits within the movement, see, for instance, alBishri, Al-Haraka al-Siyasiyya, pp. 417–418. On the differences between the rival groups, see also report by N. Vasiukov, CCCPSS, August 1954, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-210/D-30/L2–4. 33. Curiel, “Les principales,” pp. 46–53. 34. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 119–127. 35. Ibid., pp. 119–127. 36. Ibid., pp. 127–128, 180–181; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 428–434. Shuhdi al-‘Atiyya, however, repented and returned to the DMNL shortly thereafter. See al-Jindi, Masirat Hayati, p. 77. 37. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 159–160.

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38. Ibid., pp. 171, 179; interview with Albert Arie, Cairo, 18 February 2007. Mustafa Tiba, who went a long way with Curiel, also stressed Curiel’s centralist and authoritarian nature—a matter that contributed to the decline of the DMNL in late 1948. See Tiba, Al-Haraka al-Shuyu‘iyya, pp. 45–47. 39. Interviews with Hillel Schwartz, Paris, 19 and 21 May 2005. 40. On the various groups and their compositions, see al-Tawil, al-Disuqi, and others, Watha’iq al-Haraka al-Shuyu‘iyya, pp. 488–489. See also report by N. Vasiukov, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-30/L5; and Sidney Solomon’s personal file in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-7/L2. 41. “Tajmi‘ wa-ta‘miq khatt sawt al-mu‘arada al-dakhiliyya,” Sawt alMu‘arada al-Dakhiliyya, 24 June 1948; and “Sawt al-Mu‘arada al-Dakhiliyya,” Vol. 23, 6 November 1948, in File 113, ECE, IISH. 42. See a pamphlet published by Sawt al-Mu‘arada al-Dakhiliyya entitled, “The Condition in the Movement and the Appearance of the Voice of Internal Opposition,” in File 111, ECE, IISH. 43. Ibid. 44. Labib’s Report, pp. 26–41. See also Tiba, Al-Haraka al-Shuyu‘iyya, p. 46. 45. An internal document of “Mim. Shin. Min,” “Kitab dawri ‘an al-wahda,” 22 January 1949, File 113, ECE, IISH. See also Yusuf al-Jindi, Masirat Hayati, pp. 76–77. 46. “Bayan Raqam 1”—a document written by Jabhat al-Shuyu‘iyyin alMisriyyin (the Egyptian Communist Front), 1947, File 9, T\U, IISH. 47. An internal document of Tali‘at al-‘Ummal, 21 January 1947, File 18, T\U, IISH. 48. “Ayyuha al-Shuyu‘iyyun Itahhidu,” 15 August 1947, File 7, T\U, IISH. See also, “Jabhatuna: Nidaluha–Siyassatuha–Mawqifuha min al-Intihaziyya,” 6 November 1947, File 8, T\U, IISH. 49. “Radd ‘ala Bayan al-Munazzama al-Shuyu‘iyya al-Misriyya,” February 1949, File 11, T\U, IISH. 50. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 120–123. 51. Ibid., pp. 29–30, 74–76. 52. Hatata, “‘An al-wahda,” pp. 303–308. 53. Al-Bashir, 2 December 1950. 54. Dispatches 600, 518, 638, 716, 154, 336, 503 from Caffery, Cairo, 18 March, 20 March, 3 April, 11 April, 27 July, 11 August, 29 August 1950, RG 59, 774.001/3-2950, 774.001/3-2050, 774.001/4-350, 774.001/4-1150, 774.00/ 7-2750, 774.001/8-1150, 774.00/8-2950. 55. On Curiel and the SMNL, see Chapter 11. 56. See a report on the last trip of comrade Jamal (pseudonym of Ibrahim ‘Abd al-Halim), February–May 1952, File 17, ECE, IISH; al-Jindi, Masirat Hayati, pp. 124–125; al-Sa‘id, Munazzamat al-Yasar, pp. 37–41; Beinin, The Dispersion, pp. 148–156. 57. Letter from Curiel to the DMNL and the SMNL, “‘an al-Kifah alMushtarak,” Italy, 1951, File 260, ECE, IISH. 58. Cited from Ginat, The Soviet Union, pp. 128–129. On the Egyptian guerrilla fighters and their clashes with British troops in the Suez Canal zone, see Vatikiotis, The History, pp. 370–372; Botman, The Rise, pp. 101–103. 59. See a report from Curiel to the DMNL, January 1952, File 327, ECE, IISH.

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60. On the Wafd government’s policy of neutralism and the tightening of relations with the Soviet Union, see Ginat, The Soviet Union and Egypt, pp. 118–132. On the DMNL–Free Officers cooperation, see, for instance, al-Sa‘id, Munazzamat al-Yasar, pp. 86–102; al-Jindi, Masirat Hayati, pp. 106–108; Curiel, Min Ajil Salam, p. 23; report from Majmu‘at Ruma to the DMNL, “Harakat 23 Yuliyu Halka min Halakat al-Thawra al-Burjwaziyya al-Wataniyya fi Misr,” 1953, File 16, ECE, IISH. The DMNL’s printing section published and distributed secretly bulletins and leaflets by the Free Officers. For instance, such a leaflet, published in March 1952, condemned the United States for using biological weapons in the Korean War and rejected the call for military alliances with the Western powers. See an inside document, 19 March 1952, File 14, ECE, IISH.

11 The National Question and the Case of Sudan

In December 1945, the Egyptian government headed by Nuqrashi

Pasha (February 1945–February 1946) officially requested that Britain revise the Anglo-Egyptian treaty signed in August 1936. This triggered a wave of demonstrations, public discontent, and agitation organized by political opposition groups from both the left and the right, and also by elements constituting the influential left wing of the Wafd. One of the main issues disturbing Anglo-Egyptian relations was the question of the Sudan, which the treaty of 1936 did not resolve to the Egyptians’ satisfaction. Although, according to the treaty, Britain and Egypt were jointly to administer the Sudan, the joint administration was, in reality, not on an equal footing. The British governor-general of the Sudan enjoyed absolute and undivided authority, since he alone determined all official and nonofficial appointments and promotions in the Sudan. There was a wide consensus in Egypt that the solution of the Sudan problem should be the unification of the two countries with a certain degree of Sudanese self-government that is administrative autonomy under Egyptian rule. Many in Egypt were convinced, not without good reason, that the British pursued the complete separation of Egypt and the Sudan in the longterm. Britain wanted to prepare the Sudanese people for self-government as a first stage, which—in contrast to Egypt’s plan—was to lead to the full independence of the Sudan and its alliance with the British Empire. The Egyptian request to revise the 1936 treaty was therefore based on a demand to unite the Nile Valley under Egyptian domination. The Egyptian government also demanded the complete evacuation of British troops from Egypt and the Sudan.1

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Anglo-Egyptian negotiations began in April 1946 and lasted ten months. The extended and prolonged negotiations appeared to have led to an agreement on the terms of a new treaty covering the military cooperation between Egypt and Britain and a definition of the status of the Sudan. Following talks between Ernest Bevin, the British foreign secretary, and Isma‘il Sidqi, the Egyptian prime minister (February–December 1946), the two countries agreed on a draft treaty in London in October 1946. In brief, Britain agreed to Egypt’s independence, including a British evacuation of Egypt within three years. Egypt was to pay a twofold price: first, it agreed to the terms of an Anglo-Egyptian military alliance replacing the military clauses of the 1936 treaty.2 Second, Egypt agreed to British-Egyptian cooperation in the preparation of the Sudan for self-government and selfdetermination within the framework of a union between Egypt and the Sudan under the common crown of Egypt. Sidqi accepted the British demand to retain the 1899 Condominium arrangement and to allow no change in the arrangements affecting the Sudan without prior consultation of the Sudanese themselves. By agreeing to it, Sidqi relinquished the Egyptian demand of the complete unity of the Nile Valley.3 Due to the opposition to the draft treaty from within Sidqi’s own government and from the Wafd and all other opposition parties, the treaty was never ratified.4 Soon after its conclusion, Sidqi and Bevin interpreted the Sudan protocol differently. These developments led to the downfall of Sidqi’s government in December 1946.5 Nuqrashi Pasha, who succeeded Sidqi, adopted an uncompromising attitude right from the beginning, in spite of British efforts to prevent the negotiations from ending in failure. On 27 January 1947, Nuqrashi announced to the Egyptian Parliament that the negotiations with Britain had failed and that his government (December 1946–December 1948) intended to bring the issue before the Security Council of the United Nations (SCUN).6 The government’s decision to refer the Egyptian-Sudanese case to the SCUN also stemmed from public pressure and from progressive opposition forces that—according to the British Security Services in Egypt—were well aware that this was not enough and that “great vigilance is still required to prevent a new sell-out to British imperialism.”7 FJ, one of the main communist theoretical forums at the time, stated: “The international circumstances are on our side. We must take advantage of them as best as possible and exact benefit from the forces of liberation within them.”8 Egypt’s admission as a member of the SCUN gave the paper’s writers new hope that Egypt might be able to take advantage of its newly found clout in order to internationalize its troubled relationship with Britain. The UN became FJ’s forum of choice in its calls to solve the

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Egyptian Britain problem once and for all, including a full, unconditional withdrawal of British troops from Egyptian soil. Sa‘id Khiyal was one of the more vocal advocates of this idea; he claimed that Egypt’s membership in the UN Security Council obligated it to act quickly to solve Egypt’s national problem as well as all other outstanding issues in the Middle East. Khiyal asserted that only a full withdrawal of all foreign troops would be in line with the UN Charter, which guaranteed equal rights to all nations, including the right to self-determination, and equality with regard to questions of sovereignty for all member states.9 In another article, Khiyal called for Egypt’s full independence based on three demands: a complete British withdrawal, no treaty with Britain, and no preference for Britain as a superpower. In order to force the colonialists to accept these terms, Khiyal claimed, it was necessary to rally all of the anticolonialist forces, both at home and abroad. On the international front, Khiyal considered the forces that fought colonialism, especially the Soviet Union, to be of primary importance, followed by the economic forces, mainly the United States, that wished to end the British monopoly in Egypt. Khiyal claimed that the only means of uniting these forces into a “steel front” (jabha fuladhiyya) to pressure the colonialists into a full withdrawal was mediation on the part of the Security Council, rather than bilateral negotiations with Britain. By referring the matter to the Security Council, Khiyal concluded, Egypt could contribute to the defeat of colonialism in the shortest possible time, and at a minimal cost, since Egypt’s voice would join all of the other anticolonialist forces.10 For the writers at FJ, the Soviet Union was Egypt’s partner of choice in international matters. Countless articles were devoted to the USSR’s positive role in the international arena, as well as its steadfast position opposing colonialism and fascism. The articles criticized the portrayal of the USSR as an imperialist superpower in the Egyptian press. Raymond Duwayk, for example, lauded the Soviet Union’s stance in support of the Syrian and Lebanese struggle against Britain and France. Duwayk asserted that the Arab nations sympathized with the Soviet cause. In response to the anti-Soviet attacks in the Egyptian press warning of “red imperialism” in the region and the “red threat” (in Al-Ahram on 11 January 1946), Duwayk reminded the readers that the true threat was British colonialism and voiced his bewilderment at the position taken by the local press, particularly in light of recent Soviet support for the struggles in Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, and Indonesia.11 After several months of delays and procrastinations, Nuqrashi, seeing no sign of British yielding and being constantly pressured by his political rivals to go ahead with the Security Council plan, dispatched a letter to the

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UN secretary-general on 8 July, in which he stated Egypt’s claims and demands. Generally speaking, he demanded the total and immediate evacuation of British troops from Egypt and the Sudan, and the termination of the present administrative regime in the Sudan.12 Nuqrashi’s main political adversary, the Wafd, doubted his government’s competence and determination to pursue Egypt’s cause. The Wafd considered Nuqrashi’s note to the SCUN as a sign of weakness, “since it does not mention unity of the Nile Valley under the Egyptian crown, which is a principal demand, to which [the whole] nation agrees.”13 The Democratic Movement for National Liberation (DMNL) published a manifest calling on the Egyptian people to voice clearly their demands: a full and unconditional withdrawal of the imperialist forces from the Nile Valley, a total rejection of the Bevin-Sidqi draft treaty, and the abolition of the 1899 and 1936 treaties with Britain. The manifest concluded with the slogan: “long live the Egyptian and Sudanese struggle on their way to democracy and freedom.”14 Nuqrashi’s efforts in August 1947 to convince the member states of the SCUN to support his demands were not met with success. His demands were only supported by the Syrian, Soviet, and Polish delegates. It is noteworthy that although the Soviet and Polish delegates supported Egypt’s demands, the two countries expressed reservations about Egyptian claims regarding the incorporation of the Sudan into Egypt. The Soviet delegate, Andrei Gromyko, declared on 20 August that “we do not know what the Sudanese want and what they are striving for.”15 Nuqrashi’s failure to advance the Egyptian national cause led to mounting political discontent and antigovernment demonstrations organized by the Wafd and the opposition groups on the left and the right. The criticism was directed at both British imperialism and Nuqrashi’s weak government. Indeed, the British exploited their substantial advantages as the dominant power in Egypt and the Sudan in order to reduce Egyptian influence in the Sudan to a minimum. A case in point was Britain’s activity in the educational field—it nurtured, improved, and developed the Sudanese educational system in order to promote Sudanese national identity and encourage antiEgyptian separatist tendencies.16

The Communists’ Stand on the Sudan: The Emergence of the “Self-Determination” Paradigm

There was a consensus among Egyptian nationalists of various schools regarding the unity of the Nile Valley and the unity of Egypt and the Sudan. Israel Gershoni and James Jankowski stated: “a consistent demand of

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Egyptian nationalists of all stripes through the first half of the twentieth century was Egyptian sovereignty over the Sudan . . . for territorialists and supra-Egyptianist spokesmen alike, the unity of the Nile Valley was a given.”17 Each nationalist group, they argued, approached the issue differently. Islamic nationalists declared that the Sudan, like any other Muslim territory, was an inseparable component of the umma (the nation of Islam), whereas territorial nationalists relied heavily on geographical and environmental arguments to justify their assertion that Egypt and the Sudan were a single inseparable entity.18 Being fully aware that many in Egypt saw the Sudan as an integral part of Egypt, the Egyptian government in the period 1945–1947 made an effort to draw on the works of leading scholars and experts in the study of the Nile Valley, in order to explain the physical, ethnographical, cultural, and economic foundations on which the unity between Egypt and the Sudan was built. They presented the expressions and forms in which that unity had manifested itself throughout history—an amalgamation of processes, which created a single Egyptian-Sudanese people with a distinct national character.19 There was unanimous agreement in Egypt concerning the question of the Sudan and the unity of the Nile Valley with one exception—the communists. The communists developed a divergent view regarding the unity of the Nile Valley. The slogan of the mainstream ran: “the unity of the Nile Valley—one Nile—one people—one king” (wahdat wadi al-Nil—Nil Wahid—sha‘b wahid—malik wahid). The communists promoted a very different slogan: “political and economic independence and a common struggle with the Sudanese people and their right to self-determination” (al-istiqlal alsiyasiyya wa-al-iqtisadi wa-al-kifah al-mushtarak ma‘a al- sha‘b alSudani wahaqhu fi taqrir masirihi).20 This stand was only formulated in the early 1940s, but had its conceptual roots in the Egyptian Communist Party (ECP) platform of 1931. Until the early 1940s, the communist position regarding the Sudan was practically speaking in line with the national consensus. It was Henri Curiel, who—as the chief advocate of the Sudanese right to self-determination—brought the subject to the fore in the Egyptian political discourse. The Comintern’s view on the Sudan question had been formulated as early as 1922, favoring the unification of Egypt and the Sudan. The Sudan, the Comintern asserted, was a continuation of and supplement to Egypt and therefore should politically be a part of the latter. The Comintern based its reasoning on Marxist-Leninist social arguments. The Sudan should belong to Egypt because “the toilers of the Sudan as the weaker, defenseless and as yet quite unawake class would find reliable support in the working class of revolutionary Egypt.”21 In comparison to the Sudan, Egypt was

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portrayed as industrially progressive—a country whose productive and economic forces could develop the Sudanese industry. The combination of coal mining in the Sudan and the cotton cultivation in Egypt and the Sudan would lead to the development of a flourishing cotton industry in both countries. Egypt, a Comintern theoretician noted, was interested in establishing a natural cooperation with the Sudan. Moreover, the problem of the Sudan’s underpopulation and its cultural and technical backwardness and of Egypt’s overpopulation and the land hunger of the Egyptian fellahin could be solved by Egyptians migrating to the Sudan once the two countries were united. The Comintern regarded the British as the cause for the backwardness of the Sudan; together with their Egyptian ally—the bourgeoisie—the British exploited the Sudanese working class, therefore: Neither the Egyptian nor the English bourgeoisie are in a position to find a way out of the contradiction, which has arisen for them in their double colony. Only the toilers of Egypt can properly take up and solve this as well as all other questions affecting the Egyptian revolution. The Sudan must be not a colony of England, not a colony of her colony [Egypt], but a federative part of a truly independent state of Egypt, in which the toilers of Egypt and the Sudan should occupy the dominant position.22

The first congress of the newly established ECP adopted a resolution on 25 January 1923 that endorsed the Comintern’s line. As far as the Egyptian national question was concerned, the congress called for the liberation and unification of Egypt and the Sudan. Such unification would be based on mutual respect and equality. Unification would strengthen the revolutionary movement in both countries and pave the way for their liberation of political and social repression from British imperialism and local capitalism.23 A change appeared in the ECP’s program of 1931. The communists reiterated their call to drive out British imperialism from the Nile Valley in order to gain full economic and political independence for both Egypt and the Sudan. However, they demanded a guarantee of the Sudan’s right to self-determination (al-daman al-kamil li-haqq al-sudan fi taqrir masirihi). By doing so, they were the first to break away from the prevailing national consensus concerning Egypt’s entitlement to the Sudan—a consensus that was already consolidated during Muhammad ‘Ali’s reign. They also called on the Egyptian government to establish an alliance with the Soviet Union in order to confront and expel British imperialism.24 Whether the communist call to grant the Sudanese people the right to national self-determination was made by Moscow or by the then hardly existing ECP, one thing is certain— it had no effect on the Egyptian political scene at the time.

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Moreover, the old generation of Egyptian communists was not persistent in its stand toward the Sudan question. In the mid 1930s, there was once again an attempt to adjust the CPE’s platform regarding the national question to that of the Wafd, as part of the doctrine formulated by the Comintern’s seventh congress that called for the formation of a national front. The idea of granting the Sudanese their right to self-determination was abandoned in light of the urgent need to cooperate with the Wafd that led to a triangular struggle against the monarchial dictatorship, British imperialism, and Italian fascism that was active at Egypt’s back door—Ethiopia.25 The decisive shift from the unity-of-the–Nile Valley paradigm to the Sudanese-right-to-self-determination paradigm occurred at the very outset of the 1940s. The short-lived Democratic Union (al-Ittihad al-Dimuqrati), where Curiel, Israel, and Schwartz featured prominently, recruited progressive Egyptians and Sudanese, such as Abdu Dhahab Hasanayn, who was born in Sudan in 1918 and spent a great deal of time in Egypt (1930–1950). Dhahab revealed that the first communist to approach him was Hillel Schwartz, who told him that the communists had been keeping track of him for a long time and introduced him to Marcel Israel and Henri Curiel. Right from the beginning it was Curiel who saw the great potential in recruiting people like Dhahab to their organization. Curiel described Dhahab as an “intelligent, dynamic and popular person.”26 After the disintegration of the Democratic Union, Dhahab joined the Egyptian Movement for National Liberation (EMNL) and later became a prominent figure in the Sudanese communist movement.27 While active in the Democratic Union and the EMNL, Dhahab established contacts with Sudanese and Nubian students studying at al-Azhar University. He recruited some of them and—through them—managed to recruit other Sudanese to Curiel’s organization. Curiel recalled that through his discussions with the students recruited by Dhahab, he broadened his knowledge of the Sudanese issue. Curiel believed that giving a Marxist education to Sudanese students might prove useful after their graduation and return to the Sudan. To encourage Sudanese national awareness, Curiel and his colleagues sponsored and published two legal periodicals, Huriyyat al-Shu‘ub and Umdurman. Through these papers, Curiel disseminated his organizations’ views regarding the future of the Sudan.28 Dhahab revealed the story behind the purchase of Huriyyat al-Shu‘ub. According to his account, Curiel, still in the Democratic Union, informed Dhahab of his plan to establish a journal that would disseminate the organization’s ideas. He assigned the mission of finding a suitable periodical to Dhahab, who managed to reach a deal, for a reasonable sum of money, with Rajab Ahmad—a nonpolitical figure who owned Huriyyat al-Shu‘ub. Curiel kept the journal’s name but

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added the subtitle Egyptian, Sudanese, Proletarian and Cultural Journal (Majalla Misriyya, Sudaniyya, ‘Umaliyya Thaqafiyya). In September 1941, the journal, which was published in Egypt, became totally Sudanese oriented, and articles by Sudanese writers such as Abdu Dhahab and Muhyi alDin Sabir featured prominently. There were also Egyptians working for the paper, as, for example, Zaki Abu al-Khayr, Sayyid Qindil, and Yusuf Darwish—all recruited by Curiel.29 Apart from the practical work at the journal, they also pursued theoretical issues. Dhahab disclosed that Curiel enriched their Marxist education by organizing classes and seminars, and he also encouraged them to recruit new worthy members to the newspaper and organization. Indeed, they managed to recruit such progressive figures as As‘ad Halim, Anwar Kamil, and Mustafa Kamil Munib.30 In contrast to the prevailing aspiration to see Egypt and the Sudan united under one crown—Nil wahid, Sha‘b wahid, malik wahid (one Nile, one people, one king)—Curiel spoke of two separate peoples struggling against a common enemy—the British—for their national independence. He raised the banner of the “common struggle against a common enemy” (al-kifah al-mushtarak dida al-‘adu al-mushtarak).31 Curiel was fully aware of the British efforts to separate the Sudan from Egypt. He therefore emphasized that the Sudanese people would have their right to self-determination only after the total removal of British imperialism from the Nile Valley. He shared his views on the Sudan with Muhammad Najib, a high-ranking officer of Sudanese origin who was to become—following the July 1952 revolution—Egypt’s official leader. Curiel recalled that Najib endorsed the EMNL’s stand on the Sudan. Indeed, noted Curiel with satisfaction, while in power, Najib and his fellow officers implemented in 1953 the EMNL’s formula for the solution of the Sudanese problem without mentioning its origin or attributing any credit to its communist proponents.32 Following the disintegration of the Democratic Union, Huriyyat alShu‘ub became the EMNL’s press organ in 1943, and Dhahab continued his activities along with Curiel.33 In 1943, Curiel asked Dhahab to go on a mission to Sudan for the purpose of establishing contacts with a small communist group there. In Khartoum, Dhahab met a British officer named Asturi, who was among the founders of a communist group there. He learned that the group was weak and marginal. Asturi asked Dhahab to assist him in establishing a more broad-based organization. On his return to Cairo, Dhahab informed Curiel and the EMNL’s central committee about his experience. Curiel refused to allow Dhahab and other Sudanese cadres to move to Khartoum. In Curiel’s view, there was, at this stage, an urgent need to form a Sudanese independent branch in Egypt in preparation for the formation of an independent communist organization in Sudan. Indeed,

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this branch was soon to become a reality. Its underground name was Salt and Soda Company, and among its members were two from the EMNL’s central committee—Abdu Dhahab Hasanayn and ‘Abd al-Majid Abu Hasbu. It also included ‘Abd al-Khaliq Mahjub, ‘Abd al-Wahab Zayn al‘Abadayn, Muhammad Amin Husain, ‘Abd al-Rahim Fuda, ‘Izz al-Din ‘Ali ‘Amir, and Hasan ‘Isma‘il. In 1945, the EMNL took another step in the formation of a separate communist organization in the Sudan. In a meeting in Cairo between two Sudanese communists (Hasan al-Tahir Zarruq and ‘Abd al-Hamid Abu alQasim) and the leaders of the EMNL (Curiel, ‘Abd al-Fattah al-Qadi, and Tahsin al-Misri), the Sudanese presented their request to form a communist organization in the Sudan. They argued that since 1943 there had been a marked improvement in the construction of the underground organizational infrastructure. Curiel and his colleagues were persuaded that the time was ripe for it and gave their consent that those Sudanese who were in Egypt would continue with their activities in the EMNL and that on their return to the Sudan, they would join the movement there holding the same rank and position that they had in Egypt.34 Indeed, Sudanese students, members of the EMNL who returned to the Sudan, were among the founders of the Sudanese Movement for National Liberation (SMNL, al-haraka al-sudaniyya lil-taharrur al-watani). Among its prominent members were Abdu Dhahab Hasanayn and ‘Abd al-Khaliq Mahjub.35 The SMNL, which took its first steps in 1946, comprised two main groups: students of Khartoum University and students of Cairo University. The newly established communist organization faced a serious crisis in 1947: it found it difficult to consolidate a united policy regarding the future of the Sudan. The organization was divided between “opportunist elements,” who infiltrated the Central Committee for the purpose of promoting “unity of the Nile Valley” under the Egyptian crown (these were called royalist communists), and those who called for a struggle against imperialism and for the Sudanese right to self-determination. The royalist communists were expelled from the organization, and trade union members and leaders took their place.36 After the purge of 1947, the Sudanese communist movement absolutely rejected the idea of the “unity of the Nile Valley,” regarding it as a “clear proof of Egypt’s imperialist designs.”37 The communists’ well-established position in Egyptian universities, stated a British report, explained their success among Sudanese students. The Egyptian government had a policy of granting scholarships to Sudanese students. Ironically, it was these government-supported students in Cairo who opposed the Egyptian authorities and drifted into communist clubs and societies. In general, they became strong exponents of communism when

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they returned to the Sudan.38 Many Sudanese students studying in Egypt were attracted to communism in the latter part of the 1940s. Egyptian communist groups, particularly those under Curiel’s leadership, took pains to attract Sudanese students to their ranks, hoping to use their services in spreading communism in the Sudan. Sudanese students were indeed drawn to popular slogans and ideas disseminated by the communists stressing antiimperialism, ideas of freedom, the youthful appeal of adventure, patriotic ideals, and the secular aspects of communism such as the association with young female members of the movement. Communism was flourishing among Sudanese students, the British intelligence report assessed, because the “educational authorities have failed to establish adequate control, discipline and organization.” Out of 250 students at Fu’ad University, at least 40 were known to be communists, the report revealed. During their vacations in the Sudan or after their return upon the completion of their studies, students spread communism among their friends. Communism, the report stated, had also made rapid headway at Gordon College—an academic institution that was reopened in early 1945.39 As stated earlier, the vast majority of Egyptian political groups adhered to the line of unification expressed by “the unification of the Nile Valley under the Egyptian crown” (wahdat wadi al-Nil taht al-taj al-Misri). There were also groups of Sudanese studying or living in Egypt who supported the message—as, for example, ‘Ali al-Barbar, who became the editor of AlSudan, a pro-union journal sponsored by the Egyptian palace. As a counterweight to Al-Sudan, Dhahab, who was an EMNL activist at the time, managed to get a license to publish a new newspaper called Umdurman, which was first issued in March 1945. Umdurman, like its predecessor Huriyyat al-Shu‘ub, dealt with Sudanese and Nubian issues and was sponsored by the EMNL. The articles were written by members of the movement, mostly Sudanese, including Muhammad Amin Husain, Abdu Dhahab, Hamid Hamday, Salah ‘Urabi, and Zaki Murad Salih. The paper, which was identified as Sudanese, was quite successful in Egypt, but was banned in the Sudan and therefore had to be smuggled in. Ideologically, the paper concentrated on the question of collective identity, asking: “Who are we?” The answer was, “We are a group of people, who are rich in nationalities and beliefs. . . . We are fighting against imperialism. . . . We call to unite and join forces in our war against our [common] great enemy—imperialism.”40 The newspaper dealt mainly with Sudanese issues, but it also touched peripherally on issues of Arab unity, Palestine, colonialism, and imperialism. The Egyptian as well as the Sudanese authorities persecuted the newspaper’s activists, and the paper was shut down on 12 July 1946.41

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A pamphlet distributed on 9 October 1945 among members of the EMNL appealed to them to stand united in the struggle for “our future happiness, freedom and dignity.” The working class could be freed only after the liberation from occupation was achieved completely, declared the communists. They called for the total independence of the Nile Valley and the evacuation of British troops and other foreign elements from Egypt and the Sudan. They did not rule out full unity with the Sudan, but felt this could come only after the Sudanese people had gained their independence, freedom, and democracy. The program displayed Egyptian nationalist sentiments, advocating the dismissal of all foreigners (especially British) from the Egyptian army and police, and the formation of a strong army.42 As for the other two main communist groups—Iskra and FJ, their attitude toward the future of the Sudan was not much different from the EMNL’s. Iskra called for a “common struggle [Sudanese and Egyptian] for freedom and democracy.” It did not refer specifically to a possible future union between the two countries. It did, however, adopt the EMNL’s stand soon after combining with that organization to form the DMNL.43 Rif‘at al-Sa‘id declared that FJ followed in its official political program the main Egyptian nationalist stream that advocated full unification. Nevertheless, it conditioned its support for unification, declaring that the Sudanese people should enjoy equal rights of democracy and freedom.44 As the next section shows, however, a review of articles published by the FJ magazine does not support al-Sa‘id’s arguments. Close scrutiny of these articles reveals that they resembled the EMNL’s separatist approach. It is noteworthy that members of Iskra and the EMNL were also among the writers of the FJ magazine (May 1945–July 1946).45

The Unity of the Nile Valley: The Communists’ View

Since its formation, the coalition government46 of Nuqrashi Pasha (February 1945–February 1946) was frequently attacked by the communists, who drove home the idea that the government’s compromising and indulgent attitude toward the British was an approach that could not lead the Egyptian people to full independence.47 If records of conversations between Nuqrashi’s government and the British were checked, declared AlDamir, the organ of the Workers’ Committee of National Liberation, all of them would be found to contain “weak solutions.”48 The communists absolutely rejected a continuation of this particular mode of negotiation with Britain and called for more militant means.

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Umdurman harshly criticized Nuqrashi’s government for allegedly recognizing the British interests in the Sudan. Nuqrashi Pasha was an imperialist who saw the Sudan as an Egyptian colony, the newspaper stated, and in this regard there was not much difference between him and the British. As a matter of fact, the paper continued, Nuqrashi accepted and even approved the policy pursued by the British over the last half century and sought to conclude a deal with the British at the expense of both the Sudanese and Egyptian peoples. Sudan was not for sale; it was exclusively the property of its own people. Even the British seemed more resigned to the notion that the fate of the Sudan was to be determined by the Sudanese people, and they consulted a variety of their representatives in an effort to ascertain their views on this issue. The newspaper ruled out the option of a referendum in the Sudan to determine its future, as some Egyptian officials in the Sudan had suggested. “Are the Sudanese and Egyptian governments plotting a conspiracy aimed at turning the Sudan into their colony?” asked Umdurman.49 The journal’s response was that only the Sudanese people were entitled, out of their free choice, and after a complete evacuation of the Nile Valley, to make a decision about the type of government that was appropriate. In a direct appeal to Nuqrashi, Umdurman wrote: “No Prime Minister! Egypt for the Egyptians, and Sudan for the Sudanese; it is not your right to talk or to keep silent; you must receive the people’s permission and accept their guidance.”50 The journal drew a distinction between the powerful Egyptian people and its weak government. The Sudanese people, it concluded, should rely on the Egyptian people in their struggle to expel their common enemy—the British—and to gain their independence.51 The quest for a solution to the problem of the Nile Valley had to be wrested from the grasp of Egyptian leaders and politicians by the Sudanese and Egyptian peoples, because only they were capable of fulfilling their own national goals. The interests of the Egyptian political elite and those of British imperialism were inextricably bound and contrary to the peoples’ goals.52 Umdurman rejected the slogan of “the evacuation and [thereafter] the unification of the Nile Valley” (al-Jala’ wa-wahdat wadi al-Nil) and replaced it with the slogan “evacuation of the Nile Valley in its entirety” (alJala’ ‘an wadi al-Nil bi-akmalihi). The Sudanese communists opposed what they deemed to be a probable threat—an Anglo-Egyptian agreement that would entail the withdrawal of British troops only from Egypt, while deferring the resolution of the dispute over the Sudan to a later stage. “What is the meaning of [British] evacuation of Egypt, but not the Sudan?!” they bitterly asked Nuqrashi.53 Muhammad Amin Husain, who wrote most of Umdurman’s editorials, accepted as a given that all parts of the Nile Valley were an inseparable

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economic and political unit. No one in the Sudan wished to see a division of the Nile Valley, stressed Husain, yet there was a lively debate in the Sudan regarding possible forms of unity and its components. Slogans such as “Sudan for the Sudanese” (al-Sudan lil-Sudaniyyun) and “Sudan first” (Sudan Awalan), did not mean a call for the separation of Egypt and the Sudan, since the two peoples had much in common. They had a common problem (qadiyya mushtaraka)—British occupation—and common interests (masalih mushtaraka)—to obliterate imperialism.54 When Egypt and Britain opened their negotiations on the revision of the treaty of 1936, there was a Sudanese attempt to establish a unified front including all political parties, which would present the position of the Sudanese people on the question of the future of the Sudan. On 19 March 1946, FJ reported that all Sudanese political parties had reached an agreement based on the following demands: (1) Britain and Egypt should issue a joint statement in which they recognize the democratic Sudanese government; (2) the Sudan should be united with Egypt, yet the Sudanese government would determine the type of union with Egypt; (3) the future alliance with Britain would be dependent on the nature of the EgyptianSudanese union. A Sudanese delegation that arrived in Cairo in April 1946 to represent the Sudanese political parties at the opening of the Anglo-Egyptian negotiations issued a statement on 7 April expressing its belief that the Egyptian government would support their demands because the two countries were struggling for independence from imperialism.55 The British evacuation should be total—politically, militarily, and economically—from the entire Nile Valley. To achieve that goal, the Sudanese and Egyptian peoples must join forces. A separate solution for either Egypt or the Sudan was to be rejected outright. Only after a complete British evacuation would Egypt and Sudan come to terms with the “internal organization of the Nile Valley.”56 FJ’s editorial board analyzed the Sudanese demands and concluded that the primary goal of all Sudanese parties was to liberate the Sudan before the nature of their future relations with Egypt and Britain were determined. The magazine noted that there was a Sudanese national movement that was led by a “developed and progressive nationalist capitalist class” that played a historical role in Sudan’s struggle to maintain a democratic system. It was the duty of the Egyptians to ignite the flames of a common struggle against a common enemy. “We need to understand,” stressed FJ, “that the Sudanese national movement is the essential factor and central force in the Sudan, and that it is in Egypt’s interest that it gains strength and joins in the battle against imperialism.” FJ attacked those in the Sudan who supported the British maneuvers aimed at separating the Sudan from Egypt before a total British evacuation. By doing so, they weakened their

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courageous movement for national liberation and strengthened the British, who wished to perpetuate their imperialism. The “loyal nationalists” in Egypt supported the Sudanese national movement, because its determination was like “a dagger in the throat of imperialism.”57 Under the current circumstances, FJ continued, Egypt should oppose any form of either a separatist or unified state, because the efforts should, first and foremost, focus on the liberation of the Nile Valley. The magazine attacked the Egyptian government for ignoring the Sudanese delegation and for not consolidating a Sudanese-Egyptian united front. In their statements and speeches, Egyptian government officials hinted that Egypt would be willing to distinguish between the Sudanese and Egyptian issues by postponing the solution of the Sudan problem to a later stage. The Egyptian reactionaryism (raj‘iyya) and British imperialism were equally enemies of the Sudanese national movement. British imperialism sought to define the nature of the regime in the Sudan before its evacuation and by doing so to separate the Sudan and Egypt. Similarly, the Egyptian reactionaries wanted to determine the type of regime there, seeking the incorporation of the Sudan within Egypt. The Egyptian “loyal nationalists” and the Sudanese national movement saw the liberation from imperialism as their main goal. Therefore, it is not surprising, observed FJ, that both the Egyptian reactionaryism and British imperialism were fighting against the Sudanese national movement—an anti-imperialist group that advocated liberation from imperialism and the subsequent establishment of a democratic regime that would stop foreign, particularly British and Egyptian, exploitation of the Sudan. The magazine welcomed the banner raised by the Sudanese delegation, a “common struggle against a common enemy,” and reiterated its call for the Sudanese nationalists to join forces with the Egyptian “loyal nationalists” in a common struggle against British imperialism for the liberation of the Nile Valley. The article concluded by expressing the hope that Egypt and the Sudan would live in the future as two independent democratic countries.58 Mounting tension between the groups of FJ and Umdurman occurred in early 1946 following the publication of an article by Sadiq Sa‘d, who called for a reform of the personnel structure of the Egyptian army, turning it into a nationalist and democratic force. The existing class division, where highranking officers belonged to the reactionary upper class, led to friction between them and the “common soldiers,” whose socioeconomic origins were in the lower classes, declared Sa‘d. This situation, he noted, weakened the army and turned it into “a pale shadow of its glorious past.” To strengthen his argument, Sa‘d referred to earlier historical periods: “In the past we possessed a large national army that defended our country and raised its flag in

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the Mashriq and in South Sudan.”59 This statement provoked a flurry of response by the Umdurman group, which condemned Sa‘d’s article, charging that it represented reactionary and pro-imperialist views. The reaction of FJ’s editorial board was apologetic, repeating the magazine’s official stand on the future of the Sudan. They made it clear that they respected the will of the Sudanese people and would continue to support the emerging Sudanese nationalist movement. The magazine declared, unequivocally, that it opposed all types of imperialism, whether foreign or Egyptian. It called once again for a common Sudanese-Egyptian struggle against British imperialism and expressed its desire to see the Sudanese people enjoying democracy and freedom. Sa‘d’s article, it was stressed, was an accurate reflection of such views. FJ expressed its appreciation of Sa‘d, describing him as an “independent intellectual, who revealed his [progressive] views in his books and articles.”60 It is noteworthy that FJ’s line of defense was based on solid ground. In an article published in September 1945, Sa‘d expressed his firm objection to the continuity of Egyptian imperialist maneuvers in the Sudan. This may be seen clearly in his reaction to the memorandum by Ahmad Husain (the leader of Misr al-Fatat) on Egypt’s “national demands,” which was submitted to King Farouk, and a copy of which was published in Al-Wafd al-Misri on 21 August 1945. In reference to the future of the Sudan, Husain made a vehement appeal unilaterally to annex the Sudan in order to solve one of Egypt’s main problems—the rapid population increase causing the spread of hunger and death in the country. The incorporation of the Sudan by Egypt, stated Husain, would slow down or even prevent this tragic development because many Egyptians would consequently be able to settle in the Sudan. Sa‘d attacked Husain’s proposal, referring to it as the “winds of colonialism.” The problems of hunger and poverty in Egypt, declared Sa‘d, were a result of socioeconomic gaps and social divisions. The Sudanese people, stressed Sa‘d, had made their point clear—they were not interested in seeing the replacement of one mode of imperialism with another; in other words, they opposed both British and Egyptian imperialism. The Sudanese people wanted to be first fully liberated and only then to determine their future. Egypt and the Sudan, concluded Sa‘d, would find it more effective to struggle against the British if Egypt declared the abolition of the Condominium61 and thereafter evacuated the Sudan.62 The editorial board of FJ thanked the “fighters of Umdurman” for bringing the issue to their attention and admitted politely that Sa‘d’s ideas in the article on the army reform were not formulated clearly. Both groups, Umdurman and FJ, shared the view that there was a need to strengthen the

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Egyptian army “so that it would become a liberating popular force rather than an aggressive imperialist one.” The interest of the Egyptian people was to live peacefully with all peoples, particularly with neighboring Sudan, concluded FJ.63 On 7 May, the editorial board of FJ hosted ‘Amir Hamadi al-Sudani, a Sudanese “freedom fighter,” who wrote an article entitled “Common Struggle Against a Common Enemy.” In reference to the article, the paper’s editorial board stated that it clearly strengthened and proved their argument that “self-determination” and not “unification” was the solution for the Sudan. “Long live the vanguard of the Sudanese people, who fight for freedom and democracy,” FJ proclaimed.64 Since the arrival of the Sudanese delegation in Cairo, al-Sudani’s article began, its head, Isma‘il al-Azhari, had repeated his argument that “negotiation would not resolve the national problem.” According to al-Sudani, only the Sudanese and Egyptian peoples themselves could solve their problems by engaging in a common popular struggle.65 In his analysis of the modes and methods required for implementing the “common struggle,” al-Sudani relied heavily on Marxist theory, arguing that they could be derived from mankind’s historical experience. The struggle against their enemy’s exploitation and suppression would come about as a result of the evolution of the material forces within society and would be induced by social and economic forces.66 Unlike Marxism, which sees the evolution of society in terms of global class conflicts, al-Sudani also spoke of the development of the Sudan in nationalist terms. He argued the existence of one factual and scientific truth in the Sudan—”arising nationalism” (qawmiyya nashi’a), the first signs of which appeared in 1937. This was the date of the Kharijin conference—an event that was the result of a gradual historical process through which the Sudanese development had been consolidated. The conference marked the beginning of a legal and illegal Sudanese uprising, which was triggered by the Anglo-Egyptian treaty of 1936—an agreement signed by the Egyptian bourgeoisie and received by the conference as an act of Egyptian treachery. The treaty guaranteed the perpetuation of the British occupation in the Nile Valley without leaving a ray of hope for the Sudanese.67 Similarly, Muhammad Amin Husain maintained that the Kharijin conference had laid the foundation for the future political structure in the Nile Valley, that is “the formation of a democratic Sudanese government, united with Egypt under the Egyptian crown” (Qiyam Hukuma Sudaniyya dimuqratiyya fi ittihad ma‘a Misr taht al-taj al-misri).68 Husain urged the people of the Nile Valley to understand that the conference had adopted the

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most important decision in the modern history of the Sudan. In his view, the suffering and exploitation that many peoples in the world experienced came from a similar source—imperialism; therefore they had a common interest—liberation. All repressed peoples would benefit from the weakening of imperialism. This applied also to the people of the Nile Valley. As Husain explained it, “On this basis, the interests of the peoples of the Nile Valley are one, their pains have been one, and there is no way for them to achieve their interests other than cooperation.” “Our Egyptian brothers,” stated Husain, should understand that the Sudanese had the natural right to conduct their own affairs in the way they believed to be correct. This did not contradict the principle of cooperation between the two parts of the Nile Valley.69 Sudanese self-determination did not mean separation, declared Umdurman categorically. It would lead to a union (ittihad) and close ties between Egypt and the Sudan, based on free choice and respect of mutual rights, after each country exercised its full sovereignty.70 Al-Sudani stated that the Sudanese delegation present in Cairo was the best proof of the existence of an authentic and solid Sudanese nationalist movement. The political nationalist awareness of the Sudanese people reached maturity in the period 1942–1946—during World War II. The positive aspect of such wars, in terms of the political development of young nations, was that they significantly condensed the process leading to their nationalist graduation, which—in time of peace—dragged on endlessly. Al-Sudani maintained that the popular struggle of Egypt and the Sudan against the British would succeed only if they dropped the false slogan of “unity of the Nile Valley,” and instead followed the principle of the “peoples’ right to self-determination”: Does the slogan of “the unity of the Nile Valley” link the struggle of the Egyptian and Sudanese peoples or does it divide it? In our opinion, it divides the struggle, and we have historical proof to support our analysis. As we have seen, nationalism exists in the Sudan and it has its own identity that refuses to be swallowed up by another, external form of nationalism. It regards anyone, who tries to swallow it, as an enemy, and therefore it must fight against him. Such was the situation between the Irish and English [nationalist] movements; and between the Serbian and Croatian movements; and between the Tsarist colonies and Tsarist Russia. . . . [The call for] the unity of the Nile Valley reflects a fear of emerging Sudanese nationalism and causes division [among our ranks] and thus affects our struggle against the British enemy. The struggle against imperialism would become meaningless, were Sudanese nationalism to be abolished or were it incorporated into Egyptian nationalism, which has already completed its growth and maturation.71

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The concept of the unity of the Nile Valley was an invention of British imperialism, argued al-Sudani, because it served its colonial interests, but it also served the interests of the small class of great Egyptian capitalists. The Sudanese nationalist movement feared that these Egyptian capitalists would terminate the economic development of the Sudan. He insisted that the Condominium regime had been a total failure—it was corrupt and decadent. It had to be abolished. The right to self-determination, stated alSudani, would not split Egyptians and Sudanese after the enemy was defeated. On the contrary, it would increase cooperation between the two peoples based on equality, justice, and freedom. Self-determination did not need to clash with either the historical factors or with economic developments. There were many social, political, strategic, and technical factors that linked the peoples of Egypt and the Sudan. They could lead to a union out of free choice. The nascent Sudanese economy would never agree, however, to be taken over by either the British or the Egyptian economy. Al-Sudani concluded his article by attacking Egyptian leaders and politicians for denying the existence of Sudanese nationalism—he charged, they betrayed both the Egyptian and Sudanese peoples, who were struggling for freedom and the realization of their rights.72 Words in a similar spirit were repeatedly expressed by Umdurman. The future relations between Egypt and the Sudan and the future government in the Sudan, the paper noted, would be decided by both the Sudanese and the Egyptians in a friendly, understanding manner, only after the complete evacuation of the imperialist forces from the Nile Valley—a development that would come about if the two peoples conducted a joint struggle for liberation.73

Continuity or Change? The Communists’ Stand on the Sudan During and After the Debate in the SCUN

A few days before Nuqrashi submitted Egypt’s demands to the UN Security Council, an article written by a member of “the local communist party,” probably the DMNL, dealt with the future of the Sudan. The article opened by presenting the known view of the EMNL and then the DMNL on the Sudanese question. The article declared that Sudanese and Egyptians should fight a united struggle to drive imperialism out of the Nile Valley, and thereafter the Sudanese people should be granted the right to decide their future—choosing between a form of unity with Egypt or a separation from it and the establishment of an independent state. In other words, the Sudanese had the right to self-determination. Although the au-

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thor accepted this scheme in its entirety, he elaborated some of its aspects so that it could be presented before member states of the Security Council as a more “practical and bold plan.” The communist writer focused on the concept of self-determination, maintaining that the basic factor needed to exercise the right to selfdetermination “is the existence of one people.” He described the situation in the Sudan and concluded that it was made up not of one people, but several: The Sudanese consist of several peoples or tribes, some of whom are Negroes and some Arabs . . . each tribe speaks its own special dialect and is not connected with the other tribes. In fact, a man from the North of the Sudan is quite cut off from the South, and so on, all of which shows that the Sudan is behind the times, and the circumstances in it are not such that we can speak of the existence of one nation there. More correctly, we can say that the Sudanese are a people, which is still in the stage of being formed and that the elements of its growth have not become complete, such elements being economic circumstances, one language, similar tradition, etc.74

The author of the article, who held a very patronizing view—one that ran counter to previous stands—concluded that the “present circumstances do not allow the Sudanese to proclaim their right to self-determination.” Granting the Sudan such right, he declared, would be irresponsible and an act of betrayal because in case of a separation from Egypt, the majority of Sudanese “will not know what to do.” Moreover, a separation would lead to the takeover of the Sudan by the British, whose presence there would be used to advance their interests. Objectively, the Sudanese should not be allowed to proclaim their rights or to decide their future. Nevertheless, the Sudanese people should be granted the right to self-determination, but because they were not yet ripe for separation, this right should be reserved for them until “their growth and evolution as a country is complete.” Having reached that stage of development, the Sudanese people would be able to exercise their right to self-determination and make decisions regarding the future of the Sudan. In the period of transition, the Sudan should be under the guardianship of Egypt “because of the geographical and historical links, as well as our unity in the struggle, which binds Egypt and the Sudan.” The author believed that Egyptian guardianship would prove to be “a big step for developing the Sudanese national spirit and preparing it to use its right to self-determination.” The choice for the Sudanese was between what the author called “Egyptian reactionarism” and “British monopoly.” He preferred the former because the latter was considerably more dangerous. An Egyptian reac-

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tionary government, the author reasoned, would allow the Sudanese a degree of freedom, progress, and evolution, much greater than British imperialism would be willing to give. The communists, he noted, were against any form of forced unity as demanded by Egyptian bourgeois circles. He promised that they would act as the vanguard and would lead the struggle to crush imperialism on the one hand, and to protect the Sudan and to promote the realization of its national and democratic demands on the other. In any case, the Sudanese would not be forced into a union with Egypt.75 In pursuance of the above formula, Curiel explained that when the communists learned that the Egyptian case was to be discussed at the SCUN, it was necessary for the communists to formulate a paper that would offer a practical solution to the Sudanese question—a moderate and acceptable one that could weaken the British imperialist objection to evacuating the Nile Valley. In fact, it was an intermediary solution, which was designed to put an end to both British and Egyptian imperialist plans to dominate the Sudan. The DMNL advised Nuqrashi to demand Egyptian guardianship over the Sudan and—at the same time—to recognize the Sudanese right of self-determination, dropping the idea of the unification of the two countries under the Egyptian crown.76 Nuqrashi was an ardent supporter of unification and paid no attention to the communist proposal. The DMNL published a manifest on 4 August addressed to the SCUN expressing the movement’s views on the national question. As far as the Sudan problem was concerned, the DMNL emphasized its generally known position that Sudan should be granted the right to self-determination. As we have seen, however, there was a slight retreat from the hitherto declared communist stand—an attempt to bridge the prevailing large gap between the nationalist consensus and their dissident approach. The communists were now willing to grant Egypt the right of guardianship over the Sudan, although it was emphasized that it was just for a transitional period, during which Egypt’s actions would be closely scrutinized by the United Nations. Generally speaking, the Egyptian guardianship was designed to prepare the Sudanese people politically, culturally, and economically for independence. When the final vestiges of imperialism were rooted out from the Nile Valley, and the transitional period came to an end, the Sudanese people would exercise their right to self-determination. At that point, the Sudanese people themselves would define and determine their future relations with Egypt— autonomy, full unification, or full independence.77 The communists were not happy with Nuqrashi’s performance and arguments during the deliberations at the SCUN. Nuqrashi was praised, however, for his demand for a full British evacuation of the Nile Valley and the

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termination of the 1899 Condominium treaty—“a demand that every Egyptian nationalist endorsed.” The main criticism of the communists focused on Nuqrashi’s arguments regarding the Sudan, which were described as inconsistent, incoherent, and unconvincing. Britain could consequently claim to be the champion of Sudanese self-determination and independence, whereas Egypt created the impression, internationally, that it was a country that had imperialist aspirations toward the Sudan and was in this regard no different from other imperialist powers. Nuqrashi’s stand played into British hands and sabotaged Egypt’s just demand to secure its immediate independence. Egypt, the communists went on, should have drawn a distinction between its just demand for full independence and sovereignty over its own territory, and the right of the Sudanese to self-determination. Egypt should have recognized these rights and offered to assist the Sudanese people in realizing them. Holding such an approach would have removed international doubts as to Egypt’s intentions regarding the Sudan. Nuqrashi had to persuade the member states of the SCUN that because of its historical, religious, cultural, and economic relations with the Sudan, Egypt would be the best candidate to serve as a temporary guardian for the Sudan under UN supervision. Britain failed in its methods of divide and rule. The British exploited their substantial advantages as the dominant power in both Egypt and the Sudan in order to diminish Egyptian influence in the Sudan, where they encouraged anti-Egyptian separatist tendencies. Under the current circumstances, neither British imperialism nor the inexperienced Sudanese could take control over the Sudan. Only by showing goodwill toward, and sympathy with, the Sudanese people and their legitimate national rights would Egypt be able to gain international support for its national struggle for independence, concluded the communists.78 The communists, who monitored closely the deliberations, expressed their total objection to any possible renewal of the bilateral talks with Britain. Egypt, they stated, should make the best use of the international scene, and by playing the right cards, it could win similarly to how other countries had.79 The communists praised the Soviet Union and Poland for being the only two countries to support Egypt’s national demands. The reservations that these two countries had regarding Egypt’s demand for the unity of the Nile Valley under the Egyptian crown were in line with the Egyptian communists’ own stand. The communists were pleased with the uncompromising call made by the two Eastern bloc states for a complete British evacuation of the Nile Valley. By doing so, they proved that they were real friends, unlike the Western bloc led by the United States that wished to preserve its imperialist position in the Middle East. In order to achieve its

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national goals, stated the communists, Egypt should tighten its economic, political, and cultural relations with “our new friends.”80 The Soviet Union was presented as a righteous country that was not dominated by monopolists and capitalists who could dictate its foreign policy. There was also no racial or religious discrimination or persecution, but only a high level of tolerance.81 Similar expressions of gratitude to the Soviet Union for its decisive support of Egypt in its dispute with Britain also appeared in the Wafd’s newspapers Sawt al-Umma and Al-Misri. They published a similar letter to Gromyko, thanking him “for his noble attitude, which will always be remembered by the Egyptian people.”82 As we have seen, the period 1948–1949 was marked by continual splits within the Egyptian communist movement. Despite their divisions and internal quarrels, the communists remained dissidents, opposing the main nationalist trends, as their stands on both the Sudan and Palestine problems demonstrate.83 While there were apparently certain disagreements with regard to the Palestine issue, particularly with the outbreak of the Palestine war that caused temporary quarrels within the communist camp, the communist organizations were united in their approach to the solution of the Sudan problem—although this path, once again, ran counter to the main nationalist stream. In their stand on the Sudan question, they remained consistent even after the failure of the Egyptian appeal to the SCUN in August 1947. One of the communist organizations newly emerging from the ruins of the united movement was the Egyptian Communist Party organized in late 1949 and officially established in January 1950. Two drafts of the program of the new political framework, which were formulated in late 1949, did not incorporate innovative ideas, but rather rehashed familiar terrain. As far as the Sudan question was concerned, the program echoed the familiar call for the complete liberation of Egypt from British imperialism and the joint struggle with the Sudanese people for the complete liberation of the Sudan. It called for the abrogation of any military alliance with imperialism or any association with imperialism in a war against the Soviet Union and the democratic peoples of the world. Nonetheless, the program introduced some refreshing ideas regarding an appropriate solution to the Sudanese conundrum after a British evacuation of the entire Nile Valley. It recommended a federal union between Egypt and the Sudan on the basis of equality between the two peoples. A federal union was not a compulsory solution, however, but an option. It would be made clear to the Sudanese people that their right to self-determination was guaranteed. In other words, they themselves would determine their future—and the option of secession would also be granted and guaranteed.84

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The program drew a distinction between their solution to the problem of the Sudan and that of the Egyptian bourgeoisie. The latter wanted to see the unification of the Nile Valley under the Egyptian crown. But it is strange that they never mention a single word about the future of the Sudanese people and their right of secession. Not only does the Egyptian bourgeoisie impose upon the Sudan unity with Egypt, but it enslaves the Sudan in the expression “under the Egyptian crown.” In other words, it will become an Egyptian colony governed by the same rule as Egypt.85

In contrast, it was stressed that the Communist Party’s attitude regarding the Sudan was that of “the Egyptian proletariat”—it aimed at defending the Sudan and liberating it from tyranny. In addition to the earlier insistence on unity as a free choice for the Sudanese people, the communists opted for economic, geographic, and political unity after the abolition of British rule in the Sudan and the abolition of the legislative assembly. We want a Sudanese national government elected by the people. We want the immediate withdrawal of the British army and the handing over of all administrative posts to the Sudanese. We want the evacuation of Egyptian troops and the recall of Egyptian occupying administrative posts [from the Sudan].86

The Egyptian communists’ stand on the Sudanese issue remained fundamentally consistent during the last years of the monarchy and the postrevolutionary period. Although they presented a dissident approach to the solution of the problem, opposing the main nationalist current—the Palace, the parliamentary parties, and ex-parliamentary nationalist and political groups—the communist approach prevailed. The new Free Officers’ regime that took over in July 1952 made Egypt’s liberation its first priority. The Free Officers realized that in order to gain international support for their demand for the withdrawal of British troops from Egypt, they needed to make substantial concessions in the Sudan. It would appear that they embraced some principles of the communist scheme of the Nile Valley— one of which was the Sudanese right to self-determination. Their position of moderation and realpolitik regarding the Sudan soon paved the way to an Anglo-Egyptian agreement over the Sudan in 1953.87 Although it succeeded in its efforts to terminate all schemes advocating the unity of the Nile Valley and to gain some immediate advantages in the Sudan following the agreement, Britain was soon to realize that the Sudanese people were steadfast and determined to exercise their legitimate right to selfdetermination and full independence, objecting to any vestiges of either British or Egyptian imperialism.

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Notes 1. Ginat, “Egypt’s Struggle,” p. 195. On Anglo-Egyptian relations before and during these years, and the dispute over the Sudan, see Hanes III, Imperial Diplomacy, pp. 1–43. See also Hail, Britain’s Foreign Policy, pp. 1–19. 2. See a text of the draft agreement in Khalil, The Arab States, pp. 718–721. 3. Ginat, “Egypt’s Struggle,” pp. 196–197; Vatikiotis, The History of Modern Egypt, p. 363. 4. The opposition parties, particularly the left wing, were against making any concessions to Britain, repeatedly called for the termination of the 1936 treaty with Britain, and demanded the complete liberation of the Nile Valley. See, for instance, Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, p. 53; Sa‘id Khiyyal, “Ila majlis al-amn,” FJ, 30 January 1946, p. 11; Sa‘d Taha ‘Uthman, “Al-amana al-qawmiyya,” Al-Damir (Cairo), No. 272, 3 October 1945, p. 1; “Al-‘Alaqat al-misriyya al-britaniyya,” FJ, 20 March 1946, p. 7; Sa‘id Khiyyal, “Qadiyatuna wa-majlis al-amn,” FJ, 27 March 1946, p. 8. 5. See Note No. 95, FO407/226, Foreign Office, Public Record Office, London. See more on the Bevin-Sidqi talks and their outcome in Doran, PanArabism, pp. 10–11, 41–43; Hanes III, Imperial Diplomacy, pp. 75–108. 6. Ginat, “Egypt’s Struggle,” p. 199. 7. See letter DS(E) 20/2/3 from R. M. Shields, British Security Services Representative, Cairo, to G. J. Jenkuns, Cairo, 26 August 1947, FO141/1158, 66/79/47. See, for instance, the leftist opposition’s criticism of Nuqrashi’s hesitant approach to the SCUN option in Mahmud al-Nabawiy, “Kalimat al-Jamahir” and “Al-Qadiyya al-wataniyya,” Al-Jamahir, 12 and 26 May 1947; Mahmud Hammadi (pseudonym of Shuhdi ‘Atiyya), “Al-‘Ahd al-hadir huwa nuqtat al-du‘f al-ra’isiyya fi al-qadiyya al-misriyya,” Al-Jamahir, 26 May 1947. 8. Ahmad Rushdi Salih, “Al-Nahhas da‘if la yaliqu bi-jihaduna al-watani,” FJ, 16 August 1945. See also, Sadiq Sa‘d, “Irfadu al-mufawadat al-thuna’iyya,” FJ, 19 January 1946. 9. Sa‘id Khiyal, “Haya ila Majlis al-Amn . . . Wajib ajil wa-Imkaniyya Ha’ila,” FJ, 30 January 1946. 10. Sa‘id Khiyal, “Qadiyyatuna wa-majlis al-amn,” FJ, 27 March 1946. See also an analysis of the economic struggle between the United States and Britain and the ways to exploit it, in Sadiq Sa‘d, “Yajibu an naqbalu al-ra‘smal al-ajnabi bi-shurut,” FJ, 1 November 1945. Sadiq Sa‘d, “Hawla al-ba‘tha al-tijariyya al-baritaniyya,” FJ, 16 December 1945. 11. Ibrahim al-Kashif, “Harakat al-‘Alam fi ’Usbu‘,” FJ, 19 January 1946; Ibrahim al-Kashif, “Mu’tamar Musku,” FJ, 11 January 1946 (Ibrahim al-Kashif was a pseudonym of Duwayk). See also an article that defended the Soviet Union following anti-Soviet articles in Egyptian papers, al-Ghanim, “Di‘aya,” FJ, 29 May 1946. 12. Ginat, “Egypt’s Struggle,” p. 200. 13. Note 25, in telegram 1573, 16 July 1947, FO371/407/226, J333/12/16. The communists had a similar approach. See, for instance, “Al-Nuqrashi yatlubu min majlis al-amn isti’naf al-mufawadat,” Al-Jamahir, 14 July 1947; “Nuridu tahrir alsudan wa-yuridun taghyir al-nizam al-hadir,” Al-Jamahir, 21 July 1947. 14. “Bayan wa-nida’ min al-haraka al-dimuqratiyya lil-taharrur al-watani,” AlJamahir, 21 July 1947.

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15. On the deliberations in the Security Council and the various positions of the member states, see Note No. 95, FO407/226, J7828/24/16. On the Soviet and US stands, see Ginat, The Soviet Union, pp. 74–77. 16. On Anglo-Egyptian troubled and complex relations throughout the first part of the twentieth century, see, for instance, al-Rafi‘i, Misr wa-al-Sudan; Hanes III, Imperial Diplomacy; Hail, Britain’s Foreign Policy; al-Barawi, Egypt, Britain; Fabunmi, The Sudan; Woodward, Condominium; Baddour, Sudanese-Egyptian; Beshir, Educational. 17. Gershoni and Jankowski, Redefining, pp. 110–111. 18. Ibid., pp. 111, 123. 19. See a broader discussion on Egypt and the unity of the Nile Valley in Ginat, “Egypt’s Struggle,” pp. 193–222. On the Nile Valley as the shaper of Egyptian personality as described and analyzed by Egyptian intellectuals in the 1920s, see Gershoni and Jankowski, Egypt, Islam, pp. 130–138; Erlich, Egypt, pp. 40–42. 20. The following sections are largely based on my chapter “Swimming Against the Nationalist Current: The Egyptian Communists and the Unity of the Nile Valley,” in Israel Gershoni and Meir Hatina (eds.), Narrating the Nile: Cultures, Identities, and Memories (2008), pp. 67–90. I would like to thank Lynne Rienner Publishers and the editors for allowing me to quote sections of this article. See also al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 95. 21. K. M. Troyanovsky, “Theses on the Program and Tactics of the Communist Party of Egypt,” 26 November 1922, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-6/L57–59. On the Sudan question, see also Report No. 137, “Sudan,” 19 September 1924, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/L119–121. 22. Troyanovsky, “Theses on the Program,” RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D6/L57–59; Report 137, “Sudan,” RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-37/L119–121. 23. See the program of the new ECP in RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L3–4. See also “Barnamaj al-Hizb al-Shuyu‘iy al Misri,” January 1923, RGASPI/ Fond-495/OP-85/D-22/L30–33. 24. See “Program of Action of the CP of Egypt” in doc. 3148/6/2.4.32, 11 February 1932, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/D-93/L194–195; ‘Asim Disuqi, “Almashru‘a al-watani wa-al-ijtima‘i fi barnamaj al-hizb al-shuyu‘iy al-Misri fi al‘ishriniyat wa-al-thalathiniyat,” Qadaya Fikriyya, July 1996, pp. 38–45. 25. Letter from Farid, 10 October 1935, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-85/ D-109/L55–59b, 66. On the communists and the national front, see Chapter 7. 26. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 15–16. 27. Interview with Abdu Dhahab Hasanayn in al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 291–293; interview with Muhammad ‘Abd al-Fadl, a former member of the DMNL and Mubarak’s brother, Cairo, 22 February 2007. See also, al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh almunazzamat, p. 177. 28. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 292–293; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 195; Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 16–17. See also, letter 284 (170/9/46), 25 February 1946, FO371/53250, J1031/24/16. Biographical details of “Henri Curiel” in FO141/1020, file 127. 29. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 292–293; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 212–214. 30. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, p. 293; Curiel, “L’histoire,” p. 4; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 195–196.

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31. Curiel, “L’histoire,” p. 4; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 195. See also Botman, The Rise, p. 44. 32. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, pp. 17–18; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 351. See also al-Bishri, “Qira’a Misriyya fi Awraq Henri Curiel,” Al-Hilal (April 1988), p. 25. 33. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 177. 34. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Haraka, pp. 294–296; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 350–353. See also Hatata, “Henri Curiel,” in Al-Haraka al-Shuyu‘iyya waHaykal, p. 57. On Curiel’s involvement in Sudanese communism, see also el-Amin, “The Sudanese,” pp. 22–40; “Sudanese Group” in FO141/1020, File 127. 35. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 195–196; Botman, The Rise, p. 44. El-Amin, “The Role,” pp. 433–454. 36. Warburg, Islam, Nationalism, pp. 95–96. 37. Ibid., p. 141. On the divisions among northern Sudanese about “unity of the Nile Valley” versus “Sudan for the Sudanese” as nationalist platforms, see in detail, Warburg, Historical Discord. 38. Top-secret letter, Khartoum, 2 January 1949, FO371/73471, J236/10113/ 16G. On King Farouk’s grants for Sudanese students and his positive image among Sudanese students and within the Sudan, see Muhammad al-Mahdi Khalifa, “Hawla bait al-Sudan,” Umdurman, 31 March 1945. 39. Report on communism in the Sudan, 14 April 1950, attached to letter L.O./TSF/13-1, FO371/80354, JE10111/7G. 40. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 215–220. 41. Ibid. 42. See a copy of the pamphlet in FO141/1020, file 127. 43. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, p. 323. 44. Ibid., p. 307. 45. Ibid., pp. 135, 149. 46. Nuqrashi’s coalition was composed of Sa‘dists, the National Party, and the Kutla of Makram ‘Ubaid. See Vatikiotis, The History, pp. 342–343. 47. ‘Ali Ghazi, “’Di‘aya hizbiyya am matalib Qawmiyya,” FJ, 1 September 1945, p. 4. 48. Taha Sa‘d ‘Uthman, “Al-amana al-qawmiyya,” Al-Damir (Cairo), No. 272, 3 October 1945, p. 1. 49. “Al-Shayu’ bial-shayi’ yudhkar,” Umdurman, 16 February 1946. 50. Ibid. See also, ‘A. Abu Hasbu, “Al-tafsir al-madi lihizb al-uma,” Umdurman, 15 August 1945; Muhammad Amin Husain, “Al-Masir,” Umdurman, 15 September 1945; “Bayan Umdurman,” Umdurman, 15 September 1945. 51. “Al-Sudan bayna hukumat Misr wainjiltra,” and “Al-Shayu’ bial-shayi’ yudhkar,” Umdurman,16 February 1946. 52. ‘Amir Hamadi al-Sudani, “Kifah mushtarak didda ‘adu mushtarak,” FJ, 7 May 1946; “Al-Mudhakara al-Misriya aqwa’ min al-mawt,” Umdurman, 16 February 1946. 53. “Al-Shayu’ bial-shayi’ yudhkar,” Umdurman, 16 February 1946. 54. Muhammad Amin Husain, “Kalimat Umdurman,” Umdurman, 31 March 1945. 55. “Kifah mushtarak didda ‘adu mushtarak,” FJ, 1 May 1946. On disagreements among members of the united Sudanese mission between those who supported the unity of the Nile Valley and those who opposed it, see Warburg, Islam, Nationalism, pp. 69–72.

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56. “Kifah mushtarak didda ‘adu mushtarak,” FJ, 1 May 1946. See also Balal, “Al-sha‘b al-Sudani,” Umdurman, 15 March 1946; Balal, “Hawla al-qadiyya alSudaniyya,” Umdurman, 1 July 1946. 57. “Kifah mushtarak didda ‘adu mushtarak,” FJ, 1 May 1946. 58. Ibid. Condemnation of the Egyptian government for its policy toward the Sudan was also made by Ibrahim al-Kashif (Raymond Duwayk, who wrote many articles under this alias), “Al-Hadaf al-awal min al-mufawadat,” FJ, 1 May 1946. 59. Sadiq S‘ad, “Yajibu an nusalihu ‘ala asas watani dimuqrati,” FJ, 30 January 1946. 60. “Tawdih,” FJ, 20 February 1946. 61. An agreement signed between Egypt and Britain on their joint administration of the Sudan. 62. Sadiq Sa‘d, “Wahadha sawt misr al-fatat,” FJ, 16 September 1945. 63. “Tawdih,” FJ, 20 February 1946. 64. FJ, 7 May 1946. 65. Al-Sudani, “Kifah mushtarak didda ‘adu mushtarak.” 66. Ibid. 67. Ibid. See also “Al-Mudhakara al-misriya aqwa’ min al-mawt,” Umdurman, 16 February 1946. 68. Muhammad Amin Husain, “Kalimat Umdurman,” Umdurman, 21 June 1945; Husain, “Hawla qarar al-mu’tamar,” Umdurman, 5 July 1945. 69. Muhammad Amin Husain, “Hawla qarar al-mu’tamar,” Umdurman, 5 July 1945. See also al-Haj Sudan, “Iradat al-sha‘b,” Umdurman, 21 July 1945. 70. “Misr wa-al-sudan—ittihad am wahda,” Umdurman, 1 June 1946. 71. Al-Sudani, “Kifah mushtarak didda ‘adu mushtarak.” 72. Ibid. 73. “Misr wa-al-Sudan,” Umdurman, 6 October 1945; Hamid Hamday, “Silat al-qadiyya al-Sudaniyya bi-al-misriyya,” Umdurman, 6 October 1945;‘Abd alMajid Abu Hasbu, “al-Kifah al-mushtarak,” Umdurman, 1 January 1946. 74. See the full text of the article in letter DS(E) 200/128, 9 August 1947, FP141/1158, 66/72/47. 75. Ibid. 76. Curiel, “L’histoire,” pp. 13–14; Curiel, “Les principales,” p. 34. 77. “Ila’ majlis al-amn,” Al-Jamahir, 4 August 1947. 78. Shin, “Al-Qadiyya al-sudaniyya,” Al-Jamahir, 11 August 1947. 79. Mahmud al-Nabwiy, “Isti’naf al-mufawadat jarima la tughtafaru,” AlJamahir, 23 August 1947. 80. “Man hum asdiqa’una wa man hum a‘da’una,” and “Qubaila al-tab‘,” AlJamahir, 23 and 30 August 1947. 81. “Hal al-ittihad al-sufiyati isti‘mari,” Al-Jamahir, 30 August 1947. 82. See CIA reports on the “Current Situation in Egypt and the Middle East,” 16 and 17 October 1947, President’s Secretary Files, File Subject: Central Intelligence Reports—ORE 52 and ORE 54, 1947 (No. 44–64, Box 254), Truman Library. 83. On the communists and the Palestine question, see Chapter 12. 84. The full text of the draft of the program of the Egyptian Communist Party is attached to dispatch 583 (66/129/49), 12 November 1949, FO371/73476, J9217/10118/16G. In 1949, the leader of the party, Fu’ad Mursi, published his book Tatawwur al-Ra’smaliyya wa-Kifah al-Tabaqat fi-Misr (Alexandria, 1949). In parts of the book, Mursi analyzes the ideological tenets of the party and com-

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pares them with the ideologies and practices of other Egyptian political frameworks, including other communist organizations. Mursi attacked sharply and openly rival communist organizations, calling them “leftist” and “rightist” opportunists. As far as the future of the Sudan was concerned, he argued unconvincingly and incorrectly, the Egyptian Communist Party was the first and in fact the only Egyptian political framework to call for and support, in a very clear and precise manner, the right of the Sudanese people to self-determination. His party, he stressed, attacked both British and Egyptian imperialism, calling upon the two to evacuate the Sudan at once. In this study, I used the new edition of Mursi’s book (with a new introduction by Da’ud ‘Aziz), Tatawwur al-ra’smaliyya wa-kifah altabaqat fi-Misr (Cairo, 1992), pp. 45–48, 85–86. 85. The full text of the second draft of the program of the Egyptian Communist Party is attached to letter 1014/3/50, 9 January 1950, FO371/80354, JE1041/1G. See also Mursi, Tatawwur, p. 113. 86. Letter 1014/3/50, FO371/80354, JE1041/1G. 87. On Sudan’s road to self-government and independence, see Daly, Imperial Sudan, pp. 352–394. See also Holt and Daly, A History, pp. 159–164; Warburg, Islam, Sectarianism, pp. 104–141; Holt, A Modern History, pp. 159–168.

12 The Thorny Issue of Palestine

The Palestine question and the attitude toward Zionism was a sub-

ject that attracted the attention of the Egyptian communist movements in various stages. Broadly speaking, the general line was dictated from Moscow, although there was not always uniformity in the way it was interpreted by the various groups. Although references to Palestine in relation to the Arab-Zionist conflict were made by the communists in the 1920s, the discourse over the future of Palestine gathered momentum when the Zionist movement increased its activity in Egypt in the 1930s. This study disputes arguments made by scholars and former communist activists that some of the communist groups rejected the formula adopted by the Soviet Union for the solution of the Palestine question in November 1947 and soon thereafter. A thorough and systematic analysis of the original publications of the various communist groups finds textual similarities in the prepartition period and shortly after. Changes and disagreements occurred only with the outbreak of the Palestine war following the rise of Arab nationalist sentiments in support of the war.1 The wounds of the war and the fact that the communist movements swam against the Arab nationalist current led to internal disputes. As we have seen, however, these were only minor factors contributing to splits within the various groups. Soon after the end of the Palestine war, the various communist organizations accepted the verdict that the partition resolution of November 1947 was the only just solution to the Arab-Israeli conflict. Broadly speaking, the dogmatic communist-Marxist line toward the “Jewish question” was formulated by Karl Marx and later by Vladimir Lenin and Joseph Stalin, each in his turn introducing minor modifications.

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Marx, who defined Jews as an imaginary nation, negated the existence of Jewish identity beyond “religion and caste.” Jews, he argued, were to be blamed for the existence of the “Jewish problem,” because they separated themselves from society by forming an economic class that was hated for usury. The social emancipation of Jews, Marx stated, was the emancipation of society from Judaism. Only the communist revolution would solve the Jewish problem, just as it would solve all other problems. Lenin was to consolidate the international communist approach toward Zionism following the Bolshevik Revolution. Lenin opposed Zionism totally, regarding it as a reactionary nationalist movement dominated by the Jewish bourgeoisie. Zionism was socially a backward force that deprecates class divisions among Jews. The Comintern’s position on the Zionist project in Palestine, stated Johan Franzén, was clear-cut. Its general view was that the Jews constituted a colonizing minority, led by the Jewish bourgeoisie through the Zionist movement. In 1930, he noted, the Comintern’s Executive Committee declared that Zionism was the expression of the exploitative and oppressive aspirations of the Jewish bourgeoisie, “which makes use of the Jewish national minorities in Eastern Europe for the purpose of imperialist policy to insure its domination.”2

Zionism and the Palestine Problem: A Jewish Communist Perspective

Already at the turn of the century, Joseph Rosenthal, who closely monitored and observed the development of the Zionist project, opined that the prospects for the establishment of a Jewish state in Palestine were nil, because of the stern opposition of the Russian empire and the Catholic world. The Zionist movement, he maintained, comprised idealistic groups with unrealistic visions. He embraced the Marxist solution to the Jewish question. Only a successful socialist revolution, all over the world, could guarantee equality and prevent hatred and exploitation.3 Rosenthal did not hide his anti-Zionist sentiments in the early 1920s. In reference to the situation in Palestine following the Jewish-Arab bloody clashes in Jaffa (1–7 May 1921), Rosenthal stated that the clashes were the result of an attack on communists by chauvinist Zionists. Rosenthal blamed Zionist leaders for the social and political discontent in Palestine.4 Ittihad Ansar al-Salam (IAS) followed suit, expressing its total opposition to the idea of a Jewish state in Palestine. When, in 1937, the Peel Commission proposed the partition of Palestine into two states, one

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Jewish, the other Arab, members of IAS distributed leaflets rejecting the British plan. The organization was also against Jewish immigration to Palestine. When the “leaders of the Palestine revolution” arrived in Egypt, Yusuf Darwish recalled, Raymond Duwayk was sent to meet them in order to express IAS’s support for their struggle against Jewish immigration to Palestine and against any form of Jewish state there. In 1936, Duwayk and Darwish represented IAS before a committee that the League of Nations sent to Egypt to investigate Egyptian public opinion regarding the possibility of partitioning Palestine.5 According to Ahmad Sadiq Sa‘d’s account, reading Otto Heller’s book Der Untergang des Judentums (The demise of Judaism)6 and other books on Judaism helped him to consolidate his opposition to anti-Semitism, Zionism, and Jewish nationalism. Like Heller (a German-Jewish communist), Sa‘d would present Jewish history drawing on a historical-materialist interpretation. For Sa‘d, the Jewish question could only be solved within the realm of Marxism, and he therefore vehemently rejected the Zionist option.7 In his book, Filastin bayna Makhalib al-Isti‘mar (Palestine in the claws of imperialism), Sa‘d declared that the worldwide persecution of Jews would stop only when the popular classes gain their democratic rights.8 Sa‘d defined the Zionist movement as reactionary, colonialist, and imperialist. It was reactionary, because it wanted to cut off the Jews from their homelands, countries where they had lived for hundreds of years; the languages that they spoke; and the national cultures that they had absorbed. The Zionists did not wish to establish a democratic and egalitarian state for all those inhabiting Palestine. Zionism was colonialist, because it wanted to uproot the Palestinian Arabs from their country by employing illegal means such as purchasing Arab land, aggressively expelling peasants from their villages, and preventing Arabs from participating in vital economic activities. Jewish capital helped the imperialist Zionists to establish their society in Palestine. The use of the capital was connected with the monopolist Zionist institutions, which were inextricably bound up with British and US monopolistic capital. The British government, blamed Sa‘d, gave economic privileges to monopolistic companies in Palestine, thus allowing the flow of foreign capital into these companies, which consequently dominated the export and import in the fields of agriculture and building. The alliance of British and Zionist imperialists was intended to safeguard the long-term strategic, political, and economic interests of Britain in the Middle East; Zionist Palestine was designed to serve as the British stronghold from which they could dominate the whole region. Arab solidarity, declared Sa‘d, was of ut-

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most importance in helping the Palestinian struggle to oust British imperialism from Palestine. The Arab national forces should exert pressure on the Arab League to show solidarity with the Arab popular forces and not with the Arab reactionary leaders.9 Raymond Duwayk wrote that his anti-Zionism was initially shaped by reading the critical interpretations of Zionism in the Comintern’s weekly newsletter Al-Murasalat al-Dawliyya (International Press Correspondence). These articles, he noted, “exposed its racist character and hostility to socialism, relying mainly on the imperialist forces.”10 In an article in Al-Usbu‘, he rejected the idea that the solution of the refugee problem of the European Jews would be their relocation to Palestine. The Arabs of Palestine, whether Jews, Muslims, or Christians, should not pay the price for the wrongdoing of the European fascist regimes. The solution to the Jewish problem was not in Palestine; their countries of origin should grant them equal rights and freedom. The Zionists’ goal was to terminate the Arabs of Palestine as a nation by establishing a Jewish state there. The fact of the matter was, remarked Duwayk, that the vast majority of the Palestinians were against the Zionist plan. The Palestinians, he concluded, should restore their sole rights over Palestine, and neither the Eastern nor the Western camps should interfere with their affairs.11 Marcel Israel saw a linkage between the rise of Adolph Hitler in Germany and the spread of Zionism in Egypt. The Zionist propaganda, he argued, took advantage of the anti-Semitic actions in Germany in the 1930s to advance its plan to establish a Jewish state in Palestine. The Zionist movement chose to create a ghetto for the Jews in Palestine, turning them into imperialists, rather than concentrating on a worldwide campaign against Hitler, which could have benefited the German Jews, in particular, and humankind, in general. In Egypt, he declared, Jews were not persecuted until November 1945, when the Muslim Brothers attacked Harat al-Yahud (the Jewish quarter in Cairo). He praised the religious tolerance, which characterized Egyptian society, and remarked that many of the rich people in Egypt were Jews whose religion never constituted an adverse factor in their economic success. Jews who immigrated to Palestine fell into the Zionist trap, which was encouraged by the British. Most of Egypt’s Jews, he pointed out, chose to emigrate to countries that were remote from the Nazi danger. He and his wife regarded this development as tragic, since “Jews did not move from the Diaspora to their homeland, but rather from their homeland to the Diaspora.” Israel disputed the Zionist narrative that sees continuity of Jewish heritage and culture throughout history. Jews, he stated, scattered all over the world and became part of the cultures of the soci-

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eties where they lived. As for the State of Israel, he charged, it was “the biggest disaster in the history of the Jewish people—it transformed Jews from supporters of democracy everywhere in the world to adherents of racism and reaction.”12 Israel’s memoirs show undoubtedly that his uprooting from Egypt— his homeland—in the mid-twentieth century left an open wound that refused to heal. Zionism was chiefly responsible for that tragedy, hence his hatred for the Zionist state. Unlike many of his former Jewish and nonJewish comrades, who came to terms with the existence of the Jewish state and looked for ways to make peace between Israel and its Arab neighbors, Marcel Israel remained stubborn—unwilling to make peace with Zionism. To give a significant expression to his feelings, he changed his family name from Israel back to Ceresi (spelled Shirizi in Arabic)—the original name—as soon as he arrived in Italy, his new homeland. He now defined himself “as a human being, first, and as Jewish, second.”13 Henri Curiel wrote that the Egyptian Movement for National Liberation (EMNL) under his leadership ignored the Palestine question at the beginning of its activity. With the emergence of the tragic refugee problem of the European Jewry following World War II, Curiel formulated the EMNL’s position toward the Jewish and Palestine problems. The primary task of the Egyptian movement for national liberation was to expel British imperialism, which manipulated and exploited the Arab-Jewish conflict in Palestine in order to deflect the Arab national movement from its engagement in the struggle for national liberation, particularly in Egypt. By mobilizing Egyptian public opinion against Jews by spreading anti-Semitic statements and conflating Jews and Zionism, British imperialism endeavored to weaken the nationalist movement. The EMNL asked to terminate the British mandate over Palestine at once. It believed that by pursuing a deceptive policy and by making contradictory promises, the British created a state of anarchy in Palestine, and so Jews and Arabs should unite in a common struggle to expel British imperialism and thereafter establish one independent and democratic state that would solve peacefully the issue of coexistence between the various groups inhabiting Palestine. The EMNL asked Egypt’s Jews to show solidarity with the Egyptian national movement, as was the case during the events of 1919. It would be difficult to secure the future of the Jewish community unless Jews became an integral part of the Egyptian national movement.14 As communists, noted Curiel, they were the only anti-Zionist Egyptian force at a time when the Zionist organizations were active with the permission of the authorities. When the Muslim Brothers attacked the Jewish quarter in November 1945, on the anniversary of the Balfour Declaration, the EMNL, noted Curiel, dis-

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closed their plot to massacre Jews and the damage was diminished. The Muslim Brothers were blamed for picking an innocent and easy prey, rather than fighting against the real enemy—British imperialism. The attack, Curiel argued, was a conspiracy of the British, the Palace, and the “fascist elements,” mainly the Muslim Brothers. The EMNL propagated against all modes of anti-Semitism, stated Curiel confidently, and anti-Jewish actions did not repeat themselves until 1948.15 It would appear that Curiel gave two versions as to the origins of the Jewish anti-Zionist League (al-lajna al-Yahudiyya limukafahat alSahyuniyya), to which he had an ambivalent attitude. In one place, he wrote that the foreigners’ sections in the Democratic Movement for National Liberation (DMNL) led by Marcel Israel founded the Jewish anti-Zionist League. In this context, he observed: “our anti-Zionism was a fundamental issue.”16 In another place, he wrote that Hillel Schwartz in his capacity as head of the foreign sections led the league, which was founded by Iskra members, despite the EMNL’s objections. The formation of the league at a time when the Palestine question became central to the Egyptian political discourse was a serious mistake. Moreover, the league’s radical political line provoked discontent among the DMNL’s Jewish youth, leading to an open uprising against the leaders of the foreign sections. As a result, Schwartz withdrew, and the league quietly disbanded.17 Marcel Israel actually founded the league in mid-1947 and formulated its doctrinal line.18 Its driving force, however, was Ezra Harari, a former Iskra member, in his capacity as the league’s secretary. Many other Iskra members joined as well as anti-Zionist leftist Jews. The league was founded in response to the growing influence of the Zionists in Egypt. Its members felt that the Zionist cause, if realized, could pull the rug from under their feet. The league launched a public campaign among the Jewish community, calling on the latter to link its causes and interests to the Egyptian movement for national liberation. On 25 May 1947, the league issued a manifest warning Jews not to fall into the trap set by the Zionists, who spread lies and made false promises as to their ability to solve the Jewish problem and to protect the interests of the Jewish community. The Zionists, it was stated, wanted to send your children to live in Palestine, in a hostile environment. “Zionism is the enemy of the Jews,” warned the league. The Zionists wanted to destroy the prevailing brotherhood between the Jews and the Egyptian people.19 In June 1947, the league published a brochure written by Israel under the title “Against Zionism, for the Jews, for Egypt” (didda al-sahyuniyya, fi salih al-yahud, fi salih misr). The brochure was printed in 60,000 copies and was distributed among Jews. Israel defined the league’s aims as fol-

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lows: to combat Zionist propaganda; to establish close and courageous relations between the Jews and the Egyptian people in a joint struggle for national liberation; to improve relations between Jews and Arabs in Palestine; and to seek a solution to the problem of the Jewish refugees, not at the expense of the Arabs of Palestine.20 As far as the Palestine question was concerned, it was stated in the brochure: Zionism jeopardizes the Jews of Palestine. In cooperation with the imperialist forces, it tries to control Palestine by an artificial separation between Jews and Arabs and by turning Jews to an obedient tool in the hands of imperialism. Zionism has created the conflict between Jews and the Arab national movement and cut them off their natural allies—the popular democratic forces. . . . the Jews of Palestine should reach an understanding with the Arabs and unite with them in order to liberate Palestine from imperialism. Only a democratic and independent Palestine will guarantee their freedom and prosperity.21

The brochure expressed total objection to Jewish immigration to Palestine, because there was no need for “our Jewish brothers” to live in an atmosphere of civil war in Palestine.22 The Egyptian authorities curbed the league’s activities. Ezra Harari admitted that it was not an easy task to combat the Zionists, since they were supported by the Egyptian police and received plenty of financial aid from within Egypt and from abroad.23 The Egyptian prime minister Nuqrashi Pasha ordered the dissolution of the league shortly after its formation. In response, the league’s leaders appealed in a letter to Nuqrashi asking him to reconsider his decision. They stressed their nationalist cause: “a war against the wicked Zionism that damages the good reputation of the Jewish community and the interests of the Egyptian people.”24 In November 1947, many of the league’s leaders were arrested.25 It is noteworthy, however, that the league’s activities were positively received by key political figures in Egypt such as ‘Abd al-Rahman ‘Azzam, the secretary-general of the Arab League. Marcel Israel recalled that he and Harari were summoned to a meeting with ‘Azzam, during which the latter praised their activities.26 While the Jewish communist leaders adhered to an utterly adverse approach to Zionism until 1947, the picture was more varied among the rank and file. Joe Adler was exceptional. His attitude to Zionism was more positive. Adler explained his internal conflict between Zionism and communism: “I was looking for a framework defending the Jewish people from a national historic point of view, not from a religious viewpoint. I embraced the Zionist solution only at a much later stage of my intellectual development. Generally speaking, my attitude towards Judaism was completely

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different from that of my communist colleagues.”27 Arturo Schwartz admitted that his attitude toward the Zionist project was always positive: “I believed that settling in Palestine was the ideal solution for the European Jewry. I always favored the formation of one joint state in Palestine and regarded the partition as a less desirable solution. I personally decided not to immigrate to Palestine in 1949 because of language difficulties.”28

The Communist Discourse on Zionism and Palestine Prior to the Partition Resolution

The Egyptian communists approached the Palestine question through three main themes: the struggle against Zionism and the attempt to isolate it from the Jews of Egypt; the constant struggle against the reactionaryism, and the exposure of its alliance with Zionism and colonialism; and the struggle against the racist arguments employed by the triangle imperialismZionism-reactionaryism.29 Since the establishment of the paper FJ immediately following the end of World War II, the anti-Zionist stance of its writers was grounded in a panArab and anticolonialist worldview. In the period prior to the establishment of the State of Israel, the writers identified the growing Zionist movement as a regional threat of the first order. In the paper’s premiere issue, Zaki Hashim asserted that the Arab League needed to focus its efforts on Palestine and felt that the Arab League should score its first major victory there. The Arab League must liberate Palestine from Zionist colonization, Hashim wrote; thus it would be eliminating one of the pillars of worldwide colonialist exploitation.30 This approach, as we shall soon see, was not in line with that of the other organizations, which called for Jews and Arabs to fight against the Zionist-imperialist alliance backed by the Arab reactionary regimes. Another writer at the paper expanded on the claim that the struggle over Palestine was a national and democratic war, the goals of which were independence, the elimination of “Zionist despotism,” and the establishment of a “healthy” democratic regime. The writer lauded the class consciousness of the Palestinian proletariat that, he claimed, fully understood that its conditions would improve only under a national regime devoid of Zionist or other capitalist dominion. He went on to explain that a number of Jewish workers in Palestine had protested the dismissal of their Arab colleagues. This, he claimed, proved that some of the Jews understood that Zionism exploited the Jewish tragedy in Europe for its own purposes.31 Sadiq Sa‘d offered a similar analysis, claiming that Zionism had suffered “mortal wounds,” leading it to enlist the aid of its colonialist allies.

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Sa‘d believed that Zionism’s days were numbered in light of the refusal of Palestine’s Sephardic Jewish community to accept it, the growing phenomenon of joint Jewish-Arab strikes, and the increasing number of Jewish organizations taking part in the worldwide anti-Zionist backlash.32 The paper continued to stress Jewish voices objecting to Zionism, publishing a statement issued by the Iraqi anti-Zionist League (‘Usbat mukafahat al-sahyuniyya al-‘iraqiyya), which called for the question of Palestine to be addressed separately from the Jewish question. The league called for an independent Palestine, demanded protection for Jews who had already settled there, and categorically rejected the proposals to send an international investigative committee to the region.33 After the Egyptian government issued an injunction against a planned conference in support of the struggle in Palestine, FJ published the position it had planned to take at the conference. This position based the paper’s objection to Zionism on both pan-Arab and socialist arguments. Among the former was the claim that despite its small geographical size and population, Palestine and its people were at the forefront of the Arabs’ war with colonialism and Zionism. The claim was based on the assumption that the forces of colonialism planned to use Palestine as a future launch pad for “the first-line of offence” in a third world war, defined as “the Arab peoples’ war on colonialist infiltration, in fact the war of all of the Middle and Far Eastern colonies against their oppressors.” Still, the paper resisted any attempt to portray its arguments as racial or national, stressing that “the question of the Palestinians’ struggle for freedom is one of a struggle against colonialism and its henchmen, not a war against any race or people.” The paper concluded its treatment of the subject with a call for all those opposed to colonialism—Jews and Arabs alike—to unite in order to fight for their common interest in establishing a just, democratic regime under popular, national rule, which would free Palestine and guarantee employment for all.34 The workers’ committee of FJ was also involved in the Palestine question, displaying the interests of Egyptian workers in Arab nationalist concerns. Muhammad Mudarrik, the secretary-general of the Workers Committee for National Liberation, published a manifest on 10 May 1946, condemning the report submitted by the Anglo-American committee dealing with Palestine. On 20 April 1946, the committee recommended, among other things, allowing the immediate entrance of 100,000 Jewish refugees to Palestine; furthermore, until hostility between Jews and Arabs disappeared, it recommended that “the government of Palestine be continued as at present under mandate pending the execution of a trusteeship agreement under the United Nations.”35 The Egyptian workers, noted Mudarrik, were

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troubled by the situation in Palestine. Imperialism employed methods intensifying racism and national separation—on one hand, it encouraged the Zionists, and on the other hand, it made promises to the Arabs in order to increase the cleft—this was a clear policy of divide and rule. “The struggle of Palestine is ours, and the Palestine issue is ours as well,” and the common enemy was imperialism and exploitation, stressed Mudarrik. He called to terminate imperialism and to fight against Zionism. Mudarrik blamed the Arab leaders for agreeing to accept the arbitration of the AngloAmerican committee.36 Al-Damir, the workers organ, followed suit, stressing that “Zionism would not solve the problem of the world’s 16 million Jews. Moreover, the Jewish problem is an integral part of the peoples’ struggle, regardless of their religion, to gain their freedom and democracy.” Fascism and Zionism, AlDamir went on, were tarred with the same brush: imperialism—exploitation— greed.37 In another article, Al-Damir called on the Jewish workers who lived in Arab countries and in the rest of the world to struggle with their colleagues against Zionism, which represented a handful of Jewish imperialist capitalists who deceitfully manipulated the Jewish people for their personal gain.38 Al-Damir praised the formation of ‘Usbat al-Taharrur al-Watani (National Liberation League) in Palestine in late 1945—a group representing the popular social forces of the national movement as a counterbalance to the representation of the feudal and capitalist leadership that had been the sole representative of the Palestinian national movement until then. The league was a Marxist group that called for both Jewish and Arab workers to join forces in their struggle against Zionism and British imperialism and for a united, democratic, and independent Palestine.39

The Road to Partition and Thereafter

The end of World War II and the acceleration of the process of independence of Arab states that had been subjected to foreign domination, French or British, raised hopes and expectations among both Jews and Arabs that the British Mandate in Palestine would also soon come to an end. These hopes grew considerably when, on 2 April 1947, the British requested the UN secretary-general to place the question of Palestine on the agenda of the next regular session of the General Assembly. The British government also suggested that, in view of the need for an early solution to the Palestine problem, it would be necessary to summon a special session of the General Assembly as soon as possible for the purpose of constituting and instructing a commission of inquiry to prepare for the consideration of

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the question at the next regular session in September.40 The British request was met with approval, and on 28 April, the first special session of the UN General Assembly opened. No definite or final decisions were made; the special session recommended, however, that a commission should be formed to study the question and to prepare a report to be presented to the assembly’s regular session in September 1947. From this stage on, Britain ceased being the sole determining power with regard to Palestine. The two newly emerged superpowers, the USSR and the United States, as well as other countries, showed growing interest in the issue, albeit with each country being motivated by different considerations. The developments after April 1947 disclosed major disagreements between the powers concerning the appropriate solution to Palestine. Toward the end of 1947, in spite of Britain’s opposition, the United States and the USSR stood united in their support for a partition plan for Palestine. Their support paved the way for the plan’s success, which received the necessary two-thirds majority in the assembly on 29 November.41 That undermined both US and Soviet prestige throughout the Arab world, but the implications for the United States proved to be worse.42 The Soviet Union defended its stand on Palestine, stressing that Jews and Arabs in Palestine did not wish or were unable to live together, and therefore partition became the only workable solution. Palestine, blamed the Soviets, became an area of bloody clashes and a hotbed of unrest in the Middle East as a result of the inability of imperialist Britain to pursue a peaceful policy. The Soviets criticized the Arab League for its policy toward partition. Instead of assisting a peaceful settlement, the league aggravated the situation. The Arab leaders preferred to act on the orders of the British government. The Soviets condemned the invasion of Palestine by Arab armies. The Arab troops, it was noted, were financed and trained by Britain, and therefore the Soviet proposals in the UN “consistently opposed” Arab reactionary interests. The actions against Palestine taken by ‘Abdallah, the king of Trans-Jordan, and other reactionary Arab leaders were part of the general Anglo-American plan for the solution to the Palestine problem. The existence of such a plan had become apparent as soon as the United States changed its attitude toward the Palestine question. The trusteeship plan, said Pravda, was a deliberate reversal intended to establish “the selfish interests of US oil monopolies.” The actions of Arab reactionary regimes in Palestine were designed to assist the realization of Anglo-American economic plans and to create a fictitious Arab sovereignty, which the imperialist powers would recognize de jure.43 Since its appearance in April 1947 as Iskra’s and a couple of months later the DMNL’s mouthpiece, Al-Jamahir dedicated a considerable num-

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ber of columns to Palestine and Zionism. In reference to the British decision to transfer the Palestine question to the UN, the paper initially reiterated calls expressed earlier by other communist publications for an immediate and unconditional retreat of the imperialist forces from Palestine, to be followed by the formation of an independent democratic state in Palestine. The paper criticized the Arab League for not handling the Palestine problem in a stricter and more uncompromising manner vis-à-vis British imperialism. There should be no room for imperialist maneuvering in Palestine, neither British nor American: “we don’t want to see more commissions of inquiry,” wrote the paper.44 It is noteworthy that that was the Soviet demand since the end of World War II. Soviet delegates to the UN General Assembly stressed the need for an immediate solution to the Palestine issue, which stemmed entirely from British imperialist policy. The Soviets also stressed the substantial differences between British and US imperialism, blaming both for complicating the situation in Palestine. The future of Palestine, they held, should be discussed and determined only by the members of the UN.45 On 28 April, when the discussion on the Palestine question opened at the General Assembly of the UN, Al-Jamahir criticized the proposal made by the Egyptian government, according to which the British government would terminate its mandate and declare the independence of Palestine, as it did in Egypt in 1922. Al-Jamahir wished to remind the Egyptian government that although Britain announced Egypt’s independence and right to full sovereignty over its territory, British military bases and economic assets remained as they were before and after the treaty of 1936. Britain, stressed the paper, did the same in Trans-Jordan. Following these precedents, Al-Jamahir declared, “we want to see in Palestine a complete economic, political and military retreat.”46 On 14 May, the Soviet delegate to the UN Andrei Gromyko presented the Soviet position concerning the solution to the Palestine problem before the first special session of the UN General Assembly. The legitimate interests of both the Jewish and Arab populations of Palestine, declared Gromyko, can be duly safeguarded only through the establishment of an independent, dual, democratic, homogeneous Arab-Jewish state. . . . If this plan proved impossible to implement, in view of the deterioration in the relations between Jews and Arabs . . . it would be necessary to consider the second plan . . . which provides for the partition of Palestine into two independent autonomous states, one Jewish and one Arab; I repeat that such a solution of the Palestine problem would be justifiable only, if relations between the Jewish and Arab populations of Palestine indeed proved to be so bad that it would be impossible to reconcile them.47

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The Egyptian communists praised the Soviet approach. Unlike the hesitant and awkward stand taken by the Egyptian delegate, wrote Al-Jamahir, Gromyko stood and shouted loudly that the independence of Palestine should be discussed at once without further delay.48 Al-Jamahir appreciated already in late May that British imperialism had been sowing the seeds of civil war in Palestine in order to prove its indispensability for both Jews and Arabs.49 The special session of the General Assembly of the UN ended on 15 May with the resolution to appoint a Special Commission on Palestine (UNSCOP). Upon the completion of its investigation, UNSCOP was unable to formulate a report recommending a solution acceptable to all its members. On 27 August, the commission voted on the form of government that was to replace the mandate, the majority of its members favoring the partition of Palestine into two separate states—one Jewish and one Arab. In fact, the report was divided into a majority and a minority plan. The latter, supported by India, Iran, and Yugoslavia, proposed an independent federal state that would be established following a transitional period of a maximum of three years. The federal state would comprise an Arab and a Jewish state with Jerusalem as the capital.50 Unlike the imperialist powers and the Arab governments, wrote AlJamahir, the Soviet Union, Czechoslovakia, Poland, and Yugoslavia insisted that the commission of inquiry should have the mandate to probe the options for the immediate independence of Palestine. The Arab governments, blamed Al-Jamahir, did not want to see their peoples freed from the yoke of imperialism, because it served their reactionary and capitalist nature. Instead of concentrating on the expulsion of imperialism from Palestine, they stirred up opposition to Jewish immigration, as though that were the real issue. The deliberations on Palestine clearly showed that the Soviet Union and its allies were the true defenders of the freedom of the oppressed peoples. Moreover, it showed that two reactionary forces were active in Palestine that favored the continuity of imperialism there: the Zionists, who wanted imperialism to secure the opening of the gates for immigration; and the Arab reactionary elite, who believed that its presence would guarantee their closure. Zionism could not survive without the support of imperialism, noted Al-Jamahir. The Palestine problem was not between Jews and Arabs, since both faced a common enemy in the combination of British imperialism, Arab reactionaryism, and Zionism. Only full independence would guarantee the peaceful coexistence between Jews and Arabs in Palestine. This could be achieved once they got united in their struggle to drive out the common enemy.51

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The communists continued to attack the Arab governments for their indecisive stand during the activity of UNSCOP. Although they demanded the independence of Palestine, these governments did not insist on the removal of British imperialism.52 Al-Jamahir criticized both reports submitted by UNSCOP for failing to deal with the core of the problem, that is, the desire of the peoples inhabiting Palestine to expel their exploiter and oppressor— British imperialism. Instead, UNSCOP treated the problem as a conflict between Jews and Arabs and offered solutions accordingly. The member countries of UNSCOP were condemned and referred to as the tail of the imperialist powers. Only the Yugoslav representative was praised for his twofold demand: full independence and the expulsion of British imperialism. Al-Jamahir called on Arab governments to show their determination, when the reports would be submitted to the General Assembly, by insisting on Palestine’s complete liberation from imperialism and full independence. They also should provide assurances that the problems between Jews and Arabs would be settled peacefully.53 Tali‘at al-‘Ummal (TU) analyzed correctly the Soviet intentions regarding the future of Palestine following the recommendations of UNSCOP. The new Soviet stand was to support partition after realizing that the paradigm of a one-state solution was impracticable. In Kifah al-Umma, the internal organ of TU, the Soviet Union was portrayed as the Arabs’ true friend. Gromyko’s speech of 14 May 1947 proved that the Soviets took the Arab side—they wanted the inhabitants of Palestine to exercise their sovereignty over their country. The Soviet Union believed that the internal conflict within Palestine was solvable, once the British were removed. In the Soviets’ view, partition would guarantee the eviction of imperialism, and thereafter it would be possible to restore peace between Jews and Arabs. In contrast, the imperialist powers—Britain and the United States— viewed partition as a means to deepen the internal conflict in Palestine by allowing them to employ their old tactics of divide and rule and thus to protect their interests. The imperialist camp with its Arab reactionary allies wanted to form an Arab puppet government that would serve their interests. “Our duty today,” wrote Kifah al-Umma, was to ratify the partition resolution and to oppose the imperialist and Arab reactionary plans. The implementation of the UN resolution would lead to the independence of Palestine and guarantee peace for its inhabitants. “We must trust, more than ever before, the actions and policy of the Soviet Union”—a country that supported the struggle for national liberation of Egypt, Syria, Lebanon, and many other nations.54

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It would appear that TU did not speak in one voice regarding the partition. Rif‘at al-Sa‘id argued that it was the only communist group that opposed partition. He quoted Sadiq Sa‘d’s article in Al-Hadaf, where he expressed his objection. Al-Sa‘id remarked, however, that the group changed its position after the Palestine war—then it favored partition and called for its implementation.55 From Yusuf Abu Sayf’s analysis of Sa‘d’s Filastin bayna Makhalib al-Isti‘mar, one may conclude that Sa‘d, who had been against the war and the mobilization of public opinion in support of the war, accepted the partition as a fait accompli—the Zionists and the imperialists succeeded in advancing their plan for partition, and the Egyptian government, the Palace, the Muslim Brothers, and Misr al-Fatat fell into their trap and declared war against the Jews in order to free Palestine. Thus, partition became a reality.56 In his memoirs, Darwish remarked that his group was against the formation of a Jewish state in Palestine, but following the Soviet support for partition, TU followed reluctantly the Soviet line.57 A few weeks before the partition resolution was approved, the DMNL drew a connection between the question of Palestine and that of the Nile Valley: “the struggle for the independence of Palestine is an important part of our struggle for freedom and independence, since Palestine is the country nearest to Egypt; and the saying that the one who controls Palestine also controls the front gate to Egypt is absolutely correct.” In both cases, the struggle was against an external common enemy—imperialism—and against the treacherous reactionary forces from within. British and US imperialism had no plans to evacuate Palestine, because they did not want to give up their regional centers there. The Arab governments were condemned for not supporting the Soviet proposal that called for independence and British evacuation, while making belligerent declarations, instead.58 The DMNL declared that it supported wholeheartedly the independence of Palestine and the formation of a united Jewish-Arab state, on the condition that imperialism would be fully removed and a true democracy established. Since Gromyko’s proposal for a one-state solution was rejected by both Zionists and Arab reactionary regimes (both were subject to imperialist maneuvering), partition was the only possible way to remove imperialism. “We don’t agree to partition, but we are compelled to accept it as a basis for the independence of Palestine”; it was the lesser of two evils. The long-term goal, stated the DMNL, was to unite the two independent Jewish and Arab states.59 If the Arab leaders wanted to see a united Palestine, they should have contributed to an atmosphere of mutual understanding and cooperation between Jews and Arabs. Instead, they chose to start a war against the Jews—a war provoked by imperialism, its sole ben-

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eficiary. The battle of the religions initiated by the Arab reactionary elements would achieve the opposite. Only reconciliation between Jews and Arabs would lead to the desired solution—a single united state.60 The communist groups continued to praise the Soviet Union for its contribution to the Arabs’ struggle for liberation, even if that meant swimming against the nationalist current. TU was of the opinion that the Arab League’s aggressive stand toward Palestine was blessed by British and US imperialism that did nothing to prevent or halt the war, although they had a military presence in every Arab country involved in the war. Both the Arab League and Western imperialism secretly aimed at forming an Eastern bloc that would attack the USSR.61 The conclusion was clear: the Arab war in Palestine was a British-Arab reactionary conspiracy in order to keep the British in the Middle East.62 To prove their evaluation, TU argued that when the UN discussed the Palestine question, the Arab delegates did not call for a British evacuation. Moreover, the concentration of Arab forces along the borders of Palestine was intended to show the UN that Britain was the only power that could restore order in Palestine and therefore had to stay there. ‘Abdallah, the king of Trans-Jordan, was portrayed as the chief agent of British-US imperialism in the region. His plan, it was noted, was to occupy parts of Palestine and gradually to create Greater Syria. The solution to the bloodbath in Palestine, emphasized TU, was “British evacuation, a stop on emigration to Palestine and the formation of a democratic Palestinian government—neither Arab nor Zionist—in a state, where Jews, Muslims and Christians would enjoy equal rights—with no majority or minority.” Under the prevailing circumstances, however, it was impossible to realize this ideal goal, and TU adopted Gromyko’s stand—partition as a temporary solution.63 Immediately after the Palestine war, an internal debate took place among the members of TU, as Abu Sayf recalled. The bone of contention was whether the organization should replace its slogan that favored partition, and thus recognized Israel, with a slogan that totally opposed partition, calling for a united Palestinian Arab state. According to Abu Sayf, those who adhered to the concept of one Palestinian state were the organization’s activists, who were in prison. They criticized that the organization had changed its slogan under the influence of Gromyko’s moves at the UN. They regarded the Soviet stand as a tactical matter stemming from Soviet state interests—the Soviet decisions reflected the international balance of power rather than ideological considerations. Therefore, they maintained, the organization was not committed to comply with the Soviet position on Palestine.64 The internal debate within TU was nevertheless ephemeral:

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like the other communist groups of the post-1948 Palestine war, it adhered to the partition resolution. The DMNL made a connection between the Egyptian national struggle to liberate the Nile Valley and the Palestine war. In both cases, imperialism wanted to weaken and destroy the anti-imperialist forces in the Arab East. By igniting a war in Palestine, imperialism intended to start a total racist war that would spread all over the Arab East in order to “realize its wicked policy.” The DMNL appealed to all democratic nationalists of the Arab East to fight against this imperialist machination, to struggle to unite the Arab peoples, and to declare a sacred national war against imperialism. The DMNL appeals to all nationalists and those, who are loyal to the Arab peoples’ causes, to get united within a solid national front regardless of their religious or political belief, and to prepare for an armed struggle to liberate the Nile valley from the clutches of the imperialists, since a liberated Nile valley is the best guarantee for the independence of the whole Arab East.65

Curiel, the DMNL’s leader, was perhaps the most persistent supporter and defender of the two-state solution once the idea was endorsed by the USSR. He condemned the 1948 war, labeling it “the imperialist usurpers’ war against the State of Israel.” In his view, it was a criminal war caused by imperialism and reactionaryism .66 Curiel remarked that they initially hesitated on whether to support partition, but since the revolutionary movement worldwide supported it, they decided to follow suit. They accepted the partition resolution, because it was the only solution proposed and not because it was the best. As a result of their support, a bomb was thrown at his house, and another one at Al-Jamahir’s headquarters. In the first weeks of the war, the public supported the war, and the DMNL felt isolated and cut off from the nationalist mainstream, but this state of affairs did not last long. Gradually the public and other political groups realized that the DMNL’s viewpoint was correct—the war was concocted by British imperialism. In the weeks preceding the war, the British started a disorganized evacuation from Palestine without an orderly devolution of power. Moreover, Britain did not recognize the partition plan. The British, said Curiel, were supported by the Arab reactionaries—the Arab monarchies of Egypt, Trans-Jordan, and Iraq. With the outbreak of the war, the Arab supporters of imperialism launched a terror campaign against communists and every other nationalist who was against the imperialist war. At that stage,

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stressed Curiel, the Arab reactionist group’s goals in the war became clear. Consequently, there was a gradual shift in public opinion against the war. The war laid the foundations for the cooperation between the DMNL and the Free Officers. The latter, who fought the war, were the first to realize that it was an imperialist war conducted by corrupt and unworthy leaders.67 The communists, who were against Zionism, remarked Didar Fawzi, were in principle against the Palestine war, since they believed that such a war would divert the path of the national struggle. Didar’s husband, ‘Uthman, who served as an army officer, was also against that war. He did not hesitate, she recalled, sharing his views with his soldiers.68 Indeed, the DMNL would support the Free Officers in every possible way in the period preceding the July 1952 revolution. Yusuf al-Jindi added another dimension to the communists’ stand on Palestine. According to him, the DMNL supported the partition and was against the 1948 war, because the movement predicted that the war was at the heart of a conspiracy plan concocted by the British, King ‘Abdallah, and the Zionist agency—an imperialist plan to prevent the establishment of an Arab Palestinian state. The developments just proved the correctness of the communists, who regarded the partition as the only possible solution to the conflict—albeit not the ideal one. The Trans-Jordanians, supported by British imperialism, divided the Arab Palestinian land between themselves and the Zionists, who established a territorially larger state, taking control of areas allocated to the Arab Palestinians—thus creating a new reality, which undermined the legitimate right of the Palestinians to establish their own state.69

Curiel and the Palestine Question in Retrospect

Curiel looked back on the DMNL’s stand on Palestine contentedly: “It did not take long before the utility of our position to both Jews and Arabs became understood by many—the implementation of the partition resolution, especially, the formation of a democratic Arab state in Palestine—would have promoted liberation, democracy and peace in the Middle East.” Curiel settled an account with his communist opponents: “we were the only ones to defend this stand, whereas other communists held a different view, saying that the Soviet Union was far away and did not understand the Middle Eastern reality.” Palestine was divided between US and British imperialism—the former dominated Israel, and the latter controlled Trans-Jordan. In both countries, imperialism built military bases from which to attack the Soviet

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Union. Curiel credited the farsighted vision of his movement for paving the way for other nationalist political groups to embrace its national political platform and to form an anti-imperialist nationalist front. The pressure exerted by this front bore fruit in 1951, when the Egyptian government abrogated unilaterally the 1936 treaty with Britain and rejected the imperialist powers’ proposal for a defense pact. Moreover, as noted earlier, the DMNL tightened its cooperation with the Free Officers—the result was the subsequent downfall of King Farouk.70 Curiel remained an ardent advocate of the two-state paradigm until his assassination in Paris in 1978. For many years, he acted indefatigably from his exile to advance a peaceful solution to the endless Israeli-Palestinian conflict. From his expulsion from Egypt in 1950 until his expulsion from the Egyptian communist movement in 1958, Curiel remained active within the DMNL, in its various forms, although his position and influence were, generally speaking, in decline. Being a fervent supporter of a broad popular front, Curiel supported the formation of Harakat Ansar al-Salam (Partisans of Peace Movement, HAS) in 1950. The front comprised communists, members of al-Tali‘a alWafdiyya, the Muslim Brothers, and the Socialist Party. HAS called vehemently for abrogating the 1936 treaty, British evacuation, and the establishment of friendly relations with the Soviet Union. It associated itself with the World Movement for Peace, which had been formed and was supported by the Soviet Union as a vehicle for furthering Soviet interests beyond Eastern Europe. HAS supported and adopted the decisions made at the Second World Congress of the movement, held in Warsaw from16 to 22 November 1950. Egypt was represented by Sa‘d Kamil, a member of the DMNL, after other Egyptian key figures such as Salama Musa, ‘Aziz Fahmi, and Fathi Radwan had refused to participate.71 The Partisans of Peace sought to exploit feelings of neutralism prevalent in the area in order to create hostility toward the West, but while it gained some support, it failed to become a massive popular movement. Its ideas, however, were widely diffused through its well-subscribed weekly Al-Katib. HAS was satisfied by the fact that the Wafd government implemented a policy of neutralism in international affairs and tightened relations with the Soviet Union. Conversely, HAS was praised by the Wafd foreign minister, Salah al-Din, for its anti-imperialist struggle, its members being described as “Egyptian patriots.”72 The DMNL was very influential within HAS, which continued its activities after the downfall of the monarchy. After the July 1952 revolution, Curiel instructed the DMNL to take the lead of the Free Officers organization. The DMNL, he maintained, should expand its activities from within by focusing on two themes—propaganda

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activity and the fortification of the communist ideological line.73 Majmu‘at Ruma, which regarded itself as the DMNL’s branch abroad, represented the movement at meetings of international communist organizations and forums, during which they established contacts with members of the Communist Party of Israel in order to promote dialogue aimed at resolving the Arab-Israeli conflict.74 Initially, the DMNL did not endorse these dialogues. A change occurred following the Bandung Conference of April 1955,75 where a resolution was adopted to recognize the UN partition resolution of 1947—a resolution that meant recognizing Israel in the 1947 borders. In a letter to Nasser, Yusuf Hilmi, the secretary-general of HAS, praised Nasser for being the driving force behind the resolution, but demanded that the resolution should not remain empty words. He asked Nasser to take practical steps to realize the resolution so that peace between the Arabs and Israel would become reality. Similarly, Hilmi appealed to the Israeli people to reply positively to the Bandung resolution for the sake of regional peace.76 For Curiel, this meant coming full circle— the communist dissent view prevailed.

Notes 1. Tariq al-Bishri pointed to the partition of Palestine as a source of dispute within the DMNL. See al-Bishri, Al-Haraka al-Siyasiyya, p. 417. On the splits and their causes, see ibid., pp. 417–419, 426–427; Ginat, The Soviet Union, pp. 35–36, 83; Beinin, Was the Red, pp. 59–63; Botman, The Rise, pp. 86–91; Budeiri, The Palestine Communist Party, pp. 231–242, 264–267; al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 415–416, 425–426; Amitay, Egypt–Israel, pp. 85–88, 113–130; interview with Sa‘d al-Din Ibrahim, Cairo, 20 February 2007. 2. Franzén, “Communism Versus Zionism,” p. 9; Léon , The Jewish Question; Lenin, Lenin on the Jewish Question; Ahmad Sharaf, “Al-Shuyu‘iyyun al-misriyyun . . . wa-al-qadiyya al-filastiniyya,” Qadaya Fikriyya, July 1992, pp. 254–258. 3. See an interview with Joseph Rosenthal in H. Galitz, “The founder of the Egyptian Communist Party Is in Israel,” Yedi‘ot Akhronot, 17 October 1965 [Hebrew]. 4. See two reports concerning Labor Day celebrations and Joseph Rosenthal, attached to Letter P.F.37617 M.I. 5.A., 9 June 1921, FO371/6297, E6878/260/16, Foreign Office, Public Record Office, London. “Note on Rosenthal,” and “Note on Recent Signs of Bolshevism in Egypt,” attached to dispatch 723, 20 August 1921, FO371/6304, E9985/260/16. On the Jaffa riots, see Segev, One Palestine, pp. 173–190. 5. Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish (1991) (unpublished manuscript), pp. 1–9. 6. Heller, Der Untergang; the Arabic title is Nihayat al-Yahudiyya [The End of Judaism].

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7. Sa‘d, Safahat min al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 40. 8. Sa‘d, Filastin. 9. Ibid.; Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, pp. 411–413. 10. Ibid., pp. 50–51. 11. Ibrahim al-Kashif (a pseudonym of Raymond Duwayk), “Mushkilat filastin,” Al-Usbu‘, 11 March 1944, p. 3. 12. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 46–50. 13. Ibid., pp. 12, 50. 14. Curiel, Min Ajil Salam ‘Adil, pp. 10–11. 15. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, p. 50; Curiel, Min Ajil Salam ‘Adil, p. 13. See also Sharaf, “Al-Shuyu‘iyyun al-misriyyun,” p. 258. 16. Curiel, Pages Autobiographiques, p. 50. 17. Curiel, “Les principales,” p. 36. A report by H. Vasiukov of the Central Committee of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, August 1954, determined that it was Schwartz who led the league, which was founded by Iskra members; see Russian State Archive of Social-Political History (RGASPI) Fond-495/OP-210/ D-30/L5. 18. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 25, 49. 19. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 193–194. 20. See a copy of the manifest in Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 52–62. The full text of the manifest in French, Manifeste de la Ligue Juive Contre le Sionisme, Cairo, June 1947, was provided to me by Professor Arie Schlosberg, chairman of the Centre for the Study of the Heritage of Egyptian Jewry. I would like to thank him for that. On the league, see also Letter DS (E) 20/2/24 Attached to dispatch 134, 18 March 1948, FO371/69250, J1890/1262/16. 21. “Didda al-sahyuniyya, fi salih al-yahud, fi salih misr,” in Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, pp. 56–57. 22. Ibid., pp. 57–58. 23. “Al- Isra’iliyyun al-wataniyyun,” Al-Jamahir, 5 May 1947. On the league’s activities in the “Macabi” Jewish club, see “Al-Isra’iliyyun al-dimuqratiyyun yaqawumun al-sahyuniyya,” Al-Jamahir, 28 April 1947. 24. “Al-Nuqrashi yudafi‘u ‘an al-sahyuniyya,” and “Al-Nuqrashi yahlu al-rabita al-isra’iliyya limukafahat al-sahyuniyya,” Al-Jamahir, 23 June 1947. A recent Egyptian study on the Jews of Egypt supports the argument made by Hadetu (DMNL) that Nuqrashi’s government took pains to establish a connection between communism and Zionism in order to weaken the former by presenting it as a movement dominated by Jews. Nuqrashi, argues Abu al-Ghar unconvincingly, also allowed many Zionists, whom he regarded as communists, to emigrate to Palestine in order to diminish the size of the communist movement. See al-Ghar, Yahud Misr, pp. 96–100. 25. Letter DS (E) 200/124 from R. M. Shields, 1 December 1947, FO141/1158. 26. Shirizi, Awraq Munadil, p. 80. Harari was later among the Jewish communists who were expelled from Egypt in the early 1950s. He settled in France and became a member of the FCP. See, al-Jindi, Masirat Hayati, p. 92. 27. Interview with Joe Adler, Haifa, 26 January 2006. 28. Interviews with Arturo Schwartz, Milan and Jerusalem, 26 February and 5 March 2001.

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29. Sharaf, “Al-Shuyu‘iyyun al-misriyyun”; al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar wa-al-qadiyya al-filastiniyya. 30. Zaki Hashim, “Jami‘at al-duwal al-‘arabiyya,” FJ, 16 May 1945. See also Sadiq Sa‘d, “Jami‘at al-duwal al-‘arabiyya ‘ala daw’ mawqifuha min mas’alat suriyya wa-lubnan,” FJ, 1 July 1945. 31. Watani, “Kifah filastin al-watani al-dimuqrati,” FJ, 16 June 1945. 32. Sadiq Sa‘d, “Ihtidar al-sahyuniyya,” FJ, 16 October 1945. 33. See, for example, FJ, 20 February 1946 and 3 April 1946. 34. “Al-Haraka al-wataniyya fi filastin,” FJ, 5 June 1946; Ginat and Noema, “Al-Fajr al-Jadid,” p. 889. 35. See the full report of the committee at Yale Law School, The Avalon Project, Documents in Law, History and Diplomacy, at http://avalon.law.yale.edu/ 20th_century/angch01.asp. 36. ‘Uthman, Min Turath Shaikh, p. 63. Raymond Duwayk, under his pseudonym Ibrahim al-Kashif, criticized the United States and Britain for manipulating the United Nations to advance their reactionary causes. See his “Harakat al-‘alam fi’ usbu‘,” FJ, 19 January 1946; “Safhatuna al-akhbariyya,” Al-Damir, 14 November 1945, p. 7. 37. Al-Damir is quoted from Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, p. 410. 38. Al-Damir is quoted from ibid. 39. Al-Damir published a full text of the league’s manifest. See “Bayan ‘usbat al-taharrur al-watani fi filastin,” Al-Damir, vol. 278, 28 November 1945, pp. 4–5. 40. Ginat, “India,” pp. 187–216. 41. Ro’i, Soviet Decision Making, pp. 65–96; Rubin, The Arab States, pp. 168–184; Ginat, The Soviet Union, pp. 77–80. 42. While the USSR also voted for partition and therefore incurred some of the blame, the original Soviet stand had been in favor of a unified state in Palestine, if possible. See Ginat, The Soviet Union, pp. 80–84. 43. On the Soviet stand, see in detail ibid., pp. 79–84. Words in the same spirit appeared in Al-Jamahir, 21 December 1947. See also Sharaf, “Al-Shuyu‘iyyun almisriyyun.” 44. “Filastin tahta nir al-ahkam al-‘urfiyya wa-qadiyyatuha amama hai’at alumam,” Al-Jamahir, 21 April 1947. 45. Ro’i, Soviet Decision Making, pp. 46–49; Ginat, The Soviet Union, pp. 77–78. 46. Al-Jamahir, 28 April 1947. 47. Quoted from Ginat, The Soviet Union, p. 78. 48. “Hawla qadiyyat filastin,” Al-Jamahir, 12 May 1947. 49. “Al-Jamahir tathudu,” Al-Jamahir, 26 May 1947. 50. On UNSCOP, see Ginat, “India,” pp. 187–216. 51. “An Asdiqau’ filastin fi hai’at al-umam . . .,” Al-Jamahir, 19 May 1947. 52. Al-Jamahir, 28 July 1947. 53. “Ighla’ ‘an filastin,” Al-Jamahir, 6 September 1947. 54. “Fa-li-Nutalibu bihukuma ‘arabiyya muntakhaba lifilastin al-‘arabiyya,” Kifah al-Umma, 31 August 1948. See also Abu Sayf, Watha’iq wa-Mawaqif, pp. 414–415. Similar views were expressed by Al-Jamahir; see “Istiqlal wadimuqratiyya aw isti‘mar wa-‘ubudiyya hadhihi mushkilat filastin,” Al-Jamahir, 19 October 1947.

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55. Al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-munazzamat, pp. 312–313. Mustafa Tiba and Beinin followed suit arguing that FJ was against partition. See Tiba, Al-Haraka alShuyu‘iyya, pp. 41–43; Beinin, Was the Red Flag, pp. 59–63. 56. Abu Sayf, Watha’iq, p. 413. 57. Mudhakkirat Yusuf Darwish, p. 29 58. “Madha tamma fi qadiyyat filastin,” Al-Jamahir, 16 November 1947; “Kalimat al-Jamahir,” Al-Jamahir, 7 December 1947. 59. “Nahnu wa-filastin,” Al-Jamahir, 23 November 1947; Badawi, “Hawla alqadiyya al-filastiniyya,” Al-Jamahir, 30 November 1947. 60. “Hawla al-qadiyya al-filastiniyya,” Al-Jamahir, 7 December 1947; “AlJami‘a al-‘Arabiyya ta‘malu ‘ala taqsim filastin,” Al-Jamahir, 14 December 1947. 61. An article published in Al-Kifah al-Mushtarak, an internal organ of TU, in 1948, File 28, T\U, International Institute of Social History (IISH), Amsterdam. A similar opinion was expressed by Sawt al-Mu‘arada al-Dakhiliyya, an inside document of HDTW, “Tajmi‘ wa-ta‘miq khatt sawt al-mu‘arada al-dakhiliyya,” 24 June 1948, File 113, Egyptian Communists in Exile (Rome Group) (ECE), IISH. 62. Al-Kifah al-Mushtarak, 1948, File 28, T\U, IISH; “Mawqif al-jami‘a al‘arabiyya wa-al-malik ‘Abdallah—mawqif al-wikala al-yahudiyya,” Kifah alUmma, 10 May 1948; “Harb filastin waqadiyyatuna al-wataniyya,” Kifah alUmma, 14 June 1948; a pamphlet by TU, 26 July 1948, File 24, T \U, IISH; a pamphlet by TU, December 1948, File 27, T\U, IISH. 63. Ibid. 64. Abu Sayf, Watha’iq wa-Mawaqif, pp. 415–416. 65. “Bayan min al-haraka al-dimuqratiyya lil-taharrur al-watani hawla qarar zu‘ama’u al-jami‘a al-‘arabiyya,” in Curiel, Min Ajil Salam ‘Adil, pp. 18–20. 66. Curiel, “Les principales,” pp. 51–52. 67. Curiel, Min Ajil Salam ‘Adil, pp. 21–24. 68. Fawzi-Rossano, Rasa’il, pp. 90–91. 69. Al-Jindi, Masirat Hayati, pp. 67–68. 70. See a report submitted by Curiel, Paris, to the DMNL, Cairo, 1953, “Mudhakkira hawla al-‘alaqat bayna isra’il wa-al-bilad al-‘arabiyya,” in Curiel, Min Ajil Salam ‘Adil, pp. 29–32. See also the inside document, 20 May 1953, File 336, ECE, IISH. 71. Al-Sa‘id, Munazzamat al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 45; interviews with Sa‘d Kamil, Cairo, 16 and 22 February 2007. 72. On Harakat Ansar al-Salam, see in detail Ginat, “The Egyptian Left.” See also, report on communist influence in the Middle East, 22 January 1952, FO371/98239, E1017/1; al-Bishri, Al-Haraka al-Siyasiyya fi Misr, pp. 439–443. On the power struggle within the Wafd between its left and right wings, see Ginat, The Soviet Union, pp. 112–134. 73. Inside document, “Hawla al-mawqif al-siyasi wa-wajibatuna,” November 1952, File 115 and File 336, 20 May 1953, ECE, IISH. 74. Beinin, The Dispersion, p. 153. Proof for such dialogue may be found in a letter sent from Majmu‘at Ruma under the name Lajnat Hadetu to the Communist Party of Israel, July 1954, File 143, ECE, IISH. In the letter, the party was praised for its efforts to promote a just, peaceful solution to the Arab-Israeli conflict. See also Hatata, “Henri Curiel,” in Al-Haraka al-Shuyu‘iyya wa-Haykal, pp. 41–62.

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75. The leaders of the five sponsoring countries and those of twenty-four of the twenty-five invited countries (the Central African Federation had declined the invitation) met in Bandung, Indonesia, for seven days (18–24 April) to discuss problems of common interest to the countries of Asia and Africa. In particular, the conference dealt with ways and means by which the peoples of Asia and Africa could achieve fuller economic, cultural, and political cooperation. On the conference and its resolutions, see Ginat, Syria, pp. 107–117. 76. See the full text of Hilmi’s letter to Nasser of late 1955 in File 407, ECE, IISH. See also Beinin, The Dispersion, pp. 153–156.

13 Revolutionary Ideas and Their Impact

In line with the Marxist-Leninist doctrine, the communists of the

1940s gave considerable attention to issues related to economy and social justice. Through such prominent theoretical communist forums as FJ and Al-Jamahir, they published a wide range of articles analyzing the troubled state of Egyptian society and offering socialist solutions to its problems. These magazines were very critical, pointing out the many flaws in the ruling capitalist-feudal system. Communists writing in these magazines, like many of their counterparts worldwide, saw themselves at the crossroads of uniquely significant historical events. In their view, the collapse of fascism and Nazism was a watershed in human history, inaugurating a new era of socialism throughout the world. This chapter analyzes the communist discourse on social and economic ideological concerns. It focuses on several themes: British imperialism as holding the main responsibility for the decline of Egypt’s economy; the need to eradicate feudalism, capitalism, and monopolies; and social justice and democracy. This study argues that the revolutionary platform that the communists presented with regard to these issues gradually seeped into government policy and thinking, particularly under Egypt’s military regime. The latter reformulated, elaborated, implemented, and institutionalized, at different phases and under changing social and political circumstances, ideas originated in that platform.

The Destruction of Feudalism, Capitalism, and Trusts

The communist explanation for the malady afflicting the Egyptian people focused on one main factor: British imperialism. British imperialism, ac353

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cused Ahmad Sadiq Sa‘d, had made no positive contribution to the Egyptian people throughout its rule in Egypt. On the contrary, he stressed, “it strove to concentrate its efforts on destroying all the economic, social, political and scientific options of our people.”1 FJ attacked and condemned the British and other Western imperialist powers, constantly pointing out that all existing Egyptian shortcomings were caused by British imperialism. According to Sadiq Sa‘d, many reasons justified the struggle against imperialism: Imperialism is chiefly responsible for our internal and external situation. . . . Imperialism weakened the popular strata in Egypt. The great monopolies (al-ihtikarat al-kubra) in our country are in the hands of foreign capital. . . . British imperialism is chiefly responsible for the backwardness of our economy, by its [British imperialism’s] control over its [the economy’s] main branches ([agricultural] land, foreign trade, and banks); thereby, it has always paralyzed our industrial development; it is also chiefly responsible for the backwardness of our political life. The constitution emerged under the shadow of British occupation and awarded extensive rights to the executive [branch of government]. . . . British imperialism defended various fascist regimes, and brought the middle classes under its rule and used them against the popular strata . . . the main aim of the national movement (al-haraka al-wataniyya) in Egypt is to eradicate this situation, which we find in our country.2

In order to demonstrate how destructive British imperialism was, AlJamahir reopened the public discourse on the vitality of the Aswan project— a debate that attracted considerable attention among Egyptian political circles and the public in the late 1920s. In line with the Comintern’s analysis of 1928,3 Al-Jamahir made a connection between the lack of progress in the development of this enormous national resource and British imperialism. The latter succeeded in the last forty years to obstruct the project, first by direct political intervention, then by overthrowing governments that wanted to advance the project, and finally under the pretext of technical obstacles. The British had a good reason to object to the project: it would have advanced Egypt’s political and economic independence. The Aswan project would generate enough electricity to create the foundations for a strong Egyptian industry, and the Egyptian agricultural industry could grow other crops in addition to cotton. The supply of cheap fuel that the project would entail could enable the development of a variety of industries such as iron and fertilizers. It would increase significantly the land being used for agriculture, thus solving part of the unemployment problem. The current situation, noted Al-Jamahir, was that the project was frozen due to the British-US imperialist rivalry—the two powers were

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competing with each other over which of them would undertake the implementation of this important national project. The paper begged the government not to surrender to external pressure and to order its realization.4 For the communists, the social history of Egypt was riddled with deeply rooted contradictions. They placed great emphasis on the urgent need for a radical agrarian reform that would limit the size of landholdings, abolish estates held by family trusts, and redistribute the confiscated agricultural land to fellahin. Communist writers presented themselves as the champions of the fellahin in their just struggle to abolish the age-old feudal system that, they emphasized, was inextricably linked with colonialism. The issue of agrarian reform was discussed in the Egyptian Parliament in February 1944, when member of Parliament Muhammad Khuttab put forward a proposal for a partial agrarian reform and a 50-feddan (1 feddan = 4,200 square meters) limit on private ownership of land. FJ expressed its conditional support for Khuttab’s proposal. Sadiq Sa‘d wrote extensively about the opposition to the proposal in Parliament, for which he blamed a coalition of colonialism and the Egyptian bourgeoisie. In Sa‘d’s view, the bill stemmed from the current ridiculous state of affairs in which 0.5 percent of all landowners (only 12,000 individuals) controlled half of the agricultural land in Egypt whereas, the remaining 2.5 million landowners held the other half. Sa‘d criticized the bill, however, for its failure to offer a control mechanism to prevent landowners who possess 50 feddan from acquiring more land. Moreover, Sa‘d noted, Khuttab admitted that the implementation of his bill would simply shift the weight of capital from agriculture to industry. Overall, Sa‘d concluded, the phrasing of Khuttab’s proposal was not sufficiently strong. He nevertheless regarded it as a positive development, because it showed Egypt’s “common classes” that the current reality of monopoly economics was not irrevocable.5 Sa‘d’s articles showed his persistence in appealing to the government to increase considerably its involvement in Egypt’s economy for the sake of the lower classes—the main victims of capitalism. For instance, in April 1946 he called on the government to intervene on behalf of the fellahin through the regulation of seed prices and other measures.6 Some two years later, al-Daramaly referred critically to Khuttab’s proposal in an article published in Al-Jamahir. Al-Daramaly condemned the Egyptian Senate’s decision of 16 June 1947 to reject Khuttab’s plan, because it “exploits the big landowners.” The decision was made, he stated cynically, because most of the Senate’s members were themselves big landowners. It was not that Khuttab’s plan was ideal, al-Daramaly explained. Although it called for limiting the size of land to a maximum of 50 feddan per owner, it did not address one of the key issues—the great

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wealth possessed by landowners. It did not propose limiting the right of inheritance. Khuttab’s proposal would not solve the fellahin’s problem: “the fellahin’s standard of living could not possibly rise, unless we put an end to the great wealth [at the disposal of a tiny minority] and implement a fair and just redistribution of agricultural land among fellahin.” Progressive steps like these, noted al-Daramaly, had already been taken in democratic countries such as Yugoslavia, Romania, Hungary, and other countries where governments served the interests of their people. Egypt, he concluded, urgently needed such a government.7 The failure to advance the agrarian reform led FJ to a far-reaching conclusion: the existing political order in Egypt would never facilitate change with regard to the fellahin. The paper placed great emphasis on fellahin affairs in its weekly issues in order to advance their interests. The fellahin were called to take an active part in the struggle to liberate all of Egypt’s “popular classes” and to join ranks in the framework of councils and associations. These, in turn, would assist them in defending themselves against “exploitation and enslavement.” FJ demanded that the government recognize the agricultural cooperatives and called for the institution of rent control for the land cultivated by fellahin. The paper’s writers also sharply attacked Egypt’s largest landowners, such as Sha‘arawi and Shahin, portraying them as classic examples for the oppression of the fellahin.8 The alternative offered by the communists to feudalism—agrarian reform—was inspired by Marxism and by developments in Europe. Lutfi ‘Azuz wrote an article hailing the agrarian reform undertaken in Romania; he saw it as a worthy model for emulation in Egypt.9 FJ’s writers were quick to seize upon the outbreak of malaria in al-Mania region in early 1946 to portray the feudal system in a negative light. The paper published a plethora of stories on the subject. The more informative of these insinuated that the government attempted to cover up the true extent of the disaster and demanded that Parliament address the issue before the epidemic had the chance to spread. “What about wide-scale vaccination? What about treatment for the fellahin?” the paper asked, mostly rhetorically.10 This campaign continued to dominate subsequent issues of the paper. The writers devoted extensive coverage to the malaria epidemic, blaming the government for mishandling the crisis in the Port Said area. They claimed that vaccination against the deadly infection necessitated an end to the exploitation of small-scale farmers and fellahin by large-scale landowners. This could only come about as a result of a series of measures, including an increase in the state ownership of agricultural land and progressive taxation. Likewise, the paper pointed out the fellahin’s need for legal protection, including a minimum wage and a shorter workday for farmhands,

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and projects fostering development and encouraging greater productivity by means of agricultural cooperatives.11 With the outbreak of the cholera epidemic in 1947, the communists once again blamed the government for neglecting the lower classes, thousands of whom died in the epidemic. No wonder, communists stressed, that the center of the epidemic was in the slums. The communists made a connection between two “deadly viruses” that afflicted the country—cholera and the workers’ strikes—claiming the authorities and British imperialism were responsible for both of them. The government used the military to protect monopolist companies linked to the imperialist economy; it enslaved itself to imperialism at the expense of its toiling classes, thus creating poverty and social distress—a breeding ground for deadly diseases.12 In line with the Marxist doctrine, writers in FJ spoke of the need for a sweeping overhaul of the socioeconomic class structure. In their articles, they exposed the tribulations of a society under the rule of capitalism: “Our entire society is based on faulty, fallacious principles, mainly because its members are not driven by altruistic motives—a desire to help one another. Moreover, their only goal is to make a profit—that’s the beginning, the middle and the end of it.”13 Communist theoreticians, such as Sadiq Sa‘d, called on the government to nationalize the central branches of Egypt’s economy, including the main means of production, abolishing monopolies and cartels. The reins of economic control—so far held by private interests—should be taken over by the government responsible to provide for the common good. Sadiq Sa‘d was more specific: he called for state regulation of largescale manufacturing, including consumer commodities, as well as nationalization of major trusts and strict state regulation of major agricultural production. He demanded that external market forces should no longer interfere with or control the production process of medium-size and smallscale manufacturers. He suggested instead that the “popular classes” be included in the process of supply regulation through the establishment of consumer councils.14 Along with Sa‘d’s calls for the elimination of all modes of monopolies in agriculture, Sa‘d Makawi proposed similar measures in industry. Makawi was encouraged by the intensifying public discourse in Egypt on the need to cultivate industrial development rather than relying on agriculture alone as an economic base. He was nevertheless dissatisfied by the fact that the discourse had so far failed to formulate a coherent, unified policy on the issue. Makawi maintained that the lack of a lucid policy derived from the fact that the government did not control the various sectors of Egyptian industry that were in private hands. Egypt’s economy, he argued, was actually ruled by monopolies that controlled all production in their respective fields, or cartels formed

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by several groups wishing to suppress free enterprise. He proposed increasing state involvement in the industrial sector to defend “the people” and to protect them from monopolist exploitation. To quote him: “This [situation] demands that the state puts the idea of free-market economy aside and formulates an all-inclusive production policy, which it then must force upon the concerned individuals, while upholding the principle of private ownership of the means of production.”15 FJ discussed at length the issues of foreign and domestic banks and their control of Egypt’s economy and agriculture. Historically, the paper noted, foreign capital, which flowed into Egypt under the auspices of the British occupation, was intended to increase the output of cotton for Britain. Even the Misr Bank, which had originally competed effectively with the foreign banks, ultimately arrived at a “truce” and joined their ranks. The present harsh situation was therefore that the banks in Egypt enjoyed almost absolute control of both trade in agricultural produce and heavy industry. Despite that gloomy reality, the writers of FJ pointed at the light at the end of the dark tunnel: the fact that the economy was dominated by a few monopolies made it easier for the Egyptian people to supervise them, and ultimately impose their control over both trade and industry.16 In reference to reports in June 1947 on the government plan to nationalize al-Bank al-Ahali, which was at a state of bankruptcy, Al-Jamahir expressed reservations regarding the measure, although it supported the nationalization of all banks. This bank that served the Egyptian capitalists and the foreign monopolist capital, it was stressed, was going bankrupt because its main investments were in British companies and funds. The government intended to buy the bank at a high price, thus the British shareholders would make a high profit from this crumbling bank, remonstrated Al-Jamahir. The paper pointed at the urgent need to establish a central bank to be owned and managed by the government as an essential step toward Egypt’s economic liberation.17 Communist writers were not under the illusion that the development of a sound and advanced industry based on socialist principles would be an easy process. They realized that such an ambitious project would require extensive funding. Scrupulous economic introspection led Sadiq Sa‘d to conclude that a tremendous sum of capital was needed to strengthen the national economy, improve agriculture, build factories, and expand the transportation network. Sa‘d was not in denial, even if his Marxist conscience deemed it undesirable, that at least a part of this sum would have to come from external financial sources. He nevertheless maintained that while foreign capital investment should be allowed, several restrictions were needed to prevent it from being used to exploit Egypt, as had been the case up to that point. Among the restrictions he proposed were a prohibition on “redirecting” in-

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coming capital, so that it could be used solely for the purpose of building the national economy; government regulation of capital with regard to production and profit; measures to keep small- and medium-scale enterprises from being swallowed up by big business; protection for the workers; and measures to prevent the incoming capital from reaching into politics.18 FJ supported the establishment of an Egyptian industrial bank when the subject was proposed in the Egyptian Parliament in early 1946. The paper’s support for the idea, however, was conditioned on the bank not becoming a means for the British and Egyptian capitalists to establish further cartels and monopolies. The paper made it clear that Egypt’s industrialization should simultaneously be combined with a war on big capitalists and the prevention of the emergence of new monopolies. In an article entitled “We Must Protect Small-Scale Producers,” Sa‘d pointed out the existence of thousands of small industrial enterprises with up to two employees and assets of up to 50 Egyptian pounds each. He believed that since this type of industrial enterprise made up the bulk of Egyptian businesses that were the chief competitors of the large-scale industrial concerns, the bank should focus most of its efforts on these enterprises. Sa‘d suggested several measures to keep the new bank from serving the big capitalists. The bank should aim at a policy protecting small-scale industrial production. In addition, the bank should assist business in establishing facilities for heavy industry. The bank would set aside a reasonable portion of its assets for the financial assistance to industrial enterprises. Finally, the bank would condition aid on compliance with labor laws.19 FJ gave wide coverage to the severe housing shortage in Egypt’s cities in the postwar period. The paper sought to blame private contractors. In this context, as well, it called for greater government involvement and demanded that the problem be solved as a matter of “the social rights of the working class.” The paper looked to the government to undertake several measures, including the establishment of a body to oversee contractors and engineers that would be charged with increasing the volume of construction and regulating housing prices. The paper also demanded that local and municipal institutions be given full control of all housing and construction-related activities, and that the government grant loans to cities to aid them in their efforts to solve the housing crisis.20

Social Justice and Democratic Life

Communist papers shared similar views regarding the urgent need to reconstruct Egypt’s social welfare system. They discussed extensively the defects inherent in the system that had evolved in the wake of the British

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occupation since 1882, and took pains to advance an alternative that derived its theoretical foundations from socialism. As intellectuals acting within the framework of a progressive leftist theoretical forum, writers of FJ placed great emphasis on education and felt that changing Egyptian society began with mending all the unjust components inherent in the British capitalist system. Amin Takla noted in this context that the appalling and unacceptable state of education in Egypt was inextricably linked to the economic quagmire prevailing in the country. One of the deficiencies of Egypt’s education system, he asserted, was the shortage of Egyptians holding higher academic degrees. Nowadays, Takla remarked, education aimed for the most part at producing bureaucrats and engineers to oversee agriculture and cotton manufacturing on behalf of the narrow interests of the British and Egyptian capitalists. In Takla’s view, the educational system had to expand and incorporate democratic values as the foundation for the entire educational system.21 Like his colleagues, Takla was inspired by the developments in Europe, claiming that the idea that had recently been raised to establish free public education in Egypt was a direct outgrowth of the transition that democracy had made in Europe, from a tool of the bourgeoisie to a vehicle for realizing the broader goal of raising the standard of living for all. European governments, claimed Takla, had begun to assume greater economic responsibility than in the past, and education, which had until recently been considered a public burden, was part of that responsibility. Egypt, Takla declared, should follow suit and make rapid progress in free public education. Moreover, the state should provide school lunches for all students in order to manage their health. In addition, it was essential to increase the number of high schools in order to counterbalance the present high student-teacher ratio.22 When the Egyptian government notified the public of its plan to eradicate illiteracy, FJ’s writers severely criticized the government’s decision to include the program in its multiyear plan, with a budget of 1.5 million Egyptian pounds. They asserted that the budget was small and therefore inadequate and predicted that the project was doomed to die a slow death because it was destined to be merged with other capitalist projects. The government, they concluded, had no real desire to stamp out illiteracy, and moreover, its long-term plan was to isolate the “popular classes” from the struggle against colonialism.23 The need to protect the Egyptian proletariat and to improve its work conditions as a means of generating social justice was repeatedly a theme in articles published by communist papers. Ahmad Rushdi Salih, for instance, was of the opinion that social justice could be achieved by rais-

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ing the standard of living among the “popular classes,” of which workers constituted the largest component.24 FJ utilized Yusuf Darwish’s considerable experience as a lawyer and expert in the field of labor laws to enrich the knowledge of the Egyptian proletariat on labor affairs and, in particular, on their position with regard to their employers. In his articles, Darwish endeavored to instill class consciousness in his working-class readers. He also condemned the labor-law legislation that followed the events of March 1919, particularly the formation of “reconciliation committees” to mediate between workers and their employers. Darwish asserted that these and other laws passed since that time were designed to crush the labor unions and to deprive them of their legitimate right to strike. The “reconciliation committees” (lijan tawfiq) had become “committees of control” (lijan tahkim); since they were mandatory, they essentially forced workers and their employers to settle their differences. Darwish even went so far as to equate the legislation passed in the years 1930–1936—the period of the monarchial dictatorship—to that passed under the Wafd government in 1942, claiming that the legal system had become increasingly tough on workers. While in both instances the laws passed benefited the Egyptian bourgeoisie, the legislation of 1942 was designed solely to serve what Darwish saw as the “egocentric” bourgeoisie. This, he claimed, was the last nail in the coffin of free enterprise and ushered in a period of government intervention on behalf of a narrow group of wealthy capitalists.25 Labor relations and the effect of the post–World War II economic situation on the Egyptian labor market were among the prominent subjects in the communist papers. FJ was particularly concerned about the rise in unemployment resulting from the dismissal of many workers, most of whom had been employed by the Allies during the war period—a period that witnessed a rapid growth of industry and the ensuing increase in the working class.26 FJ accused employers of creating unemployment in order to reduce workers’ wages.27 Sadiq Sa‘d claimed that the “anti-unemployment task force” established by the Sidqi government (February–December 1946) reflected the fear of public discontent rather than a serious intent to avert a humanitarian crisis. All of the solutions proposed by Sa‘d were based on the notion that the standard of living of the “popular classes” must be raised: increasing salaries, reducing work hours, passing social legislation, and making material and cultural options accessible to all. Unemployment could be reduced if the government were to initiate large-scale public works projects, including canals, roads, schools, and hospitals.28 The communists conducted a campaign aimed at improving the work conditions and standard of living of the workers. Lots of articles reported

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wage erosion and exploitation. For instance, workers were forced to work twelve hours a day, seven days a week, for a measly salary of 7 to 12 pennies. The communists called upon workers to unite as a counterweight to their exploitive employers and to use strikes as a weapon to advance their cause. The numerous strikes and the social discontent were the result of the exploitive nature of the capitalist ruling system, which was manipulated by British imperialism. Only the expulsion of imperialism would guarantee economic independence and subsequently a new socioeconomic order.29 Shuhdi ‘Atiyya protested against the rising inflation and the consequent misery of the common people. The employers had fired thousands of workers, and those who remained earned tiny salaries. He also condemned the landowners for exploiting the fellahin. This difficult state of affairs became the reality of the Egyptian people, because workers and fellahin could not establish trade unions to defend themselves. Shuhdi ‘Atiyya appealed to workers to use their rights to demand an increase in their salary and to get insurance against unemployment. He called upon them to form trade unions in order to conduct their struggle. If the existing trade unions were weak or treacherous, the workers should purge them and establish new unions instead. He also appealed to the fellahin to use their right to demand a reduction in their rental fees, debts, and interest rates. He advised them to found cooperatives that could stop the greediness of the merchants. In order to put an end to the phenomenon of the “black market economy” and rising prices, Shuhdi called upon the Egyptian public to demand that the government allow the importation of certain products to meet the people’s urgent needs.30 Mahmud al-‘Askari followed ‘Atiyya in his appeal for the working class to speed up the formation of professional associations as a step toward the unification of trade union centers across the country. Such a move, he reasoned, would considerably strengthen the labor movement in its struggle to advance the workers’ causes.31 Like ‘Atiyya before, al-‘Askari dedicated some of his columns in Al-Damir to what he described as “the capitalists’ attack on the workers’ wages.” Al-Damir took great pains to promote what it regarded as the workers’ legitimate rights and to support their continuous struggle to improve their work conditions.32 Of all communist papers, FJ perhaps placed the greatest emphasis on the subject of democracy. The paper was completely devoted to democratization in Egypt, exposing the serious injustices inherent in the Egyptian democratic system, which was essentially dominated by the King and subject to considerable British influence. Ahmad Rushdi Salih addressed the subject of democracy from the paper’s earliest issues. He analyzed government measures aimed at ending

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martial law, which had been declared in Egypt during the war. In his view, there was no contradiction between the restoration of personal liberties, such as the freedom of speech and the freedom of the press, and the elimination of foreign domination. He condemned the Egyptian press for failing to equate the two and claimed that this was a mistake, as “freedom from foreign domination is the foundation, upon which internal emancipation rests.” In addition to the freedom from foreign domination, Salih cited the importance of improving the conditions and the socioeconomic status of the “common classes,” since this would ensure public liberty in the long run.33 After the end of World War II, Salih and his colleagues totally rejected the idea of upholding the state of martial law. Salih asserted that the idea was the product of a common interest on the part of British colonialists, who feared the Egyptian nation, and Egyptian reactionaries, “enemies of democracy,” who hoped to increase the wealth they had amassed during the war. Salih called on the government to abrogate martial law at once and to hold free elections.34 The connection that the communist writers believed to exist between personal, political, and socioeconomic emancipation was again based on the experience of postwar Europe. Here, too, they looked to Europe—more specifically, Eastern Europe—for inspiration. Abu ‘Umar launched a scathing attack on the British and US claim that the Bulgarian elections of August 1945 had led to an undemocratic regime. Likewise, the British foreign minister, Ernest Bevin, was taken to task for his allegation that the postwar governments in Bulgaria, Romania, and Hungary did not represent the majority of the population and were merely a rehashing of existing dictatorships. Abu ‘Umar voiced his indignation over the perceived British and US hypocrisy and reminded his readers that these three countries were fighting fascism even as Bevin, for the most part, turned a blind eye to the fascist regimes in Greece and Spain. He noted that, in contrast to the latter two regimes, the government of Bulgaria came about as part of a national front, elected by legal, democratic means; it afforded full democratic liberties for all sectors of the population, fought fascist elements, and expressed a desire to join forces with other “peace-loving nations.”35 The sharp criticism voiced in the Egyptian press against the new regimes that emerged in Eastern Europe after World War II was spurned by FJ’s writers, who contrasted Eastern European democracy with that in Egypt. They expressed their aspiration to replicate the Eastern European model of “popular democracies,” expounding the term “democracy” in lucid detail, stressing the personal freedoms that could be expected to flower under such a regime. By the same token, they criticized unabashedly “Egyptian democracy” that deprived citizens of their rights. For

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instance, Sadiq Sa‘d disdained the low voter turnout—34 percent—in the elections for the Egyptian Senate (majlis al-shayukh) held in late March 1946. For Sa‘d, these figures proved that political life in Egypt had reached an unprecedented low; politics were dominated by a small, closed clique. He contrasted that with the high voter turnout—95 percent—in elections held in the Soviet Union at the same time. He went further: in Yugoslavia, crowds had taken to the streets and packed city squares to celebrate the establishment of their representative institutions. Sa‘d called for major amendments to the Egyptian Election Law, particularly Article 74, in order to remove all restrictions and preconditions preventing the “toiler and poor class” from nominating candidates of its own. He also called upon “loyal nationalists” to step up their involvement in political life and nudge the nation in the direction of a reawakening and the establishment of a “deep and well-founded democracy.”36 The communists viewed both the Sidqi and Nuqrashi governments (February 1945–February 1946) as virtual dictatorships or—as they put it—“a terrorist dictatorship, devoid of any democratic basis and unwilling to respect the constitution.”37 Sadiq Sa‘d was a staunch advocate of the right to demonstrate, explaining that because the ruling classes had both Parliament and the press at their disposal, demonstrations were the only means by which students and workers could express themselves.38 The formation of Sidqi’s government following the student and worker riots of February 1946 led Sa‘d to warn against a new peril. Sidqi, S‘ad emphasized, had a long track record of complacency vis-à-vis annulling the constitution and silencing opponents. He expected Sidqi to come down even more strongly on students and workers than his predecessor, Nuqrashi.39 He addressed Sidqi’s decision to outlaw any further demonstrations on the part of workers and students, claiming that the people had had an adequate opportunity to express their feelings. Sa‘d saw this as a “clear attack on democracy.”40 Indeed, the paper’s writers were among those who paid a heavy price following the imposition of severe restrictions on the freedom of expression by Sidqi. Many of the paper’s writers were arrested. The paper was awash with stories covering the persecution faced by its staff. The persecution was presented as a violation of the writers’ personal liberties and freedom of expression, as well as a violation of the constitution in general and the freedom of the press in particular. The paper’s editors voiced indignation over the persecution by the state and constantly published letters and columns glorifying the struggle of their incarcerated colleagues. This was the general tone until the paper’s closure in July 1946.41

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Nasserism: An Original Revolutionary Ideology?

On 23 July 1952, an officers’ cabal marked the turning point in Egypt’s modern history. Ideological disarray or vacuity was more pronounced in some of the officers than others. Gamal Abdel Nasser presumed to call his reflections on the coup Philosophy of the Revolution,42 a title that the coup’s nominal leader and Nasser’s rival, Muhammad Najib, ridiculed, acknowledging that “since neither of us are philosophers, it would be better to call it the ‘psychology’ of the revolution.”43 Nasser himself confessed that the term “philosophy” was probably misplaced, since he could not state clearly what the revolution’s philosophy was, nor if it had one at all. His reference to the revolution’s program was very vague: “political and economic freedom,”44 which the new revolutionary leaders divided into six principle objectives: the eradication of colonialism and its supporters, the destruction of feudalism, the destruction of capitalism and economic trusts, social justice, the formation of a strong national army, and the establishment of a democratic way of life. After the events of March 1954 had put an end to the power struggle between Najib and Nasser, Egypt was governed by the doctrine that bore the name of the country’s most celebrated leader—Nasserism. The main tenets of Nasserism were “positive neutralism” in the international arena, pan-Arabism and the regional struggle against Zionism, and “Arab socialism” on the domestic front.45 In accordance with the doctrine of Nasserism, Nasser made sweeping changes in Egypt during his reign, eliminating the existing multiparty system and introducing a “popular” single-party regime instead. The regime replaced the long-standing capitalist economic system in Egypt with a system of socialism, the goal of which was to care for the lower strata of Egyptian society, particularly workers and fellahin. On the regional front, Nasser waged a “cold war” against neighboring monarchic regimes that he labeled “reactionary,” accusing them of colluding with the West.46 The importance of the revolutionary regime in Egypt and the emergence of Nasserism as a profound and weighty ideology, perhaps the most formidable one in the Middle East in the 1950s and 1960s, beg the question of whether Nasserist ideology was in fact an innovation on the part of Nasser himself. The Nasserists’ own answer to this question was unambiguous: immediately following Nasser’s death in 1970, his disciples rushed to claim that Nasserism was a unique creation of Nasser’s own, developed and adapted to fit the changing times. ‘Abdalla Imam declared that “Nasserism is a perfect theory, covering all aspects of life . . . this theory covered the minutest details of people’s daily lives. Nasser was not sat-

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isfied merely with laying the theoretical groundwork for his thinking, but rather enriched it constantly, day after day, in terms of application, discussion, or by expounding many of its numerous points.”47 A critical analysis of texts published by communist periodicals in the prerevolutionary period, as we have seen, reveals a striking similarity to the revolution’s stated goals, and their implementation in Nasser’s policies. This runs counter to the assertion of Imam and others regarding the originality of Nasserism. During his reign, Nasser followed social and economic ideas similar to what had originally appeared in the post–World War II communist periodicals: comprehensive agrarian reform, maximum state involvement in the economy, mass industrialization projects, a collectivized economy, legislation favoring workers and fellahin, major initiatives in the field of housing, and free public education in Egypt.48 The realization of this plan was part of Nasser’s worldview, according to which liberation could only come about as a result of a “dual” (i.e., political and social) revolution. This was also the worldview of the communist writers of the 1940s. Nasser achieved political independence, however, using means that would have been anathema to the communists—direct negotiations with Britain. While this reflected realpolitik on Nasser’s side, as opposed to the anti-British dogmatic approach employed by the communists, Nasser remained throughout his reign faithful to the anticolonialist rhetoric that had characterized the communist magazines of the 1940s.49 Nasser and the communist writers were also like-minded regarding their political regime of choice. Both called for democracy in Egypt, and both sided with the one-party system, which dominated Eastern Europe. In line with the communist viewpoint, Nasser took pains to give disproportionate representation to workers and fellahin—roughly half of those holding public office—as a way of expressing his regime’s “popular” orientation and the equal opportunity it afforded the nation’s underprivileged as part of a new public agenda in Egypt.50 According to Muhammad Sid Ahmad, the Free Officers’ ideological starting point was obviously very different from that of the Egyptian communists, whom the officers condemned as “Marxist-Leninist.” During their first years in power, Nasser and his associates lacked a coherent socioeconomic ideology, employing rather a policy of trial and error. Yet the two groups bore certain similarities: they came from the same social class and were both nationalists-cum-socialists. Nevertheless, there were differences in the ways in which each of the groups understood nationalism and socialism, as well as the interrelation between the two. Sid Ahmad concluded by stating that the relations between the Nasserist regime and the communists improved markedly after the latter began to take a more active

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role in public life. He described a process in which the communist movement gradually outgrew its internationalist roots in favor of nationalism. He also noted Nasser’s own “socialist awakening.” This, claimed Sid Ahmad, obscured any outstanding differences between Nasser’s Arab-nationalist stance and the communist intellectuals who had ousted the Jews from the communist movement’s leadership.51 Sharif Hatata declared confidently that Nasserism, which he dubbed “the progressive social powers,” had in its later years come to adopt the principles and objectives of the Egyptian Left, while failing to acknowledge their source.52 Rif‘at al-Sa‘id was of similar opinion. He declared that the Egyptian Marxists, who had been active in the 1940s and 1950s, had scored significant political achievements, which later seeped into government policy and thinking. By Nasser’s own account, noted al-Sa‘id, he was greatly influenced as a student by Marxist thinking. To prove his argument, al-Sa‘id pointed out the following: 1. Nasser adopted the communists’ stance on the Sudan in 1953. 2. The principle of armed struggle against the British, which the Marxists advanced in the 1940s, became a reality in late 1951. 3. The draft charter for the Free Officers’ organization was prepared by Khalid Muhyi al-Din, who had a direct line of communication to Hadetu and had at one point been a member of Hillel Schwartz’s Iskra. 4. Nasser advanced the Agrarian Reform Bill (September 1952), in the preparation of which Ahmad Fu’ad, a member of the central committee of Hadetu and the person responsible for overseeing relations with the army, had been an active participant. 5. The transition to socialism in the 1960s showed the extent to which Nasser was affected by Marxist thinking.53 From al-Sa‘id’s overview of the achievements of the Egyptian Marxists, it is clear that Jewish Marxists could be credited with at least some of these achievements, even if this is not stated explicitly. According to al-Sa‘id, the Marxists were full partners in the promotion of the arts, poetry, labor unions, and the media and press. Moreover, al-Sa‘id devoted a good deal of attention to the achievements of the Marxists in the field of politics, as well as their impact on subsequent policy and positions of the 1950s and 1960s, which were mentioned earlier.54 Indeed, perhaps one of the most significant contributions of the Egyptian communists was their direct involvement in Egypt’s shift to socialism in the very early 1960s. A group of independent Marxists—some

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former members of Hadetu and some from other communist groups—who were organized and led by Lutfi al-Khuli, joined the Nasserist establishment in the early 1960s. This pivotal group contributed to the formulation and institutionalization of socialism, first by persuasion during the early period of socialist legislation in 1961–1962, and afterward by exerting their newly established power directly over both the regime and the leftwing opposition camp.55 Their elevated status had repercussions for all sides. The voluntary disintegration of the communist groups in 1965 and their subsequent alliance with the Nasserist regime stemmed from the feeling that left-wing successes rendered autonomous groups obsolete.56 Fu’ad Mursi, a leader of the Egyptian Communist Party, which opposed categorically Nasser’s military regime from July 1952 on, explained that the dissolution was the result of the victory of realpolitik over ideology: “Although dissolution might not correspond to principles, it was an urgent necessity.” He justified the move ideologically, however, saying: “Nasser’s regime has co-opted the policy of the communist party and proclaimed the building of a socialist society based on scientific socialism.”57 Al-Khuli stressed that communist perceptions of the July 1952 revolution were not homogeneous. For instance, there was a substantial divergence of opinion between the Hadetu camp of the exiled Henri Curiel, who supported the military regime, viewing it as a positive development, and the Egyptian Communist Party led by Fu’ad Mursi that condemned and stigmatized it until 1965. In early 1961, al-Khuli assumed responsibility for Al-Ahram’s opinion page (safhat al-ra’y)—a prestigious and influential section. The page’s editorial board was then made up completely of independent Marxists. In 1965, al-Khuli was appointed editor in chief of Al-Tali‘a—the organ of the secret party inside the Arab Socialist Union. Al-Tali‘a became a platform for open debate on social and state affairs. Ideologically, it promoted the radical implementation of socialism and enjoyed the sponsorship of Muhammad Hasanain Haykal—Nasser’s confidant. Al-Khuli described the special character of his group and their distinctive relationship with Haykal and Nasser: We developed a new vision and modus operandi for conducting relations with the regime, especially once I left my Communist Party (Hadetu) in late 1955. We always had indirect access to Nasser, mainly and most importantly through our dialogue with Haykal. In my opinion, we influenced Nasser [when he formulated] the National Charter [of May 1962]. We were the vanguard organization, and we had [secret] cells with Haykal in alAhram. Haykal was like Nasser [that is, not socialist] before he started his dialogue with us, but he was gradually won over during the course of our

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conversations. He had been pro-American and very liberal, but he came to embrace the socialist solution, as we framed it. In fact, he requested books on socialism from us, as did Nasser through him. Given Haykal’s influence on Nasser, Haykal was always our preferred go-between in contacts with Nasser, for Nasser accepted his views.58

It is noteworthy that members of al-Khuli’s group were released from prison gradually in the period 1961–1965. Al-Khuli attributed his group’s freedom in the early 1960s to the good offices of Haykal and Ben Bella, the FLN (Algeria’s National Liberation Front, based in Cairo until Algerian independence in 1962) leader and later president of Algeria. Ben Bella and his colleagues, who were released from prison by the French in March 1962, were contacted in Paris by Curiel, the exiled leader of Hadetu, who along with Majmu‘at Ruma supported indefatigably the FLN’s struggle for liberation. Curiel, who was on close terms with Ben Bella, asked the latter to speak to Nasser about the plight of the incarcerated members of alKhuli’s group.59 It follows from al-Khuli’s testimony that despite the fact that Curiel had been expelled from the Egyptian Communist Party following the unification of 1958, his contribution to the development of socialism in Egypt continued to be noticeable in the early 1960s.

Notes 1. Ahmad Sadiq Sa‘d, “Daur al-jamahir fi al-haraka al-wataniyya wa almufawadat al-haliyya,” FJ, 10 April 1946. 2. Sadiq Sa‘d, “Al-Tahrir min al-isti‘mar al-Britani wa al-mufawadat alhaliyya,” FJ, 20 March 1946, quoted from Ginat, “The Egyptian Left.” 3. See Chapter 6, pp. 164–166; and RGASPI/Fond495/OP85/D76/L43–46, 65–71. 4. Mahmud al-Nabawiy, “Munawarat hawla kahirabat khazzan aswan,” AlJamahir, 28 April 1947. 5. Ahmad Sa‘id, “Mulahazat ‘ala tahdid al-mulkiyya al-zira‘iyya,” FJ, 16 May 1945; see also Ahmad Sa‘id, “Al-Islah al-zira‘i,” FJ, 16 August 1945. 6. Sadiq Sa‘d, “Itifaqiyyat al-‘umla al-sa‘ba, mahasil al-hubub, ‘udwiyyat alsharikat,” FJ, 17 April 1946. 7. al-Daramaly, “Majlis al-shuyukh yu’aydu kibar al-mullak yarfudu mashru‘a tahdid al-mulkiyya al-zira‘iyya,” Al-Jamahir, 23 June 1947. 8. FJ, 3 July 1946. 9. Lutfi ‘Azuz, “Al-Islah al-zira‘i fi Rumanya,” FJ, 16 June 1946. 10. “Ma’sat Qana wa-Aswan tatakararu fi al-minya,” FJ, 30 January 1946. 11. L.‘A., “Hatta la tatakararu al ma’sah,” FJ, 13 February 1946; see also Sh. M.,“Sha‘b yamutu wa-hukuma ‘ajiza,” FJ, 13 February 1946. 12. Mahmud ‘Abbas, “Al-‘ilaj al-wahid,” Al-Jamahir, 5 October 1947; Mahmud ‘Abbas, “Al-Kulira tashtaddu wa-al-maja‘a taqtarbu,” Al-Jamahir, 12 October 1947.

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13. “Ma’sat al-tamwin,” FJ, 1 September 1945. 14. Ibid. See also “Fi al-tamwin,” FJ, 16 May 1945. 15. Sa‘d Makawi, “Misr wa-al-siyassa al-sina‘iyya,” FJ, 16 May 1945. 16. Ahmad Sa‘bar, “Al-Bunuk fi Misr wa-al-iqtisad al-qawmi,” FJ, 16 June 1945. 17. “Ta’mim al-bink al-ahali,” Al-Jamahir, 16 June 1947. 18. Sadiq Sa‘d, “Yajibu an naqbalu al-ra’smal al-ajnabi bi-shurut,” FJ, 1 November 1945. 19. Sadiq Sa‘d, “Yajibu an nahmiyu sighar al-muntijin,” FJ, 23 January 1946. 20. “Mushkilat al-masakin fi Misr,” FJ, 10 April 1946. 21. Amin Takla, “Ara’ ‘an al-ta‘lim fi misr,” FJ, 16 May 1945. 22. Amin Takla, “Al-Ta‘lim wa-al-dimuqratiyya fi misr,” FJ, 16 July 1945. 23. Misri, “Mahw al-ummiyya yatada’alu hatta yakhtafi,” FJ, 13 February 1946. 24. Ahmad Rushdi Salih, “Matalibuna al-qawmiyya wa-turathuna al-thaqafi,” FJ, 16 June 1945. 25. Hasan Zaki, “Al-Tashri‘at al-‘ummaliyya fi Misr,” FJ, 16 August 1945; in a similar fashion, Darwish attacked ferociously a law submitted by the Ministry of Social Affairs that was meant to regulate work relations between workers and employers. See, for instance, Zaki, “Al-Tashri‘at al-‘ummaliyya.” Hasan Zaki was the pseudonym of Yusuf Darwish; see al-Sa‘id, Ta’rikh al-Munazzamat, p. 208. 26. On the growth of Egyptian industry and the expansion of the working class during World War II, see Beinin and Lockman, Workers, pp. 257–263; US Department of State, Foreign Relations, p. 546. 27. “Al-‘Ummal al-‘atilun,” FJ, 1 May 1946. 28. Sadiq Sa‘d, “Nuridu halan wataniyyan li-mukafahat al-bitala,” FJ, 22 May 1946. 29. Al-Jamahir, 30 June and 28 July 1947. 30. Shuhdi ‘Atiyya al-Shafi‘i, “Al-Sha‘b ya’inu min al-ghala’,” Al-Jamahir, 4 August 1947. 31. Mahmud Muhammad al-‘Askari, “Asri‘u takwin al-ittihadat al-mihniyya . . . ,” Al-Damir, 3 October 1945; al-‘Askari, “Al-Tabaqa al-‘amila al-misriyya tahiqqu wahdatuha . . . ,” Al-Damir, 10 October 1945. See also al-‘Askari, “Al-Niqabat al‘ummaliyya bayna al-idrak al-niqabi al-sahih wa-bayna al-tafkir al-biruqrati alsaqim . . . ,” Al-Damir, 28 November 1945. 32. Mahmud Muhammad al-‘Askari, “Hujum al-ra’smaliyyin ‘ala ujur al‘ummal,” Al-Damir, 17 October 1945. 33. Ahmad Rushdi Salih, “Khilaf ‘ala al-huriyya,” FJ, 1 July 1945. 34. Ahmad Rushdi Salih, “‘Awda ila al-ahkam al ‘urfiyya,” FJ, 1 September 1945. 35. Abu ‘Umar, “Al-Dimuqratiyya fi Bulgharya,” FJ, 1 September 1945. 36. Sadiq Sa‘d, “Wus‘u al-dimuqratiyya fi biladina,” FJ, 7 May 1946. 37. Ahmad Rushdi Salih, “Nuridu hukuma dimuqratiyya,” FJ, 19 January 1946. 38. See, for instance, Ahmad Rushdi Salih, “Al-Sha‘b asas al-kifah al-watani,” FJ, 13 March 1946; Sadiq Sa‘d, “Li-Madha nutalibu bi-ijra’ intikhabat,” FJ, 13 March 1946. 39. Sadiq Sa‘d, “Al-Sha‘b daman intisar harakatuna al-wataniyya,” FJ, 20 February 1946.

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40. Sadiq Sa‘d, “Haqq al-tazahur lil-tabaqat al-sha‘biyya,” FJ, 6 March 1946. 41. See, for instance, FJ, 7 May 1946; “Mu’amarat didda al-dimuqratiyya,” FJ, 7 May 1946; FJ, 5 June 1946; FJ, 10 July 1946. 42. Abdel Nasser, Egypt’s Liberation. 43. Neguib, Egypt’s Destiny, p. 215. 44. Ginat, Egypt‘s Incomplete Revolution, p. 4 45. Ginat and Noema, “Al-Fajr,” p. 868. 46. Ibid. 47. ‘Abdalla Imam, Al-Nasiriyya, pp. 13, 15–17; quoted from Ginat and Noema, “Al-Fajr,” p. 868. 48. See a broader and more detailed discussion in Ginat and Noema, “Al-Fajr.” 49. On Nasser’s socialist venture of the 1960s, see in detail Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution, pp. 9–34. 50. See in detail ibid., pp. 21–29, 146–158, 179–180. 51. Muhammad Sid Ahmad, “Al-Yahud fi al-haraka al-shuyu‘iyya al-Misriyya wa al-sira‘ al-‘Arabi al-Isra’ili,” Al-Hilal, June 1988, pp. 25–27. See also his book Mustaqbal al-Nizam. 52. Hatata, “‘An al-wahda wa-al-inqisam fi al-haraka al-yasariyya,” Qadaya Fikriyya (July 1992), pp. 303–308. 53. Rif‘at al-Sa‘id, “Al-Haraka al-shyu‘iyya al-Misriyya ‘abr sib‘in ‘aman,” Qadaya Fikriyya, July 1996. On the involvement of a leading Marxist intellectual in the formulation and transmission of Nasser’s doctrine of Arab socialism, see in detail Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution. 54. Al-Sa‘id, “Al-Haraka al-shyu‘iyya al-Misriyya.” 55. Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution. 56. On Lutfi al-Khuli, his group, and Nasser’s socialist revolution, see in detail ibid. 57. Mursi is quoted from Ismael and El-Sa‘id, The Communist Movement, p. 125. 58. Interviews with Lutfi al-Khuli, Cairo, 28 September, 2–3 October 1994, and 8–15 July 1998; quotation is from Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution, p. 56. 59. Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution, p. 54.

14 Conclusion

The heralds of socialist thought in Egypt in the first two decades

of the twentieth century were Egyptian and Arab intellectuals. The foundations of Egyptian organized communism, however, were laid in the late 1910s by foreigners of European origins, the most prominent of whom was Joseph Rosenthal—the founding father of Egyptian organized communism. In fact, organized communism existed in Egypt in the 1910s in two separate frameworks—one in Alexandria, the other in Cairo. Rosenthal, who founded the former framework, established links with the Comintern as soon as it was formed in 1919. His group included many foreigners, mainly Greeks, Italians, and Jews. The group in Cairo was founded by a small group of foreigners, many of whom were Jewish, including their leader, A. Krauss. The Alexandria group joined forces with a group of Egyptian socialist intellectuals to form the Egyptian Socialist Party (ESP) in 1921. The Cairo group joined soon after the formation of the ESP. The ESP’s admission to the Comintern in December 1922 was followed by an internal plot concocted against Rosenthal on the basis of personal rivalries. The study shows categorically that—contrary to the prevailing belief in the literature and to what his rivals have claimed repeatedly—the Comintern had nothing to do with Rosenthal’s expulsion from the party. Moreover, the Comintern tried to resolve the internal conflicts, to the resentment of the party’s leadership. The ESP that became the Egyptian Communist Party (ECP) in 1923 had already split into two groups in the same year. Rosenthal’s expulsion had nothing to do with the fact that he was of Jewish origin. As in many other organizations, the motives for the expulsion were based on personal rivalries, disagreements, and lust for power. In fact, Jewish members featured prominently in both 373

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groups and worked closely and amicably with their Egyptian compatriots. In other words, there is no evidence to show the existence of racial or ethnonationalist tensions. Since the ECP’s admission to the Comintern, the latter was involved in the party’s activities until the mid-1930s. In order to help the ECP to reorganize its ranks at times when the Egyptian authorities had succeeded in cracking down on the party and arresting its leaders, the Comintern sent several high-ranking emissaries, most of whom were of Jewish origin. Stressing continuity, this study challenges the prevailing belief among scholars that the Egyptian Communist Party went through two major phases—the internationalist in the 1920s and the nationalist of the 1940s. Since their emergence in the 1910s, the communist movements had known vicissitudes—unifications and splits until their self-dissolution in 1964– 1965. The present study shows that since their early days, the communist movements were characterized by tensions between those adhering to internationalism and those wishing to nationalize socialism and communism. True, internationalist tendencies featured more prominently in the 1920s and 1930s, but one cannot disregard the nationalist orientations that existed at the same time as well. This state of affairs changed in the 1940s. One of the reasons for Egyptian communism becoming more nationalist stemmed from the fact that the Comintern broke off its relations with the ECP in the mid-1930s, and after its demise in 1943, the ECP had hardly any links with international communism. As this study shows, there were also other external and internal factors contributing to that development. It is nevertheless noteworthy that occasionally internationalist and nationalist tendencies were indistinguishably interwoven. A large number of Egyptian communists, Jews included, faced a conceptual dilemma—they adhered to Marxism-Leninism and wanted Egypt to become an integral part of international communism, but at the same time they saw Egypt as their sole homeland and they wished to nationalize communism. British imperialism that dominated Egypt throughout the period investigated in this study was the common enemy of both the international communist movements that followed Moscow’s anti-British policy, and the Egyptian anti-British nationalist currents. As we have seen, since the events of 1919, there had been a certain level of cooperation in the national struggle for liberation between communists and the Wafd, especially when the latter were in opposition. Although they frequently attacked communism, they cunningly and manipulatively harnessed the communist and labor movements to their anti-imperialist battle in order to give it a popular appearance. As we have seen, cooperation increased markedly in the 1940s and early 1950s. Moscow endorsed and even encouraged such co-

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operation during the Comintern and post-Comintern eras, apart from a few exceptional cases. Joseph Rosenthal and Henri Curiel are good examples of Jewish communist leaders who were caught in between the nationalist and internationalist pincers; while Hillel Schwartz and Marcel Israel represented internationalist orientations, although each had his particular viewpoint on the issue. Raymond Duwayk, Yusuf Darwish, and Sadiq Sa‘d, who converted to Islam, represented a new trend among the Egyptian left—”Marxist nationalists”—a trend that would become hegemonic in the late 1950s and early 1960s, leading to the self-dissolution of the communist organizations and their integration into the Nasserist establishment. The cases of Rosenthal and Curiel bear resemblance. Both were ambitious and determined to transform their society into socialism. Both were realistic, however, believing in gradualism. Both adhered to internationalism but confined their communist activities to Egypt (in the case of Curiel, until his expulsion from the Egyptian communist movement in 1958)—a country, to which they tied themselves, regarding it as their homeland. They believed in universal socialism, but their chief goal was to help impart socialism to their Egyptian compatriots. To achieve that goal, they founded organizational frameworks—political parties and trade unions. They believed, however, that the transformation of Egypt to socialism could only be achieved after the expulsion of the British. For that reason, they spearheaded, along with the main nationalist currents, Egypt’s struggle for national liberation. Rosenthal was the driving force behind the formation of the Confederation Generale du Travail and the ESP—a socialist front comprising a variety of leftist trends, whereas Curiel took pains to advance the formation of a progressive national front as a first step toward the long-term goal of gaining sociopolitical transformation. Both were philanthropists who subsidized the activities of their respective organizations with their own financial resources—Rosenthal was a well-off jeweler and a notable Alexandrian figure; Curiel was the son of a well-to-do Jewish banker and big landowner. Moscow did not appreciate their communist activities, failing to assist them when they needed its help. Even when Moscow betrayed them, they remained faithful to international communism, looking forward to its decisive victory worldwide. Both went through similar experiences: founding communist organizations, expanding them, and then facing a leadership challenge by rival peers, who eventually excluded them from the movement. Rosenthal and Curiel were expelled from Egypt because of their communist activities— although they were both Egyptian citizens, who were reluctant to leave

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their Egyptian homeland. Rosenthal was luckier. He never considered the plot to expel him from the ECP to be based on racial or ethnonational motives. His exchange of words with the authorities following the latter’s decision to expel him from Egypt points at the fact that Egypt in the 1920s was a more tolerant state than Egypt in the 1940s and the 1950s. Egypt was his chosen place of residence, where he as a Jew felt comfortable. When he was told that he was to be deported to Romania, he begged: “in that country, there is a high level of hatred for Jews, and as a Jew I shall have no rest there.”1 Rosenthal’s estimable struggle to remain Egyptian was in contrast to the capitulation of other Jewish communist deportees, such as Samuel Zaslavsky and Hillel Zandberg. Both were internationalists who showed less determination to stay in Egypt during the process of deportation to the Soviet Union—a country they regarded as their real homeland. They also showed no interest in returning to Egypt after they relocated to the Soviet Union. Indeed, many of the Jewish communist deportees who settled in the USSR continued to be active in the Soviet Communist Party and within international and local communist frameworks—but not for long; the Stalinist wave of Great Terror of the 1930s reached many of them, who faced a tragic end, as this study shows in detail.2 Many of the Jewish communist deportees in the 1940s and early 1950s were nationalist communists, who—like Rosenthal—saw Egypt as their homeland. Some of them, like Curiel and the Rome group, regarded themselves as Egyptian political exiles, and they continued to dedicate their time and money for Hadetu in its various forms. Curiel, in particular, did all he could to regain his Egyptian citizenship and to return to his homeland, but his efforts were unsuccessful. He was never admitted to the French Communist Party (FCP) or other communist frameworks that were connected with international communism. Even after his expulsion from the Egyptian communist movement following the unifications of 1957–1958, he continued to support his Egyptian communist compatriots, as was the case with Lutfi al-Khuli’s Marxist group. He welcomed that group’s willingness to join the Nasserist establishment in order to advance Egypt’s shift to socialism. Others, like Raymond Aghion, who were internationalists, left Egypt by their own choice in the mid-1940s and became prominent activists in the FCP. Aghion was also a mentor of a group of young Egyptian students who studied in France. Upon completing their studies, they returned to Egypt to form the Egyptian Communist Party—allegedly an internationalist communist organization that categorically refused to allow Jewish communists to remain or to become members. They justified this anti-internationalist stance by alleging that it was based on instructions received from international communism.

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Other Jewish communists, like Marcel Israel, who featured prominently in Egyptian communism, showed an internationalist orientation right from the beginning of their activities. Israel’s activities in Egypt stemmed from interactions with Lebanese communists who were linked with international communism. According to him, they instructed him on how to act in Egypt with an emphasis on the need to form a communist organization based solely on Egyptians. He saw his role as a mentor and theoretician, but refused to take a leading role in any of the central committees of the organizations to which he belonged. After his deportation, he had no doubts as to his true identity—an international communist with no nationalist affiliation. As such, he had no pangs of conscience on becoming active in the Italian Communist Party. Similarly, Joe Adler settled in Palestine, where he became active in the Israeli Communist Party—although his motives for this move were exceptional for a communist: “As a Jewish communist I felt obliged to settle in Israel, where I intended to help spreading communism among Jews.”3 Other Jewish communists, like Avraham Farhi, tried their luck with international communism in France and in Italy, and following “a devastating experience,” as they recalled, they converted to Zionism and settled in Israel. The study shows that the splits and rivalries between the various communist groups of the 1940s resembled those of the 1920s and 1930s, and that the Jewish members should not be held responsible either for the splits of the 1940s or for those of the earlier periods. Jewish communists were active along with their Egyptian comrades in nearly every communist faction, and together with their Egyptian compatriots they are to be held accountable for the fact that the Egyptian communist movements remained divided most of the time. The internal rivalries within each organization and between the various organizations stemmed from minor ideological disagreements, differences over methods and tactics of action, and—most of all—from internal organizational conflicts, which may be best understood by the sociological study of “organizational dynamics.”4 Organized communism of the 1940s was born split, and although Jews played a central role in the foundation of the major groups, there were also other groups that were founded by native Egyptians. Moreover, the policy of tamsir and ta‘mil adopted by the main communist organizations paved the ground for the rise of a young generation of leaders who were almost solely Egyptians. The period prior to the Palestine war witnessed minor and major splits and unifications. The issues at stake were mainly ideological and organizational. By late 1948, the communist movements were almost defunct; most of the leaders—Jews and non-Jews as well as a large number of rank-and-file members—were behind bars. The Egyptian authorities

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managed successfully, albeit manipulatively, cynically, and groundlessly, to establish a link between communism and Zionism. They cast doubt on the loyalty of the communists, mainly those of Jewish origin, to Egypt and the Arab nationalist causes, despite the fact that Jewish communists had never endorsed Zionism. In fact, the Jewish communists regarded the Zionist movement as a dangerous enemy that posed a threat to the future of Egyptian Jewry. Most of them were atheists and internationalists, who regarded themselves as Egyptians and tied their fate to Egypt. The Jewish history of Palestine and its holiness for Jews did not mean much for many of them; their feelings toward Palestine were well expressed by Raymond Stambouli: “We could not understand why oriental Jews of European origin, the Ashkenazi Jews, were making such a fuss about Palestine. For us, Jerusalem simply meant the 9.45 train from Cairo station.”5 The Palestine problem played an insignificant role in the splits within the Democratic Movement for National Liberation (DMNL)—the biggest communist organization of the 1940s. Moreover, the study shows clearly that all the communist groups—some more reluctantly than others—followed the Soviet line and supported the resolution on the partition of Palestine as approved by the United Nations on 29 November 1947. In this respect, they complied with the line dictated by international communism. That temporarily weakened their legitimacy in the eyes of the public, which was swept away by the current of rising nationalism orchestrated by the Egyptian political establishment. This experience clearly shows that Egyptian communists, who presented themselves as the champion of the national struggle for liberation, were not detached from internationalism in connection with international affairs—their loyalty to the international communist camp led by the Soviet Union was unquestionable. The communist movements of the 1940s swam against the national current on key issues and paid a heavy price for it. Their dissenting policy over Palestine, which endorsed the two-state solution, was adopted shortly after the 1948 war by the political establishment in Egypt. The same applies to the communists’ stand on the Sudan issue, which was formulated by Curiel’s Egyptian Movement for National Liberation. In brief, in contrast to the national consensus that demanded the unification of Egypt and the Sudan under the Egyptian crown, the communists called for a common SudaneseEgyptian struggle against British imperialism and for granting the Sudanese people their right to self-determination. In other words, they insisted that only the Sudanese people should have the right to determine their future. Later, their stand was embraced and implemented by the Free Officers. In addition, the communist groups of the 1940s called upon the Egyptian governments to establish and maintain relations with the Soviet

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Union and to adopt a policy of neutralism in the inter bloc conflict. The Wafd government (1950–1952) was the first to follow a policy of neutralism and tightened relations with the Soviet Union. Nasser embarked on the same policy shortly after he established his rule. Through prominent communist theoretical forums, the communists presented a social and economic revolutionary platform on issues related to feudalism, capitalism, and monopolies; social justice; and democracy. Many of their ideas had gradually seeped into government policy and thinking—albeit with modifications meant to accommodate the social conditions and circumstances at the time. The present study refutes the argument made by scholars and Egyptian communists that Jews chose communism as a reaction to the rise of fascism and Nazism in Europe in the 1930s. This argument does not explain why Rosenthal and many other Jews joined communism in the prefascist era. Why did they dedicate themselves and endanger their lives for the sake of changing the face of their society? Moreover, why did many of them continue to be active in international communism after their deportation from Egypt in the 1920s? True, Jews were active in Ittihad Ansar al-Salam, a leftist organization founded by Paul Jacot Descombes that comprised foreigners, many of whom were Greeks, Britons, and Jews. Jews also featured prominently in the Democratic Union—another leftist organization. The main communist organizations were established, however, by Jews in the latter part of World War II, when the situation on the battlefield gradually changed in favor of the Allies, particularly following the Soviet victory over Nazi Germany at Stalingrad in 1943. Many young Jews joined the communist organizations only in the mid-1940s—after both fascism and Nazism were defeated. An atmosphere of admiration for the Soviet Union and communism prevailed among young, educated Egyptians, including Jews. There was a feeling that the world stood at the brink of a new era—the end of the old order represented by the traditional capitalist powers and the emergence of a new world order represented by Soviet communism. It was a new dawn for the oppressed peoples. Young Jews saw themselves as agents of change—the bearers of the new and modern tidings. To quote Farhi: I was an idealist, who believed that one day I would become a school teacher for French and English, teaching many young Egyptians and fellahin European values and culture. My childhood recollections always reminded me of the Egyptian people’s suffering and oppression. I wanted to see the formation of a communist party, like in Russia, that would totally change the social structure of Egyptian society—a new socio-political order, of which I—as an individual—would be an integral part.6

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Indeed, young Jews perceived communism as a secular and modern doctrine that would allow their integration within society regardless of religious, ethnic, and socioeconomic origins. Communism could sort out their question of identity—the ideal solution to the question of “who we are.” In this regard, it is noteworthy that the prominence of Jews in the communist movements was not an exclusively Egyptian phenomenon, since Jews played a central role in the international socialist movement during the period of the First, Second, and Third Internationals (Karl Marx, Rosa Luxemburg, Edward Bernstein, Leon Trotsky, and many others). The motives and factors behind the decisions of Joseph Rosenthal, Marcel Israel, Henri Curiel, Hillel Schwartz, and other Egyptian Jews to embrace communism and to convey it to their society add another important dimension to a broader discussion on the reasons for the participation of Jews in the communist movements in Arab and non-Arab countries. The pattern of the political and intellectual activities of Rosenthal, Curiel, Schwartz, Israel, Darwish, Duwayk, Sadiq Sa‘d, and their fellow communists seems to fall in line with the role of the intellectual, as suggested by J. P. Nettl.7 According to Nettl, an intellectual—a “qualitative dissenter”—is one, who acts within a dissident framework (that is, from outside the establishment), that has a universal consciousness and produces and diffuses ideas that can be realized for the benefit of the whole society.”8 Indeed, many Jewish communists operated most of the time in illegal dissident organizations that demanded radical sociopolitical changes within both Egypt and the Sudan. They were altruistic human beings with long-sighted visions—the bearers of universal and humanist revolutionary ideas that challenged the existing order. They belonged to a tiny minority group, and as such they realized that their leading role was temporary—to lay the foundation for dissent frameworks and to act as mentors for their compatriots, who would soon take over the leadership. Although their activities were cut short by the authorities and by their rival peers, they contributed, along with their fellow compatriots, unpretentiously and indirectly to many of the changes that Egypt underwent. Only a handful of Egyptian communists of Jewish origin survived the wave of expulsions of the post-1948 Palestine war. However, until 1958, Jews continued to be active in Egyptian communism from abroad and from within Egypt. Curiel and the Rome Group continued to be involved in ideological guidance and exchange of views on current affairs both on the international and national levels. Although the group supported the DMNL wholeheartedly, it was disbanded in 1958 following instructions from its Egyptian headquarters. The Rome Group was sacrificed on the altar of unification of all communist groups. This apocalypse unification

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was nevertheless an ephemeral phenomenon, and there was nothing new under the sun—splits and rivalries continued to characterize Egyptian organized communism a long time after the “Jewish phase” was over. Nasser’s shift to socialism in the early 1960s created a golden opportunity for communists to integrate within the establishment. Indeed, in 1965 the communist organizations announced their voluntary disintegration and their subsequent alliance with the Nasserite regime. Consequently, communist activists occupied senior positions within the establishment, particularly in the media and in foremost ideological venues. A new leaf was turned over in the history of the communist movements in Egypt.

Notes 1. Al-Ahram, 18 August 1924. 2. See a detailed account in Appendix 3. 3. Interview with Joe Adler, Haifa, 26 January 2006. 4. Morgan, Images of Organization, pp. 149–206. 5. Perrault, A Man Apart, p. 67. 6. Interviews with Avraham Farhi, Yahud, 4 January and 3 February 2005. 7. Nettl, “Ideas, Intellectuals and Structures of Dissent,” pp. 53–122. On his theory, see in detail Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution, pp. 199–200. 8. Citation from Ginat, Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution, p. 200.

Appendix 1: Acronyms and Abbreviations

CCECP CCPCP CGT COMINTERN CPGB CPSL CPSTU CPUSA CTUE DMNL ECE ECP EMNL ESP FCP FJ FLN FO GCP HAS IAS KPD KPSS

Central Committee of the Egyptian Communist Party Central Committee of the Palestine Communist Party Confederation Generale du Travail Communist International [Kommunisticheskiy Internatsional] Communist Party of Great Britain Communist Party of Syria and Lebanon Congress of Private Sector Trade Unions Communist Party of the United States of America Congress of Trade Unions of Egypt Democratic Movement for National Liberation Egyptian Communists in Exile (Rome Group) Egyptian Communist Party Egyptian Movement for National Liberation Egyptian Socialist Party French Communist Party Al-Fajr al-Jadid National Liberation Front (Algeria) Foreign Office (British) Greek Communist Party Harakat Ansar al-Salam [Partisans of Peace Movement] Ittihad Ansar al-Salam Kommunistische Partei Deutschlands [German Communist Party] Kommunisticheskaya Partiya Sovetskogo Soyuza [Communist Party of the Soviet Union] 383

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Appendix 1: Acronyms and Abbreviations

KUTV

Kommunisticheskii Universitet Trudyashchikhsya Vostoka [Communist University of the Toilers of the East] IISH International Institute of Social History MOPR Mezhdunarodnoy Organizatsii Pomoshchi Bortsam Revolyutsii [International Organization for Aid to Revolutionaries] MP member of Parliament (British) MPS Mifleget HaPoalim HaSotsialistit [Socialist Workers Party] MShM al-Munazzama al-Shuyui‘yiyya al-Misriyya MTS Munazzamat Tahrir al-Sha‘b NCWS National Committee of Workers and Students NDF National Democratic Front NKVD Narodnyy Komissariat Vnutrennikh Del [People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs] OMS Otdel Mezhdunaronoii Svyazi [Department of International Relations of the Comintern] PROFINTERN Krasnyy Internatsional Profsoyuzov [Red International of Labor Unions] RGASPI Rossiiskii gosudarstvennyi arkhiv sotsial’no-politichskoi istorii [Russian State Archive of Social-Political History] PCP Palestine Communist Party SCUN Security Council of the United Nations SMD Sawt al-mu‘arada al-dakhiliyya [The Voice of the Internal Opposition] SMNL Sudanese Movement for National Liberation SRP Socialist Revolutionary Party TU Tali‘at al-‘Ummal UNSCOP United Nations Special Commission on Palestine USSR Union of Soviet Socialist Republics WFTU World Federation of Trade Unions

Appendix 2: Egyptian Communist and Left-Wing Organizations

Communist faction in Alexandria, established in the late 1910s by Joseph Rosenthal Communist faction in Cairo, established in the late 1910s by A. Krauss Egyptian Socialist Party (al-Hizb al-Ishtiraki al-Misri), 1921, founded by Salama Musa, ‘Ali al-‘Anani, ‘Abdallah ‘Anan, Husni al-‘Urabi, Joseph Rosenthal, and others Egyptian Communist Party (al-Hizb al-Shuyu‘iy al-Misri), 1922, founded by Husni al-‘Urabi, Joseph Rosenthal, Ahmad al-Madani, Antun Marun, and others Les Essayistes, established in the late 1920s by Leon Castro The Union of Peace Supporters (Ittihad Ansar al-Salam), 1934, founded by Paul Jacot Descombes, Thodosis Pierrides, Raymond Aghion, Yusuf Darwish, Eli Mizan The Trotskyite group (Majmu‘at al-Trutskiyyin) Art and Freedom (al-Fann wa al-Hurriyya), 1934–1935, founded by Georges Henein, Lutfallah Sulaiman, Ramsis Yunan, Anwar Kamil, and Kamil al-Tilmisani The Democratic Union (al-Ittihad al-dimuqrati), 1938–1939, founded by Marcel Israel, Henri Curiel, Raul Curiel, Eli Mizan, Raymond Aghion, George Pointée, and others Le Groupe Études, 1939, sprouted from Ittihad Ansar al-Salam and founded by Descombes, Darwish, Sadiq Sa‘d, and Raymond Duwayk Bread and Freedom (al-Hubuz wa-al-Huriyya), 1940, an interfusion of Trotskyite and communist trends sprouted from al-Fann wa-alHurriyya, founded by Anwar Kamil, Fathi al-Ramli, Marcel Israel, and As‘ad Halim

385

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People’s Liberation (Munazzamat Tahrir al-Sha‘b), 1940, founded by Marcel Israel, As‘ad Halim, and others Iskra (Sharara), 1942–1943, founded by Hillel Schwartz EMNL (al-Haraka al-Misriyya lil-taharrur al-watani), 1943, founded by Henri Curiel Munazzamat al-Qal‘ah, 1943, founded by Mustafa Haykal, ‘Abd al-‘Aziz Baiyumi, and others Union of the Peoples of the Nile Valley (Munazzamat Ittihad Shu‘ub Wadi al-Nil), 1945, an EMNL splinter group founded by ‘Abd al-Fattah alSarqawi Al-Tali‘a al-Sha‘biyya lil-taharrur, or Tali‘at al-‘Ummal; commonly known as al-Fajr al-Jadid group, 1946. (In 1957 it was called Hizb al‘Ummal wa-al-fallahin al-Shuyu‘i al-Misri.) It emerged from Le Groupe Études; founded by Darwish, Sadiq Sa‘d, Duwayk, together with Ahmad Rushdi al-Salih, Abu Sayf Yusuf, Mahmud al-‘Askari, Yusuf al-Mudarrik, and Taha Sa‘d ‘Uthman The Marxist Group (al-‘Usba al-Marksiyya), 1946, an EMNL splinter group founded by Fauzi Girgis and ‘Abd al-Fattah al-Qadi Tali‘at al-Iskandriyya, 1946, an EMNL splinter group founded by Husayn Hasuna The United Vanguard (Al-Tali‘a al-muttahida), 1946, a union between Iskra and the People’s Liberation DMNL (al-Haraka al-Dimuqratiyya lil-taharrur al-Watani), 1947, a union of the EMNL, Iskra, Tali‘at al-Iskandriyya, and a group from the People’s Liberation and Munazzamat al-Qal‘ah (its members were already divided between the EMNL and Iskra) The Revolutionary Bloc (al-takattul al-thawri), 1948, a DMNL splinter group organized by Shuhdi ‘Atiyya, Anwar ‘Abd al-Malik, and Sa‘d Zahran DMNL—The Revolutionary Proletariat (Hadetu al-‘Ummaliyya alThawriyya), 1948, a DMNL splinter group organized by ‘Adil (‘Abd al-Ma‘bud al-Jibaili), Marcel Israel, Ahmad Shukri Salim, ‘Abd alRahman al-Nasir, and Latifa al-Zayyat Voice of the Opposition (Sawt al-Mu‘arada), 1948, a DMNL splinter group organized by Sidni Salomon, Odette Hazan, Sa‘d al-Tawil, Fatma Zaki, and Muhammad Sid Ahmad Toward a Bolshevik Revolution (Nahwa Munazzama Balshafiyya), 1948, founded by Mishil Kamil, Mustafa Amin, and others Egyptian Communist Organization (al-Munazzama al-Shuyui‘yiyya alMisriyya), 1948, a union of Nahwa Munazzama Balshafiyya and Sawt al-Mu‘arada

Appendix 2: Egyptian Communist and Left-Wing Organizations

387

Toward a Communist Party (Nahwa Hizb Shuyu‘iy), 1948, a DMNL splinter group organized by Hillel Schwartz, Inji Aflatun, and Ahmad Fu’ad Egyptian Communist Party (al-Hizb al-Shuyu‘iy al-Misri) commonly known as al-Raya, 1950, founded by Isma‘il Sabri ‘Abdullah, Fu’ad Mursi, Sa‘d Zahran, and others Movement of the Partisans of Peace (Harakat Ansar al-Salam), 1950, an anti-imperialist national front comprising communists, members of alTali‘a al-Wafdiyya, the Muslim Brothers, and the Socialist Party. Among its key figures were communists such as Kamal ‘Abd alHalim, Sa‘d Kamil, and Yusuf Hilmi The Rome Group (Majmu‘at Ruma), the DMNL’s branch abroad, 1951, founded by Curiel, Joseph Hazan, and other Egyptian Jewish communist émigrés The Egyptian Communist Party (al-Hizb al-Shuyu‘iy al-Misri), 1958, a union of the three main communist groups of the 1950s: al-Raya, the DMNL, and Tali‘at al-‘Ummal–Hizb al-‘Ummal wa-al-Fallahin alShuyu‘i al-Misri

Appendix 3: Jewish ECP Deportees and the Stalinist Purges

Dozens of Egyptian communists of Jewish origin were banished

from Egypt—a country that had been characterized by its cosmopolitan flair and had generously absorbed them in the first and second decades of the twentieth century, allowing them to integrate within the local foreign communities. Many of them settled in the Soviet Union—their new homeland, the holy land of world communism—with the hope and belief that they were relocating to an ideal place. The gap between ideals and reality, as they witnessed, was tremendous. On their arrival, many of them had to prove their revolutionary background on behalf of international communism in order to be granted the status of a “political exile,” which could realize their hope for a soft landing and prompt absorption. The personal files of many of the former Jewish ECP activists revealed that their way to absorption and assimilation was not all roses. On the contrary, their fate was similar to that of hundreds of thousands of victims of the great Stalinist purge (1936–1938). They were accused of various political crimes, which led to their immediate execution, or—if all went well—they were sent to the Gulag labor camps, where they lived under inhumane conditions and their prospect of surviving was almost zero.1 In the case of the interrogation of former Jewish Egyptian communists, the investigators asked the opinion of their former Egyptian superiors or Comintern activists who knew them. Some of them, such as A. Shami, Avigdor, and Abu Ziyam, who lived in the USSR and held high positions in the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern in the late 1920s–early 1930s, were themselves under close scrutiny when they were asked to comment on the Egyptian activists.

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A. Shami

Tepper Ilya Naumovich (aka Shami) had a very impressive communist background after serving in several countries, which involved imprisonment and deportations; he settled in the USSR in the late 1920s. He worked as a researcher at the International Agrarian Institute and as a lecturer at the Moscow Institute for Oriental Studies. In 1930, he married Sofia Roginskaya, who was herself active in both the PCP and ECP in the 1920s and was deported from Egypt to the USSR in 1929. After they got married, the couple was sent to work as lecturers at the Oriental Institute of Leningrad. Shami was a very popular lecturer, admired by many students, which paved his way to professorship. The institute that was “one of the most politicized centers in Leningrad” was soon to become a target for Stalin’s purges. To quote Garay Menicucci: “On 1 December 1934, the Leningrad party leader Sergei Kirov was assassinated. Stalin used the occasion to initiate a purge of suspected ideological opponents. Those institutions with ties to foreign affairs were particularly vulnerable and included the former Communist University of Toilers of the East, the Moscow International Agrarian Institute, and the Executive Committee of the Comintern—all institutions, with which Shami had been associated.”2 In 1935, Shami and his wife were suddenly expelled from the communist party. He was accused of being a Zionist and of “helping Zionists to be accepted to the KUTV of Leningrad.” The fact that he had helped the absorption of deported Jewish communists from Arab countries was now regarded as a crime. As early as 1936, Shami and his wife were dismissed from their work at the institute and had to go through months of unpleasant interrogations, which focused on their previous links with Poale Zion. Shami and Roginskaya were arrested on 1 February 1938. Shami was accused of espionage for Britain, and his wife was accused of participating in a plot concocted by an international Zionist center against the communist party. Shami was severely tortured, but refused to confess. He was executed on 30 December 1938. On a Russian Web site commemorating the Soviet Orientalists who were executed in the years of the great Stalinist Terror, it was noted that “Shami’s interrogation was conducted in brutality and blatant distortion of the truth, even according to the standards of those days. Afterwards, the interrogators themselves were accused of negligence in their investigation and were sentenced; one of them committed suicide.”3 Shami’s wife, Roginskaya, was executed several months earlier, on 11 September 1938.4

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Avigdor

The fate of Yehiel Kossoy (aka Avigdor, Constantine Weiss, and Karl) was similar. After his deportation from Egypt in 1928, he became active in the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern and was highly regarded as an expert on Middle Eastern affairs. He wrote extensively on theoretical issues related to the communist parties in the Near East and the prospects for a revolution there in Revolyutsionnyy Vostok (The Revolutionary Orient). On 20 March 1936, he was arrested after he was accused of participating in a Trotskyite plot. He was sentenced to five years in prison, but the sentence was immediately converted to execution, which took place on 14 June 1938—he was shot to death at a training base in Butovo, on the southern edge of Moscow, where many thousands of people were shot and buried from August 1937 through October 1938, at the height of Stalin’s purges.5 His wife Charlotte was—relatively speaking—luckier. Archival material reveals that she survived the Stalinist Terror. Following Avigdor’s arrest, she was also arrested, and her interrogation started to gather momentum. She was expelled from the party and sent to a hard-labor camp, where she spent eighteen years. In 1955, she applied to renew her membership in the KPSS, but her application was declined. The files of her interrogation show that former prominent figures in the ECP, such as Shami, held her in low esteem. Her achievements were attributed only to the fact that she was Avigdor’s wife and not to any talent or commitment to the ECP. Shami argued that Charlotte’s attitude to the ECP’s Arab comrades was patronizing and disparaging. Through Avigdor, he noted, she established contacts with “a treacherous Palestinian group” led by Abu Ziyam and Yosef BergerBarzilai. Shami used Charlotte’s case in order to settle an account with his former PPC colleagues and later Comintern rivals. These quarrels and accusations did not help any of them—their fate was already decided. Most of them were condemned to death, and a few were sent to hard-labor camps. In October 1958, Charlotte reunited with her family in Alexandria (her father Joseph lived in Egypt until 1965), but only for a short period. On 30 March 1959, the Egyptian authorities deported her to the Soviet Union once again. Her dream to resettle in her real homeland was in vain.6

Abu Ziyam

Abu Ziyam (alias of Wolf Averbukh) faced a similar tragic end. After serving for many years in the PCP and partly in the ECP, he settled in the USSR

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and was active in the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern in the early 1930s. He was sent to work in the Caucasus in the period 1935–1936. In spring 1936, he was accused of espionage and sentenced to a five-year prison term. In April 1939, he was transferred to a prison in Moscow, where he was executed on 6 July 1941.7

Naum Avramovich Leshchinskii

Naum Avramovich Leshchinskii (alias Nadab) was among the leaders of the PCP in the late 1920s. In 1930, the British expelled Nadab from Palestine. According to Jacob Hen-Tov and Sondra Rubenstein, he arrived in Egypt, where he tried to help in the ECP’s reorganization. He was soon arrested, however, after a police informer acting from within the ECP (possibly ‘Abd al-‘Aziz) exposed his identity, and then he was deported from Egypt. He moved to Russia and became a member of the NIA (Scientific Research Association) of the KUTV.8 Like other former senior members of the PCP, Nadab’s settlement in the USSR was in line with the process of the Arabization of the PCP—a rigid line formulated by the Comintern, particularly, due to the Arab-Jewish bloody clashes of August 1929 in Palestine, which the Comintern regarded as an anti-imperialist uprising by the Arab peasants, and not as an Arab pogrom. Nadab, who had witnessed the events in Palestine before he settled in Russia in 1930, was engaged in an academic debate with Shami in Revolyutsionnyy Vostok in the early 1930s. Nadab presented the PCP’s original approach, suggesting that the 1929 events were led by “the most reactionary elements within the Arab community,” whereas Shami presented and defended the Comintern position.9 The debate, wrote Menicucci, “focused on how to define the class character of the 1929 uprising in Palestine. Shami emphasized the primacy of the working class (as was characteristic of his writing on Egypt) and the tendency of the feudal bourgeoisie to compromise with British imperialism. Nadab stressed the national democratic nature of the uprising and the differences that the Arab-Palestinian bourgeoisie had with both Zionism and British imperialism.” Beneath the obscurantist polemic, stated Menicucci, “lay the beginning of a process of mutual recriminations among former PCP members, who were then living in the Soviet Union.”10 Shami’s rivalry with his former colleagues of the PCP had already begun in the late 1920s, however. When he was the Comintern representative in Egypt, the PCP’s Central Committee blamed Shami for launching a campaign designed to persuade the Comintern to turn Egypt into the center of communism in the Arab East. His purpose for doing that was to guar-

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antee his control over the PCP. Shami was accused of employing a demagogic tactic of divide et impera (divide and rule) in the work relations between the Arab communist parties (ECP and CPSL) and the PCP.11 For his part, Shami criticized the PCP’s Jewish leaders for failing to Arabize the party.12 In early 1931, it would appear, the PCP’s former members, who had a relatively large representation in the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern, promised the PCP’s Central Committee that the Comintern would politically fight against Shami’s group, including fighting for their removal from the KUTV.13 As far as the Comintern was concerned, however, the political and theoretical confrontation between the former leaders of the PCP was no longer relevant by the mid-1930s. As part of the doctrine of the Arabization of the communist parties of the Arab East, the PCP was instructed on 7 May 1935 to “keep the party away from the harmful and degenerate influence of the former leaders . . . who were involved in sabotaging the Arabization of the party and were incapable of implementing the Comintern’s line toward Palestine; they should immediately be isolated from anything related to party affairs.”14 Nadab’s fate was determined at once. Unlike his colleagues, who were first interrogated, then arrested, and finally executed or sent to hard-labor camps, he was arrested on 10 March 1938 and executed on the same day.15

Hillel Zandberg

Hillel Zandberg—as we have seen—was a dedicated, active member of the ECP. He wrote two autobiographies, the first shortly after his arrival in Russia in July 1924, and the second in 1929, which were not identical. For instance, in 1929 he stressed his revolutionary role in the events of February–March 1924 in Egypt, something he did not mention in his first autobiography (signed on 16 September 1924). In addition, in his first autobiography he stated that his occupation in Egypt was electrician, whereas in 1929 he added that he first worked as an electrician in a garage and later as a carpenter in a factory. The purpose of this minor change was obvious—Zandberg wanted to emphasize the fact that he belonged to the proletariat. In 1929, he applied for higher studies at the KUTV—he believed that the combination of proletariat and revolutionary background could serve his goal.16 Zandberg, who was granted the desired status “political emigrant,” was sent in late 1924 by the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern to study at the KUTV; there he completed his studies in 1927, including his training as a

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lecturer. At the time, nobody questioned his revolutionary background or doubted his devotion to duty within the ECP. The KPSS then sent him to Ashkhabad, Turkmenistan, to work in the central committee of the inspection commissariat for agricultural affairs. His record as educator and party member was impressive. During his studies at the KUTV, he was also a lecturer in social sciences at the Ashkhabad Polytechnic Evening School. Indeed, his superiors there confirmed his dedication, describing him as “a talented and responsible educator and social scientist . . . a social activist, who dedicated a great deal of his time to our institute.” The KPSS’s regional representative evaluated Zandberg’s political character for the year 1926: “prudent and disciplined party member . . . outstanding theoretical training and practical experience. He knows well how to translate his theoretical knowledge into practical operation . . . organizer and propagandist.”17 Zandberg’s career continued to develop successfully. On 16 May 1929, he applied for postgraduate studies at the KUTV, and after he received good references from his former superiors and an NKVD (Narodnyy Komissariat Vnutrennikh Del—People’s Commissariat for Internal Affairs) officer confirmed his files and the fact that he was a member of the KPSS (No. 0024213), his application form was approved. His postgraduate studies went well, and he completed them successfully. He was then promoted to head the tutorial department of “Sector A” of the KUTV, where he worked in the early 1930s.18 Zandberg’s success story was short-lived, however. In line with the general Stalinist witch hunt, his record went through close scrutiny. On 22 July 1933, the main parts of his autobiography were confirmed by an unidentified source.19 In March 1936, his files went through the inspection of the KPSS. Galdzhyan, in his capacity as the “assistant reviewer of the department of human resources,” was involved in many of the files related to former ECP activists. It follows from Galdzhyan’s inspection that in 1934, Zandberg was fired from the KUTV after he failed in his two capacities there: lecturer and administrator. Galdzhyan cast doubts as to the wisdom behind Zandberg’s acceptance to the KPSS in 1924 and described it as “unjustified.” His term of service in the ECP was reduced; 1923 replaced 1922 as the year he joined the ECP. The story of his arrival to the USSR was rewritten. While in the past he had been described as “a political emigrant” who managed to escape courageously from arrest in Egypt, Galdzhyan described Zandberg as a coward “who traveled to the USSR from Egypt in order not to be arrested.” Galdzhyan questioned the decision to register Zandberg as a “political emigrant” and to admit him to the KPSS, regarding the admission as “groundless.”20

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Several months later, on 7 July 1936, Shami, who was asked for his opinion on Zandberg, was more objective. He confirmed the main stages as they appeared in Zandberg’s autobiographies.21 Another reviewer by the name of Alikhanov stated on 28 November 1936 that he could not trace any documents regarding Zandberg’s political character for the period 1925–1927, despite the fact that, as we have seen, there were several. He also raised the question of why Zandberg was not sent back on a mission to Egypt or any other country upon graduation from the KUTV.22 In 1936, Zandberg worked in the political department of the “Leninski railroad” in Moscow. His investigation continued in the following year. On 23 June 1937, his employers asked the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern to provide them with Zandberg’s biographical details after they had received negative references from his former superiors in Turkmenistan. According to the latter, the socioeconomic background of Zandberg’s childhood was elevated—his parents were said to be small merchants, and it was emphasized that he was still maintaining communications with them. Zandberg was also no longer a Soviet citizen, and it was stated that the reason for his arrival in the Soviet Union remained unknown. The circumstances behind his escape from Egypt, as he revealed them, were not convincing. His former superiors in Turkmenistan cast doubt as to the authenticity of his autobiography and stated that he therefore should not have access to secret duties. Their last sentence, however, was enough to incriminate Zandberg as a spy: “Zandberg was already in Ashkhabad in contact with a German Fascist.” Although they mentioned the German by name, Aukhter, they failed to provide any further details about him.23 The fact that the Eastern Secretariat confirmed the authenticity of Zandberg’s autobiography and generally portrayed a positive picture was of little help. Moreover, the final sentence in the Eastern Secretariat’s evidence was enough to incriminate Zandberg as someone who—in his past—had been affiliated with the Zionist movement. It should be checked, stated the deputy of the Comintern’s department of human resources, if Zandberg was active in a Zionist organization during his youth in Poland. Despite the fact that Zandberg never mentioned any reference to Palestine or to an affiliation with Zionism at any stage of his life, the Comintern was anxious to discover if Zandberg had first immigrated to Palestine as a Zionist and only after living there for a while, went to Egypt in 1921. This information did not correspond with Zandberg’s autobiography, where he declared that he arrived in Egypt in 1920, whereas he did not mention Palestine at all.24 The last reference regarding Zandberg was made on 13 January 1940 in a letter signed by the director of the central archive of the Comintern,

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which stated that Samuel Kirzon, and not Zandberg, represented the ECP at the Comintern’s fifth congress.25 Zandberg’s fate has remained unknown. It is safe to assume, however, that he did not have a rosy future, given the suspicions, accusations, and the prevailing grim atmosphere created by the Stalinist Great Terror.

Zaslavskys

The Zaslavsky couple were granted Soviet citizenship upon their arrival in March 1925. While Samuel Zaslavsky was in prison in Egypt (1924), his wife, Yeketrina, managed to receive Soviet passports from the Soviet Embassy in London. Until the mid-1930s, however, it would appear he settled in well in his new homeland. In order to be admitted to Odessa’s international club, he asked his former colleagues of the ECP on 10 October 1932 to send a letter of reference describing his activities within and contribution to the ECP. Such information on his political experience, he asserted, would help to improve his position.26 There was no reference to any reply on that matter from the ECP. In mid-1936, the Zaslavskys’ investigation started. The ECP as well as Shami were asked to provide details about his past with special reference to his activity in the ECP. Both confirmed the main stages of his biography in a balanced mode. He was described as a likable and positive person, and there was nothing in their evidence to incriminate him.27 The same holds true for Yeketrina. Both Husni al-‘Urabi and Shami gave positive and supportive character references on her communist activities in Egypt.28 On 25 October 1937, S. Zaslavsky was asked to write his autobiography to the finest detail. The purpose was clear: to disclose “a black hole” in his remote past. Zaslavsky, who realized that his fate was in midair, referred to every stage of his life, including his relationship with his close family, in order to prove that his sacred commitment to communism preceded his family—with those family members who lived in noncommunist countries, he cut off contacts. He added at the end of his autobiography: “P.S., I have a brother, who lives in Detroit, with whom I have had no contact since 1913; my sister, who lives in New York, sent me three letters in 1936/1937; in Cairo lives my sister-in-law, with whom we have no contact; and finally, I have a sister, who lives in Kiev, with whom I maintain regular contact.” Indeed, the central committee of the KPSS asked the department of human resources on 11 January 1938 to investigate the circumstances of Zaslavsky’s flight from Syria to Egypt in 1915. In reference to his statement

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that he worked in Egypt in an English bookstore, a request was made to check the nature of that bookstore, to whom it belonged, and what exactly he did there. Whether he served in the British army was also to be checked. The answers to these queries were to be sent to the manpower department of the Comintern.29 The Zaslavskys’ files do not shed light on the couple’s fate. The last document in their files is dated 1938—an infamous year in the USSR’s history.

Avram Katz

The Katz family went through a similar process. Avram Katz managed to escape from Egypt with Zandberg in 1924. Upon his arrival, he joined the Ukraine CP and commenced his studies at the academy of military engineering, where he graduated. According to Shami’s statement made on 7 July 1936, Katz was working in Rybinsk, a big city in the Yaroslavl region of Russia.30 Although Shami did not say anything that could incriminate Katz, two other accounts (one signed by “GLD”) could be a source of concern. The first described him as “a charlatan, who had no regard for the Egyptian communists; he had no revolutionary background in Egypt. He had possibly been helped by Avigdor, who had claimed, at the time, that he was among the ECP’s founders; currently Avigdor was no longer a member of the party—he was expelled.”31 The linkage between Katz and Avigdor was a knell to the former. The second account portrayed Katz as a coward, who fled from Egypt in order not to be caught by the police. Since 1924, he had no contacts with the Comintern.32 His sister Klara wrote in her autobiography on 26 July 1926, while applying for a scholarship to the KUTV, that she was deported from Egypt in August 1925. Upon her arrival, she worked as a worker in a sugar plant. She emphasized the fact that she knew several languages: Arabic, French, English, Greek, Russian, and Yiddish (also a little bit of Italian and German), which could be useful for the party.33 Both Zandberg and ‘Abd al-‘Aziz recommended her admission to the KPSS in 1926. This obviously did not help her case, particularly Shami’s evidence stating that she was associated with Avigdor, Charlotte Rosenthal, and Nadab—all were expelled from the KPSS by 1936 and were under interrogation, except for ‘Abd al‘Aziz, “the traitor” who lived in Egypt. Shami, who signed his testimony on 7 July 1936, added that Klara’s contribution to the ECP was minimal. While in Egypt, her entire family, except the father, wanted to be granted a visa to the USSR. She wanted to be deported. Although she specialized in Arabic during her studies at the KUTV, Shami continued, the level of

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her literary Arabic was poor. Moreover, he said, there is doubt regarding the story of her socioeconomic background in Egypt, mainly, that her father was a worker. In fact, Shami ruled, she fabricated her class ascription and her activity on behalf of the ECP. Shami regarded Klara as a useless factor that used the party for her own ends.34 According to Galdzhyan’s account of 8 March 1936, Klara Katz was recognized as a political emigrant. She became a member of the KPSS and was employed by the KUTV of Leningrad. He, however, doubted her previous activity in the ECP. Despite the fact that former senior comrades of the ECP confirmed that she was an activist, Galdzhyan did not hesitate to state that “the Egyptian section did not approve her activity within their party.” Which ECP existed in 1936 and what information was available to its members regarding those secondary activists of the early 1920s, Galdzhyan kept to himself. That was, however, enough for him to rule that “granting Klara the status of political emigrant and her admission to the KPSS were utterly unjustified.”35 It was possible that Klara was not executed and that she was sent to a labor camp, since there was evidence of her existence in 1952, when her files were reopened for an unspecified reason.36

Emile Zayd

Emile Zayd’s file is quite large and part of it has been discussed earlier.37 His files allow the conclusion that he was another victim of the rivalry between Shami’s group and that of Abu Ziyam. On 22 December 1929, Zayd and Shami were accused by the latter group (which occupied high positions within the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern by the early 1930s) of sloppy financial management.38 In September 1930, the PCP gave a political characterization of Zayd that portrayed him as a “very primitive man, politically and theoretically. Reliable and devout, but also a chatterbox, tends to quarrels and intrigues, tries to play the shrewd and crafty man, but without much success. He can be used, but the Abu Ziyam group is not interested in his services.”39 Nevertheless, Zayd’s low image did not spoil his plans to continue with his studies. On 16 January 1930, he was accepted to postgraduate studies at the KUTV, where he studied until 1935. Valdman, the “director of the special department” of the KUTV, characterized Zayd politically on 28 November 1935 as a “disciplined communist, brave and very friendly. He excelled in his studies and was active socially. He carried out every assignment meticulously.”40 His political characterization was sent to the Narimanov Center for the Studies of the East, where Zayd might have ap-

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plied for a job. This was the latest reference on Zayd’s biography in his archival file. It could definitely be possible that he survived the wave of the Great Terror, since there was nothing in his files indicating that he was under interrogation in the mid-1930s.

Samuel Kirzon

Samuel Kirzon, who arrived in the USSR as the ECP’s representative to the fifth congress of the Comintern, never returned to Egypt. As we have seen, the Eastern Secretariat instructed him to stay in Russia. On 8 September 1924, he was recognized as a political emigrant and applied for membership to the KPSS on 3 November.41 In 1925, Kirzon started to work in a train workshop. Later, in 1932, it was reported that he graduated from the college for building, and the party sent him to work in Komsomolsk, Russia, until his arrest in 1936.42 Indeed, the wave of terror and persecution of the mid-1930s did not skip Kirzon. On 8 March 1936, the GLD described Kirzon’s autobiography as confused and full of contradictions. It was not clear which party he was affiliated with, and what the nature of his work there was. The GLD could not deny the fact that he participated in the fifth congress, but referred to it as a distressing misunderstanding.43 Shami, whose testimony was delivered on 7 July 1936, added fuel to the fire. Although he confirmed most of Kirzon’s autobiography as accurate, he stated that Kirzon left Egypt of his free will.44 The libel story continued. In a fabricated statement of evidence, the nonexisting ECP testified that the party was not at all represented at the fifth congress. Kirzon, it was noted, should never have been recognized as a political emigrant.45 It would appear he was doomed following a statement made in one of the testimonies in his files on 9 September 1938: “he hid his real family name, and he is a British spy.”46

Lifkin Faibish Haymovitch

Lifkin Faibish Haymovitch, who was deported from Egypt in 1929, had a soft landing in the Soviet Union. He was immediately recognized as a political emigrant, and Virtanen, the secretary of the Eastern Secretariat, asked the central committee of the MOPR to assist him as much as possible.47 A document signed by Galdzhyan on 8 March 1936 contained two testimonies regarding Haymovitch’s biography—one in his handwriting and the other typed. The handwritten one was fairly positive noting the central stages in Haymovitch’s

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life. Galdzhyan stated clearly that Haymovitch’s past activity within the ECP was spotless and that he was presently a Soviet citizen.48 However, the typed version was utterly negative and fabricated. It claimed that his membership in the ECP was not verified and that there was no evidence that he was persecuted or arrested before his deportation from Egypt in 1929, “which was only due to the fact that he was a Soviet citizen.” Haymovitch, it was established, was never recognized as a political emigrant.49 Shami’s evidence, which was made a day earlier, was fairly positive. Shami confirmed that Haymovitch was a former member of the ECP. Although he did not excel in his political capabilities, noted Shami, he served the ECP faithfully and obediently. He was deported from Egypt in 1929 due to his communist activity, and he had worked as an optician and in the telegraph services since his arrival in the USSR. Haymovitch, concluded Shami, was known at present as a friendly and dedicated member of the KPSS.50 Haymovitch’s fate remains vague. The last reference regarding his life was made on 13 January 1940. A document signed by Stechenko, with no further identification, noted that Haymovitch’s whereabouts were unknown.51

Sholom Polak

Sholom Polak and his wife were deported to the Soviet Union in 1927, after Sholom was released from prison, where he had spent nearly three years for his communist activities. He was recognized as a political emigrant and was employed by the “secret department” of the central telegraph service. On 24 December 1927, the MOPR notified William Gallacher, the director of the Anglo-American Secretariat of the Comintern, that his ECP colleagues regarded Polak as a reliable comrade and that his admission to the KPSS was therefore to be considered favorably. Gallacher appreciated Polak as a talented and professional comrade and recommended that the executive of the radio and telegraph station of Moscow would do anything they could to help him.52 In 1936, Polak’s success story came to a tragic end. On 12 March 1936, his investigation started. First, his activity on behalf of the ECP was confirmed. A couple of months later, somebody called Osmolovskii, possibly the investigator, asked Kraevski, from the department of human resources of the Comintern, to provide him with information regarding Polak’s communist background. In his request, Osmolovskii declared that Polak was “purportedly” a member of the ECP. He cast doubts as to the real circumstances behind Polak’s arrival in the Soviet Union in 1927 and asked for further investigation of Polak’s past. On 25 April 1936, however,

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Chernomordik, the deputy manager of the department of human resources of the Comintern, confirmed Polak’s record in the ECP as it appeared in his autobiography. Chernomordik could not provide any further information, however, with regard to his pre-1922 activities.53 Two written statements of evidence given by Galdzhyan—the first was signed on 25 August 1936, and the second was undated—were identical, apart from the fact that the second had an additional short paragraph with severe implications. Galdzhyan reiterated correctly the main biographical features of Polak’s story since he joined the ECP. He also mentioned Polak’s association with Avigdor and Lev Elkonin. Both were by then expelled from the KPSS and under investigation—a matter that did not help Polak’s case. After Polak’s documents were reexamined, stressed Galdzhyan, he was expelled from the KPSS. Moreover, there were suspicious elements in Polak’s past and biography. He was admitted to the KPSS without a meticulous check. In the second statement, it was added that Polak’s activity within the KPSS was utterly random, “he stuck to the party. . . . Polak must be removed from any secret and vital activities within the Soviet institutions. The question of his continuous presence in the Soviet territory should seriously be discussed by the relevant authorities. . . .”54 It would appear that Shami’s evidence sealed Polak’s fate. Shami provided details about Polak’s precommunist era. During World War I, revealed Shami, Polak worked as a caretaker in a refugee camp near Alexandria. Later, he worked as a sergeant in “a labor corps,” which was in charge on road works. In that corps, people of European origin occupied posts of caretakers. After the war, he became a merchant in Cairo. His connection with the ECP was weak until 1924. In late 1924, he rented a room to Avigdor in his flat, where the ECP’s Central Committee meetings took place. Despite the fact that Polak participated in these meetings, he charged the rent. Shami confirmed that Polak was in prison along with Avigdor and Elkonin for nearly three years. Polak’s record in Moscow and Egypt, stated Shami, showed that he was a man that used the party for his own benefit. He was a toady and obsequious person to those he needed. Witty. While in Egypt, he showed no interest whatsoever in the Egyptian political life or the ECP. After his deportation from Egypt, he cut his relations with his former Egyptian colleagues, except for Avigdor, Charlotte Rosenthal, and, to a very limited extent, Elkonin. Shami concluded that Polak was utterly unreliable and a dubious person.55 The fate of Polak’s wife is not clear. On 3 June 1936, she was given a good reference from Shami for her activities within the framework of the ECP and the MOPR while living in Egypt. We learned, however, that she got divorced from her husband on 10 July 1936, and that she was liv-

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ing in Moscow. She was obviously also under investigation, but there is no further information.56

Samuil Lazarevich Paper and Mariam Khaimovna Paper

The spouses Samuil Lazarevich and Mariam Khaimovna Paper were subjected to interrogation in 1936. Their interrogators doubted their affiliation with the ECP in the 1920s and argued that their files were suspicious. The interrogators wondered why the Papers, unlike many other deportees, had not asked for financial aid when they arrived in the USSR in 1926, and were content with being recognized as political emigrants. The interrogators’ conclusion was not exceptional in the prevailing atmosphere of terror at the time. After a close scrutiny of the Papers’ files, declared the interrogators, “we rule that the spouses had no links with the ECP, and that they were in fact British spies.” The fact that the Papers shared a flat with Zaslavsky did not help Zaslavsky’s case.57

Evgenii Nikolaevich Pivarovich

Evgenii Nikolaevich Pivarovich’s case was similar to that of his former colleagues. Someone, who was allegedly a representative of the nonexistent ECP, testified on 9 July 1936 that Pivarovich had no connections with the ECP in the past. “His sudden deportation to the USSR in 1925 was suspicious. It is not clear, if he was recognized as a political emigrant,” wrote his interrogators on 8 March 1936. Such accusations were sufficient to sentence him severely.58

Shoklenders

The Shoklender family was deported from Egypt to the USSR following the activity of their son Grigorii on behalf of the ECP. The family arrived in the Soviet Union on 11 May 1925. The father Isaak Yakovlevich, as stated earlier, had nothing to do with the ECP; his only sin was that his son Grigorii was imprisoned in Egypt for his communist activity. The son himself was released from prison in 1926 and immediately afterward deported to the USSR, where he was united with his family. The Shoklender family was not recognized as political emigrants. In the Shoklenders’ files there

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are two statements of evidence given by Galdzhyan. The first one was made on 8 March 1936 and was very general covering in brief the history of the family.59 The second one, which was made on 16 June 1936, focused on Grigorii. Certain parts of it appear to have been fabricated. Some sentences were erased and changed in pencil. For instance, it was originally stated that Grigorii was in prison in 1925 because “he belonged to the ECP.” The last words were erased and in pencil changed to: “he was imprisoned because he took part in a demonstration.” Grigorii, who arrived in the Soviet Union in 1926, it was originally noted, managed to join the KPSS not through the Comintern. The last sentence was erased, and another was added in pencil: “He joined the KPSS by-passing us [the Comintern].” Galdzhyan’s second statement of evidence pointed out that Grigorii was very young and did not have enough seniority in the ECP when he joined the KPSS. We also learn that Grigorii studied at the KUTV in 1936, but he was expelled in that year from the party, after his files were reexamined. He failed to provide a clear and accurate picture of his economic situation and his past record in the ECP. Again, the last sentence was erased and changed by pencil to: “He did not provide us with accurate information on his past.” The last sentences of the statement were fairly positive. For instance, the last sentence stated that Grigorii’s behavior in Egypt was undoubtedly positive. These sentences were erased, however, and the following was inserted instead: “We have no information on Shoklender’s record in Egypt.”60 The goal was clear: the incrimination of Grigorii, and for that purpose all means were admissible, including the obvious fabrication of evidence.

Avram Volfovich Sagalovich

The case of Avram Volfovich Sagalovich resembled Grigorii’s. According to Galdzhyan’s two statements of evidence (8 March and 9 July 1936), Sagalovich was “apparently” a former member of the ECP since 1923. He was imprisoned in Egypt “ostensibly” for participating in communist activity. He arrived in the Soviet Union on 25 September 1929, but was not recognized as a political emigrant. This did not stop him from living in the political emigrants’ quarter in Odessa in 1930. To his misfortune, he chose Avigdor as a source to verify his past affiliation to the ECP. Avigdor, noted Galdzhyan, was “expelled from the party as someone, who was not innocent.” Galdzhyan recommended scrutinizing Sagalovich’s personal record.61

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Mikhail Kirzon

Mikhail Kirzon, who had been among the founders of the Cairo communist group, graduated from the University of Odessa in 1932. In early 1933, the KPSS sent him to work in Komsomolsk city. His son Albert, a student and a member of the Komsomol, received a letter from his mother in 1938 in which she informed him that Mikhail had been arrested because “he had concealed his family name, and that he was accused of being a British spy.”62

Elkonins

The Elkonin couple was deported from Egypt in 1927, after Lev was sentenced to a three-year prison term for his activity in the ECP. In the USSR, they were recognized as political emigrants. Lev was also accepted as a member of the KPSS. Rebekka worked at the State Bank of the USSR in the telegraph section. When the couple’s interrogation began in 1936, Shami, Galdzhyan, and Stechenko testified that Lev coped well in his investigation and trial in Egypt. The three as well the other investigators mentioned, however, the Elokonins’ relationship with Avigdor and Polak. Galdzhyan, who was fully aware that Avigdor had fallen from grace in the authorities’ eyes, noted that Elkonin’s meetings with Avigdor and Polak made him suspect. There were still references to the interrogation of the Elkonin couple in early 1940. The evidence in Rebekka’s files cast doubts on her autobiography, describing her as unreliable. The Elkonins’ files indicate that the interrogation ended in 1940. There was no mention, whatsoever, of the couple’s fate.63 The above-mentioned selected group of Jewish communist activists, who had past links with the ECP, represents in microcosms the tragic fate of hundreds of thousands of innocent communist activists regardless of their ethnic or religious origins.64

Notes 1. On the Stalinist purges, see for instance a recent study based on declassified Soviet archives: Halfin, The Stalinist Purges. See also Service, Stalin, pp. 346–356; Pipes, Communism; Rosefielde, “Stalinism,” pp. 959–987; BergerBarzilai, The Tragedy. 2. On Shami-Teper’s fate, see in detail Menicucci, “Glasnost,” pp. 570–571. See also a Russian Web site commemorating Soviet Orientalists who were exe-

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cuted in the years of the great Stalinist terror, at http://memory.pvost.org/pages/ shami.html. 3. Ibid. See also Menicucci, “Glasnost,” pp. 570–571. 4. See http://memory.pvost.org/pages/roginskaja.html. 5. See http://memory.pvost.org/pages/avigdor.html. See also al-Sa‘id, Al-Yasar al-Misri, p. 121. See more on Butovo at http://www.nytimes.com/2007/06/08/ world/europe/08butovo.html?n=Top/Reference/Times%20Topics/Subjects/R/ Russian%20Orthodox%20Church. 6. See Charlotte Rosenthal’s files, Russian Governmental Archive of SocialPolitical History (RGASPI), Fond-495/OP-210/D-51/L7–20. See also al-Sa‘id, AlYasar al-Misri, p. 121. 7. See http://memory.pvost.org/pages/averbuh.html. 8. Hen-Tov, Communism, pp. 34–35. Rubenstein, The Communist Movement, pp. 136–137. 9. Hen-Tov, Communism, pp. 34–35. 10. Menicucci, “Glasnost,” p. 570. On the Arabization of the PCP, see more in Greilsammer, Les Communistes, pp. 67–87. On the Shami-Tepper–Nadab debate, see also Rubenstein, The Communist Movement, pp. 137–138. 11. See a memorandum by the CCPCP to the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern, 31 December 1929, in al-Sharif, Filastin, document 94, pp. 244–250. 12. Rubenstein, The Communist Movement, p. 138. 13. See a letter from the Comintern to the CCPCP, 10 March 1931, in Zahavi, Apart or Together, p. 281. 14. Ibid., p. 350. 15. See http://memory.pvost.org/pages/nadab.html. 16. Zandberg’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-37/L15–17. 17. Ibid., L29. 18. Ibid., L9–10, 21, 24, 26, 30. 19. Ibid., L5. 20. Ibid., L6–6b. 21. Ibid., L6–6b. 22. Ibid., L9–10. 23. Ibid., L36–37b. 24. Ibid., L32–33. 25. Ibid., L3. 26. S. Zaslavsky’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-36/L9. 27. Ibid., L3, 11–12. 28. Yeketrina Zaslavsky’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-35/L1–3. 29. S. Zaslavsky’s files, L1–2, 6–7. 30. Avram Katz’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-41/L1. 31. Ibid., L2–3. 32. Ibid., L4. 33. Klara Katz’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-40/L11. 34. Ibid., L1–2. 35. Ibid., L3. 36. Ibid., L1–2. 37. See Chapter 6, pp. 170–172. 38. Emile Zayd’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-34/L26. 39. Ibid., L11.

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40. Ibid., L8. 41. Samuel Kirzon’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-42/L1, 7. 42. Ibid., L3–5. 43. Ibid., L1. 44. Ibid., L2. 45. Ibid., L3–5. 46. Ibid., L3–5. 47. Virtanen’s request was made on 17 June 1929. See Haymovitch’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-44/L1–2. 48. Ibid., L3. 49. Ibid., L4. 50. Ibid., L5. 51. Ibid., L1–2. 52. Sholom Polak’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-46/L9, 10–10b. 53. Ibid., L3–4. 54. Ibid., L1, 7. 55. Ibid., L11. 56. Mrs. Polak’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-47/L1–3. 57. Samuil Lazarevich and Mariam Khaimovna Paper’s files, RGASPI/Fond495/OP-210/D-42/L1–4. 58. Evgenii Nikolaevich Pivarovich’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-50/ L1–3. 59. Isaak and Grigorii Shoklender’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-59/ L1–2. 60. RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-90/L12–12b. 61. Sagalovich Abram Volfovich’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-55/ L1–2. 62. Mikhail Kirzon’s (Kuzhuviner) files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-42/ L6–6b. 63. Lev Il’ich Elkonin’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-63/L1–5, 7. See also Rebekka V. Elkonin’s files, RGASPI/Fond-495/OP-210/D-62/L1–4. 64. One cannot point at a rational political explanation as to why Stalin and his inner slaughter apparatus conducted systematically and intensively their inhuman atrocities. One possible explanation may, however, be found in the sphere of psychiatry. In his instructive and authoritative biography of Stalin, Robert Service draws a link between Stalin’s personality and his emotional state and the Great Terror. See his analysis in Service, Stalin, pp. 343–344.

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Newspapers and Periodicals In Arabic (Egypt) al-‘Ahd al-Jadid, al-Ahram, Al-Akhbar, Al-Bashir, Cadre, al-Damir, al-Fajr alJadid, al-Hilal, al-Hisab, al-Jamahir, Kifah al-Umma, al-Majala al-Jadida, al-Manar, al-Musawwar, al-Muqattam, Qadaya Fikriyya, al-Tatawwur, alUsbu‘, Sawt al-mu‘arada al-dakhiliyya, Umdurman, Wadi al-Nil.

Other Languages Daily Herald (London), Don Kishot (Cairo), New York Times, Pravda (Moscow).

Index

‘Abbas Halim, 188, 196 ‘Abbas, Ra’uf, 7–8 n.5, 270 ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, Muhammad (alias M. Zaki), 154–156, 165, 172–173, 178, 185 n.146; relation to Comintern, 161, 167, 172, 176–177, 187, 185 n.141; purge files, 392, 397. See also ECP ‘Abd al-Halim, Kamal, 259, 272 n. 47 ‘Abd al-Halim, Muhammad, 266 ‘Abd al-Halim, Shaykh Shakir, 135, 181 n.54 ‘Abd al-Hamid II, 9, 12 ‘Abd al-Malik, Anwar, 242, 285 ‘Abd al-Mun‘im (La Clarté), 37 ‘Abd al-Raziq, Mahmud, 23 n.38 ‘Abdallah (king of Trans-Jordan), 339, 344, 346 ‘Abdu, Muhammad, 9 ‘Abdullah, Isma‘il Sabri, 253 Abramovich, Solomon. See Alexandr Lozovsky Abu al-Ghar, Muhammad, 7 n.2, 61, 349 n.24 Abu al-Khayr, Zaki, 308 Abu al-Qasim, ‘Abd al-Hamid, 309 Abu Hasbu, ‘Abd al-Majid, 309 Abu Sayf, Yusuf, 217, 228 n.53, 343–344 Abu ‘Umar, 363 Abu Ziyam (Wolf Averbukh, alias Haidar), 177, 391–392, 389, 398; mission to ECP, 154–155, 161 ‘Adil. See ‘Abd al-Ma‘bud al-Jibaili

‘Adiliyyin, 286–288, 290 Adler, Joe, 241–242, 249–251, 335–336, 377 al-Afghani, Jamal al-Din, 9 Aflatun, Inji, 241, 289 Aghion, Raymond, 210, 220, 239, 253, 376 Agricultural Union, 44 Al-‘Ahid al-Jadid, 214 Ahmad, Rajab, 307 Al-Ahram, 120–122, 125–127, 303, 368 Akhbar al-Yawm, 259 Akselrod, Simon, 151 Al-‘Alam al-Ahmar, 139 Allenby, Edmund H. H. Lord, 34–36, 114, 139–140 ‘Amir, ‘Izz al-Din ‘Ali, 309 ‘Amr, Muhammad, 159 ‘Anan, Muhammad ‘Abdalla, 18–19, 65–66 al-‘Anani, ‘Ali, 17, 19, 42–43, 56, 76 Anglo-American committee, 337–339 Anglo-Egyptian agreement (1953), 323 Anglo-Egyptian Condominium (1899), 302 Anglo-Egyptian negotiations, 295, 302, 311–313 Anglo-Egyptian treaty (1936), 171, 206, 217, 295, 301, 316, 324 n.4, 347 Antifascist popular front, 206 Anti-Imperialist League, 169 Arab communist federation, 156 Arab League, 335, 336, 339, 340, 344 417

418

Index

Arab Socialist Union, 368 al-‘Arabi, Mahmud Tahir, 181 n.54 Arabization of communist parties, 159 Aravitis, Nicolas, 188 ARCOS (steam navigation company), 148 Arie, Albert, 130 n.63, 251–253, 258–259, 271 n.26, 282, 287, 289 Arie, Henriette, 252–253 Ariel (Comintern representative), 90–91, 95, 106–107 Art et Liberté, 222 Arts and Freedom. See al-fann wa alhuriyya al-‘Askari, Mahmud, 213, 215, 216, 362 Astor, Victor, 42–43 Asturi (British officer in Khartoum), 308 Aswan project, 354–355 al-‘Attar, Mukhtar, 262 al-‘Attar, Ibrahim, 265 Aukhter, (German Fascist), 395 Austrian Communist Party, 41, 48 Averbukh, Wolf. See Abu Ziyam Avigdor (Yehiel Kossoy, alias Constantine Weiss, Karl), 45–46, 78, 147, 150, 161, 181 n.54, 391; Bund, 45; Comintern reports, 46–49, 110, 135–136, 138–140, 143–144, 197; J. Rosenthal, 46, 74–76, 78; Kraus, 74–75; La Clarté, 46; mission to ECP, 63, 73–74, 119, 134–136, 140, 162; purges, 389, 391, 397, 401, 403, 404 Al-Azhar University, 135, 200, 307; Marxist recruitment, 221, 242, 262–264, 280, 283, 307 al-Azhari, Isma‘il, 316 ‘Azmi, Mahmud, 23 n.38 ‘Azuz, Lutfi, 356 ‘Azzam, ‘Abd al-Rahman, 218, 335 Badawwi (La Clarté), 38 al-Baghdadi, ‘Abd al-Latif, 265 Bakdash, Khalid (alias Ramzi), 191–193, 235, 273 n.67 Bakhit, Shaykh Muhammad, 14–16 Balfour declaration, 333 al-Bana, Hasan, 218 Bandalids, Nicola, 227 n.35 Bandung Conference, 348 al-Bank al-Ahali, 358 al-Barbar, ‘Ali, 310

Barbusse, Henri, 37–38 Al-Bashir, 294 al-Bassusi, Bayumi, 64 al-Bassussi, Hasan ‘Abdu’ Bayumi, 181 n.54 Batino, Leo, 258 Beinin, Joel, 2, 7 n.2, 207, 267–269, 351 n.55 Belkin (Khakimov’s agent), 148 Bell, Thomas, 63 Ben Asher, Moshe, 135, 181 n.54 Ben Bella, 369 Berger-Barzilai, Yosef, 100 n.112, 391 Bernstein, Edward, 380 Bevin, Ernest, 302, 363 Bevin-Sidqi draft treaty, 218, 302, 304 Blau (arrested ECP member), 175 Blau, Joyce, 259–260 Blue Shirts, 206 Bolshevik Revolution, 25, 330 Bolshevism, debate on, 14–16, 18, 20–21, Botman, Selma, 209, 217, 224, 249, 270 Bread and Freedom (Pain et Liberté, alhubuz wa-alhuriyya), 222–224 Brike, S. (deputy to Raskolnikov, head of the Eastern Secretariat of the Comintern), 92, 100 n.112, 108, 110, 122–124, 151–152 Browder, Earl Russel, 243–244 Browderism, 243–244 Bukharin, Nikolai, 234 Cadre, 284 Cairo University, 256, 282 Canel, Naomi (Mimi), 253, 258, 272–273 n. 47 Capitulations, 5, 26, 49 n.3, 103, 116, 194, 272 n.36 Caramanian, Jerry, 216 Caramenian, Zenon, 216, 227 n.35 Carayannis, Ulysse, 187 Castro, Leon, 208–209, 250 Castro, Raymond, 210 Casuto, Gabriela, 258 Ceresi. See Marcel Israel CGT. See Confederation Generale du Travail Cholera epidemic, 258, 282, 357 Cigarette Workers’ Union, 31 Cinema House Workers’ Union, 266

Index

Cohen, Henri, 260 Cohen, Marcel, 246 Cohen, Max, 258 Cominform, 278 Comintern (the Communist International), 6, 36, 46, 198–199; ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, 167, 169, 177, Arabization of communist parties, 159; ECP, 106–107, 179, 196, 198, 374; ECP assessments & action plans, 91, 104, 107–108, 117–119, 121–122, 133–138, 159–150, 153–154, 162–169, 172–175, 178–179; ECP election participation, 106, 109–111, 197; ECP, assistance to, 117–119, 134, 157–158; ESP, 41–42, 46–47, 57, 61–63, 68–70, 73; fascism/Nazism, 190–191, 219; front/bloc (Egypt), 145–147, 191, 196–199, 307; Jews in the Eastern Secretariat, 158–159, 374; Krauss, 74; PCP–ECP, 154, 157–158; purges, 205, 389–390; J. Rosenthal, 34, 68–69, 86, 93–94, 373; Sudan question, 305–306; Zionism, 330 Committee for the Dissemination of Modern Culture (Lajnat nashr althaqafa al-haditha), 213 Communist Party of Great Britain (CPGB), 105, 137, 141–143, 180 n.25, 194, 197, 240 Communist Party of Syria and Lebanon (CPSL), 142–143, 192, 235, 250 Communist Party of the United States of America (CPUSA), 243–244 Communist University of the Toilers of the East (Kommunisticheskii Universitet Trudyashchikhsya Vostoka, KUTV), 36, 63, 73, 109, 118, 136, 145, 151, 162, 165, 185 n.141, 390 Confederation Generale du Travail (CGT), 31–32, 38–40, 55, 60, 104–105, 108, 151; ESP/ECP, 58, 62, 104; Profintern, 49 Congress of Private Sector Trade Unions (CPSTU), 275 n.94 Congress of Trade Unions of Egypt (CTUE, Mu’tamar Niqabat ‘Ummal al-Qutr al-Misri), 268–268 Cornelli, Mary, 141 CPGB. See Communist Party of Great Britain

419

CPSL. See Communist Party of Syria and Lebanon CPSTU. See Congress of Private Sector Trade Unions CPUSA. See Communist Party of the United States of America Critieos, Yani, 227 n.35 Crossley (Thompson), James, 141–144, 147 CTUE. See Congress of Trade Unions of Egypt Culture and Leisure (club), 236 Curiel, Henri (Yunis), 2, 8 n.6, 159, 208, 222, 252–257, 260–261, 287, 294, 347, 369, 375–376; Abdu Dhahab Hasanayn, 307–309; on armed struggle, 294–295; Democratic Union, 219–222, 307; DMNL, 278–282, 284, 286–290, 347–348; Egyptianization (tamsir), 221–222, 280, 283–284, 288–289, 360; EMNL, 254, 270, 277–278, 287, 309; FLN, 369; HAS, 347; Iskra, 243, journals, 220, 307–308; Khatt, 284–286; al-Khuli, 369; Marxist literature, 260–261; Nasser, 368; on organized communism, 231, 268–269; Palestine/Zionism, 333–334, 345–347; Rome group, 272 n. 47, 273 n.61, 380; J. Rosenthal, 375–376; Schwartz, 239; Sudan, 294, 305, 307, 308, 320; ta‘mil, 280–281, 283–284; TU, 277–278. See also Maydan bookstore Curiel, Raul, 220, 239, 255 Curthoys, Ann, 4 Daily Herald, 126 Al-Damir, 215 311, 338, 362 Dar al-Abhath al-‘Ilmiyya, 241, 244, 280 Dar al-fajr, 235 Dar al-Kutub library, 235 al-Daramaly (Al-Jamahir), 355–356 Darwish, Yusuf (alias Mahmud Khairy, Hasan Zaki), 210–216, 228 n. 46, 267, 308, 331, 343, 361, 370 n.24, 375 De Botton (La Clarté), 38 Democratic League, 221 Democratic Movement for National Liberation (DMNL, al-haraka aldimuqratiyya lil-taharrur al-watani, Hadetu), 158, 207, 253, 255–256, 259,

420

Index

272–273 n. 47, 277–288, 295; Free Officers, 257, 299 n.60, 346–348, 368; Jewish anti-Zionist League, 334; Muslim Brothers; 292; NDF, 259; Palestine, 343–345, 348; Partisans of Peace Movement, 258, 347; Sudan question, 304, 311, 318–320; World Movement for Peace, 347 Democratic Union (al-Ittihad alDimuqrati), 219–222, 239, 307, 379 Descombes, Paul Jacot, 188–189, 209–211, 213, 219–220, 227 n.35/36, 379 Dietrich, Paul, 172–173, 175–176 al-Dimuqratiyya al-Sha‘biyya (Popular Democracy), 216 DMNL. See Democratic Movement for National Liberation Don Quichotte, 220 Dreyfus, Alfred, 246 Duclos, Jacques, 243–244 Durkheim, Emile, 4 Duwayk, Rafael, 210 Duwayk, Raymond (Ibrahim al-Kashif), 211–212, 214, 216, 327 n.58, 303, 331–332, 350 n.35, 375 Duwidar, Muhammad, 158–159, 185 n.141, 262 École Française, 255 ECP. See Egyptian Communist Party effendiyya, 205–206 Egyptian Communist Party (ECP), 41, 90, 103, 107, 111, 139, 143, 190, 195–196, 262; Austrian CP, 41–42, 48; Comintern, 47–48, 104, 166, 171, 198, 374; Comintern aid, 108–110, 115, 119–120, 154, 193; Comintern instructions, 108–110, 136–138, 140, 145–147, 165, 167–169, 172, 196–197; Comintern reports, 116–118, 151–152, 155–158, 162–166, 173–175, 178–179; CPGB, 105, 137, 141, 157–158, 194, 196; CPSL, 169; deportations, 120, 151; FCP, 194, 197; Greek CP, 155; al-Hizb al-Watani, 106, 108; internal strife, 92–93, 96, 151–152, 155–158, 161, 174, 187, 189; labor action, 104–105, 112–114, 138, 144–145, 175; PCP, 141–142, 154–158, 169; repression, 115, 127, 147, 149–151, 171–172, 181 n.54,

189–190; Sudan question, 305–307; underground activities, 112, 136–137, 141, 165, 168–169; Wafd, 111–112, 193–194 Egyptian Communist Party (1950), Jewish members, 353, 376; Sudan question, 322–323 Egyptian Democratic Party, 18–20, 23 n.38 Egyptian Gazette, 32, 125 Egyptian Movement for National Liberation (EMNL, al-Haraka alMisriyya lil-taharrur al-Watani), 159, 254, 261–266, 280; army, 257, 265; DMNL, 218, 277–280; Egyptianization, 253, 255, 262–263, 279–280; Iskra, 218, 266–267; Muslim Brothers, 333–334, NCWS, 269–270; Palestine/Zionism, 333–334; Sudan, 262, 264, 307, 309, 311; TU, 266–267, Umdurman, 310; Wafd, 217. See also H. Curiel Egyptian Socialist Party (ESP), 14, 16, 19–22, 39, 45, 56–59, 71–72, 121–122, 373; assemblies, 63–67, 77–78, 88–89; Comintern, 63–64, 67, 70, 73, 373; Comintern affiliation, 41–42, 62–67, 75; Comintern reports, 57, 68, 70–73; foreigners and Egyptians, 55, 59, 64, 90; al-Hizb alWatani, 59–60, 68–69; labor affairs, 58, 62, 64, 68; repression, 58–59; S. Musa, 64–67; Wafd, 59–60. See also ECP The Egyptian Standard, 25 Egyptian Zionist Union (al-Ittihad alSahyuni al-misri), 209 Egyptianization (tamsir), 221, 253, 294, 377; DMNL, 258, 278, 280, 283–284, 288–289; EMNL, 262–263, 265–266, 279–280 Elenburg (arrested ECP member), 175 Eliava, Shalva, 47 Elkonin, Lev Il’ich, 44, 147, 150, 181 n.54, 401, 404 Elkonin, Rebekka, 44, 404 Ellis (ECP, Cairo), 135 EMNL. See Egyptian Movement for National Liberation Engels, Friedrich, 21, 211 Epiphaniades (the owner of merchant ships that traded with Russia), 77

Index

Erlich (alias ‘Aziza; arrested ECP member), 175 ESP. See Egyptian Socialist Party Fabianism, 12, 56, 247 Fadl, ‘Abd al-Rahman, 158, 185 n.141, 262 Fahmi, ‘Abd al-Rahman, 136 Fahmi, ‘Aziz, 347 Fahmi, Mansur, 23 n.38 Al-Fajr al-Jadid (FJ, “The New Dawn”), 212, 214–215; British imperialism, 303, 354; democratic rights, 362–364; malaria, 356–357; socioeconomic issues, 353, 355–361; Sudan question, 303–303, 311, 313–318; Zionism/Palestine, 336–337, 342–343 Al-Fajr al-Jadid group, 215, 217–219, 269, 291–292 al-fann wa al-huriyya (Arts and Freedom), 200, 222–224 Farfara, Renato, 227 n.35 Farhi, Avraham, 241, 245–249, 282, 377, 379 Farid (ECP member), 193–197, 202 n.19 Farid, Muhammad, 25, 27 Farouk (King), 295, 315, 347 Fascism/Nazism, impact on Egyptian society, 205–208, 215, 261, 307, 334 Fathi, Ibrahim, 7–8 n.5 Fawzi, ‘Uthman, 257, 273 n.61, 346 Fawzi-Rossano, Didar, 229 n.63, 257, 273 n.61, 274 n.83, 346 FCP. See French Communist Party Filatures nationals d’Egypte, 114 Finkesfeld, Hans, 252 Fisher, Isaac, 96 FJ. See Al-Fajr al-Jadid FJ group. See Al-Fajr al-Jadid group FLN (Algeria’s National Liberation Front), 369 Forfara, Renato, 216 Forte, Dine, 227 n.35 France, Anatole, 37 Franco, Francisco, 211 Franzén, Johan, 330 Free Officers, 257, 259, 265, 308, 323, 346 French Communist Party (FCP), 194, 197, 207, 209, 220–221, 240–241, 244, 246, 254 French Free Masons, 257

421

French Students’ Committee Against Fascism and War, 212–213 Freundlich, Albert, 90, 93, 107 Friedman (ECP faction, 1932), 189 Fu’ad, Ahmad, 289, 367 Fu’ad University, 310 Fu’ad (King), 143, 161 Fuda, ‘Abd al-Rahim, 309 Galdzhyan (assistant reviewer of the department of human resources), 394–395, 398–401, 403–404 Gallacher, William, 400 Gambazagi, Alice, 227 n.35 Gandhi, M., 60, 145 GCP. See Greek Communist Party Geertz, Clifford, 4 General Federation of Labor Unions in the Vile Valley, 136 German Communist Party (Kommunistische Partei Deutschlands, KPD), 172, 189 Gershoni, Israel, 304–305 al-Ghamri, Husain, 285 al-Ghunaimi, ‘Abd al- Sami’, 135, 181 n.54 Girgis, Fauzi, 262–264 Goldberg, Elias, 2 Goldberg, Robert, 114, 122, 251 Goldman (Comintern emissary), 119 Goltzman, Edward, 148 Gordon College, 310 Gorky, Maxim, 252 Granville, Alex, 34, 50–51 n.32 Greek Communist Party (GCP), 188, 264–265 Gromyko, Andrei, 304, 322, 340–344 Groupe d’Etudes Sociales, 36–38, 51 n.46, 151 Grunberg, Benjamin, 38 Habib, Tawfiq, 14 Al-Hadaf, 343 al-Haddad, Niqula, 9–14, 23 n.30 Hadetu. See Democratic Movement for National Liberation Hadetu–al-‘Ummaliyya al-Thawriyya (DMNL–the Revolutionary Proletariat), 287–288 Hadjiandria, Yani, 227 n.35 Hafiz, Sha‘ban, 135, 145, 181 n.54, 182 n.71, 262

422

Index

Hafiz, Sid, 262 HaGdud Ha‘Ivri (Jewish battalion), 45 HaKo’ah (Jewish sports club), 250 Halim, As‘ad, 224, 236, 308 Hamday, Hamid, 310 Hamrush, Ahmad, 257, 267 Hanbali madhhab, 15 Hanna, Andrus, 17 Hanuka, Sami, 210 Harakat Ansar al-Salam. See Partisans of Peace Movement Harari, Ezra, 334–335, 349 n.26 Harat al-Yahud, 249, 282, 332 al-Haridi, Sayyid (alias ‘Abd al-Hafiz Muhammad), 64, 83, 85, 88–89, 141, 100 n.94, 180 n.25 Harszlik, Riedel, 181 n.54 Harun, Shahata, 256–257 HAS. See Partisans of Peace Movement Hasanayn, ‘Abdu Dhahab, 262, 307–310, Hashim, Zaki, 336 Hassuna, ‘Abd al-‘Al, 120 Hasuna, Husain, 159, 185 n.141, 220, 262 Hatata, Sharif, 208, 242, 245, 272 nn. 34,47, 278, 282, 285, 287, 293, 367 Hawwa, 259 Haykal, ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, 224 Haykal, Muhammad Hasanain, 368–369 Haykal, Muhammad Husain, 21–22, 23 n.38 Haymovitch, Lifkin Faibish, 399–400 Hazan, Joseph (Susu), 255–256 Hazan, Odette, 228 n.38, 290–291 Heller, Otto, 331 Helliopolis Tram Union, 44 Henderson, Arthur, 171 Henderson, Nevil, 150 Henein, Georges, 220, 222–224 Hen-Tov, Jacob, 392 Herzl College (Cairo), 250 Higham, John, 4 al-Hilal, 7–8 n.5 al-Hilali, Nabil, 214, 228 n.38 Hilmi, Yusuf, 258, 348 Al-Hisab, 139, 144 Hizb al-‘Ummal wa-al-Fellahin al-Shuyu‘i al-Misri (Egyptian Workers and Peasants Communist Party), 216

al-Hizb al-Watani (National Party), 25, 27, 31, 59, 68–69,136, 153, 161; Comintern assessment, 133, 137–138, 143, 145, 147, 162–166, 168; Kirzon report, 116–117 al-Hudaini, ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, 33 al-Hulw, Faraj Allah, 234–235 Huriyyat al-Shu‘ub, 307–308 Husain, Ahmad, 218, 315 Husain, Jalal Effendi, 44 Husain, Kamil, 96 Husain, Muhammad Amin, 309–310, 312–313, 316–317 IAS. See Union of Peace Supporters Ibn Khaldun, 234 Ibn Rushd, 234 Ibn Sina’, 234 Ibrahim, Mahmud, 64, 181 n.54 Ibrahim, al-Shahat, 109, 114–115, 127, 165 Imam, ‘Abdallah, 365–366 Ingram, Gordon, 35 Inprecor, 45 International Brigade, 210–211, 239 International Communist Group, 222 International Liaison Department/Department of International Relations (Otdel Mezhdunaronoii Svyazi, OMS), 118, 170 International Press Correspondence (al-Murasalat al-Dawliyya), 212, 332 Iraqi anti-Zionist League (‘Usbat mukafahat al-sahyuniyya al-‘iraqiyya), 337 Iskra, 271 n.19, 240, 243–244, 265, 277, 280, 290; CPs, 241, 250; DMNL, 216, 243, 277–279, 280–281; Egyptianize (tamsir), 242–243, 280–281; EMNL, 216, 243, 266–267; FJ group, 292; Jewish anti-Zionist League, 251,334, MTS, 216, 277; NCWS, 244, 269–270, 292; recruitment, 208, 241, 242, 244–245; Sudan question, 311; Wafd, 217, 242 ‘Isma‘il, Hasan, 309 Israel (Shirizi/Ceresi), Marcel, 2, 208, 210, 212, 233–237, 268; Bread and Freedom/Arts and Freedom, 223; Democratic Union, 219–222, 307;

Index

DMNL, 216, 277–279, 287–289, 292; ECP, 197–198; Egyptianization, 221–223, 235, 287–288, 292–293; Hadetu–al-‘Ummaliyya al-Thawriyya, 287–288; internationalism, 207, 210, 375, 377; MTS, 213, 216, 223, 233, 235–238; Zionism, 237, 271 n.16, 332–335 Israel, Janet, 235–238, 258 Isthmus of Suez Workers’ Union, 32 Italian Communist Party, 207 al-Ittihad al-dimuqrati. See Democratic Union Ittihad Ansar al-Salam. See Union of Peace Supporters al-Ittihad Party, 143, 150, 153, 163 Jabbur, Rafiq, 135, 139, 147, 151, 181 n.54, 182 n.71 Al-Jamahir, 244, 282–284, 339–342, 345, 353–356, 358 Jambarzy, Alice, 216 al-Jami‘ah al-Sha‘biyya, 244 Jankowski, James, 304–305 Jesua (La Clarté), 38 Jesuit University in Beirut, 250 Jewish League to Combat Zionism (allajna al-Yahudiyya li-mukafahat alSahyuniyya), 251, 334–335, 337 al-Jibaili, ‘Abd al-Ma‘bud (‘Adil), 242, 244, 280–281, 286–287 al-Jindi, Muhammad Yusuf, 256, 287, 346 Joannidis, Pierre, 187 Jones, Ivon, 47–48 Jordanides (La Clarté), 37 Kamal (al-Azhar student), 262 Kamer, Jacques, 259–260 Kamil, Anwar, 222, 224, 308 Kamil, Mishil, 242, 291 Kamil, Mustafa, 30 Kamil, Sa‘d, 257–259, 347 al-Kashif, Ibrahim. See Raymond Duwayk Al-Katib, 259, 347 Katz, Avram Muisayvitch, 40, 114–116. 127, 397 Katz, Klara, 40, 115, 397–398 Kautsky, L’anti, 51 n.46 Kawkab al-Sharq, 135

423

Kayenko, Anna, 211, 227 n.35 Kazan, Fu‘ad, 235 Kazim, Musa ‘Abd al-Hafiz, 262 Keown-Boyd, Alexander, 149 Khair, Hasan, 96 Khakimov, Karim, 148–149, 151 Khalifa, M. Mursi, 64 Kharijin conference, 316 Khatt al-quwwat al-wataniyya wa-al-dimuqratiyya (Khatt–Line of the National and Democratic Forces), 284–285, 288 Khiyal, Sa‘id, 303 Khrushchev, Nikita, 101 n.126 al-Khuli, Lutfi, 273 n.67, 368–369, 376 Khuttab, Muhammed, 355 Kifah al-Umma, 342 Kirov, Sergei, 390 Kirzon, Albert, 404 Kirzon, Samuel (alias Ahmad Hasan), 40–41, 95, 100 n.121, 115–119, 133, 396, 399 Kirzon (Kozhuviner), Mikhail, 44, 404 Kirzon report, 133 Kitaiegorodski (Comintern), 161, 177 Komsomol (Kommunisticheskiy Soyuz Molodiozhi, Communist Union of Youth), 170 Kossowsky (La Clarté), 37–38 KPD. See German Communist Party Kraevski (department of human resources, Comintern), 400–401 Kramer, Lucian, 252 Krauss report, 52 n.70 Krauss, A., 43–45, 61–62, 73–75, 373 Kreidman Committee, 175–176 Kropotkin, Peter, 43 Kuomintang, 166, 184 n.121 Kuttub, Hasan, 181 n.54 KUTV. See Communist University of the Toilers of the East La Clarté, 37–38, 90, 105, 151 La Liberté, 209 La Ligue française pour la Défense de Droits de l’Homme et du citoyen, 246 La Papeterie de l’art, 51 n.46 La Tagramatta (Litteraire et Social), 37 Labib (communist activist), 232–233 Labor and Socialist International, 172

424

Index

Labor Conciliation Board, 50–51 n.32, 104, 361 Labour Party (British), 59, 126 Lake, Marilyn, 4 Laqueur, Walter, 197 Le Groupe Études (Descombes), 211 League Against Imperialism (Ligue contre l’impérialisme et l’oppression coloniale), 189 League for the Combat of Anti-Semitism (Jam‘iyyat Mukafahat al-‘Ada’a lilSamiyya), 209 League of Jewish Workers, 40, 41 League of Nations, 19, 196, 331 Lenin, Vladimir, 25, 32–33, 86, 108, 159, 329–330 Les Essayistes, 208–209, 222 Levi, Edward, 210 Liberal Constitutionalist Party, 21, 143, 153, 163, 189 Liebknecht, Karl, 43 Al-Liwa’, 27 Lockman, Zachary, 2, 207–208, 267–269 Lozovsky, Alexandr (Solomon Abramovich), 49 Luxemburg, Rosa, 43, 380 Lycée, 209, 211, 233, 235, 239, 242, 246–247, 250, 252 Macabi (Jewish club), 249 MacDonald, Ramsay, 149–150 al-Madani, Ahmad, 64, 69, 80–83, 85–89, 92 Al-Mahallah al-Kubra (industrial center in Lower Egypt), 57–58, 72, 96 Mahir, Ahmad, 206 Mahir, ‘Ali, 218, 231 Mahjub, ‘Abd al-Khaliq, 309 Mahmud, Muhammad, 153, 164, 167, 171 Al-Majala al-jadida, 220, 235 Majmu‘at Ruma. See Rome Group Makawi, Sa‘d, 357–358 Malaria epidemic, 356–357 Mandur, Muhammad, 206 Mann, Tom, 141 al-Mansuri, Mustafa Hasanain, 10, 13–14 Mardukism, 14 marital law, 258, 362–363 Martin, Richard, 4

Marty, Andre, 196 Marun, Antun, 64, 83, 85, 88–90, 105–106, 111, 116, 127, 136 Marx, Karl, 10–13, 21, 29, 43, 211, 234, 380; Jewish question, 329–330 Marxist Group (al-‘Usba al-Marksiyya), 264 Matalon, Berthe, 253–254, 258 Matalon, Joe, 262, 278 Mathar, Isma‘il, 10 Maxim, Litvinov (formerly Meir Henoch Mojszewicz WallachFinkelstein), 36 May Day, 32, 58–59, 174 Maydan bookstore, 199, 248, 252–253, 261, 263, 269 Mechanized Textile Workers’ Union of Cairo and its suburbs, 214 Meijer, Roel, 207 Menicucci, Garay, 390, 392 Mezhdunarodnaya kniga (publishing house), 225 Mezhdunarodnoy Organizatsii Pomoshchi Bortsam Revolyutsii (MOPR, International Organization for Aid to Revolutionaries), 36, 51 n.41, 118, 135, 139 Mifleget HaPoalim HaSotsialistit (MPS, Socialist Workers Party), 36, 44, 46 Milner Commission, 60, 97–98 n.20 Mirham, ‘Aziz, 18–21 Misan, Henriete, 216 Misan, Odel, 216 Misr al-fatat (Young Egypt), 205–206, 238, 246, 315, 343 Misr Bank, 358 Misr Press Workers’ Union, 266 Al-Misri, 322 al-Misri, Ahmad, 267 al-Misri, Tahsin, 262, 309 Mizan, Eli, 210, 220, 244 Mizan, Lydia, 250 Mizan, Odele, 227 n.35 Mizan, Pollet, 250 Mizan, Shishi, 250 MOPR. See Mezhdunarodnoy Organizatsii Pomoshchi Bortsam Revolyutsii Morgan, Gareth, 3 Morin, Edgar, 4 Morums Stores, 135

Index

Moscow International Agrarian Institute, 390 MPS. See Mifleget HaPoalim HaSotsialistit MShM. See al-Munazzama alShuyui‘yiyya al-Misriyya MTS. See Munazzamat Tahrir al-Sha‘b Mudarrik, Muhammad Yusuf, 213–216, 267, 337–338 Muhaisan, Hasan, 17–18 Muhammad, ‘Abd al-Hafiz. See Sayyid al-Haridi Muhammad, Ahmad al-Sawi, 201 Muhyi al-Din, Khalid, 257, 265, 367 al-Munazzama al-Shuyu‘iyya alMisriyya (MShM, Egyptian Communist Organization), 228 n.38, 291 Munazzamat Tahrir al-Sha‘b (MTS), 213, 216, 222–224, 233, 235–236, 238, 277–278 Munib, Mustafa Kamil, 308 Münzenberg, Willi, 189 al-Mursi, Fu’ad, 198, 253, 327–328 n.84, 368 Musa, Salama, 10, 12–14, 19–21, 42, 214, 223, 347; ESP/ECP, 16.17, 43, 55–56, 64–65, 171; J. Rosenthal, 56, 65–67, 75–76, 121 Muslim Brothers, 205–206, 241, 246, 259, 261, 292, 332–334, 343, 347 muta’ajnabi, 223, 229 n.79 mutamassir, 225, 229 n.79 Nadab (Naum Avramovich Leshchinskii), 392–393, 397 al-Nahhas, Mustafa, 61, 152, 153, 193, 195, 205–206, 213 Nahhas, Niqulas, 96 Nahum, David, 257, 266 Nahwa Munazzama Balshafiyya (Toward a Bolshevik Organization), 291 Najib, Muhammad, 265, 308, 365 Nasif, ‘Isam al-Din Hifni, 178, 188, 262 al-Nasir, ‘Abd al-Rahman, 287 Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 101 n.126, 219, 256, 259, 273 n.60, 348, 381; Nasserism, 365–366 National Charter, 368

425

National Committee of Workers and Students (NCWS), 244, 269–270, 292 National Democratic Front (NDF, alJabha al-wataniyya al-dimuqratiyya), 259 National Minority Movement (Britain), 141 National Party. See al-Hizb al-Watani NCWS. See National Committee of Workers and Students Nehru, Jawaharlal, 213 Nettl, J. P., 4, 380 Neutralism, 219, 378–379 Nizam (newspaper), 135 Nizam printing office, 135 al-Nuqrashi, Mahmud Fahmi, 301–304, 311 320–321, 326 n.46, 335, 349 n.24, 364 Olivier (history teacher), 247 OMS. See International Liaison Department/Department of International Relations Oskevas (La Clarté), 38 Osmolovskii (Stalinist purges), 400–401 Otomsky (Prince), 148–149 Paenson, Ilia, 114 Palestine Communist Party (PCP), 120, 135, 139, 142–143, 154–158, 173, 176 Palestine issue, 293–294, 334–335, 337, 378; partition plan, 286, 289, 348; 1948 war, 285, 287, 289, 294, 343–346, 380 Palestra Italianiya Cairo, 258 Palme Dutt, R., 212 Paper, Mariam Khaimovna, 402 Paper, Samuil Lazarevich, 402 Partisans of Peace Movement (Harakat Ansar al-Salam, HAS), 258–259, 272 n. 47, 347–348 Pasvolsky, Zion, 44 Paul, Cedar, 99 n. 74, 141, 180 n.27 Paul, Maurice Eden, 78, 89, 99 n.74, 180 n.27 PCP. See Palestine Communist Party Peel Commission, 330 Peler, Kari David, 41, 47 Peoples’ Commissariat for Foreign Affairs, 47 Perrault, Gilles, 8 n.6, 254, 255

426

Index

Petuchi, Mario, 258 Pierrides, Alexandra, 37, 227 n.35 Pierrides, Thodosis, 212, 213, 227 n.35 Pierridis, Georges, 187 Pitaraki, Lili, 38, 45 Pivarovich, Evgenii Nikolaevich, 402 Poale Zion Party, 36, 44, 45, 142 Pointée, George, 220, 261 Polak (Pollack), Sholom Yakovlevitch, 41, 135, 141, 145, 147, 150, 181 n.54; purges, 400–401, 404 Polak, Mrs. Sholom, 151, 401–402 Pollitt, Harry, 141 Pravda, 119, 139–140, 339 Profintern (Krasnyy internatsional profsoyuzov—the Red International of Labor Unions), 49, 118, 142 Proust, Marcel, 246 al-Qadi, ‘Abd al- Fattah, 159, 178, 262, 264, 309 al-Qal‘ah (communist group), 265, 277 al-Qaliyubi, Murad, 266 Qindil, Sayyid, 308 Qutub, Hasan, 105 Rabitat al-talaba al-misriyyin (the Egyptian students association), 244 Radwan, Fathi, 347 Rafnoi, Jean, 246 Rákosi, Mátyás, 48 Ramadan, Hafiz Bey, 138, 161 Rambam (Rabbi Moshe Ibn Maymon), 234 al-Ramli, Fathi, 224 Rappas, Lambis, 227 n.35 Raskolnikov, F., 119 Rassemblement Universel pour la Paix, 209, 213 Reform, agrarian, 355, 367 Renton, David, 224–225 Revolution of 1919, 10, 22, 27–28, 42–43, 207, 217, 290, 333, 361 Revolutionary Bloc (al-takattul al-thawri), 285 Rida, Rashid, 14–16 al-Rifa‘i, Sulaiman, 262, 266, 281, 294 Roginskaya, Sofia, 163, 390 Rolland, Romain, 37 Rome Group (Majmu‘at Ruma), 255–256, 260, 272–273 n. 47, 273 n.61, 294, 348, 369, 380

Rommel, Erwin, 252, 261 Rosenblum, Samuel, 96 Rosenstein, Theodore, 25 Rosenthal, Anita, 31 Rosenthal, Charlotte, 31, 34–38, 46, 92, 99 n.69, 101 n.126,122–123, 134–135, 147, 149–152, 155–156, 160–162, 167, 181 n.54, 200; purges, 391, 397, 401 Rosenthal, David, 28 Rosenthal, David, Jr., 31, 162 Rosenthal, Elie, 258 Rosenthal, Joseph (alias John Solosy), 5–6, 17, 28–30, 37–38, 41–42, 101 n.126, 162, 200–201; Charlotte, 75–76, 99 n.69, 122–123, 149–150, 391; Avigdor, 46, 75–76; H. Curiel, 375–376; deportation, 120, 124–127, 376; ESP, 63–64; Krauss, 74–75, 78; municipal elections, 33, 73; R. affair, 39, 68–69, 73, 76–86, 91, 122–124, 152; repression, 34, 121–122, 161; S. Musa, 65–67; socialism, 30–33; trade unions, 31–32, 55, 97; al-‘Urabi, 73, 78–79, 122; Wafd leaders, 60–61; Zionism, 330 Rosenthal-Kamil, Marie (Naila), 257–259 Rubenstein, Sondra, 392 Ruh al-‘Asir, 178–179 Rumiantsev (referee of the International Department of the CC-KPSS), 150 Sabir, Muhyi al-Din, 308 Sabri, Zuhir, 162 Sa‘d, Ahmad Sadiq (Isadore Salvator Saltiel), 211, 214, 216, 375; Palestine/Zionism, 331–332, 336–337, 343; political-economic issues, 353–355, 357–359, 361, 363–364; Sudan, 314–315 Sadiq, Yusuf, 259 Safarov, Georgi, 63, 73, 81–82, 87, 89, 92 Safwan, Shaykh Abu al-Fattah, 90, 95, 152, 159, 210, 262; strike/trial, 105, 114, 116, 127 Sagalovich, Avram Volfovich, 403 al-Sa‘id, Amina, 259 al-Sa‘id, Rif‘at, 7–8 n.5, 11, 27, 205, 206, 224, 262, 267, 311, 343, 367;

Index

Rosenthal, 34–35, 56, 200; Iskra, 244, 296 n.9 Saklatvala, Shapurji, 142 Salafiyya movement, 14 Salah al-Din, Muhammad (Wafd foreign minister), 219, 347 Salama, Hamdi, 185 n.141 al-Salih, Ahmad Rushdi, 214–216 Salih, Ahmad Rushdi, 360–361, 362–363 Salih, Zaki Murad, 310 Salim, Ahmad Shukri, 287 Salim, Salah, 265 Salt and Soda Company, 37, 309 al-Samkari (ECP, Alexandria), 181 n.54 Saut al-Talib, 244 Sawa, Alexander, 64, 83, 85, 88, 89, 90 Sawt al-mu‘arada al-dakhiliyya (SMD), 290–291 Sawt al-Sha‘b, 235 Sawt al-Umma, 322 Sayf al-Nasr, Abu Bakr Hamadi, 236 al-Sayyid, Ahmad Lutfi, 10 Schrand, Irmgard, 7 n.2 Schwartz, Arturo, 225–226, 336 Schwartz, Hillel (Shindi), 2, 203 n.43, 208, 210–211, 238–241, 248, 252–254, 275 n.94, 375; Curiel, 240, 290; Democratic Union, 220–221, 307; DMNL, 278, 280–281, 284, 287, 289–290; Egyptianize (tamsir), 242–243, 280, 284; Iskra, 238, 271 n.19, 280; Jewish anti-Zionist League, 334; Toward a Communist Party, 289 SCUN. See Security Council of the United Nations Security Council of the United Nations (SCUN), 302, 303, 318–320 Service, Robert, 406 n.64 Setton, Aimée (Amira), 278, 287 Setton, Robert (Paul), 254, 278 Sha‘arawi (large land owner), 356 Sha‘arawi, Huda’, 210 Sha‘ban, Hafiz, 185 n.141 Sha‘ban, Kamal, 262 al-Shafi‘i, Shuhdi ‘Atiyya, 242, 244, 280, 283–285, 288, 297 n.36, 362. Shahat, Ibrahim, 116, 152, 161 Shahata, ‘Ali, 109 Shahata, ‘Ali Effendi Muhammad, 161 Shahin (large land owner), 356 al-Shalaqani, ‘Ali, 245, 265

427

Shami, A. (Tepper Ilya Naumovich, alias Max Kogal), 116, 150, 162–167, 171, 176–177, 185 n.146; purges, 389–392, 395–401, 404 Shamir, Shimon, 124 Sharif, Muhammad, 64 al-Sharqawi, ‘Abd al-Fattah, 262–264 Shatta, Muhammad, 262, 266 Shaw, Bernard, 12 Shawi, Niqula, 234–235 Sheffard, Margot, 216 Shimali, Fu’ad, 64 Shoklender family, 402 Shoklender, Grigorii, 120, 125, 127, 402–403 Shoklender, Isaak Yakovlevich, 402–403 Shubra al-Khaima Mechanized Textile Workers’ Union, 213 Shukri, ‘Ali Ahmad, 25 Shumayyil, Shibli, 9–10 Sid Ahmad, Muhammad, 242–244, 247–248, 252, 285, 290, 366–367 Sidqi government, repression, 179, 188–190, 215, 256–257, 268–270, 277, 364 Silvera, Mimi, 247 Sinn Fein, 46 Siraj al-Din, Fu’ad, 206 Sirri, Husain, 231 Skinner, Quentin, 4 Skouphopoulos, A. 32 SMD. See Sawt al-mu‘arada aldakhiliyya SMNL. See Sudanese Movement for National Liberation Social Cultural Centre (al-markaz al-thaqafi al-ijtima‘i), 252 Social Democratic Party, 21 Socialist Appeal, 225 Socialist Democratic Party of Russia, 25 Socialist Front, 222 Socialist Party, 347 Socialist Revolutionary Party (Russian), 40, 44 Solomon, Sidney, 228 n.38, 232, 244, 248, 290 Souvarine, Boris, 51 n.46 Soviet Legation (Egypt), 199–200 Soviet Union, on Egypt, 238, 295–296; on Palestine, 339–341, 344, 346; on Sudan, 304

428

Index

Spanish Civil War. See International Brigade Spartacus, 43 Special Commission on Palestine (UNSCOP), 341–342 Spinoza, Baruch, 234 Stack, Lee, 139–140 Stalin, Joseph, 46–47, 146–147, 192, 198–199, 225, 263, 329–330; Great Stalinist Terror, 205, 232, 376, 389–390 Stalingrad, Soviet victory, 231, 261, 379 Stambouli, Raymond, 260, 278 Stavrinos (Groupe d’Etudes Sociales), 51 n.46 Stechenko, 400, 404 Stern, M., 37–38, 90 Al-Sudan (journal), 310 Sudan question, 301–305, 309–310, 313, 318–321; Comintern, 116, 164–165, 168, 143, 305–306; Curiel, 243, 378, 294; DMNL, 311, 318–320; ECP, 305–307, 322–323; EMNL, 311, 378; FJ, 311, 313–318; Free Officers, 323, 367; Iskra, 243, 311; Misr al-Fatat, 315; SMNL, 309, 313; Umdurman, 316–318 Sudanese Movement for National Liberation (SMNL, al-haraka alsudaniyya lil-taharrur al-watani), 294, 309 al-Sudani, ‘Amir Hamadi, 316–318 Suez Canal, 72, 103, 116, 138–139, 196, 266, 295 Sulaiman, Lutfallah, 214, 222 Sultanov, ‘Abd al-Rahman, 199–200 Swiss Communist Party, 220 Symons, Margaret Travers, 32, 125–126, 149–150 ta‘amil (proletarianization), 265–266, 279–280, 283–284, 286, 290–291, 377 al-Taftazani, Shaykh Muhammad alGhunaymi, 21 Takla, Amin, 360 Tali‘at al-‘Ummal (TU, The Workers’ Vanguard), 214, 216, 266–269, 277–278, 281, 342–345. See also AlFajr al-Jadid group Tali‘at al-Iskandriyya, 280 Al-Tali‘a, 368

al-Tali‘a al-Sha‘biyya lil-taharrur (Popular Vanguard for Liberation), 216 al-Tali‘a al-Wafdiyya. See Wafdist Vanguard Tamsir. See Egyptianization Al-Tatawwur, 224, 235 al-Tawil, ‘Abd al-Fattah, 210 al-Tawil, Sa‘d, 290 Tawila, ‘Abd al-Sattar, 258 Terani, Auguster, 37–38 Teravanesov (funding for Comintern work in Egypt), 47 al-Thaqafi, ‘Abd al-Rahman, 262 Tharwat, ‘Abd al-Khaliq, 153 Tiba, Mustafa, 7–8 n.5, 298 n. 37, 351 n.55 al-Tilmisani, Kamil, 222 The Times, 139–140 Tolstoy, Leo, 234 Toward a Communist Party (Nahwa Hizb Shuyu‘iy), 289 Trarieux, Ludovic, 246 Treaty of Montreux (1937), 272 n.36 Troiannovsky (Arabian Section colonial secretariat, Comintern), 47 Trotsky, Leon, 51 n.46, 198–199, 225, 261, 292, 380 TU. See Tali‘at al-‘Ummal Tulie, Jacot, 227 n.35 Tusun, Halim, 258 ‘Ubaid, Makram, 60 Umdurman, 307, 310–311, 315–318 Umetov (Khakimov’s agent), 148 Al-‘Ummal, 138 Union of Commercial Establishment Employees, 266 Union of Peace Supporters (Ittihad Ansar al-Salam, IAS), 209–213, 219–220, 235, 330–331, 379 Union of the Peoples of the Nile Valley (Munazzamat Ittihad Shu‘ub Wadi alNil), 264 United Committee of Action of the Revolutionary Society, 46 UNSCOP. See Special Commission on Palestine al-‘Urabi, Husni, 43, 56, 64, 97, 171, 396; Comintern reports, 68–73, 77, 111–113, 157–158; Comintern, 63–64, 78, 158, 160, 175, 185 n.141; Curiel,

Index

261; ECP-CC, 62, 90–91, 104, 152, 154–156; Moscow visits, 73, 110, 157–158, 178; resignation, 152, 156; J. Rosenthal, 73, 76, 78–79, 80–83, 89, 94–95, 152; trials/imprisonment, 94–95, 104–106, 114, 116, 127; writing/teaching, 42, 108. See also ECP; J. Rosenthal. al-‘Urabi, Muhammad Tahir, 135 ‘Urabi, Salah, 224, 265, 310 ‘Usbat al-Taharrur al-Watani (National Liberation League), 338 Al-‘Usbu‘, 213, 332, 235 USSR. See Soviet Union ‘Uthman, Taha Sa‘d, 2–3, 213–216, 267, 275 n.94 Valdman (“director of the special department,” KUTV), 398 Vatiloitis, Charalambo, 106 Vergopaulo, Constantine, 227 n.35 Virtanen (secretary of the Eastern Secretariat), 399 Wadi al-Nil, 16 Al-Wafd al-Misri, 206, 315 Wafd, 23 n.38, 60, 74, 205–206, 246, 270; Anglo-Egyptian negotiations, 301–302, 304; Comintern assessment, 116, 136–138, 143–147, 153, 163–166, 168, 174–175, 193–194, 197–199; ESP/ECP, 31, 59, 111–112, 133, 195–196; Iskra/NDF/FJ, 242, 259, 292; popular struggle, 27–28, 111–114, 152, 189, 194–195, 205–206; Soviet Union, relations to, 198, 218–219, 295–296, 322, 347 Wafdist Vanguard (al-Tali‘a al-Wafdiyya), 217–218, 268–269, 347 al-Wa‘i, 278 Webb, Beatrice and Sidney, 12 Weinberg, Victor, 135, 141, 181 n.54 Wells, Herbert George, 12 Welter, Rush, 4 WFTU. See World Federation of Trade Unions Whittleton, Allen, 227 n.35 Willis (European Department of the Ministry of the Interior), 147

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Worker (ESP newspaper), 64 Workers Committee for National Liberation, 215, 311, 337–338 Workers International News, 225 Workers Movement for National Liberation, 281 Workers’ Weekly (CPGB publication), 142 World Federation of Trade Unions (WFTU), 266–267 World Movement for Peace, 347 Yahya, Amin, 105, 145 Yakan, ‘Adli, 48, 60, 153 Yanakakis, Sakellaris, 37, 114, 116, 135, 152, 155, 175, 177, 181 n.54, 187, 262, 278 YMCA. See Young Men’s Christian Association Young Communist International, 103 Young Egypt. See Misr al-fatat Young Men’s Christian Association (YMCA, Jam‘iyat al-Shaban alMasahiyiin), 223 Young Turks, 9 Yunan, Ramsis, 214, 220, 222 Yunis. See H. Curiel Yunisiyyin, 286–287, 290 Yusuf, Abu-Sayf, 212 Zaghlul, Sa‘d, 59–60, 109, 140, 153; communists’ assessment, 111, 116, 119, 136, 143, 209; J. Rosenthal, 61, 126–127 Zaghlul, Sabha’, 262 Zaharan, Sa‘d, 285–286 Zaidman, Edward, 41 Zaki, Fatma, 290 Zandberg, Hillel, 39–40, 114–116, 127, 393–396, 397 Zardashtism, 14 Zarruq, Hasan al-Tahir, 309 Zaslavsky, Samuel, 40, 114–116, 119–120, 125, 127, 396–397, 402 Zaslavsky, Yeketrina, 396–397 Zayd, Emile, 170–172, 398–399 Zayn al-‘Abadayn, Abd al-Wahab, 309 Zayn al-Din, Muhammad Ibrahim, 267 al-Zayyat, Latifa, 241, 242, 287 Zusman (jeweler workshop), 30 Zuttos (La Clarté), 37

About the Book

Rami Ginat offers an entirely new reading of the evolution of com-

munism in Egypt, including the central role of Egyptian Jews in both its development and its impact on Egypt and the wider Middle East. Drawing deeply on previously inaccessible original sources, Ginat traces a story of intrigue and ideology from the late 1910s to the early 1950s. Many of his findings directly challenge the prevailing scholarship on the subject. His seminal work is also a major contribution to ongoing debates in Egypt today about the nature of Egyptian nationalism and the role of the country’s communist movements and leadership. Rami Ginat is associate professor of Middle East politics and international relations at Bar-Ilan University. His previous publications on Egypt include The Soviet Union and Egypt, 1945–1955 and Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution.

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