Iraqi Arab Nationalism: Authoritarian, Totalitarian and Pro-Fascist Inclinations, 1932–1941 [1 ed.] 0415368588, 9780415368582

Table of contents :
Cover
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Note on transcription
1 Introduction
2 The historical framework
German–Arab relations in the 1930s: ambitions and wrong expectations
The emergence of Iraq’s ruling elite
The significance of 1933
Toward an informal military dictatorship
A limited public sphere
3 Generational conflict
The generational approach
The Sherifian generation
The Young Effendiyya
4 The debate of the Iraqi press
The Iraqi press in its environment
Direct references to Germany and fascism
“Fascist Imagery”
The debate on the youth
The youth of 1941: protest and violence
5 Conclusions
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

IRAQI ARAB NATIONALISM

Iraqi Arab Nationalism challenges widespread assumptions that interwar Iraq was on a direct path to become a totalitarian state and explains the political and intellectual currents of the period between 1932 and 1941. The nascent political public of Iraq in the 1930s was a laboratory for divergent political opinions and concepts to shape a nationalist society. Between 1932 and the British occupation in 1941, Iraq was not headed toward a totalitarian state as it is often assumed, but extreme nationalist tendencies were only one facet of a broad range of opinions. Political turmoil in the late 1930s was the consequence of a generational conflict. Closed elite circles controlled the newly founded state, but a younger generation of graduates from state secondary schools and universities challenged the clientelism of the old elite and its dependence on the good will of the former Mandate power Great Britain. This volume provides an original and comprehensive insight into the actual contents of political debates and shows that numerous models of society were discussed in the Iraqi press of the time. Furthermore, it reassesses the history of the national youth movement, al-Futuwa, and presents the Arab nationalist youth myth in a new context, without equating it too easily with fascism. Last but not least, this study also sheds new light on the history of the Iraqi Jewish community and the deterioration of Muslim–Jewish relations during the period. Iraqi Arab Nationalism is essential reading for those with research interests in Middle Eastern studies, Iraq and its history, and Arab nationalism. Peter Wien teaches North African and Middle Eastern History at Al-Akhawayn University in Ifrane, Morocco. He has previously co-edited Blind für die Geschichte? Arabische Begegnungen mit dem Nationalsozialismus [Arab Encounters with National Socialism]. His research interests include the role of nationalism and religion in the transformation of modern Arab societies.

SOAS/ROUTLEDGE STUDIES ON THE MIDDLE EAST Edited by Benjamin C. Fortna SOAS, University of London Ulrike Freitag Freie Universität Berlin, Germany This series features the latest disciplinary approaches to Middle Eastern Studies. It covers the Social Sciences and the Humanities in both the pre-modern and modern periods of the region. While primarily interested in publishing single-authored studies, the series is also open to edited volumes on innovative topics, as well as textbooks and reference works. 1

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ISLAMIC NATIONHOOD AND COLONIAL INDONESIA The Umma below the winds Michael Francis Laffan RUSSIAN–MUSLIM CONFRONTATION IN THE CAUCASUS Alternative visions of the conflict between Imam Shamil and the Russians, 1830–1859 Thomas Sanders, Ernest Tucker, and G.M. Hamburg 3

LATE OTTOMAN SOCIETY The intellectual legacy Edited by Elisabeth Özdalga

4 IRAQI ARAB NATIONALISM Authoritarian, totalitarian, and pro-fascist inclinations, 1932–1941 Peter Wien

IRAQI ARAB NATIONALISM Authoritarian, totalitarian, and pro-fascist inclinations, 1932–1941

Peter Wien

First published 2006 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2006 Peter Wien Typeset in Times New Roman by Newgen Imaging Systems (P) Ltd, Chennai, India Printed and bound in Great Britain by Biddles Ltd, King’s Lynn All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data A catalog record for this book has been requested ISBN10: 0–415–36858–8 (hbk) ISBN10: 0–203–02886–4 (ebk) ISBN13: 978–0–415–36858–2 (hbk) ISBN13: 978–0–203–02886–5 (ebk)

FÜR IMKE UND BENNO

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CONTENTS

Acknowledgments Note on transcription

viii x

1

Introduction

1

2

The historical framework German–Arab relations in the 1930s: ambitions and wrong expectations 7 The emergence of Iraq’s ruling elite 8 The significance of 1933 9 Toward an informal military dictatorship 10 A limited public sphere 11

7

3

Generational conflict The generational approach 14 The Sherifian generation 17 The Young Effendiyya 24

14

4

The debate of the Iraqi press The Iraqi press in its environment 52 Direct references to Germany and fascism 56 “Fascist Imagery” 78 The debate on the youth 88 The youth of 1941: protest and violence 105

52

5

Conclusions

113

Notes Bibliography Index

117 141 153 vii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I wrote this study with the support of many persons and institutions. First of all I am grateful to Stefan Wild who was my doctoral supervisor at the Oriental Seminar of the University of Bonn. This study owes much to the inspiring academic environment of the Centre for Modern Oriental Studies (Zentrum Moderner Orient, ZMO) in Berlin. Its exceptional community provided me with a scholarly home over two and a half years. In particular I am deeply grateful to the late Gerhard Höpp for his support, friendship, and advice. This study evolved out of a research project on “Arab Encounters with National Socialism,” which we pursued together with René Wildangel at the ZMO. As part of our research team, I thank Türkân Yilmaz for all her help. Moreover, I thank Achim von Oppen of the ZMO and Rola el-Husseini for their comments on the manuscript. I am most grateful to the scholars and staff of St Antony’s College of Oxford and in particular its Middle East Centre. This study would lack a lot of depth and insight if I had not had the chance to spend a year in the exceptional atmosphere of St Antony’s. Especially, I thank Eugene Rogan who supervised the earliest stages of this research. Among my friends at St Antony’s I want to point out in particular Jessamine Price for her comments on parts of this work and Yoav Alon who was a source of many inspiring ideas. I also thank Israel Gershoni for his invaluable support and Shmuel Moreh for his friendly advice. I found great support at the British Library in London, the Jewish National and University Library in Jerusalem, the Babylonian Jewry Heritage Center in Or Yehuda, the Institut Français d’Etudes Arabes de Damas, and once more the library and archives of the Middle East Centre at St Antony’s College. The German Academic Exchange Service (Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst, DAAD) financed my year of studies and research in Oxford and London from 1999 to 2000. The German National Merit Foundation (Studienstiftung des Deutschen Volkes) granted me a stipend, and the German Science Foundation (Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft, DFG) financed my position at the ZMO. Their generous support was essential for my research.

viii

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I would like to express my gratitude to Ulrike Freitag and Benjamin Fortna, who accepted my manuscript for publication. I would also like to thank the people of Routledge for all the efforts they put in this book. I prepared the manuscript being a faculty member of Al-Akhawayn University in Ifrane, Morocco. I would like to thank my colleagues for their continuing support and encouragement, especially Bob Mittan who edited the manuscript. Finally, but above all, all gratitude and love to my wife Imke who was at my side through all difficulties and ups and downs of this project. Without her support and courage, nothing would have been possible.

ix

NOTE ON TRANSCRIPTION

I generally followed the Arabic transcription system of the International Journal of Middle East Studies. Common geographical names reflect current American usage.

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1 INTRODUCTION

On March 16, 1941, the Baghdadi newspaper al-Bilad published a report about a rally of the Iraqi al-Futuwwa youth movement in the streets of the capital. Six thousand students from all districts of the town took part in the marches through the largest streets and squares of Baghdad to the music of marching bands. Most of them carried weapons. Their teachers, the “officers” of al-Futuwwa, accompanied them on their way. Later, they assembled under the command of the leaders of their movement, who were high-ranking officials from the ministry of education. Crowds flanked the streets to express their hope and trust in these youth. The author of the article emphasized that these youth were an awesome sight that caused joy and delight. The march lasted for two hours without interruption.1 Events such as this youth rally in Baghdad are often taken as a sign of a specific rapprochement between Iraqi Arab nationalists of the time and Nazi Germany. Details as well as the uniform clothing of the Iraqi schoolboys and their military training support this impression, such as many other aspects of the Iraqi history of these years and especially the months of April and May 1941, when a “Government of National Defense” ruled the country. Prime Minister Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani was under the influence of an infamous group of four army officers, the so-called Golden Square. They aligned with Hajj Amin al-Husaini, Grand Mufti of Jerusalem in exile in Baghdad, and adopted his idée fixe that an alliance with Nazi Germany would help the Arabs and the Iraqis in particular, in their defense against British imperialism. War-torn London decided to put an end to the Iraqi insurgence. When the Iraqi army had to face superior British military power in May 1941, the German Wehrmacht and its Italian ally sent a very limited number of warplanes. Within a month, British troops restored control in Iraq and occupied Baghdad. The very limited support of Axis airplanes was futile.2 The British–Iraqi war became an important chapter in the narrative of the Arab nationalist struggle against colonialism. Both Anwar al-Sadat and Saddam Husain referred to the 1941 war as a sign post in the story of Arab nationalism.3 In a very different way, this war is a landmark in a post-1945 Zionist narrative of Arab–Nazi collaboration. According to this narrative, the tenuous alliance between Germany and Iraq in 1941 rested on ideological parallels, an assumption that gained support from the “Farhud,”4 a pogrom that took place in Baghdad’s 1

INTRODUCTION

Jewish quarters at the end of the war. It resulted in numerous Jewish deaths and casualties. Much of the scholarly research on interwar Iraq subscribed to this narrative as well. Authors simply assign ideological affinities of Arab nationalism with the National Socialist regime in Germany.5 They do not differentiate between several strains of pro-German sentiments as if all of them were only a prelude to the short-lived German–Iraqi alliance during a month of war between Britain and Iraq in May 1941.6 This study shall give evidence that Germany was only one reference for nationalists among others. It challenges the previous assumption that there was a more or less coherent story of the pro-Nazi and pro-fascist inclination of Arab, and in particular Iraqi, intellectuals and politicians. In fact, most of the existing scholarly research on the topic does not go further than the pro-Nazi narrative used by the official report of an Iraqi Commission, which inquired into the background of the events of the Farhud of 1941. The report was written shortly after the events.7 The focus is on the contents of pro-authoritarian, pro-totalitarian, or pro-fascist8 tendencies among Iraqi intellectuals of the first Iraqi independence period, 1932–1941. Instead of giving the various ideas of the debate a concrete name, such as Arab–Nazi sympathy, this threefold field of reference is more useful to characterize the specific structures of Iraqi Arab nationalist discourse and to put them into their proper context. The inquiry of the first part is based on memoirs of Iraqi intellectuals and politicians. A close analysis of contents and narrative structures shall point out how and why people referred to totalitarian or fascist models both positively and negatively. Rising political radicalism of a group of younger Iraqi intellectuals and further members of the so-called Young Effendiyya was due to generational conflict. The specific “Germanophilia” of the generation of founding fathers of the state, however, resulted from their background as former Ottoman officers. In Chapter 2, the analysis focuses on debates as intellectuals and politicians pursued them in the press of the time. A wide range of newspaper articles are presented to give examples of direct references to Germany and National Socialism, leading to an interpretation of certain recurring themes of the newspaper debate. This analysis put apparently pro-fascist statements of the press into a more differentiated context. The chapter on the newspapers closes with a specific analysis of the debate on youth. Finally, a reinterpretation of the events of the Farhud leads us back to the issue of generational conflict. The point of departure of this research was an inquiry into the Iraqi perception of Nazi Germany. Thus, the analysis borrows several concepts from research on German and in a wider sense European trends of authoritarianism and totalitarianism such as “generational conflict” and “masculinity.” In this way, it was possible to arrange the Iraqi phenomenon in a much wider framework of research on authoritarianism and totalitarianism. In fact, there were striking parallels between European developments and the contents of the Iraqi discourse. The comparability of the two is limited, however. In Iraq, we describe a debate, while in Europe, 2

INTRODUCTION

fascism and totalitarianism had a concrete impact. The application of concepts therefore does not suggest that there were direct similarities between European and Iraqi developments. “Totalitarianism” as a concept emerged after the First World War rather to give a name to the shocking phenomenon of twentieth-century dictatorships than to provide an analytic category. Since then several aspects of a definition of totalitarianism have become widely accepted, for instance the aim of reshaping a society’s values on a large scale and abolishing the autonomy of politics, society, and the individual.9 Totalitarianism is different from authoritarianism in that in the former, a single ruling party promotes an exclusive ideology, embodied in a leader, and uses mass mobilization for a comprehensive control over society. In the latter, society has a significantly lower level of politicization and allows for a limited pluralism. Tradition plays a distinctive role in the authoritarian system. Instead of ideology, mentality shapes the system.10 The terms “authoritarianism” or “totalitarianism” do not come up as such in the Iraqi debate. Israel Gershoni has argued, however, that, in the contemporaneous Egyptian weekly al-Risala, “totalitarianism” was the conceptual mode to describe the new phenomenon of fascism in Europe. Thus, Italy and Germany, and to a certain extent the Soviet Union, were considered as “a totally new type of modern authoritarian dictatorship.” The writers of al-Risala weighed fascism in the light of preceding European authoritarian state forms and extreme nationalism. The fact that al-Risala was widely read in the Arab world justifies the assumption that these thoughts had an impact in Iraq. Thus, publicists were able to distinguish between fascism, as extreme totalitarianism, and more moderate authoritarianism. Moreover, the sources indicate that the Iraqi debate did not refer to Nazism as an ideology separate from fascism.11 This study is, however, no apology for Arab Iraq to whitewash allegations of pro-totalitarianism against the intellectual and political elite of the country. In fact, the allusions to authoritarian and totalitarian principles in the available sources weigh much heavier than liberal voices. Haggai Erlich remarks “that fascism [was] though indirectly very influential in the making of 1936–1939 Middle Eastern History.”12 Yet, direct references to fascist models were rare. Furthermore, the discussion of authoritarian principles as a guideline for an Iraqi Arab revival was very shallow. Certain slogans and images were borrowed from Western sources without weighing their implications thoroughly. This way of referring will be called Fascist Imagery to distinguish it from fascist ideology. In the eyes of a British beholder, the contents of many contemporary Iraqi articles must have looked quite fascist. I argue that this point of view shapes the records of, for instance, the Public Record Office of Great Britain or the US National Archives. Pierre-Jean Luizard calls the historiography based on this material “la vision britannique . . . écrite par les vainqueurs.” He adds that, only recently, researchers have started to criticize and confront the authoritative position of the British archives. The British officers, he writes, were deeply influenced by their “vision civilisationnelle.” The impact of this British point of view was so 3

INTRODUCTION

strong that Iraqis almost tended to apologize for the Rashid 2Ali movement and for considering the prime minister a nationalist hero. British propaganda, says Luizard, considered the coup pro-Nazi.13 In the Iraqi debate, images of leadership, references to a mythical past, and subordination of the individual sounded quite fascist to British and US beholders in the wider framework of suspicions about a spread of fascism. For instance, the US Ambassador Knabenshue described a youth rally in January 1939 and reported home that the new Minister of Education, Salih Jabr, had given a speech “from a platform surrounded by microphones and with ‘other trappings so familiar to similar meetings in Germany and Italy’.” This quote in itself has no information value about Jabr’s intentions in the use of these signs or about the meaning that the audience attributed to the scenery. The quote only indicates that the event reminded Knabenshue of fascist practices. Nevertheless, quotes like this were used to prove that Iraqi Arab nationalism of the time was close to Nazism.14 Germany was only one point of reference among others in the nationalists’ discourse. Many studies take a simple and direct line of influence between Nazism and Iraqi Arab nationalism for granted.15 In fact, nationalists mentioned National Socialism in combination with other points of reference only. These, however, were, for the most part, much more prominent than the German example. While national leadership was a major theme in nationalist discourse, Atatürk’s example was most prominent. National Socialism was generally mentioned along with European fascist regimes.16 Hanna Batatu supports the idea that European, and particularly Nazi, influence on the Iraqi nationalists was marginal. Besides social motives, he states that the military coups between 1936 and 1941 in Iraq followed the models of neighboring countries such as Iran and Turkey.17 It is therefore useful to look at the actual place of Germany in the nationalist debate of the time. Furthermore, I try to define the contents of “Fascist Imagery” in this debate and find out more about their proper context. The choice of sources and their interpretation follow the concept of a “New Narrative” in Arab nationalism. Since the early 1970s, the “New Narrative” has included “nonformal expressions” in its analysis. These include for example press articles or memoirs of protagonists who did not belong to the group of outstanding theoreticians, for instance “secondary intellectuals.”18 Thus, this study differs from an “Old Narrative” of Arab nationalism, which uncritically stated that European thought had had a common impact. According to the “Old Narrative,” the reception of German philosophy prominently shaped Arab nationalist feelings,19 which prepared the ground for sympathy with National Socialism.20 Following the suggestions of the “New Narrative,” the Iraqi perception of Nazi Germany is presented in the complex socio-political framework of groups from diverse social origins. The results are much closer to an analysis of the contents of pro-authoritarian, pro-totalitarian, and pro-fascist tendencies than research on the contents of highly theoretical works.21 This approach contains two perspectives: first, an inward perspective of individual experience and inspection. Autobiographies and memoirs provide an 4

INTRODUCTION

insight into individual narratives and their lines of interpretation.22 The second is an outward perspective and follows lines of debate pursued in the public, mainly in the press.23 One of the deficits of research on interwar Iraq is that most studies rely on records in Western, mainly British and American, and also a few German and Italian archives.24 There have been doubts that Middle Eastern memoir literature has the same interpretative character as autobiographies in the West,25 but this orientalist point of view has more recently come to be criticized.26 It is self-evident that the information from personal memories cannot be taken at face value, which holds true for both Western and Middle Eastern memories. Literary studies teach readers to distinguish clearly between the author, the narrator, and the subject of narration. The author and the reader enter a pact in order to provide the illusion of confidence in the information given.27 Hence, autobiographies and, less obviously, memoirs28 remain a construct. They are essentially narratives with no direct claim to “truth.” Every statement by an autobiographer is made in a framework of contemporary discourse and has to be interpreted in the light of the social and political circumstances of the surroundings. Many factors such as age, new experiences, and the confrontation with new socio-political demands make the individual filter, reassemble, and adapt remembered images according to “modern” requirements. Memoirs serve to explain the course of events up to the “now”-time, in an apologetic or an affirmative manner. Shared memories create identities, and, vice versa, adopted identities shape, if not create, memories. As far as individual memories of incidents are concerned, they tell more about the quality of experience than about facts. The emphasis on specific topics, the narrative structure, as well as the occurrence of allusions and associations give hints at the perceived importance of the impression left by a certain experience at a certain time. Memoirs are written in the light of what happened afterward rather than of what happened before. Hence, the single account mirrors the whole. Furthermore, autobiographers can follow a didactical intention which is implicit in the process of singling out one’s own life to be worthwhile for public inspection: to set any sort of example.29 In the light of these assessments, it is hard to classify which of the texts treated in this study would be a memoir and which would be a fullfledged autobiography with a high self-reflective value. In any case, the following chapters show that this classification is of no avail for the source value of the texts, because the focus here is not on the individual work but rather on the common narratives presented in the corpus of texts as a whole, as well as the discrepancies. Last but not least, there is a further problem of terminology. In the Iraqi as well as in a wider Arab debate, one has to distinguish between nationalism as an abstract desire in the form of an Arab nation, and patriotism as related to a country with its defined borders. The use of “qaumiyya” for the former and “wataniyya” for the latter reflects this distinction.30 The “Old Narrative” claimed from a perspective of history of ideas that full-fledged Arab nationalism started to exist only in the 1930s. The “New Narrative,” however, took socio-political 5

INTRODUCTION

circumstances “on the ground” into account and conceded parallel and asynchronical developments in different Arab lands that had brought about a clear image of the Arab nation in the late 1920s already.31 Iraq has been considered an exception in its development due to the existence of a national government under King Faisal since the 1920s.32 Already in 1922, Iraq’s primary school curriculum separated clearly between the history of the Iraqi “homeland” and the Arab nation.33 At least by the 1930s, this point of view had reached Arab nationalist discourse. Wataniyya and qaumiyya were used almost interchangeably, for instance in relation to “al-Watan al-2Arabi.” Still, nationalists were split into pan-Arab nationalists and Iraqists such as the Ahali movement.34

6

2 THE HISTORICAL FRAMEWORK

German–Arab relations in the 1930s: ambitions and wrong expectations The link between Arabs and Germany was generally marginal throughout the Nazi period in Germany. Some Arabs tried to gain anti-imperialist support from their “enemy’s enemy.” For them, being pro-fascist was a fashion, and their ideological commitment was superficial. Official lines of German foreign policy showed no interest in intensive contacts. Only ambitious junior officials and institutions of the National Socialist Party promoted support for Arab nationalists.1 German foreign policy in the Arab world did not change much after the Nazi assumption of power in 1933. This was due to a continuity of staff in the German Foreign Office and to Hitler’s disinterest, as he regarded the wider Mediterranean as Italy’s sphere of influence. Records of Arab approaches to German diplomats in Jerusalem, Beirut, and Baghdad from 1933 onwards illustrate the German directive not to interfere in Italian, British, or French interests. After 1936, German junior officials promoted support for the Arab rebellion in Palestine to make use of Arab sympathy for Germany.2 Critics of the existing foreign policy pointed to the Haavara-Transfer Agreement between the Third Reich and the Jewish Agency in Palestine, which regulated the emigration of German Jews to Palestine. In fact, Germany contributed to the growth of the Yishuv in Palestine. Nevertheless, noninterference remained the guideline until the outbreak of war.3 For some Arab nationalists, it seemed obvious to seek support from a powerful Germany which managed to challenge Britain and France. It was popular among Arab nationalists to claim that Arabs and Germans had a common fate as both felt betrayed by Britain and France in the peace treaties after the First World War. Parties and organizations with a superficially pro-NS appearance emerged in the Arab world such as the Syrian Social Nationalist Party and the Kata1ib in Lebanon.4 Most obvious in pro-fascist and Nazi sympathy were the youth movements of established parties as Misr al-Fatat in Egypt. They offered a sense of community, fierce nationalism, and paramilitary training. Members borrowed from European fascists the fashion of wearing shirts of a distinctive color.5

7

THE HISTORICAL FRAMEWORK

Generally, the ideological approach of these youth movements was very superficial. Admiration for German and Italian national strength and recovery after the First World War and for discipline and efficiency were in the background.6 The movements were “fascistic” (“faschistoid”) rather than “fascist.”7 A German–Arab link should therefore not be over emphasized.

The emergence of Iraq’s ruling elite In August 1921, Baghdad celebrated the accession of Faisal Ibn Husain to the throne of Iraq. His reputation and religious legitimacy as a Hashemite were meant to be a unifying umbrella to balance the centrifugal powers in the country.8 They were a consequence of the fact that the British had artificially constructed Iraq out of the former Ottoman vilayets of Mosul, Baghdad, and Basra. The social structure of the country was extremely heterogeneous as it was divided vertically along confessional and ethnic lines between Shiites, Sunni Arabs, and Sunni Kurds and between urban and rural (mostly tribal) areas and horizontally between large landholders and peasants as well as craftsmen in the cities.9 A military campaign was launched against a tribal uprising in 1920, which spread also to urban areas. The costs made London realize that Iraq had to receive some sort of self-administration to reduce the cost of mandate rule.10 Faisal had commanded the forces of the Arab revolt in the Hejaz during the First World War. The crown of Iraq was, in part, a compensation for the loss of the Syrian throne.11 In 1920, he was declared king of Greater Syria, but only a few months later the French claimed it as their Mandate. A French army drove Faisal and his entourage out of Syria. Already in Syria, Faisal had formed a political elite of the officers who had fought with him in the Revolt, the so-called Sherifian officers. When he ascended the Iraqi throne, the officers accompanied him and brought along the strong awareness of a pan-Arab nationalist elite. As former Ottoman officers of Iraqi origin they had received a high military education at the Ottoman Staff College in Istanbul and had learned Western languages. Their experience in contacts with Westerners was crucial in dealing with the mandate power and provided them with a certain advantage over most Iraqis. Hence, common Military College education and activities in secret nationalist societies, as well as combat in Faisal’s army, shaped their esprit de corps and their elite awareness.12 This linked their Arab nationalism to militarism and elitism when they took over crucial government posts. Shiites made up the majority of Iraqi citizens. They were underprivileged in politics and the economy. Traditionally the Sunni Ottoman state had favored the Sunni population. The administration had always been Sunni-dominated with obvious economic consequences.13 Hence, the Arab nationalist claim of the new ruling officer elite encountered an extremely segregated society. Faisal realized that he could only enhance his authority by following a strict nationalist course. Education could unite the society in the long run, including the Shiite population.14 A further plan to integrate the society was to establish a conscription army. 8

THE HISTORICAL FRAMEWORK

However, the British Mandatory Power was suspicious of the Sherifian officers’ desires to establish an independent force.15 It has been argued that the Sherifian officers were deeply imbued with Germanophilia, because the education in Istanbul had been modeled on German staff training and organized and partly carried out by Germans.16 This tradition was transferred via the education of military cadets and young officers in independent Iraq.17 Civil education had the same bias as a modernizing institution. Education was at the very core of nationalist discourse early in the 1920s.18 The founder of the Iraqi national system of education, Sati2 al-Husri, and his successors referred to Germany as a model of national recovery.19 For the officers, militarism provided a viable concept of nationalist integration. Thus, the German model earned a specific attractiveness.20 They therefore largely followed a trend that had dominated the Young Turkish officers of the Ottoman Empire already and it was therefore not an Iraqi invention. The same can be stated about a generally authoritarian way of looking at society.21

The significance of 1933 In 1924 an Iraqi organic law was put in place, and in 1930 London and Baghdad signed a treaty of independence. The year 1933, however, was a serious turning point in the sociopolitical history of the Iraqi monarchy – even more than formal independence which the country achieved in 1932. In 1933, King Faisal died unexpectedly and left a political vacuum. The turmoil in Iraqi politics after Faisal’s death and the withdrawal of the British led to a situation “whereby political intrigues and violence became a dominant feature of Iraqi politics.” Thus, Faisal’s successor, Ghazi, abandoned the traditional British pattern of Iraqi policy that guaranteed a somewhat precarious balance between tribal and urban areas.22 Unlike his father, he did not have the authority to balance the diverging powers in Iraqi politics and to control the elite. On the contrary, he was easily influenced. Nevertheless, Ghazi became a hero of the army and an idol of the educated young because of his youth, military appearance and fierce nationalism. Furthermore, he was close to the army officers who suppressed a secessionist uprising of the Assyrians in 1933 and the tribal revolts between 1934 and 1935.23 Turmoil under Ghazi brought about the breakthrough of the army in politics. Following the Sherifian founding fathers, the army regarded itself as the avantgarde of Arab nationalism. Even though Faisal and Sati2 al-Husri had promoted military service as a second leg of nationalist integration, neither they nor the officers had been able to enforce compulsory military service against British and tribal resistance. The success of the army in violently suppressing the secessionist tendencies of the Assyrian community in Northern Iraq changed the reputation of the army. The Assyrians were driven out of the Hakkari Mountain regions in Turkey during the First World War and settled in Iraq. From 1922 on, the British favorably recruited Assyrians as a special force, the Levies, in order to control the diverging powers in the country. The Assyrian Levies were not willing to accept 9

THE HISTORICAL FRAMEWORK

Iraqi rule and entered serious conflicts with the government after Iraq achieved independence.24 The victory of the Iraqi army over the Assyrians was regarded as a national holiday and the returning soldiers and Ghazi were hailed in the streets of Baghdad. Soon afterward, the parliament passed a conscription bill and opened the doors to a fast growth of the army.25

Toward an informal military dictatorship The end of the mandate shifted an unexpected burden of responsibility to the Iraqi leadership and confronted them directly with the problems of a fragmented society. Sectarian movements and tribes took advantage of the power vacuum. Not only traditional tribal conflicts but also newly arising economic problems, due to the development of commercially oriented agriculture, came to the surface. Conflict-parties had their deputy politicians in Baghdad who made use of the tension to challenge the government. Furthermore, the parliamentary system imposed by the British had lost its legitimacy after the British withdrawal. Nepotism was rampant. Therefore, the young intelligentsia was disillusioned about democracy and began to look for new ways of answering social problems.26 Two schools of political thought emerged: Arab nationalism, promoting Iraq’s influence in the Arab world, was fueled by the Palestine crisis and anti-British currents. The second movement included social reformists with attitudes ranging from Marxist to liberal. The Ahali group represented this current of liberal and democratic forces in interwar Iraq’s political spectrum.27 Ahali and its leftist and probably antifascist inclinations would require a separate study.28 Most members of the political elite in Iraq chose the nationalist track, however. In 1936, a group of officers seized power in cooperation with the socialist-reform politicians. General Bakr Sidqi led this first military coup in modern Arab history after he had ruthlessly interfered in ongoing tribal uprisings. He gradually assumed a dictatorial position. The socialist claims of the government convinced a group of extreme Arab nationalist officers to strike. They disliked the fact that Sidqi was Kurdish as well as that the Prime Minister Hikmat Sulaiman was of Turkoman origin. Their attitude toward nationalism was Iraqist and contradicted pan-Arab nationalism taught in schools and the Baghdad Staff College. Sidqi was therefore unpopular among younger nationalist officers. A group of conspirators assassinated him in 1937. Sulaiman had to resign and politicians of the precoup era took over the government. Nevertheless, the framework of politics had changed completely as the group of military conspirators would not refrain from interfering in politics. In the following years and until 1941, the military was the actual center of power. It only gradually entered the forefront of politics, however, when encouraged by ambitious politicians to do so. The officers regarded their involvement as recognition of the role they played at the forefront of guarding political integrity and promoting modernity.29 In a broader sense, the 1930s brought a challenge to the ruling elite of the 1920s, which now had turned into a ruling and landholding class. Hanna Batatu regards the informal military regime between 1936 and 1941 as a rebellion of a younger 10

THE HISTORICAL FRAMEWORK

generation against this class. He states that the younger generation of nationalist officers, educated at the staff college, belonged to a new middle class of state employees, lawyers, and doctors who made their first appearance at this time. A second generation of officers turned against their corrupt teachers. With the support of their urban civilian fellows, they formed a new elite:30 the so-called Young Effendiyya, a group that emerged in the entire Arab Middle East when state education expanded. The term reflects a certain social rather than an economic or kin-related status.31 The social status was based on education and employment in modern professions. In Iraq the generational conflict between the Sherifians and the Young Effendiyya produced an inclination to authoritarian, totalitarian, and even fascist models of society organization among the intellectuals who belonged to the Young Effendiyya.32 By 1936, Iraq’s weak pseudodemocratic system had broken down as a consequence of nepotism, lack of state authority, personal ambitions, and military arrogance. The Palestine conflict and, later on, the Second World War intensified anti-British feelings, and in 1941 the pan-Arab and militarist wing of the Young Effendiyya prevailed. Politicians had become mere puppets, “unprepared to deal with such weighty foreign policy problems” as those created by the Second World War.33

A limited public sphere An overarching “public sphere” with communal consciousness to shape public discourse in press and coffeehouse was hardly existent.34 Traces of a public sphere definitely existed already in the Iraqi towns during the Iraqi Revolt of 1920, when the Shiite religious establishment of the holy cities called for a rebellion against the British “infidels.” This call resulted in the emergence of early forms of an interconfessional nationalist identity.35 Later, urban and mostly Sunni nationalists tried to exert hegemony over the public discourse, but they only reached a very limited group of people during the 1930s. A prerogative for the participation in nationalist discourse was the access to newspapers and the ability to read and write. It is a commonplace in regard to Middle Eastern press history that the illiterate majority had access to newspapers and their information, too. Newspapers were read out in coffeehouses, for instance.36 Still, this limits the group of participants in the public sphere to those within the distribution range of newspapers. This study, however, concentrates on those who were able to contribute to the debate in the newspapers. Reception of authoritarian, totalitarian, or fascist ideas was an active process. It was not a one-to-one absorption, but a reworking of them, which happened in the articles and was part of an intellectual process.37 Only those who had internalized themes and terminology of Arab nationalism at state schools, academies, or universities were arguably able to understand the shared pattern of references of nationalist discourse. Thus, at least parts of the imagery of the newspaper comments must have been hardly understandable to many attendants at public readings of newspapers. Sunni dominance was a major characteristic of the public life of the Iraqi state. Sunnis took almost three-quarters of the cabinet posts, while there was 11

THE HISTORICAL FRAMEWORK

a Shiite majority in the country of 56 percent. Regarding the inner circle of the government – that is to say those who regularly returned to office after government changes – there were only 2 Shiites among 14 ministers.38 Sunnis dominated the leading ranks of the army.39 Even though the educational system expanded in the 1930s, more than three-quarters of students in higher education lived in the cities.40 There was a “feeling of superiority and ruling-class sentiment” among the Sunni politicians.41 Sheikhs and religious leaders lost much of their government representation after the 1920s as the army replaced the tribes as the superior military force.42 In sum, “the internal structure of this system was controlled and maintained largely by coercion but also by intrigue and bribery. However, the interaction of contradictory forces within this system constituted a constant challenge to its superstructure.”43 If this “superstructure” includes the idea of the nation and was meant to embrace and integrate the people of Iraq, this idea only concealed that the state and its political as well as economical resources were controlled by a very small elite. It was mainly Sunni and almost exclusively urban and was concentrated in the administrative centers of Iraq because they provided education. It is needless to say that the elite only consisted of men. Even though the members of the elite stemmed from a nationalist background, they had first of all settled down to secure their own economic and power-related interests. Kinship and religious adherence were still more important for the vast majority of the Iraqi population as points of reference and loyalty.44 Only a few Shiite pupils entered higher education because of mistrust of its paramilitary and secular character.45 Even the 1941 war was not an “Iraqi rebellion.”46 In fact, the majority of Iraqi army units refused to fight in the war against the British in 1941. Most of the support for the war came from the people of Baghdad.47 Nationalism was a state ideology and a chimera of the ruling elite. Until the 1930s, Iraq was nevertheless able to achieve a limited degree of internal coherence that was “based on the marshalling of various indigenous elements, interests, and social forces in the form of loyalty to the monarchy, or else to a territorially based national identity.” In other words, the state existed within a certain pattern of conflict that was specific to Iraq and incorporated inherited patterns rather than being determined by the externally imposed political system. Nationalism and the conflicts emerging around it were therefore a constituent characteristic of the Iraqi state. They “framed nationalist discourse”48 which worked between pan-Arab nationalists and Iraqi nationalists, such as the socialists of 1936, and against those who opposed centralism, such as Shiites or tribes. The political establishment of mostly Sunnis as well as the ethnically more heterogeneous Young Effendiyya intellectuals gave public speeches and wrote in newspapers about Iraq as the haven of Arab nationalism. Doing so, they hardly ever mentioned the Kurds in the North and Shiite grievances against a centralist government. The debate about the implementation of an Arab awakening (“nahda”) in Iraq had thus a virtual character. It was a weapon in the struggle against the centrifugal powers of Iraqi society and a means for the self-assurance of a group which consisted of Iraqi Arab citizens but was yet a minority in the 12

THE HISTORICAL FRAMEWORK

state. They tried, however, to gain hegemony over the discourse that shaped the narrative of the nation state. Thus, they wanted to implement and consolidate their state-related power. Within nationalist discourse, Germanophilia was a point of reference for pan-Arab nationalists when they talked about militarism, as we see in the section on the Sherifian officers. Superior individual leadership should make the nation strong. The fascist grip on society was an issue when nationalists talked about the need to give the people a common direction. In their debate, the Arab nationalists of Iraq acknowledged the Western concept of modernization and used European concepts such as “nation state,” “state schooling,” and “military service” in order to make the nation strong against imperialism.49 Timothy Mitchell described this phenomenon in nineteenthcentury Egypt: not force but interior shaping and transformation through “continuous instruction, inspection, and control” were meant to change society from within, “not by restricting individuals and their actions but by producing them.”50 Rearrangement of society thus aimed at rendering it more efficient through the creation of new institutions such as armies and state education and by detaching the disciplined individual from the traditional safeguards of family, quarter, profession, tribe, ethnicity, or religion. Colonial disciplining institutions provided the colonized with the capacity to get rid of the colonizing even though they were introduced by a colonizing power or at least taken over from it. Western institutions were adopted to serve as cores of anti-colonial movements. In Iraq, institutions such as a conscription army, nationalist education at school and youth movements served as disciplining institutions to foster independence through national spirit, too.51 It is debatable, however, to what extent these institutions were genuine adaptations from the West and how much they drew in fact from modernizing disputes of the late Ottoman period.52 Sati2 al-Husri, founder of the nationalist educational system in Iraq, was arguably as much under the influence of these disputes as he was under the influence of his readings of Fichte that are often stressed. They materialized in his stress on the importance of history in the formation of a nationalist consciousness among the youth.53 Furthermore, an inquiry into the nature, official rules, and intentions of institutions does not tell much about the actual experience of inmates of these institutions. The impact of these institutions on society is a different question which demands “distinguishing intention from results.”54 In general, references to models of authority and militarism promoted discipline as an ideal in nationalist discourse. British advisers, who continued to serve in Iraqi ministries after independence,55 had to face the situation of, during the 1930s, increasing militarism and the introduction of disciplining youth organizations coincided with an increase in anti-British tendencies in the public. Flawed parliamentary and colonial rule gave way to an increasing role for militarism and authoritarian tendencies in politics and public life in the urban centers. Intellectuals debated whether to drop a void concept of modernization such as parliamentarian democracy and to replace it with a totalitarian one which, however, was equally Western.56 13

3 GENERATIONAL CONFLICT

The generational approach Many studies on the rise of totalitarian regimes in Europe make use of the concept of generations in conflict. In Arab History, “[a] general analysis of this aspect may even lead to the conclusion that tensions and conflicts between ‘political generations’ provided a main sociopolitical dimension in the making [of] . . . 20th century Arab and Islamic history.”1 Arab intellectuals expected from a new and unspoiled generation to overcome the stubbornness and the backwardness of old paternalistic societies. During the period of study, intellectuals both in Europe and the Middle East often used notions of “generation” and “generational conflict” to explain social misbalances and conflicts of their societies. From the late nineteenth century on, people considered the ever accelerating change as a challenge to their existing worldviews. Frictions appeared between the personal lifetime experiences of different age-groups. Emerging concepts of generational conflict helped certain interested groups to make use of these frictions for political and ideological aims and for sketches of the future of society that should reassure itself of its proper aims. Specifically, in Germany prior to the First World War, there was general insecurity among the middle classes when social realities challenged pre-modern values. This unease found expression within a concern of the emerging social sciences about the active forces in society and civilization. As a consequence of the turmoil following the German defeat in the First World War, the concept of “generation” as a distinguishing category became very influential.2 In this context, neoconservative literature developed a notion of youth that was independent of physical age and should transcend party politics. The survival of the society would depend on this youth. Behind this stress on generational conflict, the struggle of different models of society was concealed.3 Prominently, the sociologist Karl Mannheim developed a model to explain the emergence of generational awareness and a specific common behavior among certain age cohorts. According to Mannheim, the phenomenon of “generationlocation” (“Generationslagerung”) – not necessarily a “felt” belonging but a congruence of living circumstances within social space – is basic for the realization and becoming aware of a “generation-as-actuality” (“Generationszusammenhang”).

14

GENERATIONAL CONFLICT

A specific generation-location defines the individual possibility to act, feel, think, and have experiences within a specific historical framework. Generational change materializes when a younger age cohort perceives this framework from a new distance and interprets it in a different way. For Mannheim, this change of perspective bears a potential for conflict which is more radical than that of changes in the structures of society.4 However, belonging to a generation-location leads only potentially to common action or shared experiences. “Generation-as-actuality,” however, requires a real link (“reale Verbindung”) and an active or passive participation in experiences. According to Mannheim, concrete generational positions and intentions often emerge out of core groups before they have a wider impact on individuals, who belong to the same generation-as-actuality. Wider groups emerge, which then share mutual positions and representations. Mannheim calls them “generationunit” (“Generationseinheit”).5 In Iraq, a certain group of intellectuals and journalists formed a core group that laid the foundations for such a generation-unit. A legitimate generational approach in the analysis of societies requires a link between generational patterns and “realities” of social development. These are, for instance, a temporary rise in the birthrate or a surplus of high school or academic graduates during a certain period of time. In Iraq, education had a lasting impact on the members of the so-called Iraqi Young Effendiyya generation which was essentially a group of young men with a common “social experience,” referring to culture, education, dress, and behavior. Different from an economically oriented “New Middle Class” definition, the term Young Effendiyya puts more emphasis on formation through interaction and experience.6 Furthermore, a successful reference to images of youth and the myths of youth needs to be based on shared experiences of the greater part of the youth. In that, one has to take into account that an individual could belong to different types of generations at the same time or, in Mannheim’s terms, to different generationunits.7 In the Iraqi case, the concept of “youth” as a distinguished social category had permeated only the urban areas. Compulsory schooling defined education as a period of adolescence.8 All the memoirs of members of the Young Effendiyya treated below consider education as a separate period in their life story. For all of them, schooling created generational awareness. Their generation-as-actuality was therefore limited to a young age cohort among the city dwellers. Jewish intellectuals such as the poet Anwar Sha1ul, for instance, could relate to several units. In the context of Iraq, two categories introduced by the historian Reinhart Koselleck provide useful tools to define generations and their inherent conflicts: a shared “Space of Experience,” and a shared “Horizon of Expectation.”9 According to Koselleck, every generation has its respective pool of experiences. Building on different sets of experiences, groups shape specific expectations and develop distinctive values.10 In Iraq, the watershed of the First World War distinguished the older political elite of the Sherifian officers from the Young Effendiyya as a different generation. The war destroyed the Ottoman Empire as a point of reference, but at the same time provided the Sherifians with a new one. The Sherifians 15

GENERATIONAL CONFLICT

regarded themselves as an elite of Arab nationalism. Common Military College education and activities in secret nationalist societies as well as combat in Faisal’s army shaped their esprit de corps. Many of them had received an elevated military education at the Ottoman Staff College in Istanbul and had learned Western languages.11 Their reference of power, however, were the British who actually implanted them as an elite. Thus, they differed also from other former Ottoman officers who had not taken part in the Arab Revolt but were absorbed into the new Iraqi army such as Bakr Sidqi, the military leader of the 1936 coup.12 Nevertheless, the position of the new ruling elite was by no means assured. The tribal component of Iraqi society was very strong and provided the sheikhs of mainly Shiite background with a large share of political influence. During the 1920s, these tribes ruled the greater part of the country through military power. A system of reciprocal dependence of sheikh, tribesman, and peasant guaranteed a strong link of tribal adherence. In the 1930s, the formation of a landholding class undermined this pattern of power. Politics and the connection of Iraq to an international economic system finally caused the rural sheikhs to have more common interests with traditional urban landlords than with their kin. The Sunni elite had made efforts to bind the sheikhs to the system by offering them parliamentary seats. The Sherifian officers had managed to enter the old urban landholding elite through shady moves in legislation, and thus the old and new urban landlords had the upper hand.13 In contrast, a younger generation of Iraqi intellectuals, educated in the newly established nationalist schooling system, knew the British as occupiers only. During the 1930s, they challenged the ruling elite of the 1920s, which now had turned into a ruling and landholding class.14 It has been argued that the informal military regime of Iraq between 1936 and 1941 was a rebellion of a younger generation against this class. The younger generation of nationalist officers, educated at the staff college, belonged to a new middle class of state employees, lawyers, and doctors who made their first appearance in the public at this time. The second generation of Iraqi officers turned against their corrupt teachers. With the support of their urban civilian fellows, they formed a new elite, the Young Effendiyya. Together, they developed a specific elite awareness. They were disappointed by the collaboration of the Sherifians with the Mandatory power and by their abuse of power.15 The Young Effendiyya expected to profit from a shift away from cooperation with imperialism to a national awakening as presented by Turkey, Iran, or some European states.16 Instead of the conciliatory and proBritish inclination of the Sherifian elite, the Young Effendiyya absorbed “Western Ideas” and ideologies as they were transported via translations in the press and on the book market. One of the emerging trends was the desire to find a superior character, a leader to be an example to provide guidance for the youth. These issues were discussed in schools, clubs, and the press, the usual “matrix” of nationalism.17 Germany was one country that could provide an example but in a different way than the Sherifians had looked at the country. Their Ottoman-related Germanophilia had no prominent place in this debate. 16

GENERATIONAL CONFLICT

The Sherifian generation Upbringing and education were crucial for the formation of generational awareness of both the Sherifians and the Young Effendiyya. In their memoirs, both tell their specific narratives of entry into the modern world. For the Effendiyya, this entry followed a course from primary education in confessional or sometimes late Ottoman education to secondary and university education at young Iraqi state institutions. The latter formed them into an Iraqi Arab generation – with exceptions, of course, as the example of Anwar Sha1ul showed. For the Sherifians, however, social improvement came merely through Ottoman education. Their nationalist awakening happened in secret Arab societies before and during the First World War. 2Ali Jaudat, prime minister of Iraq from 1934 to 1935, remembered his Sherifian elite status in his memoirs.18 Around 1920, he remarked, there was only very little of a formative element for a modern state in Iraq: no wealth, no experienced men, no culture, no health, no irrigation, no agriculture and no production, and even no elements of a national government as a basis for the new state. It is significant that Jaudat in fact discarded the long cultural tradition of his home country under Ottoman rule. The foundations of a state that he mentioned all related to technology and the nation state. Thus, his point of view had a strong Western element. Jaudat stated that he himself was among those whom the king selected and guided to take care of turning this assembly of peoples in Iraq into one country. “A power of modernization” (“quwwa 2asriyya”) supported them with its enormous capacity to get the Arab countries out of the claws of those who controlled them. The Arab nationalists in Iraq considered Western modernization as a means to liberate themselves from foreign rule. This remained a crucial part of the Sherifian narrative even until the 1960s, when Jaudat wrote his memoirs. Jaudat provided an elaborate narration of his education in his memoirs.19 He grew up in Mosul where only the governmental “Rushdiyya Mulkiyya” primary school and the French Dominican School offered their services. Muslim families sent their sons to the government school after they finished their training in basic reading of the Qur’an at one of the Kuttab schools. Jaudat’s father sent his son to the government school as well. The knowledge of most of the teachers did not go further than what they taught to their students until they graduated from the school. However, schooling improved when a young Turkish man arrived a year after Jaudat’s enrollment to turn the school into an “I2dadiyya Mutawassita,” a medium secondary school. The newcomer himself gave most of the important lessons in math, engineering, history, and French, which were all subjects of modern education. He also invited other able teachers to Mosul and established a new curriculum. Gradually, the pupils started to wear “civilized clothes,” which was Western dress. The enrollments at the school increased. According to Jaudat, even pupils from well-known families switched to the French school. Most of the graduates received government employments. Jaudat, however, entered the Madrasa al-2Askariyya al-Rushdiyya of Baghdad in order to become an officer. He joined

17

GENERATIONAL CONFLICT

a class with Nuri al-Sa2id and Taha al-Hashimi. Jaudat adopted a principle that he found in a questionnaire of a Turkish journal. Benjamin Franklin had stated that he inquired into the tasks he had to fulfill whether they were good or bad and occupied himself with the reasons and motives behind them all the time. Thus, Jaudat leaned toward modernization, brought about by the Turkish Ottomans, but oriented towards the leading minds of Western modernity. Jaudat continued his studies at the Istanbul Military Academy for three years. The description of his journey from Baghdad to Istanbul is an example of the typical narrative of Ottoman education raising a young man of traditional origin to modernity.20 In 1903, he and his colleagues departed for Istanbul after three years at the Baghdad Military College. Their group of approximately seventy students had to cross the desert to Syria in order to board a ship in Iskenderun. Jaudat wrote that they felt as if they were in a dream when they arrived in Aleppo, compared to the state of the villages they came from, and even to Baghdad. They continued their journey to Iskenderun where they saw a theatre and beautiful Greek girls singing and dancing for the first time in their lives. After forty-five days, they arrived in Istanbul. The difference between his education and the Arab nationalist upbringing of the Young Effendiyya generation is most apparent in Jaudat’s interests which he developed during this time. His intellectual development concentrated on everything Turkish. He was enthusiastic about Turkish literature and read works of the most famous Turkish writers. He also read Turkish translations of foreign works as well as literary journals. Remarkably enough, he explicitly wrote “Turkish” and not Ottoman. Whether this meant that he subscribed to the trends of “Turkism” in the heartland of the Ottoman Empire is not clear. Jaudat went on to state that he spent a lot of money on what he refers to as “banned books.” One of his favorite readings was the history of “the Arab paradise,” Andalusia. Jaudat wrote that it incited his Arab nationalism (“qaumiyya”). It is arguable that Jaudat was a perfect example of an Arab Ottoman citizen who was able to combine growing cultural Arab awareness with loyalty to the Ottoman Empire and even a fascination about the culture of the Ottoman capital that was taking a Turkish turn at the time.21 Jaudat explained his double allegiance to the Turks on the one hand and to his Arabness on the other. He did not believe that the Arabs had lost their peculiar characteristic when they had rallied around the Ottoman pastures. The Qur’an remained their true constitution, and Arabic remained their national language. The religious obligation of obedience to the Ottoman Muslim Empire made the Arabs support the Turks by every means, especially because Ottoman law did not distinguish between Turks and Arabs. However, the bad governance of the late empire dissolved the bonds between Arabs and Turks as Jaudat ensured. The Arabs became anxious about their future and thought that they should rather respect their nationalist feelings, their nature, and their independence. Thus, Jaudat looked upon his Istanbul years as a period of transition from a loyal Ottoman subject to an Arab nationalist. However, his nationalist narrative implied that the awakening of his Arab spirit was closely 18

GENERATIONAL CONFLICT

linked to Ottoman cultural incitement in the cultural capital, Istanbul, and probably also to the example of the Young Turk movement. Therefore, Jaudat’s story is not only one of loyalty to the Ottoman authorities but also one of dissent. He described in detail his arrangements to get banned books on the ship he took to return to Baghdad after his graduation in 1906. After his return to Baghdad and the Young Turk Revolution of 1908, Jaudat stated that the Turanism of the CUP members in Baghdad made him and his Arab colleagues – Ja2far al-2Askari, Taha and Yasin al-Hashimi, as well as Nuri al-Sa2id – consider founding an Arab society. This is the turning point in Jaudat’s story that leads to the Arab Revolt. He stressed that its leaders were influenced by their nationalist beliefs. It occupied not only the enlightened part of the best of the youth (“shabab”) of Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, and Palestine but also Turks and tribesmen. Hence, it was a modern, “enlightened” movement for him. He considered himself and his comrades as “shabab,” an avant-garde of Arab nationalism at the time. In 1930s Iraq, this emphasis on the role of an enlightened and modern youth in the state recurred, but it was attributed to the follwing generation. The Sherifians then had come to belong to the old elite. Jaudat’s use of the term, however, as well as his educational narrative underline that he considered himself part of an elite and his life story as typical for its formation. Germany, prior to the First World War, was part of the Sherifian officers’ Space of Experience, for some even of first hand experience. The Sherifians referred to Germany as part of a political agenda of militarism. Thus, Germanophilia and military experience in both the Ottoman and the Sherifian armies therefore formed part of the common narrative of a generation-unit. Topics of this narrative included the right performance of a nationalist officer or the benefits of general military service. The two memoirs of Naji Shaukat and Ja2far al-2Askari contain such references from two different perspectives in time: the former wrote in the 1970s, whereas the latter worked on his memoirs in the early 1930s. Since the beginning of the Iraqi state, Ja2far al-2Askari and his comrades, along with the king, had tried to establish conscription, because “[c]onscription was an article of faith for the Sherifian officers.”22 In the constituent assembly of 1924, 2Askari and his comrades demanded that an article be included in the constitution about defense: “The defense of the kingdom of Iraq is a common duty to all the sons of the country.”23 However, it was impossible to enforce conscription before the army gained strength as a crucial factor in Iraqi interior politics in the mid 1930s. Naji Shaukat (1893–1980) was a cabinet minister for several times and prime minister for once during the 1930s and early 1940s. His accounts present the perseverance of the impressions of the First World War until way after the Second World War, and this even though Shaukat had not been a typical Sherifian in terms of his military education. In his memoirs, Naji Shaukat recounted how he was transferred to the command of the German Air Force in Baghdad as an adjutant in 1916. There, he met Captain von Aulock, commander of the air force unit dispatched to Mesopotamia. Aulock was of noble origin and treated Shaukat like a brother 19

GENERATIONAL CONFLICT

during his ten-month stay. He was a strong character, deserving attention, but modest. He did not have the arrogance of the Turkish officers and did not miss an invitation to have Baghdadi food in Shaukat’s home.24 Shaukat stressed the virtues of the German officer as a comrade during the First World War, in contrast to the arrogant behavior of the Turkish leadership. Shaukat hardly met any German soldiers, but he presented them in a remarkably different way than the Turks, whom he avoided making personal reference to. It is interesting that Shaukat never visited the Istanbul Staff College. Instead, he studied law in Baghdad and Istanbul. When war broke out, he was back in Baghdad and entered a school for reserve officers there. After the fall of Baghdad in 1917, he joined the Sherifian army in the Hejaz.25 As a consequence, he adopted the common narrative of the Sherifians. Shaukat pointed to atrocities committed earlier in the war by Ottoman troops under the command of Ra1uf Bey against the inhabitants of an Iranian village. While these war crimes happened, Shaukat’s unit of Arab soldiers was left behind in a fortress. Shaukat mentioned that there had been rumors in his unit that it had been placed under Ra1uf’s command in order to vanish on a dangerous mission via Iran and Afghanistan to India – because they were Arabs.26 From the perspective of a man in his eighties, Shaukat distinguished between Ottoman, that is supposedly Turkish troops, and Arabs. Thus, in hindsight, he anticipated the confrontation between them during the Arab Revolt. Later in the account, the German officer Aulock became sort of a coconspirator when he warned Shaukat that the Ottoman breakdown was imminent. Aulock told him to conceal in Baghdad that he was an Arab, not a Turk.27 So the German officer “in fact” was on the Arab side, and even though the Turks were his allies, he wanted to protect his Arab friend against them. On the other hand, Shaukat did not fail to mention that “the leadership of the Turkish army was potent and courageous” and that “its soldiers were brave in spite of their bad feeding and supply.” However, he pointed out that the same army only managed to defeat General Townshend’s expeditionary force in the Mesopotamian provinces in 1916 when German generals took the helm.28 To sum up, Naji Shaukat’s account provided the positive image of a superior military outlook of the German army as opposed to that of the Ottomans. The German officer served as a counter image against the Turkish Ottoman officer. However, Shaukat wrote in the 1970s. The memoirs of Ja2far al-2Askari and his reflections on the time he spent in Germany as a young officer bear even more significance in regard to the present inquiry. 2Askari was born in Baghdad. He graduated from the Istanbul Harbiye Military School in 1904 as a second lieutenant. In the course of the efforts to improve the state of the Ottoman army after the Young Turk revolution, 2Askari joined a military mission to Germany and spent the years from 1910 to 1912 in Berlin and, for the greater part of this period, in a Grenadier Regiment in Karlsruhe.29 After his return, 2Askari fought in the Balkan War and then entered the Istanbul Staff College. In 1915, he was sent to Libya in order to lead Sanussi forces to war. He was captured by the British but released in order to join 20

GENERATIONAL CONFLICT

Faisal’s army in the Hejaz. 2Askari became commander of its regular forces. In 1921, he took part in the Cairo Conference, which created the Kingdom of Iraq. In the government of the newly founded state, he was minister of defense for several times and also prime minister twice until he was murdered in the course of Iraq’s first military coup in 1936. Among the Sherifian officers, he was the most prominent figure next to Nuri al-Sa2id (1888–1958) and a close adviser to the king.30 In his memoirs, Ja2far al-2Askari referred to the Germany of the First World War and stressed that “there is no need to mention what kind of prestige rested upon the German army among the armies of the world during this time.”31 When the Kingdom of Iraq came into being after the First World War, 2Askari became a very influential political figure and so-called Father of the Iraqi Army.32 2Askari’s way of presenting his German experiences exemplifies how a former Arab Ottoman officer transferred Germanophilia and the admiration for the German military into a nationalist debate about Iraq. His views reflect his political viewpoint of the early 1930s. In his memoirs, he implicitly contrasted the state of the Iraqi military in the early 1930s with the state of the imperial German army before the First World War. 2Askari’s and Naji Shaukat’s memoirs present a specific image of imperial Germany, which served as a militarist model for the integration of the Kingdom of Iraq according to an Arab nationalist agenda. If we subscribe to the principle that memoirs are a contemporary document for their time of writing as much as a record of the time remembered, Ja2far in fact wrote about the state of the Iraqi army around 1930 when he referred to the period of the German–Ottoman partnership. “German virtues” were meant to serve as an example for a proud national officer corps in Iraq. Even though the text is not dated and was not published during Ja2far’s lifetime, there are clear hints that the memoirs were written in the early 1930s. Ja2far referred to Paul von Hindenburg (1847–1934) as president of the German Republic (1925–1934) and mentioned speculations about his succession. According to 2Askari, the then-retired Chef der Heeresleitung (Chief of the Army Command) Hans von Seeckt (1866–1936) was among the possible candidates. Therefore, Ja’far arguably wrote his memoirs when Hindenburg had been president for some time. 2Askari met von Seeckt before the First World War during a stay in Karlsruhe, when the latter was dispatched to his regiment as a staff officer for some troop experience.33 Ja2far al-2Askari’s memories of his German military experience allow us to draw conclusions about two issues: his views of the enhancement of an officer elite and of rendering the military a promoter of nationalist affection in Iraq. The military life that 2Askari experienced in Karlsruhe was very different from what he was used to in the Ottoman army. When he arrived he was informed about his military and social duties and received a printed list with rules for officers. The young Arab was obviously very impressed when he was briefed on how to treat the women living in Karlsruhe. He was even advised to pay them visits. 2Askari was introduced to the Regiment’s commander Colonel von Altrock whom he described as a tall and learned man. He was sent to the Sixth Company under the command of Captain von Rettberg.34 21

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Like Naji Shaukat, Ja2far al-2Askari pointed out the noble-mindedness of German officers. He admired Colonel von Altrock as a good leader who gave friendly advice and let his juniors profit from his military knowledge. He was a graduate from Staff College and was an excellent writer of military history. His lectures to the officers were remarkable when he talked about the air force and its influence in future warfare.35 Here, 2Askari underlined three virtues of the German officer: the comradeship extending to juniors, intellectual brilliance, and professional excellence that was passed on in instruction. These virtues contrasted with Shaukat’s categorization of the Ottoman officer as “arrogant.” ‘Askari went on to point to the sacredness of military service in Germany. In Iraq of the 1920s, especially, the tribal leaders regarded plans for conscription with high suspicion. It was attributed to the Ottoman system which had forced the tribes to pay high taxes to exempt their men from military service. The service could be extended to up to twenty years.36 Therefore, 2Askari’s account of the Germans’ affection to their army and its service appears like an appeal: in Germany military service was regarded as among the most sacred services (“min aqdas al-khidmat fi-Almaniyya”), especially among the aristocracy. This was not only because of love for the fatherland and defense of its existence but also because of the care and respect that officers received from the people. 2Askari recalled the maneuvers and mentioned the gentle people who affectionately loved their army and the women standing along the streets and offering food to the soldiers during marches – “not to forget” the reception and honorable treatment received in the villages and castles of the aristocracy during maneuvers in the countryside.37 2Askari himself did not explicitly link the German attitude from before the First World War to his Iraqi contemporary situation. However, the contrast is significant. Iraqi tribesmen found it unacceptable still in the early 1930s to release their sons from kin-control and service and put them under a collective and abstract state command instead.38 For the Ottoman Arab officers, a staff career had been the means to break through impermeable social hierarchies and to enable them to rise from their modest family background.39 Hence the deep impression that Ja2far had from the “nobility” of the German officer corps and the nationalist integration of different classes in the ranks of the army. 2Askari made further allusions to the role of the monarch in the militarist state. Remarks on the task of the emperor to serve as a model of leadership mirror the central position of monarchical authority in Iraq. In the framework of the Sherifian system, King Faisal’s legitimacy came not only from his Hashemite background but also from his military command of the Arab Revolt. According to 2Askari, control and order (“ad-dabt wa’n-nizam”) achieved their goals in Germany to an extent that the slightest incorrectness or insignificant movement against the system stood out in the most ugly way, disturbed the community, and provoked immediate consequences. Control and authority of the emperor were enormous toward that end. He took part in the maneuvers without exception, mingled with the soldiers, and showed himself to the army at every occasion 22

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possible. He even took over command during the maneuvers.40 2Askari provided a picture of the emperor as a representative leader where all threads of system and control crossed. Thus, he created a parallel image of functions in the monarchic claim of leadership in both Germany and Iraq. In case the memoirs were written after King Faisal’s death in early 1933, 2Askari might have also contrasted the Kaiser’s appearance with that of young King Ghazi (1912–1939), who showed little responsibility in performing his task. In general, 2Askari’s text is clearly divided into general perceptions of the German army and personal remembrances. Personal accounts alternate with assessments of German spirit and efficiency. Experiences like the following one did not interfere with 2Askari’s admiration of the German army: one day during training, he was entrusted with the command of a platoon, and he failed to take advantage of a hill to cover the platoon during an advance. After a heavy attack, the commander of the 28th Division, General Lieutenant von Krosigk, criticized him with strong words stating that in Europe one would not move like this. If this was an Arab habit, one was not in the desert at this moment, the General added. 2Askari became very angry because he was shown that he was a stranger in spite of his wearing the “Kaiser” ’s uniform and having sworn an oath not to do any damage and harm to the German army for the period of his stay. After the training, however, nobody would complain about Krosigk’s behavior nor even mention it because it was just the habit. Later on, Krosigk himself told 2Askari cheerfully that he was grateful for his bad move because it made the officers go back to their study books and read more on advancing maneuvers in combat.41 2Askari put much emphasis on the existence of this rude tone in the army during training. However, he did not explicitly contrast it with the comradeship and the very cultivated exchange among the officers. Right after his account on the events during the maneuver, he described a most joyful night together with his comrades in the casino: “The behavior of the officers during this memorable night was a hint at the nicety of their company and their affection in private life.”42 Even though it seems that 2Askari had difficulties coming to terms with the harsh treatment during professional hours, he avoided mentioning the contrast to the conduct during leisure time. This underlines that he did not intend to criticize but rather to glorify his experiences in order to present an example for both professionalism and nobility. Thus, the clear distinction between general reflections and personal perceptions adds a certain didactical tone to 2Askari’s writing, which relates them to contemporary issues reflected in the memories. To sum up, Ja2far al-2Askari remembered the Germany of the First World War in his memoirs in order to set an example for his own kin. This was possible because Germanophilia was a structural heritage in Iraq from the First World War and the Istanbul officer education, but it was loaded with contemporary issues. The Iraqi officer corps of his generation shared this deeply rooted Ottoman heritage as a common point of reference and arguably taught it to their juniors at the military schools. The Ottoman heritage was a formative element of elite awareness for the Sherifians. It rested on a shared and exclusive experience. In addition to the Arab 23

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Revolt, the German experience thus became part of the contents of elite awareness and added to the habitus of the military and political elite. Further, it was projected on Arab nationalism and the idea of a nationalist society in an Arab state. Therefore, the outlook of the state had to be militarist, among other features. Conscription was consequently regarded as a matter of survival for the nation. In the eyes of a Sherifian officer, Germany had set an example for that matter. The First World War and the shock of the vanishing Ottoman Empire therefore provided a sharp cut in the “Spaces of Experience” between the Sherifians and the Young Effendiyya. While for the former, Ottoman education was a crucial point of reference next to the war and the revolt, for the latter, Arab nationalist state education was the exclusive experience in their identity formation.

The Young Effendiyya What was the point of view of younger officers as compared to their seniors? They had not attended military education at the Ottoman Harbiye military academy and had not experienced combat in Faisal’s army during the Arab Revolt. The Iraqi historiographer Mahmud al-Durra43 suggested in an autobiographical account that the young officers were associated with the intellectuals and professionals of the Young Effendiyya. After his graduation from staff college in early 1938, Durra became assistant to the Chief of Staff. In 1941, he worked closely together with Salah-al-Din al-Sabbagh, one of the key figures of the Rashid 2Ali movement.44 In 1930, Durra was a second lieutenant. He described himself as part of a minority of educated and ambitious youngsters within a mass of ignorant and backward people in Iraq. The young officers had been full of pride in their nation. According to Durra, their dream was that the army would have the capacities to make a Greater Arab State come true. He wrote that the Iraqi army desired to become the “Prussians of the Arabs” in uniting the Arab nation.45 Apparently, the young officers had adopted Sherifian Germanophilia, possibly through officer education. On the other hand, they had a growing awareness of belonging to a young elite, a distinct generation. Elite awareness was thus a distinguishing element of generational identity not only for the Sherifians but also for a younger generation of both military and civilian Arab nationalists. The young urban Arab elite of intellectuals used the press and the growing numbers of debating clubs as a forum for debate. Thus, they dominated the emerging urban public sphere. In a framework of generational conflict, these Iraqis of a younger age cohort developed authoritarian views about a change within society to further Arab nationalism. Leadership and obedience played a crucial role in their imagery. Here, several memoirs will provide examples for this: those of 2Abd-al-Amir 2Alawi, a physician who introduced pediatric medicine in Iraq, as well as those of the intellectuals Rufa1il Butti, editor of the Iraqi newspaper al-Bilad, the writer–politician Yunus al-Sab2awi, and Muhammad Mahdi Kubba, vice director 24

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of the nationalist Muthanna Club. Some remarks from the memoirs of 2Ali Mahmud al-Shaikh 2Ali, a member of the 1941 Kailani government, and Talib Mushtaq, teacher and Iraqi diplomat, complete the picture. Biographical notes 2Abd-al-Amir 2Alawi was a Shiite. He was born in Baghdad in 1912 in a family of merchants from his father’s side and religious scholars from his mother’s side. He went through the new educational system of Iraq in the 1920s. In the early 1930s he studied pediatric medicine in London and introduced the new discipline in Iraq after his return.46 Later, he advanced to the post of Minister of Health. After the revolution of 1958, he fled Iraq. His memoirs are a valuable source for the spirit of nationalist education in the late 1920s as well as for the modernizing efforts of the Young Effendiyya.47 Rufa1il Butti (1899–1956) left a collection of both diary notes and memoirs.48 Yunus al-Sab2awi, born in 1910, was hanged in Baghdad in 1942 as a further key member of the Rashid 2Ali movement of 1941. Several works contain sources and information about his life such as newspaper articles and poetry, as well as Butti’s memoirs.49 Both Butti and Sab2awi were born in Mosul into poor families, Butti into a Syrian Orthodox and Sab2awi into a Muslim family. Both started to teach at a very young age in order to support their families, and both went to Baghdad for higher education. Sab2awi was the best primary school graduate of Iraq in 1924–192550 and went on to become a “man of a restless and active mind.”51 Both Butti and Sab2awi studied law in Baghdad and started to work as journalists already as secondary school students. Butti founded the newspaper al-Bilad in 1929, and in the beginning of the 1930s, he discovered the talent of Sab2awi and made him translator of foreign news and literature for his paper. However, they split soon afterward because of Sab2awi’s disloyalty, as Butti wrote. Sab2awi went on to publish and became a leading voice of rising political extremism in Baghdad. In 1930, he was imprisoned for two months together with a group of youngsters who had published a call for protest against the Anglo-Iraqi treaty of independence. For the rest of the decade, he was active in journalism and politics. Butti’s newspaper was often in conflict with the authorities during the 1930s. He went to prison in 1931 and 1932. Al-Bilad was banned several times, but at times, Butti supported the government as well. In 1935, he became a member of parliament. In 1938, for instance, he was appointed as an editor of the newspaper al-Mustaqbal, founded by the Committee for the Defense of Palestine.52 After the 1941 war, he was imprisoned under the allegation of being a Nazi sympathizer.53 It is evident that there are striking parallels between the two biographies, in social background, education, and profession. Both were shaped by the young Iraqi state and its Arab nationalism. Both had a strong belief in the importance of “modern” literature and the ideas of modern writers. Yet, the ten-year age difference materialized in the fact that Butti was more moderate. He kept distance from the extremists of late 1930s’ Iraqi nationalist politics while Sab2awi was one of 25

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their intellectual forerunners.54 For this study, the allegation made against both of having been Nazi sympathizers needs to be inspected in the light of their statements in their writings. Muhammad Mahdi Kubba was of about the same age as Butti, but like 2Alawi he was of Shiite origin. He was born in 1900 in Samarra where his father was a Shiite Mujtahid stemming from a Baghdad merchant family. He had moved southward in order to take up religious studies. Kubba went through several kinds of Shiite community education before he moved to Baghdad in 1924. Unfortunately, he remains quite vague in his memoirs as far as the details of his higher education are concerned. In 1928, Kubba ran for a parliamentary seat for the first time, though unsuccessfully. Later, he became vice president of the nationalist Muthanna Club and in 1946 the first president of the newly founded Istiqlal party which had its roots in the Muthanna Club.55 Kubba’s involvement in Iraqi political and intellectual life of the 1930s suggests that he moved in the same circles as Butti and Sab2awi. At times, Kubba published articles in Butti’s al-Bilad. As the vice director of the Muthanna Club, he was surely in touch with Sab2awi as one of its prominent members.56 The biographies of these men show many similarities but also remarkable differences in standpoints toward the nation, the generation, and totalitarian ideas. Clearly, the personal memories cannot be taken at face value. Autobiographies and memoirs remain constructs and the single account of an event mirrors the efforts to “make sense” of one’s individual life story as a whole. This shows in 2Alawi’s text because he wrote in the late twentieth century as an old man. Kubba wrote his memoirs in the light of his role as a nationalist politician after the Second World War. Butti’s memoirs contain mainly diary notes or short-term memories which were edited by his son Fa1iq Butti. This study does not focus on “events” and the factual quality of their description, however, but on the quality of experience and the impact of impressions on the individual. Arguably, experiences that are of high importance for the individual remain most present in the person’s memory. Therefore, these memories have a high information value even in late memoirs indicating how people constructed their identities rather than in a factual sense. For 2Alawi, for instance, the awareness of his Arabness and of his adherence to a community of Iraqi youth with a similar awareness became arguably so important because he continuously experienced disappointment and political persecution after the Iraqi revolution of 1958. 2Alawi finally left the country for good in 1980.57 Generational awareness 2Abd-al-Amir 2Alawi Education was crucial for the formation of generational awareness among the Young Effendiyya in interwar Iraq. 2Abd-al-Amir 2Alawi underlined in his memoirs that he belonged to a group of students who shared a common anti-British stance: literally, the graduates of secondary education were filled 26

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with hate against imperialism in general and its British version in particular. They noticed that the British exploited the split between denominations, nationalities, and religious doctrines. Thus, the imperialist mandate power followed its natural disposition and favored religious minorities and offered them employment and schooling, claimed 2Alawi. The British continued this favoritism even after the independence of 1932.58 Thus, the Shiite 2Alawi connected two issues of concern to him: the nationalist stance against imperialism and his feeling of being underprivileged in spite of belonging to the majority. He clearly sensed that Shiites had been excluded from positions of influence and from the political elite even though they formed a majority in the country. He therefore accused the British of ruling in the manner of “divide and rule,” a standard allegation used by Shiites.59 Nevertheless, 2Alawi was explicit in defining his own adherence: the graduates. Group adherence shaped his identity and stood above his confessional belonging. Earlier in the book he gave an account of the so-called Umayyad riots. They broke out in 1927 when Anis al-Nusuli, a Syrian history teacher in Iraq, published a book about the Umayyad state in Syria. Shiites felt offended by the anti-Shiite standpoint of the work. Shiites claimed that the book was an insult to Imam 2Ali and Imam Husain, while it emphasized the superior political competences of the Umayyad Mu2awiya.60 According to 2Alawi, the riots caused a separation between “the brothers that had one heart and common thoughts.” The minister of education put pressure on the authorities to deport the teacher, but students started a powerful demonstration march to the ministry. Fiery speeches were given, and some people used the situation to instigate a riot between Sunnis and Shiites.61 2Alawi thus considered the riots a consequence of negative incitement. In spite of the disadvantages of Shiite students in state schooling – only small numbers of Shiite pupils entered higher education because of their parents’ mistrust of its secular character62 – he still considered the Muslim Arabs, both Shiites and Sunnis, as one, rather than the minorities favored by the British. His adherence to the group of graduates from an Arab nationalist secondary school was therefore more important for him than the fact that he was a Shiite. He stressed at first that he was born to “Iraqi Arab” parents. Only then, he explained that his family originated from the Rabi2a tribe and had moved to Baghdad in the late eighteenth century.63 2Alawi was aware that he was talking about a small minority of the population of Iraq only – at least at the time when he wrote his memoirs. He remarked that education was restricted to the sons of state employees and officers. The number of government schools was small. Most people from other backgrounds were illiterate.64 2Alawi’s older brothers had attended modern schools during the Ottoman period already, the oldest one even a European Christian school (“Madrasat al-Latin”).65 2Alawi was also aware of the urban–rural divide in the country, between Baghdad and the rest: the “sons of the one city and of the one fatherland” were not in accordance. 2Alawi suspected that this was a fabricated divide, meant to uphold factionalism and dissent among the compatriots. Arrogance ruled the relationship between the rulers and the ruled. It affected the area of secondary and 27

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university education as well.66 2Alawi thus emphasized the importance of education to overcome the divide. For him, the secondary school was a very important place for the students to mingle with their Iraqi brothers (“ikhwanuna al-2Iraqiyyun”). Elsewhere they were isolated in their environments of origin and had no chance to meet.67 2Alawi made no distinction in ethnicity or confession between the “Iraqi brothers.” It was apparently their nature to be Iraqis. The school brought this to the fore, although their places of origin would prevent the internal nature from coming to light. This image of a modern youth put the nationalist community against traditional factionalism. Schooling served to implant this notion in the hearts of the pupils. Muhammad Mahdi Kubba68 Muhammad Mahdi Kubba had discovered the predominance of his Arabness already in Samarra prior to the First World War. Kubba’s education had a stronger confessional inclination than 2Alawi’s. Nevertheless, both became nationalists. Kubba visited an Ottoman “Ahliyya” state school shortly after its establishment in Samarra in 1910. It closed during the course of the First World War. Later, he studied Arabic and religious studies with different teachers until the British besieged the town. He remembered that he had entered many fierce discussions with non-Arabs, probably Iranians, during his childhood in Samarra. They formed the majority of the students, because Samarra had become a leading center of Shiite scholarship after the Mujtahid Muhammad Hasab Shirazi had moved there in 1875. He and his successors attracted many Shiite students, although the city had originally been almost entirely Sunni.69 Most of the arguments evolved from issues of national and racial adherence. This apparently strengthened Kubba’s nationalist inclination, because he noticed that the non-Arabs rejected anything Arab.70 A violent clash between foreign students and people from Samarra took place, which even attracted Ottoman military interventions and attempts by the Russian and British consuls to intervene.71 Thus, Kubba traced his nationalist initiation back to his childhood. He experienced as a young boy that his co-religionists rejected him because of his ethnic origin. Arabness became apparently more important for Kubba’s identity than Shiism. Nevertheless, Kubba’s engagement in nationalist activities continued to take place within Shiite institutions. His family moved to Kazimiyya (Kazimain) in 1918 where he entered a friendly relationship with the al-Khalisi family. Kubba wrote that the family head, Imam Muhammad Mahdi al-Khalisi, believed that it was a primary duty for a religious person to support the nationalist cause. The Imam’s house and his Madrasa were centers of nationalist political activities and a venue for political personalities. Kubba and a group of “shabab” from Kazimiyya took part in the activities that preceded the Iraqi Revolt of 1920.72 In the Revolt, the Shiite Mujtahids of the shrine cities propagated an uprising against the British administration of Iraq. While Iraqi nationalist mythology turned the uprising into the initiation of the Arab nationalist struggle in Iraq, the motivation 28

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behind the Shiite efforts was of a much more socioeconomic and religious nature. The Anglo-Iranian treaty of 1919 threatened the position of the Iran-oriented Mujtahids. They perceived the British occupation of Iraq as a Christian intervention and thus a threat to Islam. Unlike the Shiite fatawa, the Sherifian propaganda contained notions of Arab nationalist feelings. The al-Khalisis in particular were strongly opposed to King Faisal’s regime in spite of its Arab nationalist appearance. For them, it was pro-British. In 1923, they stood behind a fierce antiSherifian campaign.73 Only in hindsight, Kubba created a harmonious line between the image of his adherence to extremist Shiite circles and his later Iraqi Arab nationalist commitment. In accordance with the myth of a nationalist uprising in 1920, he portrayed himself as one of the shabab who were among the first revolutionaries. Thus, the Revolt formed a starting point for the nationalist careers of Kubba and his generational fellows. In spite of its roots in group related interests, the youth experienced the Revolt as their first encounter with political activity. They took part in nationalist rallies and contributed to newly founded newspapers such as al-Istiqlal. To a previously unknown extent, they gained the opportunity to express themselves in a transconfessional public which was about to emerge.74 2Ali Mahmud al-Shaikh 2Ali It was clear for 2Ali Mahmud al-Shaikh 2Ali, too, that the 1920 Revolt had been an initiation for a new generation into the public of the new state. Shaikh 2Ali wrote his memoirs while he was in prison after the downfall of Kailani’s government. He had served this government as minister of justice. He wrote that his political opinions emerged very early, because he lived in an environment that taught him politics. His father was involved in party politics in Ottoman times, fighting the CUP. He had a clear political view at the age of 17 (i.e. around 1918), especially about British policy in the Arab world and in Iraq in particular. At the dawn of the 1920 Revolt, he started to publish nationalist articles in newspapers.75 He experienced that he was able to participate in the nationalist struggle at a very young age, which gave him and others a lot of self-respect. They emerged as actors during a time of renewal and rising doubts about inherited patterns. They could break through old established structures and were allowed to play with new media and ideas. Later, as a lawyer and journalist, he opposed the Anglo-Iraqi treaty of 1924 and was arrested because of his activities, but the judge acquitted him in the following trial.76 When the treaty of independence was signed in 1930, the self-respect of this rising generation of intellectuals mixed with a feeling of being deprived of their due influence in politics. Talib Mushtaq Talib Mushtaq was a leading functionary of Iraqi Arab nationalist education and a diplomat in the 1930s.77 He assured that he took part in the activities of the 29

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“shabab al-watani al-muthaqqaf ” in 1920. He also worked for al-Istiqlal.78 This experience was apparently a serious turning point for him, even though his educational narrative is somewhat different from that of his fellow “shabab.” Mushtaq was born in Kazimiyya in 1900. His father was an Ottoman official of Turkoman origin. He spent his youth in an entirely Shiite neighborhood and took part in all their rituals even though his grandmother told him to stick to the rules of his Sunni confession. When the First World War broke out, Mushtaq strove to enter the Ottoman army, but he was rejected due to his young age.79 When the British successively occupied Iraq, Mushtaq fled to the north with his father. They settled in Kirkuk until Mushtaq was sent to Istanbul to enter the Sultaniyya boarding school on a government stipend. However, when he arrived, the Istanbul Sultaniyya was full, and he had to move to a different school in Izmit. In Izmit, Mushtaq entered an educational system that put all its emphasis on Turkish. With nostalgia he recounted that he turned out to be the strongest writer in Turkish. He recited patriotic poetry, performed in plays, and later, after the Ottoman defeat in the war, he took part in nationalist rallies in Istanbul against the Greek invasion. Once, he even gave a fiery speech calling for the independence of Izmir. At this point, Mushtaq decided to remain in Istanbul and share the fate of the Turkish people. Hence, the Ottoman education and his experience in times of upheaval and turmoil in the Turkish metropolis had turned Mushtaq into a Turkish nationalist. However, his economic situation turned from bad into worse. One day, he heard that a representative of Sherif Husain offered financial support to Iraqis in Istanbul who would decide to return to their fatherland. This “rescued him from the disgrace of unemployment and shame of poverty.” Hence, his return to Iraq was rather due to pragmatic reasons than nationalist ones. However, he claims that he went through a remarkably swift and fast conversion from a Turkish to an Arab nationalist. Mushtaq took a train to Aleppo on his way home. There were two further Iraqis on the train, one of them an old man who looked like an old Ottoman official. His son still wore the uniform of an Ottoman reserve officer. In the narrative of Mushtaq’s memoirs, the two symbolize the difficulties of Ottoman Arabs in leaving behind the Ottoman legacy. Mushtaq made explicit that he had neither yet heard of the Arab Revolt of Sherif Husain nor of the declaration of Arab independence in Mekka. Only during the trip did he learn the names of important Iraqi officers who had taken part in the Revolt and now were members of the administration of the Hijazi and Syrian Kingdoms. Among them were Yasin al-Hashimi, Ja2far al-2Askari, and Nuri al-Sa2id. When they finally arrived in Aleppo, the metamorphosis was complete: there, they saw the Arab flag and had for the first time a feeling of love and honor for the fatherland. “We had been Ottomans until that moment, but we became Arab with an identity among the nations, a state among the states, and a flag among flags.”80 To see the flag was the symbolic transition to the new nationalist creed. The experience of uproar in Istanbul, the shuffling around of his “identity”-beliefs, and the experience of deprivation and poverty had turned Mushtaq into a “tabula rasa.” The Arab flag put him back on a clear course. 30

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Quite probably, Mushtaq’s conversion took longer in fact, and the experience of engagement in nationalist activities during the 1920 Revolt played a significant role. Later, Mushtaq became a teacher and headmaster and an associate of Sati2 al-Husri. He mentions his posting as deputy Director of Education in Basra where he organized political lectures for the shabab of the town “to incite the nationalist spirit among them”81 and his role in the demonstrations against the visit of the Zionist Alfred Mond in 1928. Mushtaq was the headmaster of the “Central Secondary School” in Baghdad then.82 It is remarkable that he nevertheless did not deny the break in his life, which turned him from an Ottomanist into an Arab nationalist. Rufa1il Butti Rufa1il Butti did not differ in his opinion that the young generation became politically aware during education under the British Mandate and entered the public sphere when Iraq and Britain signed the treaty of independence in 1930. Butti in fact used the term “generation” (“jil”) but presented the common socialization during education as the single distinctive element for its formation. He added that most members of this generation came from law schools. Some of them returned from studying abroad. Some originated from the lower (“sha2bi”) classes, even without education, but they were an exception to the rule. Education functioned as a catalyst of generational solidarity, and Butti was aware of it. The majority of graduates immediately seized state offices when they left their schools due to a lack of qualified personnel at this stage of state-formation and an absence of other employment opportunities.83 However, nationalist education and contact with “modern” ideas created a certain potential of protest, too. It could be directed against the ruling elite of the state if it failed to fulfill the ideals of national freedom and independence as propagated in the classroom. This happened during the early 1930s when dominance over the political debate shifted from the teachers of the founding period of the Iraqi Kingdom to their pupils. Clubs and societies became a crucial institution for this debate, such as Kubba’s Muthanna Club or Jam’iyyat al-Jauwal (“Society of Wanderers/Hiking Society”) founded in 1934.84 The latter was a secret and oppositional society because most of the members were government employees. In the late 1930s, they gained a strong political momentum when they aligned with young officers from the army. Their political credo was the idea of the “new system” (“al-tanzim al-hadith”) for the state. According to Butti, al-Jauwal served as a model for the youth and promoted its bloc-formation.85 Their self-esteem grew when they managed to gain influence on the adolescent youth, but only when they aligned with the military, they built up a critical mass. Young intellectuals developed a sense of adherence which differed from that of the older generation of state leaders: Sunni Sherifians and their families had risen through their elevated position. They had gained privileges as loyal officers of Ottoman military background. They stemmed originally from lower strata of the 31

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Iraqi Sunni society. In contrast, the Young Effendiyya consisted of Shiites, Sunnis, Christians, and arguably even Jews. The juxtaposition of a pro-British establishment and this group of young intellectuals produced an openness to extremist views among the latter built around the image of a new generation of youth ready to overcome the corruption of the old establishment. The young intellectuals found a venue in the Muthanna Club. The Jauwal Society used its facilities.86 However, the club did not just cater for the Young Effendiyya. The club’s president, Sa1ib Shaukat, a leading member of Baghdad’s medical establishment, belonged to the “old ‘aristocracy’ of officials.”87 Nuri al-Sa2id, embodiment of the Sherifian elite and its pro-British stance, spoke in the club, and Sati2 al-Husri lectured there repeatedly. He was the grand teacher of Sherifian style Arab nationalism. His generation had no interest in a change of the system. Later allegations that the club had a clear pro-Nazi line and was ideologically inclined therefore rest on a weak basis.88 Indeed, we can only assert that the club had a clear pan-Arab direction and authoritarian inclinations.89 In February 1935, Sa1ib Shaukat, Darwish al-Miqdadi, a Palestinian history teacher who worked in Iraq, and others approached the Ministry of the Interior to found the club. Apparently, this accorded with the policy of the current government under Prime Minister Yasin al-Hashimi. The aims of the club were publicized in an announcement of Butti’s newspaper, al-Bilad, on August 29, 1935: the club should serve to spread Arabism and respect for the Arab tradition, and also to educate the youth physically and strengthen Arab manliness in them. Furthermore, the club should found a new Arab culture that combined Arab traditions with the positive elements of Western culture.90 Kubba, Muthanna’s vice president, wrote that the club was opposed to “internationalist views” emerging in the 1930s when new means of communication spread new ideologies. A group of young intellectuals feared that the new thoughts would endanger the position of Arab nationalism and the importance of the national heritage in Iraqi politics and society.91 These remarks allude to the success of the socialist ideas of the Ahali group that aligned with General Bakr Sidqi after the military coup of 1936.92 Kubba asserted that the founding group of the Muthanna Club was, nevertheless, by no means conservative. Instead, they wanted to vest new developments in politics, society, and economy and modern principles of justice and solidarity in an Arab nationalist way. They were sure, as Kubba stated, that Arabism was the only way to achieve these goals. The club therefore “assembled the elite of the youth, and presented a prospect of its nationalist efforts.”93 It aimed at a revival of nationalist feelings and of Arab compatriotism among the people in order to keep the national heritage alive and to spread Arab culture among the different layers of society. In general, it should cultivate the youth’s pride in national adherence and in the history of the nation. Members were Arab nationalists from diverse professional backgrounds, such as lawyers, medical doctors, and schoolteachers – in brief, the Young Effendiyya. During general meetings, members and guests gave lectures on various topics of literature, history and society, or anything related to Arab culture. The club 32

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published some of these lectures in the press as well as in its own organ al-Muthanna Ibn Haritha al-Shaibani.94 Furthermore, the club organized excursions to historical sites95 and received delegations and deputies from other Arab countries to celebrate and to exchange news and reports about the Arab nation. They had a specific focus on the defense of Palestine. Kubba emphasized that the club was not a political party, neither interested nor involved in internal Iraqi politics. Differences in political points of view were fought out outside the club. This is why the club was attractive to the different currents of nationalism, in spite of their political disagreements. Getting involved in internal politics would have threatened the club’s existence and the basic common understanding of its members. Once, Prime Minister Jamil al-Midfa2i attended a celebration in the club. A speaker attacked Midfa2i and his party policy. Midfa2i “had no choice” but to leave in anger. Afterward, Kubba apologized to Midfa2i, and members harshly criticized the speaker. When Nuri al-Sa2id later tried to use the club for his own political aims, Kubba withdrew. The Muthanna Club was hence mainly a venue for pan-Arab nationalists. According to Kubba, they represented many different opinions and a variety of degrees of extremism, probably in accordance with the different ages of members. Arabism, it seems, was the all-encompassing frame. In addition, the club was a place to discipline young intellectuals. The establishment could easily observe them and keep them under control by granting them a platform. Thus, the club was welcome to older politicians of the Sherifian generation who often frequented it.96 To be sure, all sorts of ideas were discussed in the Muthanna Club.97 In 1941, it supported Rashid 2Ali’s government.98 However, Kubba insisted that the Muthanna Club was politically impartial. After the war of 1941, he rejected ardently the accusation that the club had been pro-Nazi. An English lecturer in the Ikhwan al-Hurriyya Club (“Brothers of Freedom”), the successor institution of Muthanna after the British occupation, had expressed suspicions that earlier on members had supported Nazism and collaborated with Germany.99 There are reports, though, that Kubba had published an article in the magazine al-Muthanna after the fall of the Hikmat-Bakr regime and had claimed that “National Socialism” (“al-ishtirakiyya al-qaumiyya”) would bridge the contradiction of a single nation (“al-umma al-wahida”), a single fatherland (“al-watan al-wahid”) and class struggle.100 National Socialism was therefore probably among the model concepts discussed in the Muthanna Club. However, even if Kubba’s terminology would suggest an approach to Nazism, the mere use of terms has only little to say about the actual concepts behind them. Today, the term National Socialism stands for a clear-cut image of ideology and a distinct historical period. For an intellectual of interwar Iraq, however, the terms might still have had their isolated meanings of “nationalism” and “socialism” combined. A linkage of the terms might thus have had a specific attractiveness in the context of Iraqi Arab nationalism. Still, the existence of Kubba’s article sheds a particular light on his rejection of ever having supported Nazism. 33

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Kubba was sure that the British authorities wanted to fight fascism with propaganda, when the Ikhwan al-Hurriyya Club was created after the Iraqi defeat in May 1941. The club functioned like Muthanna had before. It was presided over by Freya Stark, and many English lecturers gave speeches. The new club moved into the Muthanna building that had been constructed earlier based on donations of members, supporters, and sympathizers. Kubba complained that the British showed imperialist propaganda movies. They abrogated, vilified, and discredited the principles of Arab nationalism. He assigned further that the club became a center for the British intelligence service, and he complained about the discrepancy that this place had been a center and stronghold of Arabism before, and now it was controlled by the British intelligence service. In fact, the British – reinstalled as an imperialist power represented by Freya Stark, the perfect image of the British traveler-spy and chronicler of Britain’s Middle Eastern Empire101 – seem to have understood well the pivotal role of the Muthanna Club before the Rashid 2Ali movement: a place to control, influence, and restrict the freedom of intellectual debate in Iraq. Had it been a place for pure propagation of Nazi principles, as the British apparently wanted to make the club’s members believe, it is quite unlikely that they would have created this continuity. Rather, they realized that the club was a favored and trusted venue for nationalist Iraqi Arab intellectuals to discuss new trends in politics. Therefore, the British needed to claim it for themselves. Ideology The experience of being the first age cohort enjoying state supervised nationalist education created a sense of being elite and distinction from the elders and their Ottoman background among the Young Effendiyya. In the 1930s, their generational awareness reached public status when they entered into public functions. Mahmud al-Durra took part in the politicization of the army during his politically active period from 1939 to 1941 when he was still a young officer. He was a member of the army’s “nationalist bloc.” The term “bloc” is used on a regular basis to characterize the nationalist group formation of the youth in the 1930s. According to Durra, the politicization of the army was based on its opposition to the treaty of independence of 1930. He added that the spreading of new ideas and the observation of hitherto unknown developments in the world contributed. He stated that news arrived from outside the country about the heroism of Kemal Atatürk and his leadership in Turkey, from Reza Shah in Iran, as well as the echo of the fascist movement and the Nazi movement as represented by Italy and Germany. However, Durra put stress on the fact that these ideas and news had a deep impact only on a small portion of the youth who were educated and ambitious, while the rest remained ignorant and backward. The young officers had the dream that the army would become the “Prussians of the Arabs” uniting the Arab lands in a single state. They were waiting for a heroic leader to reinstall the Arabs in their former pride and glory, following Atatürk, Reza Shah, or Mussolini.102 In the last statement he did not mention Hitler. 34

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Durra’s remarks on the politicization of the army represent an accurate sample of the different images and references to nationalist debate and the debate on role models that dominated the Iraqi press in the 1930s. The dominant model country was Turkey. References to fascism supported the image.103 In the eyes of Iraqi intellectuals and journalists, fascism propagated superior leadership. How did the dissemination of all the images and news that came from abroad work? An extensive reading list in Butti’s memoirs gives a hint. Apparently, he kept track of his intellectual consumption. His reading of European thinkers ranged from Descartes to Bacon, Nietzsche and Proust, Kant and Hegel, to name a few.104 It is not clear, though, to what extent Butti read complete works by these authors or only excerpts and articles about them in newspapers and journals. The list shows that Butti read numerous Egyptian newspapers. In addition, he surely let others profit from his access to literature. When Sab2awi worked for al-Bilad, Butti allowed him to buy all sorts of English journals, papers, and books for the newspaper. He showed the books to his friends and other youth as well and thus became a transmitter of knowledge. According to Butti, Sab2awi had a strong influence on other youth and the formation of their elite awareness.105 He was in touch with young nationalist officers since the late 1920s.106 Taking into account the small numbers of Young Effendiyya intellectuals at the time, as well as the close ties among them through state schooling, Sab2awi’s influence on his immediate surroundings may have been considerable. In Mannheim’s sense of a generational core group, Sab2awi played a key role in disseminating themes and terminology for the debate. A specific kind of knowledge was distributed through the access to journals and books. This hegemony over knowledge was another active factor in shaping a sense of community.107 Butti described how Sab2awi and his friends were pushed into extremism and opposition. Around 1930, the Nationalist Party al-Ikha1 al-Watani, which opposed the Anglo-Iraqi treaty of independence, began to exploit them and pushed them to agitation.108 The Hizb al-2Ahd, founded in 1930 as a pro-treaty government party by Nuri al-Sa2id and other representatives of his generation, tried to attract young politicians, lawyers, and doctors. On the other hand, Nuri al-Sa2id and his government rejected the oppositional youth, among them writers and journalists, and imprisoned them after they published a call for protest against the treaty.109 It is easy to imagine that the experience of exploitation and rejection added to the alienation from the political system and the generation of leaders. Common imprisonment created more shared experiences. Frustration increased, when the people of the Ikha1 al-Watani party, formerly opposed to the British and the treaty, entered the government a few years later and adopted the same stance. A search for political alternatives was the necessary consequence. According to Karl Mannheim, signs such as slogans, gestures, or styles have a stronger formative impact on generational awareness than the actual contents behind them.110 Thus, a certain treatment of favored themes in the debate formed a vehicle for community spirit. For the Iraqi Young Effendiyya, such a theme was the desire for change, which found expression in the imagination of a great leader. The theme was very strong in the nationalist press of the time. 35

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It appears, for instance, that Butti’s worldview focused centrally on it. Butti’s memoirs are partly a collection of extracts from his notebook. He wrote down quotes from his readings and aphorisms that occurred to him. A favorite reference in these notes was Nietzsche’s idea of the “Superman” (“al-Insan al-A2la”/“Übermensch”) whose ambition raised him above the people. They had to serve the great (“ 2azim”) and be tools for the realization of his aims.111 Butti’s Nietzsche reception was superficial. Throughout the memoirs, he put stress on the idea of the Superman only. It is nevertheless tempting to see pro-fascist tendencies in his imagination of mediocre masses that obey a superior character. However, there is no significant direct reference to fascism in that context. Instead, Butti’s main idol for true leadership was Mustafa Kemal Atatürk. He strongly believed that Turkey as a Muslim Eastern country was a model for Arab intellectuals. Following its example, they should direct their countries to a true awakening in politics and society for a civilized life.112 Hence Butti’s approach to totalitarian principles was ambivalent. On the one hand, he desired to have a benevolent leader, but this idea was not connected to force and militarism. He expected a leader to initiate a spiritual revival of the Arabs on a civilian field for the sake of a civilized life. Rufa1il Butti supported the Iraqi Futuwwa youth movement, too. Already in 1935, he considered al-Futuwwa as a first step for the creation of an organization of a “youth of the leader” (“fityan al-za2im”). This leader should control Iraqi affairs in a common and universal party. Once, in a parliamentary speech, Butti said, “I believe in the system of strength.”113 He elaborated further, how the land would have profited if young intellectuals had founded such a universal party to control the feelings of the public. Most of the “old” did not know the modern meaning of state. Hence, Butti called for a revolution of the “young” to abolish the “old” instead. The “old” had only been able to act with force and sometimes against public benefit. The term he used for the “old” is “shrines,” probably in reference to the generation of old Sherifian leaders: sanctified but inflexible. Butti complained that the youth had never managed to form a determined organization such as a certain Japanese youth organization that he referred to. He described how the appreciation of general service (“al-khidma al-2amma”) had grown among the youth. For instance, the students of the medical and law colleges had founded the Nadi al-Shabab (“Youth Club”) in 1936. However, the club had appealed to the students of those two colleges only and had been dissolved in 1939. Butti assigned that the public opinion in Iraq had suppressed the Iraqi youth while the political parties had remained ignorant of their drive. The youth had become fragmented; all would cater for their own beliefs and benefit.114 Intellectuals such as Butti wanted a true leader to fill this void of national leadership. Model nations provided examples of leaders who had been able to unify their peoples for a common goal. Prominent references in leadership were Kemal Atatürk, Reza Shah, and, only on a secondary level, Mussolini and Hitler. The examples of neighboring countries were a lot more popular, not least because of suspicions that the European leaders would show their imperialist face eventually. 36

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Yunus al-Sab2awi published an article in al-2Alam al-2Arabi as early as October 31, 1931 in which he compared the fascist movement in Italy with the Kemalist awakening in Turkey. He preferred the latter (the Turkish) over the former (the Italian) out of his Arab nationalist attitude, as his biographer remarks. Sab2awi wrote that the Italian nationalist revival was stained with selfishness and carried the sins of the old world. Sab2awi pointed to the fact that the Fascists did not hesitate to pursue the harshest means of colonialism in Tripolis. Pleasure about the Italian revival would grow if it honored the feelings of other nations and helped them in their liberation from the burden of imperialism. In contrast, Sab2awi found the Turkish awakening most satisfying. It came along without aggression and was at ease with its natural predispositions. This prevented the Turks from perpetrating the same crimes as the Italians.115 What was the Young Effendiyya’s position in regard to fascism? Surely, the fascist states with their revolutionary and forceful outlook provided a successful image of how to challenge old authorities. While the young intellectuals associated Britain and France with the old elites in their own country, they considered the fascists a force that provoked Britain and France as old authorities. The movements in Germany and Italy thus gained sympathy in Iraq but merely for internal reasons.116 2Abd-al-Amir 2Alawi described the political atmosphere during the time when his class graduated from the medical college. He emphasized that it was the time when Hitler appeared as the Nazi leader in Germany. The Iraqi public opinion, he claimed, was in favor of Nazism, “not at all because of love for it but because of hate for imperialism.”117 2Alawi’s graduation took place in 1933, when antiBritish sentiments were exceptionally strong because of the newly signed treaty of independence. The treaty was regarded as a bow to British dominance in the country. Hence the Iraqi attitude to consider Germany as an alternative. It is significant that 2Alawi perceived Germany as an antagonist of Britain already when Hitler assumed power. The anti-British stance of the new German regime was not yet clear at this time. It is likely, therefore, that this general sympathy for a strong Germany was grounded on the heritage of the First World War when Germany was an ally of the Ottoman Empire. Hence, Germany seemed to be a natural opponent of the British. Sympathy for Nazism was merely a label for antiBritish sentiments in the rising confrontation of pro- and anti-British forces. It had little to do with ideology at this point. The superficiality of 2Alawi’s pro-Nazi statement stands in sharp contrast to an account of his friendship with Doctor Lederer (“Lidirar”), an Austrian Jewish pediatrician, who had fled Austria after the “Anschluss” in 1938. He was one of three Jewish physicians who came to Iraq. Lederer had been Professor for Pediatric Medicine at the University of Vienna. He was Christian but of Jewish origin. In his memoirs, 2Alawi remembered Dr Lederer with utmost gratefulness. He admired him for his great knowledge as a pediatrician and for his cultivated and educated personality. Many Baghdadis remembered his performances as a musician at his own or friends’ houses. Lederer entered the physicians’ training 37

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hospital in Baghdad. It belonged to the Royal Hospital, which Sa2ib Shaukat directed at the time. 2Alawi became Lederer’s assistant, and the Austrian was like a father to him. 2Alawi liked to spend his spare time with amusement after the pains of work, but Lederer taught him a lesson of patience and endurance, besides many other skills. These lessons enlightened 2Alawi in his future professional life. When Lederer had fled Austria after the Nazis took over his country, he had left his wife and daughter at home. He never heard any news from them afterward. As a consequence, he committed suicide in 1941.118 There is a striking contradiction between 2Alawi’s admiration for Nazism and his grief about the man who had suffered so much from the Nazi tyranny. In the same year, 1941, Lederer’s dying year, 2Alawi was enthusiastic about the prospect of an alliance between Iraq and Germany. According to 2Alawi, they (he means probably the doctors at the hospital) had followed the development of Nazism and its success in Germany with full interest, and the general feelings had been in favor of Germany when the Second World War broke out. Sa1ib Shaukat encouraged them to take special German lessons in the Royal Hospital. Faraj Allah held these lessons after office hours in one of the hospital rooms, but only four lessons took place. The outbreak of war put an end to the studies.119 This small number indicates that the lessons started after the coup d’état only, which brought Rashid 2Ali and the Golden Square to power. Apparently, 2Alawi did not realize that his strong empathy for Lederer and his pro-German standpoint were incompatible. Chronologically, the Rashid 2Ali intermezzo and Lederer’s suicide must have been close to each other. Even in memory, 2Alawi did not link the two events. The modern physician Lederer fit perfectly into 2Alawi’s desire for modern professionalism. His emphasis that Lederer was his teacher in practical and theoretical affairs contrasts with the description of his struggle against the old-fashioned establishment of medicine in Iraq. When 2Alawi returned from London in 1935, he had to face a lot of resistance from the medical establishment of Iraq. It opposed his ideas of a specialization in health care on pediatric medicine. He was forced to practice in 2Amara instead at a Baghdad Hospital. Later, he had to work as a police physician. 2Alawi reflected on the medical situation in Iraq during the interwar period: a change in medical practice occurred only after the first graduates left the medical college. Now they were no longer male nurses or half-doctors as the older Istanbul graduates had wished them to be. A change of mentality was required, for instance, in order to promote giving birth in the hospital instead of the home. A sign of reform was that a society for child protection was founded in the early 1930s.120 Here, 2Alawi described the conflict of generations in the professional sphere: the old-fashioned, superstitious against the modern and enlightened science, which 2Alawi transferred to Iraq after he had absorbed it in the West. The cultivated Westerner, Lederer, was his ideal image of a doctor for Iraq, yet he remained foreign and lonely there. Lederer was 2Alawi’s protagonist of modernism in Iraq and a victim of the Nazis at the same time. He even acknowledged the bad impact of its tyranny when he mourned about his friend Lederer but still admired Nazism as an anti-British force. 38

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Fa1iq Butti, editor of his father’s memoirs, claims that Rufa1il Butti was under the influence of the worldwide nationalist and expansionist atmosphere and the spread of militarism during the period of military coups in Iraq.121 The editor insists that Butti supported Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani and the Four Officers in 1941.122 However, many of the statements in the memoirs try to show a “liberal” outlook. He was a typical Iraqi intellectual, as Fatima Muhsin suggests in her introduction to the memoirs. According to her, the conflicting formulas of the Iraqi intellectuals and the abundance of objective factors at work in the country weakened the stance of the “liberal project.” Its supporters were torn between their desire for true parliamentary life, constitution and respected laws, and contradictory temptations, such as the idea of the leader, which each of them desired to be.123 However, if we take into consideration that “the acid test of every liberal intellectual in this decade was whether he raised a clear cry against fascist totalitarianism and Nazi racism,” Butti’s stance remains ambivalent.124 He claimed that his newspaper adhered to the democratic faction during the Second World War. He recounted the attacks that he received from both the nationalist youth for not being nationalist enough and from Nuri al-Sa2id’s pro-British government.125 However, Rufa1il Butti probably wrote this in his own defense while he was in prison after the downfall of the 1941 government of national defense under the allegation of being pro-Nazi. He was also accused of having received bribes from Axis agents.126 Butti in fact had contradicting views of fascist thought. An accurate and complete reception of models was less important in nationalist debate than finding the stronger argument. Only the choice of weapons distinguished the participants in the debate. The weapons, however, were but vehicles for ideas that emerged out of the proper regional context. In the context of leadership, Butti was interested in individualism first of all. He agreed with an American journalist that the current circumstances in Germany were only due to Hitler’s individual genius: without Hitler there would be no war and Germany would be a republic. The ideological implications of Nazism were apparently of no concern to him: on the one hand, he stressed that he had rejected Marxism for his entire life out of the anti-individualist nature of the ideology. On the other hand, he connected his individualist orientation to the arguably fascist leader-principle. Referring to Nietzsche’s “Zarathustra,” Butti thought that the great individual (“al-fard”) had to awake the nation: “When will this desired individual appear in Iraq from among the Iraqis? When will appear this Arab individual in the Arab world?”127 Either out of disregard or of ignorance, Butti did not discuss that dictatorial leadership regimes rested on the humiliation of the individual, as well. Sab2awi desired to be an Arab leader, too. In his case, we can trace the reception of a European leadership model to the example of Napoleon. Sab2awi was very impressed by Emil Ludwig’s biography of Bonaparte.128 In a letter, he told his friend Shaikh 2Ali confidentially that he would desire to be like the man or to have his strength. However, he would have to learn a lot about people and life to become comparable to him. 39

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There are a few passages in Ludwig’s book that might have been of special interest for Sab2awi. The tone is one of heroism and underlines the emergence of the individual through his own willpower and genius. In a letter to his parents, the young Corsican Napoleon complained about his French schoolmates at a French boarding school. He wrote that the arrogant French boys were only superior to him in terms of their wealth. In the nobility of their minds they were deeply below him.129 Ludwig presented Napoleon as an outright anti-French Corsican nationalist who was only suppressed based on material power. He was the morally superior against the economically superior. According to Ludwig’s Napoleon, the nationalist was entitled to defend himself with all available means. Thus, an Iraqi nationalist could well perceive Corsica as another victim of French imperialism. In another quote, the future emperor explained that he regarded it as absurd that it could be sinful to depose a usurping monarchic ruler. He underlined that a people had the right to get rid of the foreign intruder (thus meaning the French).130 The epilogue of Ludwig’s biography reads like an Iraqi manual for an ambitious leader: only once in a millennium a mortal man would shape his life like Napoleon did. He proved what courage, self-confidence, fantasy, and willpower could achieve. Ludwig himself drew a link between Napoleon’s era and his own time. The current era of revolutions would open up all possibilities to the best again. Napoleon would be the most extraordinary example for the ambitious youth of the day.131 When we assume that these words left a deep impression on Sab2awi, it appears that Iraqi intellectuals had no preferences in picking their examples. Napoleon could provide an example of individual leadership and so could Hitler. The ambivalence in Sab2awi’s use of models is outstanding. Napoleon was of course a representative of French imperialism as well. He was the invader of Egypt. Apparently, one should not expect too much coherence from a fervent nationalist such as Sab2awi in his choice of idols. Butti’s memoirs contain a reference to the example of Napoleon Bonaparte as an ideal of the “Superman” and leader, too.132 Sab2awi is notorious for his first translation of Hitler’s Mein Kampf into Arabic. He published it as a series in al-2Alam al-2Arabi after October 21, 1933 and encouraged his readership to learn more about the substance of Nazism.133 Sab’awi introduced Hitler as a political leader who tackled complicated political issues and difficult circumstances. For Sab2awi, Hitlerism was a modern movement. In Germany, the anger and the drive of the youth had brought this to the fore. Sab2awi assumed that the substance of Hitler’s movement and its aims were suitable for Iraq and the rest of the world. For him Mein Kampf was the wonderful story of a great adventurer, the German leader who rose from the rank of simple soldier to the leadership of a people who belonged to the most advanced peoples of culture and knowledge.134 In Sab2awi’s eyes, Hitler’s Nazism was about individual leadership and modernism, about personal courage and adventure. Sab2awi wanted Iraq to belong to the “advanced peoples” as he called them. After all, this was again the acknowledgment of a project of Western modernization, no matter that it was a totalitarian 40

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one. Nationalism in Iraq was at the same time anti-colonialist and pro-Western. The British Mandatory Power was blamed for preventing Iraq’s modernization and liberalization according to the “European Enlightenment Project.” The British were considered exploiters who wanted to keep Iraq subordinate in order to make use of it as a provider of resources. The emphasis on modernization as an aim of nationalism in Iraq “affirmed the legitimacy of the colonial project itself.”135 Iraqis could therefore refer to another concept of modernization, one which was developed in the same cultural framework but was different in its appearance. Nazism and fascist movements in European countries were appealing from a contemporary Arab point of view, because they provided a successful model at the time. It was thus not only an alliance between the bourgeoisie and other dominant classes that shaped the anti-colonial resistance in Iraq,136 but it was also a change of paradigm and pattern of reference toward totalitarian views within the “classic” de-colonization theme of development and modernization in a nationalist discourse. Thus, the ground was prepared for later political developments in the Middle East as well. Nevertheless, Hitler’s role in that debate was merely one of a superior individual. Racist and expansionist implications of his ideology were apparently of little concern as far as we can conclude from the material at our hands. Sab2awi’s biographer links his protagonist’s interest in Nazism to his reception of Nietzsche’s Superman as well. He assumes that it was behind the tendencies in some of Sab2awis’ articles to glorify death and sacrifice, such as in a review of the film Im Westen nichts Neues (All Quiet on the Western Front) which appeared on March 19, 1931 in al-Siyasa. (This was one of the names that Butti’s newspaper al-Bilad took during a period when it was banned.) Sab2awi remarked positively that the film presented the noble objectives of death. The warrior was unique (“fardan”), fought to live, agreed with a social system, followed his predestined ways, and approved of certain ways of thinking. He followed the schools of thought as he found it most suitable. Thus, the battlefields opened up for him and comprised all nations and races. They fought for religion or ideology in order to achieve the goals followed by the man.137 These lines represent Sab2awi’s attitude to individualism. It was located between the individual’s decision for an ideology and the de-individualized wish to sacrifice oneself and to die for the ideology among the masses. This attitude was quite similar to Butti’s contradictory standpoint. Sab2awi apparently regarded the individual as a “new man” who could be shaped to join a new generation on the “predestined way.” Thus, he was in line with ideas that had existed in Europe in the early twentieth century already: to shape a generation instead of accepting it as a given entity.138 As a side remark, it is astonishing how Sab2awi ignored completely that the film was an expression of pacifism and as such highly contested in Germany, for instance. Examples of strong leadership and national awakening provided the Iraqis with a model image of a revolt of the young and strong against the old and inflexible. Neighboring as well as fascist countries provided these examples. However, the adaptation of Western models to an Iraqi context proved to be difficult. 41

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Sab2awi reflected on this problem. In an article for the newspaper al-Siyasa of March 10, 1931, he wrote that the youth remained a toy in the hand of the writers and translators. Those who transferred Western thought suffered from confusion. They swung back and forth between the ideologies. Some preferred Karl Marx, some promoted Lenin or Gustave LeBon, or Nietzsche’s ideology of strength. Thus, the different directions of thought clashed around them and so did the confidence of the youth behind them.139 The problem of reception was hence one of second-hand delivery. Already, the translators were insecure in their process of selection and presentation. Incoherence started with them and was even stronger among their readers. Consequently, the recipient Sab2awi put Nietzsche next to Lenin not as a philosopher but as an outright ideologist. Ideas of individuality and mass following remained unclear. In 1937, an article in the Iraqi satirical newspaper Habazbuz recounted a probably fictional story, in which the author met Yunus al-Sab2awi in Damascus. He passed on an invitation from the communists to the author.140 As a matter of fact, Sab’awi had contacts with Iraq’s communists as well and had supported the Ahali movement in the mid-1930s. In exile after the downfall of the Rashid 2Åli government in 1941, he addressed the embassy of the Soviet Union in Teheran to ask for support of the nationalist cause in Iraq and recognition of the former government as a government in exile.141 Generational awareness of the Young Effendiyya made resistance against imperialist suppression a unifying theme for the educated youth. However, the motives behind this search for generational adherence were individual. For 2Alawi it was essential to overcome the confessional divide which he suffered from. Butti and Sab2awi were looking for leadership to guide a newly formed generation. Sab2awi had ambitions to be such a leader himself. From a general perspective, comments on Nazism were rare in the memoirs of the protagonists of Iraq’s interwar politics and intellectual life. Talib Mushtaq’s book contains a further one, though, from the peculiar perspective of the time when he was Iraqi Consul in Palestine from 1940 to 1941. On May 31, 1940, Mushtaq met Mr Kirkbride, a British diplomat in Palestine. According to Mushtaq, the English believed that the Iraqis supported Nazism because they hated the British. Kirkbride raised this issue while they took their afternoon tea together. Mushtaq remarked that Kirkbride had a good reputation among the Arabs in Palestine. He spoke Arabic well and had worked in Palestine for twenty years. In the conversation, Mushtaq claimed that Nazism had no general impact in Iraq. It was not just to explain the resistance against the Allies with Iraqi sympathy for Nazism. The Arabs simply demanded their just rights. They did not deny their trust for allies who had good intentions. Mushtaq elaborated broadly that Arab mistrust was due to the broken promises of France and Britain and their unjust policies in Syria, Lebanon, and Palestine. He pointed to the conflict with the Zionists. Kirkbride agreed with Mushtaq and pointed to pro-Arab measures of the British government.142 Mushtaq thus underlined that there was indeed sympathy for Nazism in Iraq. However, the colonial powers overstated these tendencies in order to find an apology for their own failure to appease these countries. This seems to be a quite accurate assessment. 42

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Jewish voices For the purpose of comparison, it is worthwhile to look at the way Iraqi Jews related to the paradigm of the Iraqi nationalist discourse. The events of the Farhud and much of its historiography suggest a marginalized status of the Jewish community in the society of the new state. This assessment shall be tested against the biographies and memories of the memoirs of Anwar Sha1ul, Meneshi Za2rur, and Abraham Elkabir. Anwar Sha1ul was born in 1904 or 1907. He wrote his memoirs after his final emigration to Israel in 1971.143 Sha1ul stemmed from a family of merchants in Hilla that played a significant role in the town’s Jewish community. In 1916, Sha1ul’s family moved to Baghdad, where he went through primary education in the Jewish Alliance School. Later, he graduated from the state-run secondary evening school to enroll in the law college in 1928, where he studied until 1931. To finance his higher studies, he worked as a teacher of Arabic as well. In 1924, he worked for the newspaper al-Misbah, and in 1929, he became editor of the weekly literary and political journal al-Hasid144 but wrote for Butti’s al-Bilad as well.145 Furthermore, he was a prolific writer and poet.146 Anwar Sha1ul was outside the generational community spirit as the Muslim and Christian protagonists of this study experienced it. Nevertheless, he shared many interests, attitudes, and activities with them. Like all of them, he left the trodden path of traditional religious education and went through some sort of modern schooling. The school of the Paris-based Alliance Israélite, which he attended in Baghdad, had been the primary expression of reformed Jewish education since the nineteenth century. French, English, and Arabic were the languages of instruction. In the 1920s, the French-oriented training provided the graduates with a certain advantage over their compatriots in obtaining state offices.147 Sha1ul shared with Butti, Sab2awi, and Kubba that moving to Baghdad was the initiation to “modernity.” They left “traditional” life and sometimes the life of poverty behind to become figures involved in public debates. Estimates say that before the First World War there were 80,000 Jews in Iraq. Fifty thousand of them lived in Baghdad, some in its surroundings and the rest in smaller communities in the south. In the north, most Jews were farmers in villages and smaller towns. The largest communities were those of Mosul, Baghdad, and Basra where 74 percent of the Iraqi Jewish population lived. By 1947 the Jewish population had risen to 118,000 Jews. The Baghdadi community grew by about 50 percent. Until the 1940s, the commercial dominance of Jews was so strong that on Saturdays commercial activity in Baghdad literally ceased.148 The Alliance Israélite Universelle had begun to establish its schools in the Ottoman Empire in the 1860s.149 The Iraqi School, founded in 1865,150 was the first modern school in Iraq and initiated a Jewish cultural revival. Community ties were strong, but after the foundation of the Iraqi state, Jewish schools put less emphasis on the teaching of Hebrew. Rather, subjects were promoted that were part of the entry examinations for higher state education. As a consequence, Jews

43

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formed the greater part of new government employees after the foundation of the kingdom. Abraham S. Elkabir, Jewish Accountant General in the Ministry of Finance, wrote that in 1926 he could not find enough skilled Muslims for his department. Its staff comprised mainly Jews and Christians.151 In the 1920s, Jews enjoyed increasing prosperity in the society. Zionism was considered contradictory to Iraqi patriotism and did not conform to the Jews’ striving to integrate. Iraq encouraged Jewish integration, when Faisal I was ready to grant them equal rights and demanded that Jews provide their superior skills. One of twenty senator posts was reserved for a Jew, and the constitution of 1924 guaranteed equality before the law, freedom of worship, and establishment of minority language schools, as well as equal civil rights and access to government posts. When Iraq entered the League of Nations in 1932, the new independent state had to guarantee minority rights again. In the 1930s, Jews grew up as more and more integrated members of Iraqi society. They faced no serious discrimination and did not think of emigration.152 Jews even became army and police officers for the new state and took part in press culture.153 Nevertheless, tension started to mount with the rising concern of Arab nationalists about the Palestine question. In the late 1920s, Zionism and the British policy in Palestine started to become a topic that nationalists could easily exploit in order to arouse public dismay and to mobilize youth for their private goals. The outbreak of the Palestine Revolt in 1936 during the rule of Yasin al-Hashimi in Iraq gave a new drive to anti-Zionist activity. Traditional tolerance gave way to an atmosphere of suspicion against Iraqi Jews.154 There was a tendency to blur distinctions between Jews and Zionists. In 1935, leading Arab nationalists founded the Committee for the Defense of Palestine, which had close ties with the Muthanna Club and the Jauwal Society.155 The Palestinian nationalist Muhammad 2Izzat Darwaza witnessed the new atmosphere on a visit to Baghdad in October 1937. He noted in his diary that some Iraqi youth gave speeches during a festival in the Muthanna Club commemorating the beginning of the Sherifian Revolt in the Hijaz. One youth presented an energetic poem which pointed to the economic activities of the Jews in Iraq and to the detrimental plots they set up.156 Darwaza’s notes also give hints that politicians discussed the Palestine issue in the framework of a worldwide “Jewish Problem.” Apparently, this was terminology adopted from the Palestine debates at the League of Nations.157 All this added to increasing hardships for Iraqi Jews before and during the Second World War. However, the hardships did not reach the extent of racist exclusion of Jews from public life, as we see. Anwar Sha1ul entered the Alliance school of Baghdad in the autumn of 1918 after having attended several religious schools with Jewish teachers.158 This was a truly enlightening discovery for him: he wrote that the school “embraced, trained and cultivated” him. He discovered lofty examples of the prevalence of right, honoring of justice, and the love of freedom. He concluded that, thus, the school was able to create a true Iraqi citizen of him, faithfully Jewish and proud of his Jewishness.159 This last point distinguished him from his non-Jewish fellow 44

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Iraqi intellectuals. Sab2awi and Butti, for instance, were products of the nationalist state schooling system established in the 1920s. Even though the Alliance school did take up a stronger Arab inclination than before the 1920s,160 it still catered mainly for the Jewish community and went on to support the feeling of communal identity. However, the numbers of younger intellectuals like Anwar Sha1ul increased. They played important roles inside the community, besides the wealthy and the notables among the Jews.161 The intellectuals went beyond the boundaries of the community. Sha1ul was in close touch with Sab2awi and Butti. Sab2awi was a member of his class when Sha1ul enrolled in the Law College in 1928.162 When Butti was in prison in 1930 Sha1ul went to visit him and published an extensive report about the condition of his fellow journalist behind bars.163 Sha1ul belonged to the same generationlocation, but there is a remarkable difference in the memoirs and autobiographies of the protagonists: Sha1ul was more or less of Butti’s age, went through the same type of education as Kubba, which was partly denominational and partly public. As a journalist, he had the same profession as most of them. He had even taught at school. Nevertheless, his book contains no remarks on a generational unity among the Iraqi youth comparable to those of his non-Jewish fellows, even though he took part in nationalist rallies reciting his poetry. During such events he made clear statements of brotherhood and tolerance, for example during the mourning service for the former Prime Minister 2Abd-al-Muhsin al-Sa1dun in the Kailani mosque in November 1929.164 Sha1ul’s terminology of patriotic adherence was closely associated with communal diversity. For him, the requirement for patriotic unity was tolerance among the segregated communities, different from Butti’s and Sab2awi’s demands for a generational unity to overcome the divides through common Arabness. Sha1ul put stress on diversification in his account of Sa2dun’s honorary service. Two further attendants expressed their astonishment that a Jewish poet would take part in this service using the Arabic language, “lughat al-dad.”165 Indeed, many Jews rejected their compatriots’ allegation that they were pro-Zionist. In summer 1938, several Arab Jews came out with statements to support an Arab Palestine. Articles appeared in Iraqi and Egyptian newspapers encouraging the Jews to support Arabism and the fight against Zionism. Anwar Sha1ul himself encouraged Jews in other Arab countries to issue similar statements. On the Iraqi Palestine day, a group of Iraqi doctors and lawyers sent a declaration to the press. They declared that they were young Arab Jews (“nahnu shabab al-Yahud al-2Arab”) supporting the case and the people of the brother country.166 This expression of Arabness went beyond mere pragmatic lip service to please the ears of Muslim Arab nationalists. Therefore, some Jewish youth probably sensed generational adherence, too, even though it grew more and more defensive in character. Jewish intellectuals did not necessarily feel a strong distance from Arab Muslim nationalist circles. In his reports about Iraqi press culture, Muhammad Darwaza mentioned that Rufa1il Butti had a Jewish deputy in his newspaper, 45

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called Meneshi. Other Iraqi journalists told Darwaza that they did not trust Meneshi even though he showed strong fervor for Arabism and for the Palestinian cause. During Darwaza’s visit to Baghdad in 1937, al-Bilad’s editor Butti was not in Baghdad. Therefore, Darwaza decided not to visit his newspaper as long as a Jew was chargé d’affaires of it, for he did not trust a Jew whatever fervor he showed. This, even though Meneshi published some of the articles that Darwaza wrote during his stay in Baghdad.167 Butti himself reported at length about his employee, whose full name was Meneshi Za2rur.168 He had met him at the newspaper al-2Iraq where he was a typesetter and responsible for its production. Later Za2rur became correspondent for internal affairs and politics of Iraq and wrote opening articles. In 1934, he left al2Iraq due to differences with its owner on his salary and approached Butti. Za2rur wanted to become a reporter and work as a secretary of publishing. Butti hired him and he stayed at al-Bilad for two years. After a few months, however, differences in their political views appeared. According to Butti, Meneshi developed personal hatred for his boss and lost all loyalty. Za2rur was a strange character. In spite of his humble financial situation and social circumstances, he was a womanizer, especially among Jewish women. Even though he was a Jew, he became friends with a group of Muslims who were into Islamic affairs (“Islamiyyat”). He attended their meetings, visited their clubs, and shared their feelings to the extent that he adopted their positions and brought them into the newspaper. Butti alleged that Za2rur received salaries for services to foreign journalists and for information that he provided about his colleagues. He was in touch with mediocre personalities, circles, and groups that fought Zionism, and worked for the defense of Palestine, and was in close contact with many “strong men” (“qabadayat”) of the Effendiyya and spent a lot of time with them. Some visited him in the offices of the newspaper. Butti assured that it was his policy not to interfere with the private affairs of his employees, as long as they had no impact on the newspaper or himself. However, Butti was angry about Za2rur because he spread the belief that his employer was not devoted to nationalism in order to gain material profit. This was bound to impact on Butti’s reputation, and when the differences continued, Butti had to remove Za2rur from the newspaper. Even though this is surely an account about an exceptional character, it indicates that being a Jew among 1930s Iraqi nationalist circles aroused suspicions but did not exclude him. Nationalist toughs apparently accepted Za2rur. He worked for a long time at Butti’s al-Bilad. But Butti found his extreme anti-Zionist attitude somewhat contradictory to Jewish background, which, however, had no impact on their professional relationship. After all, Meneshi’s efforts made him the caricature of a person who wanted to belong to the nationalist mainstream so much that he exaggerated its positions. For Anwar Sha1ul, the perception of the great individual as the harbinger of modernity was key to explaining the authoritarian tendencies of the Young Effendiyya. He linked apparent pro-Nazi tendencies to the cult of the individual as the intellectuals performed it. He confirmed that in his paper al-Hasid he 46

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fought those riding in the stirrups of dictatorships and struggled against the apotheosis of the individual (“ta1lih al-fard”) as it happened in the Italian Fascist and the German Nazi systems. Sha2ul formulated numerous complaints about people who bowed to Nazi propaganda and the activities of the German embassy in Baghdad. He had special contempt for Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani and Yunus al-Sab2awi. The former had been a professor of the Law College, when both Sab2awi and Sha2ul were students there. Sha2ul accused al-Kailani of bigotry, because in class he had put so much emphasis on the importance of the rule of law. When he was prime minister in 1941, however, he broke the law himself and followed the track of Nazism.169 The same was true for Sab2awi whom Sha2ul described as a calm and gentle fellow student. He had nevertheless disclosed his true pro-Nazi personality when he translated Hitler’s Mein Kampf. The culmination was his participation in the Rashid 2Ali movement.170 Sha2ul mentioned further names of pro-Nazi agents in newspapers.171 He related them to the activities of the Italian and German embassies, especially to the German envoy Fritz Grobba. He mentioned that he had problems with the Directorate of Press of the Ministry of the Interior whenever he published articles opposing the politics of the Fascist powers. Sometimes these problems were due to the embassies’ interventions.172 However, Sha2ul never provided details of Grobba’s activities or their impact. In general, anti-Jewish or pro-Nazi activities during the period of study take up no space in his autobiography except for a general mentioning and attributing of them to rogues and opportunists.173 There is only the example of Mahmud al-Watari, a former Arabic teacher of Sha1ul during primary education at the Alliance school. He had not heard of him until 1938, when one day the Baghdadi newspapers published a report on their front pages that an Iraqi mission headed by al-Watari had returned from Berlin. It had paid a visit to the teachers of the Nazi capital and its associations, responding to a special invitation by Goebbels to strengthen the bonds of friendship between the two peoples. There was a picture in the papers of al-Watari shaking hands with Goebbels. However, it is important to note that the event did not cause serious concerns among the Iraqi Jewish community. Sha1ul mentioned instead that it caused amusement and joking among those who knew Mahmud al-Watari well.174 It is arguable, therefore, that the assumption of a spread of Nazi influence among the non-Jewish population and especially the allegations against Grobba were to a considerable extent projections on the history of the 1930s. The growing difficulties of the Jews resulted rather from the rising concerns about the Palestine issue among Arab nationalists in Iraq than from racism of the Nazi kind. Historiography has often looked at the 1930s as foreshadowing the Farhud of 1941 and the persecution of Iraqi Jews in the decades after 1948.175 Maybe Sha1ul’s assessment of public feelings in Iraq reflects this historiography. In contrast, he did not mention any repercussions of anti-Jewish sentiments in the army when he wrote about his draft during the 1941 war.176 Abraham S. Elkabir’s perceptions highlight the position of a member of the traditional Jewish elite. His memoirs provide answers to the questions whether 47

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and how this elite experienced rising “anti-Jewism” in Iraq. This is important in regard to allegations that Iraq became a hostile environment for Jews in the late 1930s as a consequence of Nazi influence. In the sense of generation-location, Elkabir was part of the Sherifian generation. He was an active member of Baghdad’s Jewish community in the 1930s and a high-ranking official on different government posts. In his memoirs Elkabir showed that a change of attitude took place among the Iraqi Jewish community. From a closed entity in Ottoman times, they turned into a community of citizens. Elkabir was a friend of the first Iraqi Minister of Finance, the Jew Sasson Heskel. Shortly after his appointment in January 1921, Heskel invited Elkabir to become Assistant Accountant General. I told him that I never in the past accepted a government post and did not wish to change my mind on the subject. [. . .] He was not impressed and told me that the position was now entirely different, we were no longer serving an alien, perhaps a rotten and doomed administration. We will serve our own country, a country with a glorious past and a promising future [. . .] The offer, made in this form, made a fascinating impression on my idealistic mind and so I accepted without hesitation.177 In the following years Elkabir obtained a strong position in the Iraqi administration. In 1926, he was appointed Accountant General. Later he moved to the administration of Iraqi railways after they came under Iraqi control in the mid 1930s. In autumn 1937, he became Director General of Finance. He kept this post even through the events of 1941. In his memoirs, he mentions that he was a good friend of several leading politicians of the time.178 It is remarkable that rising anti-Zionist agitation and growing anti-Jewish resentment did not prevent Elkabir from holding such important positions in the administration. Yet, he reported about hostilities in press and parliament already when he headed the general accountancy of the Ministry of Finance in the 1920s. Elkabir’s office repeatedly faced attacks because his non-Muslim employees formed a majority, a fact that he attributed to the lack of skilled Muslim personal. In parliament, conflicts between his friends and other representatives resulted in threats to attack the budget of the accountancy. When Alfred Mond, a British Zionist, visited Baghdad in 1928, slogans were shouted in the streets such as “death to the Jews,” but they were not taken seriously, wrote Elkabir. He declined a pistol that one of his Muslim officials offered to him for self-defense.179 Later on, Elkabir became aware of the growing misunderstandings between Muslims and Jews in Iraq. He reported about accusations against Jewish merchants after the outbreak of the Second World War. People started to make panic purchases in the shops of the market. It was common for shopkeepers to take advantage of the situation and raise prices significantly even though there was no shortage of goods and supply. “There was a stir in the country and a violent campaign was launched by young army officers calling on the Government to 48

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take the necessary steps to curb the activities of profiteers, supposed to be Jewish firms and shopkeepers.” The Ministry of Finance staged a conference and the Director General of Commerce, 2Abd-al-Karim al-Uzri, accused the merchants heavily. He opted for government control over certain goods.180 Elkabir tried to find explanations for the rising alienation. He explained that the Jews of Baghdad had welcomed the Balfour declaration of 1917, but what they expected had been Jewish–Arab understanding and cooperation. According to Elkabir they did not understand the strong and hostile opposition of the Arabs against this plan. When the Jews welcomed the British in Iraq in 1917, they had not realized that the Ottoman government had imposed hardships on them during the war because it struggled for its existence. Memories of Ottoman tolerance were forgotten. Elkabir wrote that it was a matter of regret that the acting Chief Rabbi instituted a few years later a new festival in the Jewish calendar to be called second Pourim and held on the 17th March to commemorate the entry of the British forces into Baghdad. Elkabir complained nevertheless that it was a “blunder” that the Arabs began to identify all Jews with the little number of “militant zionists” and thus alienated the moderate Jews. However, Elkabir ascribed the alienation equally to the influence of Western, mainly British orientalists, and to their claim that Jews were to remain in the role of subjects.181 Elkabir emphasized that Arab leaders “rejected anti-semitic doctrines and refused to be called anti-semite.” This was due to the consciousness of a mutual Semitic origin of both Arabs and Jews, as he underlined. Antagonism in the past had been a consequence of religious differences, not racial ones. However, Elkabir claimed that the same leaders embarked on an anti-Zionist policy which became more and more an anti-Jewish movement. The difference between this anti-Jewish movement and European anti-Semitism became less and less clear. Arabs took over the “theories and practices” from Europe. Elkabir singled out the visit of Sir Alfred Mond as the starting point of this “campaign.” This event took place in 1928, years before the Nazi period in Germany. The government organized a march, but Elkabir remembered that even Jews took part. Apparently, neither the Arabs nor the Jews understood the slogans they shouted: first they shouted “Down with the ‘Sineyeh’ ” (“tray”), until they were told to shout “sahyuniyya” (“Zionism”) instead.182 Elkabir traced this hostility to several factors: the Palestine issue and the Mufti al-Husaini’s hostile campaign in Iraq identifying Jews and Zionists, and third foreign influence. Initially, however, British officials in state service had aroused this hostility. According to Elkabir, they showed “some anti-semitic tendencies” as early as around 1920. They felt encouraged by their belief that this attitude accorded with the attitude of their Iraqi employers. Elkabir recounted a speech given by Dorothy Thompson, secretary of the American Friends of the Middle 49

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East, to an audience of the women’s branch of the Red Crescent Society. She lectured about the vile Jewish anti-American activities. She warned the Arabs to beware of the Jews. One Iraqi listener, however, drew attention to the AngloAmerican policy, which was the reason for the Palestine question. Elkabir faced many similar situations when he was abroad as an Iraqi representative. “Arabophiles” attacked the Jews in his presence when they did not know that he himself was one. Elkabir commented that “[t]hese episodes were samples of some foreigners’ approach to Iraqi politicians and one could easily imagine their reactions.” Hence, he assumed that foreigners and Iraqi politicians shared the same stance toward the Jews.183 Elkabir mentioned “German anti-Semitism” as a further factor. He explained that the Hitler regime gave an additional and greater stimulus to the embryonic anti-Jewish movement. The striking successes of the German arms in the early stage of the war, the formidable German propaganda machine led by the Mufti of Jerusalem assisted by the Iraqi Lord Haw Haw, Younis Bahre [sic], and the savage onslaught on the Jews had a tremendous effect on the population already infected by the anti-semite virus.184 Remarkably, this is all he wrote about this issue, less than half of what he had written about the Anglo-American factor; furthermore, he referred specifically to the war years. He provided dominant memories only for factors other than Nazi propaganda’s influence on rising anti-Jewism. Elkabir’s underlying argument is, in fact, that the Western phenomenon of anti-Semitism entered Iraq by way of the dominant European group in Iraq: the British. He further mentioned a social factor that led to alienation: the social cleavage between many Muslims and the well-to-do Jews. His assessment referred to Baghdad: Their [the Jews’] beautiful villas were photographed and published in the proximity of some miserable looking Arab huts. Well dressed beautiful Jewish ladies were a striking contrast to the then veiled moslem women and the bare footed arab female milk sellers. [. . .] For every two moslems walking along Rasheed Street, the great artery of Baghdad, you would certainly find a well dressed Jewish passerby. Furthermore, he underlined once more that Jewish students’ successes in the final examinations were way above their proportions in enrollments. More and more Jews graduated from secondary schools with their focus on government employment. High quality Jewish education became a target of “anti-Semitism.” Envy and frustration prevented people’s looks from taking into account the Jewish dwellers of the slums and the wealth of Arab politicians and nouveau riches. Envy in times of economic shortages was hence a dominant factor that drove Muslims 50

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to look for a scapegoat. Still, Elkabir used the term anti-Semitism to characterize the tendencies, but he did not specify the term in regard to ideological content. Elkabir assigned economic rivalry where Jews had advantages over Muslims in trade as a consequence of their greater experience. Competition, he added, was, however, rather to the benefit of both sides, and export of dates and crops was in the hands of Muslims, as was the subsidized industry. This stood in contrast to the claims of politicians about Jewish dominance in the economy.185 To sum up, there is a contradicting element in Elkabir’s account of the deterioration of Arab–Jewish relations in interwar Iraq. He mentioned racism and anti-Semitism as reasons but described at length the social reasons and the unjustified nature of the allegations against Iraqi Jews. He mentioned detrimental Nazi influence but provided more space to elaborate on his distaste for AngloAmerican anti-Jewish arrogance. Elkabir was an Iraqi Jewish patriot and thus he took over the respective anti-British stance in his interpretation of the deterioration of the situation in Iraq. For him, hostility against Jews was therefore partly a consequence of British imperialism. References to German influence remained vague and marginal. Elkabir wrote from a conciliatory or even apologetic perspective. In the late 1930s, Jews found themselves between a rock and a hard place. As Iraqi patriots, they identified with the state but became more and more marginalized in the dominant Arab nationalist narrative. The Second World War was to become a test for this narrative and for the loyalty of the Jews.

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4 THE DEBATE OF THE IRAQI PRESS

During the 1930s, Iraqi newspapers referred in many different ways to Germany and fascism. They went beyond the conventional assessment that Iraqi nationalists had internalized Nazi ideology and propaganda. Authors mentioned Hitler’s Nazism to provide one example of totalitarian leadership among others. “Fascist Imagery” appeared as a blend of Western disciplinary models and early Islamic references: an “invented tradition” in Eric Hobsbawm’s words. Furthermore, there were anti-fascist and anti-totalitarian voices in Iraq, too. Indeed, this is a fact that is not surprising if we take the proliferation of anti-Nazi standpoints in the Arab world via the Egyptian media such as al-Hilal or al-Risala into consideration.1 There were papers that showed sympathy for authoritarian ideas, and there were others that showed clear antagonism. Sherifian “Germanophilia” and references to Prussian militarism, however, did not play a prominent role.

The Iraqi press in its environment The analysis of newspapers2 in this section follows the “New Narrative” of Arab nationalism as outlined earlier on.3 The newspapers of 1930s Iraq had to consider the demands of their readership for information. Thus, their contents reflected general trends in public interest and opinion. According to Rufa’il Butti’s expertise on the Iraqi press, newspapers were not mastered by the government. They generally depended on their owners and publishers. They had to take care that their papers were sold on the market. Owners aligned with parties but were not directly dependent on them or on the government. Surely, they suffered from limitations of the freedom of press. Nevertheless, the press was a genuine local voice, different from colonial records, which echo imperial interests.4 In April 1936, an article congratulated al-Istiqlal for its sixteenth anniversary.5 The author, probably the editor ‘Abd-al-Ghaffur al-Badri himself, used this occasion solely to praise the nationalist effort of the paper, which was a struggle “for the sake of god and the beloved fatherland.” He took reference to the newspaper’s role as an organ for the rising nationalist intellectuals during the Iraqi Revolt of 1920. At the same time, he interpreted the Revolt as an Arab nationalist event. The “pens of the free ‘mujahidin’ among the writers of Arabism” had supported the 52

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struggle like “columns.” In spite of all troublesome issues and hard work, the struggle continued, wrote the author. At the end of the article, he summarized that the duties of the journalist for the nation were shaped by “our belief in the journalistic struggle.” This was a belief that had no equal. The author thus made clear that the newspaper was founded on the nationalist struggle of pan-Arabism. Its journalism was not for the sake of information, cultural production, or entertainment. It was not a matter of genre but a means to achieve a political goal. Whereas the main topic of political agitation during the 1920s had been the achievement of independence, the papers became a forum for rival political factions after the achievement of independence. At first, Iraqi papers had been founded as a reaction to British publications in Arabic. During the 1920s, a large number of political factions launched newspapers in order to raise their voices against the British occupation and Mandate rule. However, most of these papers were short-lived publications controlled by one of the numerous parties. After independence, newspapers were still not regarded as necessary means in political controversy. Instead, the plots of the rival groups dominated the scene. Founding newspapers became like a fashion among the parties, but mostly their organs did not survive the coalitions that had produced them. Al-Istiqlal was an exception. Throughout the 1920s, it supported the Hizb al-Watani. founded in 1922. When Yasin al Hashimi and Rashid ‘Ali al-Kailani, among others, formed the oppositional Hizb al-Ikha1 al-Watani by the end of the 1920s,6 they gained support from Rufa’il Butti’s al-Bilad. A further newspaper, al-Ahali, provided the name for the leftist al-Ahali group founded by Husain Jamil and 2Abd-al-Qadir Isma2il in January 1932. It has been argued that the press served mainly as a means for political confrontation and controversy. The success of nonpolitical publications was little.7 The newspapers of interwar Iraq were subject to the same deficits of political liberty as the political parties. Papers chose affiliations and changed their adherences according to the personal interests and sympathies of their owners. “Iraq’s postwar press was characterised by personal and political confrontation played out before a largely apathetic audience.”8 However, the characterization of the Iraqi public as having been apathetic is exaggerated. The Iraqi Revolt of 1920 was, for instance, a cornerstone in the development of a distinctively Iraqi public, not least because editors such as 2Abd-al-Ghaffur al-Badri introduced young and rising school graduates to the press.9 The newspapers of the 1930s reflect a lively debate on nationalist issues. These debates also related to cultural questions beyond the daily affairs. The memoirs of Rufa1il Butti and Anwar Sha1ul paint a colorful picture of the high self-esteem of at least some editors as independent minds. Butti considered his paper exceptional. According to him, al-Bilad became the vanguard of a new professionalism in the press in the 1930s. It was the first to have an independent section on interior politics. Butti reorganized the editing process and took care of the layout design. He introduced the practice of translating radio news from European broadcasting stations to have more up-to-date information in the morning paper.10 Anwar Sha1ul claimed, too, that his newspaper 53

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al-Hasid introduced a new way of journalism in Iraq, including comments by intellectuals and politicians, reportages on social and political issues, and short stories as well as translations published from works by Russian, French, Italian, Turkish, and other authors. Sha1ul wrote that he had foreign correspondents in New York, Paris and so on.11 Still, it seems exaggerated that, as Fa1iq Butti remarked, no other press in the Arab world reached the quality of the Iraqi press.12 However, rigid press laws made journalism difficult. There was a continuous struggle between the government and the publishers who found their papers banned and themselves imprisoned time and again. Papers changed their names frequently in order to be able to appear again. For instance, Butti mentioned six different names that al-Bilad had to take up when it supported the opposition against the treaty of independence with Britain around 1930: Saut al-2Iraq, al-Jihad, al-Sha2b, al-Zaman, Nida1 al-Sha2b, and al-Siyasa.13 After the formation of the kingdom in 1921, Iraq adopted the Ottoman press law which put more pressure on the press than British regulations of the occupation period had. After independence in 1932, a new press law imposed sharp limitations that even exceeded the Ottoman standards. The responsible director for newspapers and magazines censored criticism of the government or the administration. The law gave the government the right to suspend press organs for long and even unlimited periods. The nationalist opposition demanded freedom of the press and rejected the strict press laws. When Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani became prime minister in 1933, his cabinet abolished many of the restrictions on the freedom of the press. However, it did not abolish the right to suspend newspapers. The new legislation only redefined the timeframe: the minister of the interior could suspend a newspaper for ten days, the cabinet for one month by suggestion of the minister of the interior. In case conflict with the newspaper continued after the ban, the minister of the interior had the right to bring the case before the court of justice, who then was allowed to ban the paper for a limited or unlimited period. Further changes to the press law took place in the following periods. Moreover, the system of licensing the press enabled the government to obstruct a paper that deviated from the government line. A major complaint was that the right to ban a paper was granted to the executive. Therefore, decisions were often made on the grounds of personal or party interests. In 1935, a law gave a military commander the right to censor all serial prints of a certain area under martial law and to ban them without prior notice. This happened probably with regard to the ongoing tribal revolts at the time. According to Butti, this law abolished the freedom of the press entirely for the following years which was a period of military governments and political turmoil. Butti concluded that freedom of press was impossible after all, because there was no legal body to appeal to once the executive had made a decision. The minister’s orders were final.14 Taking these restrictions into account, there is no reason to expect clear political positions or outspoken opposition from the newspapers during the period of concern. Contrary to earlier years, there was more or less a continuity of names of newspapers for the time from c.1934 to 1941. The editors apparently had no 54

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serious open conflicts with the changing administrations during the period. Party politics ceased to dominate the political atmosphere in the period of military coups between 1936 and 1941. Only a few newspapers were founded after the coup of 1936. They were of minor importance and fairly short-lived.15 Nevertheless, the material at hand provides evidence that debates went on in the press, debates that covered broader social issues and inquired into the position of Iraq in the international environment. We are thus able to reconstruct certain discursive structures that bear significance for the questions at stake in this study. Rufa1il Butti wrote that many asked him about the political line of al-Bilad. He answered that it was between the lines. One should not come up with a straight line of policy today and bend away from it tomorrow. In general, the newspaper stood for the country’s prosperity, freedom, and independence.16 This opportunism was probably widespread at the time. The different newspapers did not show a great variety of styles, opinions, and contents. Most of them received their best contributions not from their own journalistic staff but from guest writers or through translations of foreign material. In a different place, Butti defined the line of his paper very vaguely as nationalist. It was committed to Arab unity. Butti demanded improvement and renewal of state and society and the awakening of Iraq as a lively national community. He called for an awakening that resembled those of the other new peoples of the East (“ash-shu1ub al-haditha fi1l-sharq”). He called for a modern life (“al-hayat al-2asriyya”).17 As a political program, this was very shallow indeed. However, al-Bilad and al-Istiqlal stood out among Iraqi papers. Al-Bilad was often considered a “school of Iraqi journalism,” because many talented journalists started their careers there.18 Among the papers treated in this study, Saut al-Sha2b showed similar journalistic qualities.19 The most important of a handful of satirical journals was Nuri Thabit’s Habazbuz.20 Thabit was born in Baghdad in 1897. He went through Ottoman state education in Baghdad and attended the Harbiye College in Istanbul. He graduated and became an officer during the First World War. After the war, he stayed in Ottoman service and returned to Iraq in 1923. Arguably, his military education and the fact that his father had been a staff officer in the Ottoman army were behind the strong admiration for the Ottoman military tradition that he showed in some of his articles for Habazbuz. In Iraq, Thabit became a teacher in government schools and, clandestinely, a writer of satirical comments for a newspaper. Later, he agreed to work for Butti’s al-Bilad and to provide a daily article if possible. Thabit had to use a pseudonym because he was a teacher and thus not allowed to publish as a political writer or to work for a political newspaper. Butti chose the name “A. Habazbuz” who was a popular fantasy figure in satire and jocular language. After a short while, Habazbuz became a well-known personality in the world of journalism. At a certain point, however, Thabit started to have problems with the authorities. A new law considered the profession of satirical writer irreconcilable with being a teacher. Thabit lost his job but founded his own newspaper called A. Habazbuz in 1931. Later, he had financial problems. He was shot dead in a restaurant in Baghdad in 1938 after falling into debt.21 55

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The readership of the newspapers remained hard to define in terms of both quality and quantity. The improvement of public education and of means of transport in the provinces added to the number of readers,22 but conditions for journalism in Iraq could hardly have been worse if we compare them to those in other Arab states. Iraq’s population belonged to the poorest and least educated. Still in 1947, only 11 percent of Iraqis above 5 years of age were literate. Baghdad’s demand for newspapers was 5 copies per 100 citizens, as compared to 10 in Damascus, and 20 in Cairo. As a consequence of the use of newspapers as a weapon in political confrontation rather than for committed journalism, it “seems obvious that the advancement of professional standards, let alone ethics and a regard for public expectations, were marginal considerations for most papers.” Hence the educated who wanted quality newspapers had to be content with “the small handful of good local papers and, just as often, with imports from Egypt and Lebanon.”23 The memoirs of Rufa1il Butti give a closer insight into the contemporary Iraqi press market. He presented details about the numbers of printed copies and subscribers and about the hardships of distribution.24 Before al-Bilad started to publish in 1929, the number of printed daily papers in Iraq did not exceed 1,500 at most. Afterward, 3,000 copies were printed at first, then the numbers rose to 7,000 copies, depending on the political circumstances. The average remained at 4,500 copies, but never dropped below 3,500. As far as the subscription rate was concerned, the most important Iraqi papers did not have more than 300 subscriptions before al-Bilad entered the scene. However, according to its editor, the newspaper gained about one thousand subscribers during the first month of its publication. Commercial vehicles carried the newspaper to newsagents beyond the borders of Baghdad. Thus, al-Bilad arrived in many parts of Iraq on the day of publishing. Subscribers, however, could obtain their copies via mail only, and thus they found the daily issue on the local market way before they received theirs via mail. As a consequence, the initial numbers of subscribers dropped by half, whereas the number of printed copies remained the same. Comparing these numbers to the numbers of printed copies of the Egyptian daily al-Ahram, for instance, gives us an idea of the limits of Iraqi “public” as compared to others of the Arab world: the circulation of al-Ahram alone was between 45,000 and 50,000 daily copies in 1937. The estimated average total circulation of Iraqi newspapers in the 1920s and 1930s was, in contrast, 10,000 copies.25

Direct references to Germany and fascism In spite of this assessment about the limited number of readers and the deficits in journalistic quality, Iraqi newspapers remained an indispensable source for the reconstruction of a public debate. For the time prior to the outbreak of the Second World War, the newspapers al-Istiqlal and al-2Alam al-2Arabi, as well as the satirical journal Habazbuz, were available for this study. Issues of the time were the treaty of independence with 56

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Britain and the establishment of true national independent rule. The newspapers provided an insight into a vivid discussion on these and many different topics of intellectual debate. Al-2Alam al-2Arabi further proved that the Iraqi audience was far from “apathetic.” The newspaper contained debates on several topics, and lengthy letters from readers to the publisher. The editor answered in comparable length. Issues such as Darwin’s theory of evolution were discussed as vigorously as education and unemployment.26 A further aspect made al-2Alam al-2Arabi interesting. Several sources said that the newspaper received money from the German legation in Baghdad. It was allegedly under the immediate influence of the German envoy Fritz Grobba. 2Abd-al-Ghaffur al-Badri, editor of al-Istiqlal, as well as Salim Hassun, editor of al-2Alam al-2Arabi, have been labelled as “editors of Fascist papers.”27 Grobba had “purchased the daily il-Alem il Arabi [sic] which was under Christian ownership where he published, in instalments, an Arabic translation of Hitler’s Mein Kampf.28 Indeed, the latter was Sab2awi’s work. The newspaper “was said” to be under the control of the German legation.29 Sab2awi left al-Bilad to switch over to al-2Alam al-2Arabi. Butti reported that Sab1awi claimed that the latter was a bribed paper. The owner was under the control of foreigners.30 Further information purported that al-2Alam al-Arabi was on the German payroll and published proGerman propaganda. It “published articles on the achievements of Nazism in Germany and, in a column entitled ‘international politics’, stirring stories about the struggle in Palestine and articles with a conspicuously anti-British and antiZionist content.”31 This described the debate in the available issues of al-2Alam al-2Arabi quite accurately. However, al-2Alam al-2Arabi made only few references to Germany in issues related to the analysis or the promotion of political systems. The newspaper printed speeches by Hitler without commenting on them. It issued many reports on events in Germany, for instance on the “Saarstatut” and the remilitarization of the Rhineland. The few lengthy articles on Germany in the newspaper focused on the question of strong government, the issue of labor and unemployment, as well as the question of racial policy. Al-2Alam al-2Arabi’s authors were fascinated with strong and central government to an extent that they openly supported the idea of dictatorship. In 1934, an author analyzed the political developments since the First World War. He came to the conclusion that one authoritarian regime made the best performance: Japan.32 After the First World War, power in politics had moved from the presidential chambers and exclusive conferences to international conferences that based their decisions on treaties and constitutions. However, the exploitation of this system had brought about a setback, which made the world worse and weaker. Those in charge, he complained, were too weak for the challenges because the politicians of the day had to take internal affairs much more into account than before the war. In that sense, both the British and the French had coalition governments. No party could use its full capacities. Thus, the governments failed to solve problems. All in all, this was a failure of parliamentary life. America, on the other hand, did not 57

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fulfill its international responsibilities. In Italy and Germany, the political situation gave those in charge enough power to pursue international politics with strength. However, both Hitler and Mussolini were preoccupied with the internal leadership of their countries. This did not allow them to correct the international situation as well. Hitler, for instance, was still working to improve the foundations of his policy, while Russia was also in a position of waiting. The author observed that the small states had applauded either side of the strong states at first, but they had stopped doing so when they had realized how these states were wavering. This way of labeling the states implied that the author counted the fascist states among the strong Western states. He wrote that some of the small states had tried to achieve strength via new political ideas and mentioned Turkey and Iran. However, there was one country that was different: Japan. It had gained by weakening others. It proved its centralist strength and the strength of the bonds between the people, which supported the construction of the “Empire of the Sun.” The soldier, the citizen, and the merchant worked together. Japan’s policy proceeded without wavering and with unrestricted determination. It had a youth that made of an old and tired world what it wanted to.33 A rejection of political fragmentation accompanied the admiration for authoritarian straightforwardness as represented in this article. Thus, it mirrored aspirations of Iraqi writers for the Arab nation. The commentator assessed that a nation could only achieve its full capacities through a common and united effort. It is significant that Japan was the major example for the author, a country of the “East.” Its model character generally recurred in the debate. Another article of the same year underlined this positive view of leadership states but equated fascism with Kemalism. He pointed to strength and unity as their characteristics.34 For the author, strength was the precondition for justice. The government, he wrote, had to show activities of just and wise strength and fill the souls of the people with respect for justice to guarantee order and confidence. The grand old states of the world had only persevered because of the strength of their just governments. The large and renewed states, such as Italy, Germany, and Turkey, prospered only through the strength of their new governments. Fascist, Nazi and Kemalist reforms performed remorseless prosecution of crimes, no matter who committed them. They gave posts, ranks, and employment to those who were really competent. These were signs of wise government. The author hoped that Iraq would obtain the same prosperity as a precondition to protect its existence. Obviously, the author’s image of justice in fascist states had nothing to do with the realities on the ground. In Germany, equality before the law and in access to posts had ceased. Persecution of people of a distinct race and of certain political beliefs was a daily practice. The author obviously mixed his idealist view of governmental strength and abolishment of arbitrariness with the general assumption that Germany was a strong state. The perception of Germany was hence extremely superficial, even though the author surely had access to better information at least via the Egyptian press. 58

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Al-2Alam al-2Arabi, however, felt responsible for providing more information about the new concepts of society that emerged in Europe. It did so in early 1935 in an article taken from an English newspaper.35 It presented two political ideologies that had taken root since 1932: fascism and internationalism. The article was descriptive without further comments on the ideologies. The fascist ideology had spread over the greater part of Europe and especially nations with medium power. Nationalism was supposed to be the vehicle to achieve their objectives. The ideology had been successful in Mussolini’s Italy with the aim to free the national economy from foreign influence. Britain and her dependence on imports of food and on foreign markets had been a counter model for the fascists, assumed the author. They thought that every country should be autonomous instead. According to their creed, nationalism was the basis for the political system, as opposed to private interest, just as family bonds were stronger than personal interests. Fascist thought, the author assumed, had spread in Italy, Germany, and Ireland, and people said it was going to spread in France and Spain as well. In contrast to that, the author threw a glance at the internationalist ideology, embodied in the League of Nations and the strong states that supported it. The League’s idealistic basis was founded on the desire of the nations to support the international system. The League respected individual benefit, and there was an equilibrium among the strong states with neither dominance nor defeat of anyone. At this point, the editor left the reader alone to make sense of his descriptions. Again, they were well-selected to echo familiar authoritarian standpoints of Arab nationalists, such as the rejection of individualism and promotion of national strength that was represented by an argument of economic independence. If we consider that an Iraqi reader would probably have counted his country among the weak and dependent states, the editor probably attempted to create sympathy for the fascists rather than the internationalists. The clearest appeal for dictatorship appeared in al-2Alam al-2Arabi in April 193636 in a situation when Prime Minister Yasin al-Hashimi started to show dictatorial aspirations. They led to Bakr Sidqi’s military coup of the same year.37 The article clearly echoed ongoing debates on the benefits of dictatorship. The author wrote that many things were said about dictatorship. “Dictator” could be translated as “the one who rules on his own order” (“al-hakim bi-amrihi”). However, sensible people knew that the pen or the spoken word, however big or noisy they were, would not bring superiority and singularity. This statement, it appears, was a hint at a dictatorship debate in Iraq. The author went on that personal virtue paved the way, and so did gigantic deeds, and special, extraordinary circumstances. For him, the outstanding special virtue was true belief (“al-iman al-hayy”), true indifference toward personal benefits and toward personal sacrifice for the country, courage based on strength and generosity toward the country in everything. The author thus reiterated the common leadership myth. He emphasized that everyone would realize the benefit of the rise of a determined individual immediately. Like Sab2awi and Butti, he related the virtue of leadership to the triad of Atatürk, Mussolini, and Hitler: there was Atatürk, 59

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“Mustafa al-Ghazi ‘Abu’l-Turk’,” true “Father of the Turks.” His belief in the salvation and foundation of Turkey on new grounds was true and agreeable. He worked for the improvement of Turkey alone. The dictators of Germany and Italy belonged to those, too, who desired nothing for themselves but everything for their countries and their peoples. They wanted nothing but to achieve the highest position possible for their countries in terms of greatness, strength, and wealth. For themselves, the most modest livelihood was sufficient. For the author, Hitler and Mussolini embodied the unselfish rule that made strong decision making possible and provoked unconditioned following. If Mussolini had no strength based on virtue instead of words, people would not obey him when he yelled: “Stand up, march and kill!” Hitler would not be able to rip apart international treaties and send his army unchallenged to the demilitarized zones of his country. With this move, he might not only win over Germany but also the hearts of his fiercest enemies, assumed the author. He considered Hitler’s remilitarization of the Rhineland as a provocation of the Great Powers. Unlike in the earlier article, he did not consider Hitler’s Germany as one of the great Western countries. The “great” were Germany’s neighbors. The author expected that Hitler’s success could even bring about change in European politics and political systems. In his closing paragraphs, the writer addressed the Iraqi debate about dictatorship: “We do not know whether the writers and speakers in Iraq believe that dictatorship can be prepared by talks and poetry.” If they only loved to present their poetry, then there was no harm in reciting and singing. If they meant they could achieve something with that, they were wrong. Dictatorship needed virtue, and Iraq would greet a virtuous person enthusiastically. The article contained images of unselfishness and superior strength that were completely in line with, say, Sab2awi’s principles. As such, however, they were quite abstract and did not present a clear image of an ideology. It is therefore significant what references the newspaper made to practical policy issues. Labor and unemployment were important issues for al-2Alam al-2Arabi during the time. In June 1935, an article in the newspaper looked at Nazi Germany’s measures against unemployment.38 The country considered unemployment as not only a social misfortune, but also one of the greatest threats to its reputation. Germany’s first countermeasure had been to draft graduates into the army, thus breaching the Versailles Treaty. Second, Germany countered disdain and hopelessness by involving the unemployed in activities such as making wasteland fertile. Not only the German but also many other governments had taken such steps. It was a precondition to progress, because contemporary governance did not only embrace administration and politics. Governments were active in civilizing and economic activities. They founded factories and workshops and were involved in agricultural and industrial projects. These activities could help to bring out the unemployed and increase the wealth of the country at the same time. Turning to Iraq, the author wrote that people were still waiting for the government to adopt this beneficent policy, too, because otherwise there was no progress. 60

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Even though Germany was the model country here, fascist policy was not an issue in itself, but rather a straightforward model of state involvement. The author thus focused on a certain image of a supposedly modern, state-centered organization of society. The state was a benevolent entrepreneur on behalf of the nation. It should promote and interfere in the individual’s benefit actively. At most, this was an authoritarian model but by no means an exclusively totalitarian principle. This also holds true for praise of German vocational education that appeared in a December 1935 article in al-2Alam al-2Arabi.39 The praise was part of a letter to the newspaper by a young graduate from an Iraqi technical school. He wrote that the future of the educated youth and precautionary measures to make it prosper were the major topic in the local newspapers. People read a lot about the civilized countries and the life of workers in them, as well as the special rights they enjoyed, which secured the balance of the state. Workers were considered a source of economic independence and freedom from enslavement. The German government, for instance, had a strong interest in raising the culture of thousands of workers. Every year, around five thousand students graduated from German technical schools (“Madaris al-Sina2iyya”). They were fully equipped and full of energy and intelligence to work for the benefit of the sons of their country in order to raise the state of their people. The writer then shifted his focus to several “Eastern countries” such as Japan, Turkey, and Iran. Thus, he made clear that he considered Germany as a prominent example, but too foreign to fit for Iraq. Japan, instead, had begun to put pressure on several industrialized countries with its products and abundance of factories. Turkey and Iran had made large steps toward industrialization. Their factories counted among the best in the East. Turkey had many technical schools with up to ten thousand students, learning various professions and crafts. The graduate complained that Iraq was, however, in a state of falling behind industrially and technologically. The workers were in an uncultured situation. No importance was given to them, as if they had no rights. The author demanded that measures should be taken against this dangerous situation. The technical schools of Baghdad and Basra were in a poor state and offered little to their students. The graduates were left in disorientation, because the government could not provide them with work and employment. So they had to remain under the tutelage of their families. To sum up, the author considered Germany as a positive but remote model. This was the case in most references to Germany in al-2Alam al-2Arabi. It was among the nations of the West. He thus could not accept it as a direct model to be copied by Iraq. Much more, the familiar “nahda” countries of the East were considered ideals in obtaining a state of modernity and dropping the humiliation of lagging behind. In the context of this wider project to catch up with modernity and obtain strength, al-2Alam al-2Arabi also discussed the racial principles that gained shape in Italian and German politics. In 1934, the newspaper took over an article by Mussolini from an English newspaper. The Italian dictator presented his sociopolitical views that influenced his political activities. He gave reasons for the 61

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necessity of racist policy.40 Thus, he warned Europe to beware of the yellow danger (“al-khatar al-asfar”) embodied in Japan. He also warned of the black danger (“al-khatar al-aswad”) for the white race. He wanted Europe to take measures against the loss of population through low birth rates. In Italy, the youth honored the country with their increase in numbers, at the same time as the British and the French decreased. Al-2Alam al-2Arabi’s general perception of Japan was positive. It was a country of the East. Mussolini’s defamation of Japan therefore would likely have provoked a distanced reaction among the readers. The Iraqi press would take up the issue of low birth rates again later, when people sought reasons for the quick defeat of France during the First World War. In 1934, however, Mussolini’s issue was “whether the White World will perish facing the growth of the black and yellow races and their continuous enlargement.” For this study, the most important publication at al-2Alam al-2Arabi was a letter, most likely written by a German, which apparently responded to the unease that Iraqis felt when they learned about the Nazi race laws of 1935.41 Some newspapers had apparently remarked that the German government promoted an idea of races that was hostile to the Semitic race. The author complained that such reports should either defame the German government, or that they exposed that their authors were not familiar with the contents of the German race laws. Several journalists had taken information from non-trustworthy sources. Some writers referred to German sources that supported the German government. But even they used private views of scholars and political leaders only. Hostile circles, however, tried to show that the government was taking an anti-Semitic stance. To counter this, the author pointed to official information from the German government, such as a speech by Minister of the Interior Wilhelm Frick. He said that Germany was not the first country to establish race laws. He used examples such as the US immigration laws, which were based on race like Australian and Iranian laws. Jewish immigrants stood behind the German race laws as well. The author pointed out explicitly that these were “Jews who are foreigners.” They had great influence in politics, science, finance, and journalism. In my view this stress on the foreign nature of Jews in Germany shows that the readers of al-2Alam al-2Arabi did not find a distinction between non-Jewish and Jewish Germans self-evident, especially at a time when Jews in Iraq presented themselves and were perceived as Iraqis. Hence, the very misleading argument that German racist discrimination was directed against “immigrants” and “foreigners” only. The author based his argument on statistics which said that the percentage of Jews among the population was one-and-a-half percent of the inhabitants. However, Jews made up 48 percent of the doctors, 62 percent in health-related public offices, 52 percent of the lawyers and more than 80 percent of the theatre directors. “Who blames the German nation that in her national awakening she wants to be the master of her house?” The author knew well that this language of national awakening appealed to an Iraqi Arab nationalist debate. “The desire of a nation to liberate herself from the control by a race that does not exceed one and 62

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a half per cent of her population: can we call this desire a ‘campaign against the Semites’?” The author argued that a careful and unprejudiced assessment of the German policy would make clear that the German measures were not against the Jews for their belonging to the Semitic race. Instead, the government was worried that a non-German race would dominate German culture and civilization. The following remark arguably reverberated concerns of Iraqi Jewish merchants: the author assured that the laws did not by any means concern the foreign Jewish colony. They did not forbid Jews to earn their livelihood in free professions. Neither did it occur to Germany to expel the Jews forcibly. Rather, the hostile press transferred fabricated news out of hatred for Germany, whereas the law just abolished an unjust ratio in state employment. The author took it for nonsense that Germany wanted to get rid of the Jews wholesale. Exceptions to the law indicated this: Jews who had been state employees before the First World War, veterans of the First World War, and parents, widows, and children of veterans. In fact, the author provided wrong information, because only Jewish officials who were at the same time veterans kept their salaries until they reached their pension age. Still they were removed from their workplaces. The applicable paragraph of the law said nothing about widows and children.42 Another argument for a somewhat more “humane” outlook on the law was that many Jews and foreigners still received aid for the poor and pensions. The law also contained paragraphs on public health. Hitler had in fact written in Mein Kampf that it was nonsense to quarrel about the importance of races, which had been among the first to carry the banner of culture in the world. The German race law, the author related, did not intend to judge the value of other races, not even the Jewish race. Thus, the author appealed to Iraqi pride in historical achievements as heirs of the Semitic forerunners of human culture. As we shall see later, this topic was of crucial importance in Iraqi Arab nationalist discourse. On the contrary, he wrote that National Socialism acknowledged the pride of peoples and races in their origin and blood. In the last sentence of the article, the author made his motives in writing it explicit. He invited the reader to look at the long-lasting, mutually respectful, and amiable relations between the Arab and German nations. He wrote that Germany regretted the misunderstanding about the issue of races in Arab circles. This article, based on a letter by a German, clearly mirrored the concerns that both Jewish and non-Jewish Iraqis had when they were confronted with the racist policy of the German government. Jews were afraid not only for their co-religionists in Germany. They also saw their business contacts with the country put at risk. Arab Iraqis, who started to discover the Semitic past for the construction of their national pride,43 felt uneasy about the defamation of the Semitic race. To counter this, the author adapted his apology of German racist policy to the local Iraqi Arab discourse: he remarked that Germans were only rejecting alien foreigners to take care of their national awakening. An Iraqi nationalist could hardly reject this term. Furthermore, it is worth noting that al-2Alam al-2Arabi showed a very strong anti-Zionist stance in its articles. It even raised suspicions of Zionist activities in 63

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Iraq. The German’s letter indicates, however, that a racial anti-Jewish stance was alien to the Iraqi context and needed an explanation.44 There remains the question whether the German legation in Baghdad really had influence on al-2Alam al-2Arabi. Scholarly literature provides hints only, based on Western archival sources and not on the contents of the newspaper itself.45 The articles of the newspaper show a certain sympathy for fascist principles and for Germany but mainly by presenting a strong and just Germany. The articles were not fit to create full-fledged sympathy for Nazi ideology in Iraq. Articles such as the one on the Nuremberg laws have a very defensive and apologetic character. Translations from German articles appeared, indeed, but this holds true for English and French articles as well. One such German article in 1934 praised the belief of the Germans in their leader.46 The article said that Germans had an enormous belief in their leader. Up to 90 percent supported him. Hence Germany was united after it had been split before by parties and Bolshevism. The unifying effects of Nazism appealed a lot to the editor of this translation. However, in a different article on how countries had dealt with the threat of terrorism before and after the First World War, Nazi terrorism was mentioned. It had been a rejection of the peace imposed on Germany in Versailles. The author found it likely that German propaganda had driven the murderer of the Austrian chancellor Dollfuß in July 1934 to commit his deed. German sources had accused Dollfuß of selling out his country to the foes of a German–Austrian unification. If al-2Alam al-2Arabi actually received funds from the German legation in Baghdad, it was nevertheless no open transmitter of German propaganda. Hitler did not play a superior role. As usual he came after Atatürk and Mussolini as model leaders. Germany and Italy were a part of “the other,” while Japan, Turkey, and Iran counted among “the own.” German funds might have created sympathy in the newspaper, but probably did not buy it out. Literature refers to the proprietors of newspapers, who received funds from the German legation: “As fanatical Arab nationalists and supporters of Nazism, they would have praised Germany and attacked the British and Jews in any case, but German money naturally helped.”47 This seems to be a viable interpretation except for the exaggeration of a clear-cut support for Nazism. Furthermore, there was no link between sympathy for Germany and the Palestine issue. Sympathy for Germany was embedded in a complex contextual framework. Being anti-British and attacking Jews was a consequence of the Palestine issue and not of German incitement. The demonstrations against the visit of Sir Alfred Mond in 1929 had already proved that. The newspaper al-Istiqlal expressed its sympathy for leadership regimes and fascist principles even clearer than al-2Alam al-2Arabi. An article in May 1935 is a unique example of a direct and explicit reference to an intended adaptation of totalitarian principles by an Iraqi political party.48 2Abd-al-Qadir al-Sayyab, apparently a functionary of the Ikha’ al-Watani party, wrote that the general committee of the party had agreed to stop the sessions of the party and suspend its political activities in order to facilitate a national closing of the ranks. Thus, the nation should face into one direction altogether and should strive for one 64

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common political, economical, and social goal. The current ministry led the way to forget the past and discard party politics in order to enable the people to form a bloc and to lay the foundations for a program of reform in all aspects of life. This call went out to all groups, to great men as well as to the enlightened youth. They should do away with their partisan activities to take each other’s hands and form new ranks. Thus, they should be a model for the nation that desired to keep pace with others that had achieved internal unity for the benefit of the future. al-Sayyab added that Germany, Italy, and Turkey were examples of a revival based on this bloc formation. In Germany, for example, one party controlled the affairs and united most of the sons of the country in its ranks. As a consequence, Germany was overwhelmingly strong and so was Italy. Furthermore, Turkey’s People’s Party had unified the nation. There was not a single Turk whose aims deviated from those of the party. These examples should finally evoke the same good feelings in the Iraqi people to form a single bloc in the near future in order to realize the anticipated reforms. Like no other available article, Sayyab’s announcement drew a direct parallel between fascist bloc formation and Iraqi party politics. Ikha1 al-Watani was the party of Yasin al-Hashimi, who was prime minister at the time. In this context, Yasin’s alleged dictatorial aspirations appear in the gloomy light of totalitarianism. At a later stage of his term, Yasin in fact banned all party activities, including those of his own Ikha1 party.49 Nevertheless, the article still used the Turkish example next to that of Germany as an equal point of orientation. Furthermore, the formation of an Iraqi “bloc” was obviously a chimera with ongoing tribal unrest and conflict with the Kurds in the north, notwithstanding the weak position of the Shiite majority. When a member of the Ikha1 alluded to fascism, it still did not turn it into a viable concept for Iraq. Instead this was part of a language of strength within the range of “Fascist Imagery.” Like al-2Alam al-2Arabi, al-Istiqlal opened its pages to critical voices as well. In one case, such a voice came from a completely unexpected side. Yunus Bahri wrote a travelogue about a trip to Italy in 1935.50 Bahri was the dominant voice of German propaganda in Arabic during the Second World War. As mentioned earlier, Abraham Elkabir referred to him as “Lord Haw Haw.” It is hard to see through his personality, however. He would deserve a biography for himself. The memoirs he wrote are often close to fairy tales.51 In 1934, a Dutch journalist reported about a meeting with Bahri in Baghdad. He introduced him as the editor of the newspaper Al Akab [sic] and as former correspondent in Europe and especially the Netherlands. He had also been editor of a weekly in Batavia, today’s Jakarta. Bahri spoke positively about Dutch colonial policy but complained about the hardships of being a journalist in Baghdad.52 In the early 1940s, he was in Berlin53 but in 1942 already back to the region to gather information for the German Wehrmacht in Persia.54 Haggai Erlich stated that Bahri was an early admirer of Mussolini and worked for the Italian radio propaganda as early as 1934.55 In his 1935 travelogue, however, he wrote that Rome used to be the city of music and arts, the city of 65

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peace and a domain of Catholicism. Yet, in exchange for its gentleness, it had put on the crude clothes of militarism (“jundiyya”). The Fascist youth felt self-assured in them. Bahri wrote that he had not heard anything in Rome but news of war, the voices of demonstrators, and the clamor of youth fanatically supporting colonialism. But when the Duce claimed a place for the sons of the country to turn Italy into ancient Rome, he forgot that there were other nations who wanted the same. Bahri assured that he would have preferred not to visit Rome in times like these because he hated wars and especially colonial wars. Here, the same Bahri, who later on became famous for his violent pro-Nazi propaganda, showed a distaste for Fascism in Italy. He even included militarism and youth in his picture of rejection, a fact that stood in contrast to many other Iraqi statements of the time. We see that in one newspaper one could not expect complete coherence of standpoints. It was not considered a problem to place contradictory opinions next to each other. A further article in al-Istiqlal was arguably a reaction to the German race laws. In March 1936, an author complained that many races (“ 2anasir”) of different peoples and nationalities rushed into the country with a detrimental effect on its capacities and its progress in national unity and the blending of the Arab race (“imtizaj al-2unsur al-2Arabi”).56 The author did not specify at first which foreign races he referred to, but his argument was reminiscent of the apology of the Nuremberg Laws in al-2Alam al-2Arabi. It had said that the laws were only a reaction to unwanted immigration. Furthermore, al-Istiqlal’s wording of the “blending of the Arab race” had an unprecedented racial subtext. The author presented the perfidious methods these foreigners used to enter Iraq and pointed to means to get rid of this foreign influence. He mentioned that the government had taken administrative steps against the influx of foreigners, but he demanded that it should impose a close supervision on those who stayed in the country, without further specification of what origins he wanted to see included (“wa-humu la yamuttuna ila2l-wataniyya au al-2arabiyya bi-sila”). By using the term “wataniyya” for nationality, the author acknowledged at least implicitly that Kurdish citizens, for instance, had rights in Iraq, but he explicitly demanded special rights for non-Iraqi Arabs. His argument culminated in the exclamation that Iraq had to be free from all foreign races and that people had enough of diversity. He even called diversity a disease that could not be exterminated other than by a consolidation of the Iraqi race through Arab nationalism (“al-qaumiyya al-2arabiyya”) and by facilitating the mingling of its sons. Diversity should be suppressed. The author thus made a breakneck detour from Iraqi citizenship, including non-Arabs, over rejection of foreign racial influence to the desired Arabization of the country without spending a word on the contradictory nature of his plans. Arab nationalist discourse was apparently open for this kind of racist argumentation. A brief translation of an interview with Bernard Shaw in the British Daily Express pointed to the racist potential of the newspaper.57 It quoted Shaw’s statement that Hitler’s anti-Jewish policy underlined his fame as a reasonable 66

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man. However, the editor distanced himself to a certain extent from this statement by introducing Shaw as someone who was famous for his frankness and dominant style. However, the selection of this brief piece of translation for publication and the choice of the headline “Bernard Shaw and Hitler’s policy towards the Jews” pointed to a conscious decision by the editor to emphasize this theme, even more so because the German Jewish policy made only a small part of the entire contents of the article. Nevertheless, these more or less openly racist comments were rare in the newspaper and therefore should not be overstated. This sample of articles from al-Istiqlal shows that the newspaper was ready at the time to paint a rather positive picture of Nazi Germany, though the theme did not occupy a prominent place. The articles represent exceptional statements and are not a selection from a vast number of similar products.58 Italy was at times considered a hostile and imperialist state, but it was placed next to Germany and Turkey as successful leadership states, too. They were examples of a focused and concentrated national community of the people. The editors marked very outspoken pro-German comments often as letters to the newspaper from outside. Nevertheless, it appears that the mid-1930s were a time when pro-German statements were considered appropriate. This changed to a certain extent until the turn of the decade. It is worthwhile to take a special look at the press during the time of the Second World War because this period brought a great challenge to politicians, intellectuals, and all those writing in the newspapers. They had to define a new position in the international environment for themselves. With the start of the war, party activities were banned and related newspapers ceased to publish. Some of the remaining newspapers opposed British policy strongly and spread news of Hitler’s victories, among them al-Bilad. It supported the Rashid 2Ali government as well.59 In a somewhat heroic account of a professional survival during the war years, Rufa1il Butti showed that the press was deeply involved in inner-Iraqi conflicts, which the war intensified. He described his personal situation during this time and claimed that he was torn between the establishment and the rising extremists.60 With changing administrations, there were different policies toward papers who openly supported the Axis standpoint. Some journalists tried to appeal to the masses and published German and Axis telegraph reports which provoked British embassy protests. Butti’s account thus supported the assumption that the “street” was with Germany. According to him, the pro-British government under Nuri al-Sa2id (1939 to end of March 1940) tried to suppress pro-German viewpoints in the press. When war broke out, a decree forbade the papers from publishing all wireless news reports that presented the Axis point of view. The censor, however, still permitted publishing extracts from the international radio broadcasts. The government under Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani (end of March 1940 to end of January 1941), however, closed the eyes on German reports. Butti insisted that al-Bilad had no inclination to any government nor to any foreign country. Some smaller newspapers, he added, were bribed to publish articles supporting the democratic 67

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faction in the war. He, however, had not taken bribes during the period because of his patriotic inclination. He only wanted to serve his country. Britain was an ally of Iraq, hence Iraq was obliged to obey this alliance. This counted for the press as well. Al-Bilad, he wrote, adhered to the democratic faction in the opening articles and in its reports on diplomacy and war. Butti found himself between a rock and a hard place, but he proudly confirmed that he managed to guide his paper through these difficult times. He was accused of lacking a nationalist inclination and of corruption, too, but he assured that the accusation was unjustified. Instead, he had always been a committed nationalist. Those who accused him were anti-British forces such as the Young Effendiyya officers and nationalist activists together with the overwhelming majority of male and female students and teachers of the schools. Apparently, even Radio Berlin started to broadcast ugly propaganda against him. Moreover, Nuri’s government attacked Butti, because he accused it for its laxity toward the anti-British activities of al-Istiqlal. According to Butti, the newspaper used the war circumstances for fierce antiBritish propaganda, but Prime Minister Nuri al-Sa2id could not do anything against these activities, even though the palace and “good willing” politicians put pressure on him. The paper received too much support from the public and the military, especially from Salah al-Din al-Sabbagh and the Four Officers, and it supported personalities such as the Mufti Amin al-Husaini. Butti himself added, however, that he could not provide evidence for the allegations against al-Istiqlal.61 After all, it was a matter of propaganda who would report what or would put emphasis on what. The establishment tried to uphold the status quo, which meant that it promoted the British point of view. In that, it was supported by the British embassy. However, the rebellious younger generation, embodied by the officers, pressed for a stand against the establishment and its British allies. An analysis of the press shows that Germany and Nazism were but at the margins of this conflict. They were no explicit weapon in the debate. Butti’s portrayal of the war years until 1941 as a time of conflict and propaganda in the Iraqi press provokes questions. How reliable is Butti’s pro-democratic claim in fact? How did al-Bilad position itself and how did al-Istiqlal? Was the antagonism between the papers as strong as Butti presented it? Quite probably, Butti exaggerated when he wrote his notes in 194262 in defense against the verdict of being pro-Nazi himself. Only a look at the newspapers themselves can provide a more accurate answer. The German declaration One way to compare the stance of al-Bilad and al-Istiqlal is to look into parallel comments on similar issues or events, such as the joint German–Italian declaration that was repeatedly broadcast over German and Italian Arabic radio programs after October 23, 1940. The declaration was a consequence of clandestine diplomatic exchanges between a group of pan-Arab nationalists in Iraq around the 68

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exiled Mufti Amin al-Husaini and the Four Officers on the one side and the German Foreign Office on the other side. In the course of these exchanges, the Iraq group sent an emissary to Berlin in order to negotiate support of the Axis powers for the Arab nationalist struggle against British and French imperialism. The German and Italian diplomats were very hesitant to provide a respective declaration. Consequently, the outcome was of very shallow contents.63 Scholarly literature says that the declaration found a generally positive echo in the Arab East and specifically in Iraq.64 In Baghdad, al-Istiqlal published two comments on it during the week that followed the declaration, al-Bilad published one. In its first comment,65 al-Istiqlal remained reluctant with regard to German promises. The commentator referred to the history of promises made to the Arabs. He probably meant those made to Sherif Husain during the First World War. Ever since, the Arab nation had aimed for nothing but independence and freedom in spite of the breaking of these promises. The present war brought back images from the closer and further past, and it reminded of the deprivation in some lands of their legal rights of freedom and independence. It was the duty of these lands therefore to look out for their chances and profit from them. The author confirmed: “We say this and today we have the German Italian declaration in our hands.” The author asked whether the Axis countries would have issued such a declaration if the Arabs had already obtained their complete rights. The Arab nation contained 70 million people. Thus, it occupied a crucial place in the East. It was decisive in guarding the equilibrium in the region. How should the Arab nation do this unless it became independent and occupied its proper historical place, as the German–Italian declaration promised. He assured readers, however, that the Arab nation only desired to obtain its just place and nothing else. This would be the case even if the war situation were different. The nation looked at the promises from a pragmatic perspective only. Even if they were broken, the Arab nation would continue to fight. The aims of the Arabs were nothing to be afraid of. They had no inclination to any side but to their own benefit only: We do not want to relate anything to this declaration because we do not know what it encloses in regard to the acknowledgement of the standing of the Arabs among the rising nations. [. . .] Let us leave it with this as far as the declaration is concerned, and let us leave it for future days. The position of this article was by no means blindly pro-German. Rather, the author looked out for what was on offer. The basic requirement was neutrality, and the overall goal was to reattain a respected position for the entire Arab nation. The current point of view was one of sit and wait. Nevertheless, there were apparently voices in Baghdad who complained that the paper had taken a position that implied a possible rapprochement with Germany. In its second comment,66 al-Istiqlal assured that the first analysis of the 69

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declaration had been no deep penetration of its implications for the Arab cause. The paper had not intended to create links between the nationalist cause and any state. However, the author assured that a nation with a cause did not reject help. The Arabs were students of justice and would not give up on this, whatever promises were made to them. They would not accept a unity presented by a foreigner. Hence, the newspaper was anxious not to provide a pro-German statement. Even though the first statement had not explicitly taken sides with Germany, al-Istiqlal still thought it was necessary to counter any voice that made allegations of accord. Al-Bilad was even more hesitant to come to a clear judgment about the meaning of the declaration for the Arab cause. Its comment on the Axis declaration67 acknowledged the support from awakened nations and strong states. All awakened nations would strive for freedom. The author, however, assured implicitly that the Arabs had their own sources of strength. They found them in the history of their origins. They would turn their eyes to the great personalities who did not give in to pain and suffering. Iraq had proved in the twenty years of its statehood in the twentieth century that it was worthy of the ancestors who had raised the level of civilization in the Middle Ages. The author also mentioned the two Arab revolts in the Hejaz and in Iraq in 1920. Therefore, Arab hearts would turn calm, when they heard about the new support for their struggle for independence. The Arabs had learned the lesson that only nations that obtained independence with the strength of their forearm, and who relied only on their spirit and on the impact of the worthy sacrifices that their men provided in the field of national defense had the right to prevail. The newspaper thus reiterated much of what its editor, Rufa1il Butti, had outlined in other places. The author mentioned especially the reliance on strength of character and the Darwinist right of the stronger, which the army represented. We see later that these themes were dominant in the Arab nationalist debate of the newspapers, including the reference to a glorious Arab past. However, the author wrote as well that the Arabs had to sit back when they heard such an official declaration and all its promises. First, they had to find out what they would have to give in exchange in terms of loyalty, belief, and generosity. The Arabs were confident in acknowledging that this cooperation between nations and the mutual respect of each other’s rights would bring world peace and humanity forward. Underneath this pathos was a certain tone of uneasiness and a fear of being overrun. Arguably, the author wanted to make the point that the Arabs had a glorious history themselves. Their pride forbade them to accept support that could bring them into an inferior position. The article acknowledged the right of the stronger but proposed a defensive character. There was a lot of skepticism toward promises; Arabs should wait and see what they would have to give in turn. Both al-Istiqlal and al-Bilad showed this skepticism, in spite of Butti’s earlier statement about hostility and political differences between the two papers. When we look at the general position that both of them took during wartime, it seems even less plausible that the newspapers were true opponents on the market of opinions. 70

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Al-Istiqlal’s and al-Bilad’s coverage of the war concentrated on a number of topics: foreign propaganda and its impact on Iraq, the position of smaller countries such as Iraq in the war, and, in the same context, ideological implications. The war was often seen as a struggle between a democratic and a dictatorial faction. Normally, the writers assured that they sided with the democratic faction. Some articles even contained clear anti-Nazi statements. In general, the newspapers did not have a completely straight line. A third Baghdadi newspaper, Saut al-Sha2b, presented a different picture, however: It took a clear anti-German and pro-British stance. A few days after the outbreak of war in Europe al-Istiqlal published a comment by a “great Arab writer.”68 He set the tone for much of the comments that were to follow in the newspapers treated here. The author agreed with the current prime minister that Iraq was unquestionably bound to Britain by the treaty of 1930. As a consequence, Iraq had to grant Britain full access to certain premises such as the railway system. One should not forget, he added, that Iraq’s point of view depended on the opinions of the neighbors and the big active players in this catastrophe. States surrounding Iraq regarded its “nahda” with bewilderment; it had to be strong and therefore needed strong allies. It was not in a position to decline declarations of sympathy and friendship or agreements with these states. (This was written long before the joint German–Italian declaration and therefore probably related to British declarations.) However, Iraq was also not in a position to rely on one side completely as long as the war was undecided and schemes did not change essentially. Iraq’s interests forbade hostility toward anyone unless he had shown hostility. Here, the author justified why Iraq had not declared war on Germany. Hence, the author demanded both loyalty and keeping all options open. He expected that the war would bring Arab independence if only the Arabs were cautious enough. This was a call for an impartial position between the belligerent parties in order to achieve the proper nationalist goals. However, effects of propaganda soon challenged this impartiality. Propaganda The war played a remarkable role in Baghdad’s newspapers. At times, it was more or less the exclusive issue treated on front pages and in the comments. All newspapers printed long excerpts of speeches by Hitler, Churchill, and other Western leaders. At least in the earlier months of the war, there was an overweight of Hitler’s speeches, though. Most of the speeches went without a comment. However, the British embassy raised complaints about this practice of printing Hitler’s speeches and about the fact that the newspapers published German wireless reports on German victories.69 It was a time of war and so there was a struggle of propaganda. The newspaper editors’ policy of publishing numerous warnings against the effects of propaganda mirrored their concern about them. Arguably, they considered these effects as a threat to the earlier even-handed approach. During 71

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the early years of the war there was an overweight of German and Italian propaganda, at least as far as radio broadcasting was concerned. Radio Berlin especially became popular after it started to broadcast in 1939. Before that, the Germans had considered the Arab world mainly as a domain of Italian propaganda in the framework of Mussolini’s “mare nostro” fantasies.70 The Iraqi diplomat Musa Shabandar confirmed in his memoirs that the people were in a position of wait and see while many Arab states were officially bound to the democratic faction. The majority was inclined toward Germany, for feelings of revenge for the pains inflicted on them by imperialism and because of the impressively fast German victories. Shabandar stated that the German propaganda (by the voice of Yunus Bahri) had a great effect, in spite of its foulness. The silence of the allies doubled its impact. The Germans knew to use the Palestine problem against British imperialism and its foster daughter Zionism and world Jewry, as Shabandar phrased it. As in other Arab lands, this issue influenced the feelings of the Iraqis strongly and so did German propaganda.71 In March 1940, al-Bilad published an article that reacted to a German propaganda attack on Nuri al-Sa2id.72 The author wrote that Iraq occupied an important place in Nazi interests, because, unlike most countries of the Near East, it had an independent government. But strategically it was even more important for the British Empire, and it was the spokesman of the Arab nation. Therefore, the Germans were interested in having Iraq as an ally. However, with all Iraqi leaders supporting the Iraqi–British alliance, none would embrace an alignment with Germany. An Iraqi government that combined political and military skills would be against the interest of Germany. Therefore, it was bad luck for the Nazi state that the current Nuri al-Sa2id government was not as it desired: it consisted of the greatest leaders of Iraq, politically and militarily. Britain and the neighbors were aware of that. The author posed the question: “Why that ugly propaganda?” Goebbels, he said, gave an answer. According to him, propaganda did not have to be true, first of all, but it had to be frequent because frequency made the unfamiliar familiar. So al-Bilad assured that Nazi propaganda repeated lies. But not all peoples were as susceptible to that as the Germans. There were reasonable people who recognized hostile aims. For them, a lie remained a lie no matter how often it was repeated. It is remarkable how supportive al-Bilad was of Nuri al-Sa2id and his government in pursuing the endeavor to reject German propaganda. This runs counter to Butti’s claim that his paper did not support any government during the war years. Furthermore, the anti-Nazi stance stood in contrast to Butti’s personal pro-totalitarian inclinations. Officially, the Iraqi government made efforts to counter foreign propaganda. Al-Istiqlal printed a respective speech of the Deputy Director General for Propaganda, 2Abd-al-Majid al-Hashimi, in June. He spoke about “destructive propaganda.”73 The propaganda kept all minds busy in Iraq and dominated discussions. The war was a new challenge because it was a clash between nations rather than an armed clash between two armies. One nation lived on the death of 72

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the other nation. Every son of the countries involved had a share in that fight, and defense was a duty of the entire people. All resources and means had to serve victory, assigned Hashimi. One of these means was propaganda which aimed to turn weak souls and sick hearts into tools to reach the goal. Propaganda created frictions between peoples and governments and different layers of society in order to create insecurity and decrease courage. Hashimi affirmed that the nations had to be wary of two dangers: first, to be overcome by military force, and, second, by fear and hidden activities. The Iraqi government had taken precautions against both dangers when it created a modern army, as well as strength of belief and sacrifice. In the struggle against foreign propaganda, watchfulness was a duty in order to recognize its directions and aims. Especially among the weak, propaganda could bear fruit. Hence, the righteous had to stand up against it. Al-Hashimi took up some familiar themes of pro-totalitarian tendencies among the intellectuals such as the glory of individual sacrifice for the nation and the division of society into weak and strong. In most of the articles of both al-Istiqlal and al-Bilad, the democratic countries emerged victoriously out of the clash of ideologies. Saut al-Sha2b was explicit in its anti-Nazi stance. It stated, in February 1940, that Nazi Germany’s hostility toward the small countries was clear to those who read about it in books and listened to the statements of Nazi leaders. Czechoslovakia and Poland had been enslaved and other countries were under threat. The small and neutral countries in Europe knew well that their fate as independent states depended on a victory of the Allied Forces.74 In the context of a debate on the position of the Arab states in the war, this was a clear statement that small countries like Iraq would suffer from a similar fate under Nazi Germany. In the same context, al-Istiqlal published an article on the imperialist history of Germany in the Middle East in February 1940.75 The author said that Germany tried to deceive the world powerfully and wanted to reject responsibility for the war of 1914 and the current war. However, evidence of history spoke a different language: Germany had dreamed of world rule for a long time. In 1892, a book appeared in Berlin with the title The German World Empire. According to the author, it became the nucleus of the “Germanic Program” (“al-barnamij al-Jirmani”).76 Germany realized a part of the program when the Baghdad Bahn project started in 1895, a project that also granted the right to exploit minerals and the soil along the route. In 1911, Otto Richard Tannenberg published the book Greater Germany, a Product of the 20th Century (“Großdeutschland, die Arbeit des 20. Jahrhunderts”).77 The Emperor turned it into his gospel, implying that “the German people is always right because it is the German people, comprising eighty-seven million compatriots, fighting for the sake of world rule.” Due to this supremacy, the Emperor carried on with his project until it resulted in the destructive war of 1914, judged the author. The striving for colonies was a part of the German program, such as dreams to take possession of Marrakech and Madagascar and of all French colonies with the exception of Algeria, and then to 73

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take over Egypt and the rest of the Arab lands. Indeed, the author’s portrait of Germany ran counter to all images of Germanophilia and of a benevolent Germany, as many researchers have tried to read it into the Iraqi Arab nationalist debate. Instead, the article introduced an aggressive and insatiable Germany of the First World War and drew explicitly a line to the contemporaneous Nazi regime. Once more, this contradicts Butti’s assessment that al-Istiqlal was pro-Nazi. It is evident that the public debate presented a differentiated or even undecided image of Germany. A few weeks before, al-Istiqlal had published a praise of the German soldier specifically under the Nazi regime.78 It drew a line from the army of Frederick the Great, who had made the German army famous for its system and diligence, to the same qualities of the German soldiers in the Napoleonic Wars and in the First World War. The German soldiers of the day were still the same, except that the Nazis had made subtle changes. The author suggested that these changes did not relate to what one would expect, namely, to make the soldier merely a willing tool of influence and obedience. This is a hint that a certain negative image of Nazism was current among the readers of his newspaper. Instead, the Nazis wanted the soldier to be the first to face tasks and to act independently at the right time. Officers were encouraged to mingle with the soldiers even after hours. These reforms were possible because the current leaders of Germany were not of noble origin, had not belonged to the leadership before the present era, and had not occupied ranks higher than Captain in the last war. The author stated, furthermore, that it would be a mistake to undervalue the German army because of a lack of training. The truth was that all Germans, no matter how young, had been members of the Nazi Youth and Nazi Militia for years. Hence, they needed only a final polish once they joined the army. Hundreds of thousands of young men had been trained clandestinely, avoiding the prescriptions of Versailles. Now they formed an army that called out to Hitler to declare war. In a unique way, this article combined several rather contradictory aspects: admiration of a leader coming from lower ranks of society, but at the same time a sort of rejection of Nazi totalitarianism and its de-individualization, as one “would have expected” it from the Nazi grip on the German army. Furthermore, there was a Germanophile admiration of the Prussian-German army. Apparently, people assumed that this army had undergone a decline under Nazi influence because of the demand for blind obedience and through a lack of training. Germanophile admiration for Germany was therefore affected negatively rather than supportively by the Nazi assumption of power. On the other hand, however, the author pointed to efficiency of paramilitary training of the youth as a means to strengthen the army. In the context of the Iraqi debate on youth, this was clearly a hint at Nazi Germany as a functional model. Nevertheless, the majority of al-Istiqlal’s articles showed at least no clear sympathy for the Nazis and their progress in the war. In September 1940, the newspaper published a statement that rejected the German onslaught outspokenly as a failure of European culture.79 The Battle over Britain showed both the 74

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eruptive spirit of the Germans and the cooperative spirit of the British in their heroism even though they witnessed destruction and downfall. The Germans, on the contrary, cast away “generously” the finest of their youth to innumerable death and sacrifice. The author pointed out that the Germans should better cultivate the youth like flowers in their gardens and thickets. They should fertilize them with the lively youthful spirit of chivalry (“futuwwa”), and endow them with strength of mind and body to hold up the banners of culture and civilization. This was an allusion to the debate on Futuwwa that will be discussed later. Thus, the Iraqi promotion of Futuwwa appeared as productive for society, while the Nazis’ view discarded their best. In general, peoples had to throw a sorrowful glance at this war, where the big threatened the small. The Arabs belonged to the people who looked upon this abominable war that raged in Europe and later would spread beyond its borders. They found the means of killing disgusting. Their souls rejected the unlimited cruelty between brothers, and they looked full of doubts upon civilization. The author demanded complete watchfulness on a path that provoked treason on one side and offered benefit from another one. On a well-trodden path, there would be no confusion. Here, the author implied a certain moral superiority of the small countries, including the Arabs, over the big countries. Still, he suggested that the Arabs should not experiment with new alliances. There was insecurity about what side to join, especially with the mounting success of the German troops. In August, al-Istiqlal admired the sense of strength all over Germany. Everyone carried it, from the greatest leader to the greatest soldier, especially after the achievements in war.80 Another article portrayed the war as a struggle between systems, which was far from decided.81 Without specifying, the author of the article predicted that many systems that were born in the nineteenth century would fall down as a consequence of the prevailing catastrophe in the middle of the twentieth century. New systems would enter a competition and dissolve. The winner in the war would determine the outcome. Probably, the author counted fascism and communism among the new systems, while he may have had systems such as imperialism, representative democracy, or authoritarian nationalism in mind when he referred to the nineteenth century. He assured that Nazism and Fascism would spread when the Germans and their allies would be victorious. However, he did not see a benefit in that, because he thought that they aspired nothing but German or Italian greatness and welfare. They had in mind to exploit the facilities of the peoples of the earth to refresh themselves. When the two would have to do without this refreshment for a longer period, others would profit and a new system would seek imperialist benefit. People, however, were wary of despotism. The harmony and the awakening of the countries were present in their intellectual as well as their bloody revolutions, in spite of the bonds to Britain through treaties and promises that disagreed with each other in their spirit. The author stated that the Arabs wondered and waited with patience for the things to come. While this author at al-Istiqlal considered Britain as an imperialist power, Saut al-Sha2b saw in Britain a promoter of democracy and liberalism, first of all.82 75

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War was the defeat of civilization, above all. People were in an age of aviation, radio, and electricity. Civilization had achieved so much from the efforts of scientists and philosophers. But during a war, the killing and destruction and soiling of the sacred altar of humanity contradicted civilization. The author was sure that democracy would prevail, however. It was the Sunna of Allah and of his prophets, and the Sunna of the revealed books that the rule of a single individual (“fard”) was an immoral rule, as much as the control of one generation (“jil”) of people over another deviated from the divine teachings and was incompatible with human dignity (“karama insaniyya”). These statements are very remarkable, because the author raised the moral issue of civilization to a religious sphere. He combined the achievements of Western civilization, including technology and democracy, with the divine revelation. The author concluded that to support democracy meant to support justice. The reference to Islam as a harbinger of democracy stands in sharp contrast to, for instance, a reported statement by Hasan Abu-Sa2ud. He was an aide of Amin al-Husaini while he was hosted by the Nazi regime during the war. In a lecture delivered in Berlin in 1942, he “went as far as suggesting that Muhammad had established an authoritarian system not politically dissimilar to fascism or Nazism, while Islam and western democracy were essentially incompatible.”83 The context in which to interpret the statement of Hasan Abu-Sa2ud is, of course, completely different, because he was an exile in a Nazi environment. Saut al-Sha2b presented its critical standpoint most clearly in a series of short commentaries that appeared regularly on the front page under the title “Sawanih” (“thoughts”). The author of Sawanih, probably the editor of the newspaper, treated the familiar topics in an often jocular manner. In March 1940, he criticized the practice of propaganda by both war parties. The German propaganda, however, seemed more detrimental.84 People tended to believe well fabricated lies more than bare truth. For instance, when listeners heard news such as “German submarines sunk a number of ships” you would only hear “true, true,” but if the radio said that the English sunk one submarine, people would say “lie, lie, what a propaganda!” The author wondered how people in Iraq could trust a word coming from Berlin or London over thousands of miles, while a word in Iraq traveled hardly a few meters before it had already changed its contents. Later, the author of “Sawanih” reported that he had a friend who preferred Radio Berlin and Rome over Radio London, because he was not interested in news but rather in jokes.85 On several occasions, “Sawanih” pointed to the superiority of the British over the Germans because they were more patient and cooler. This related, surely, to Britain’s situation in the Battle over Britain at the time. In August 1940, an article appeared that compared the characters of the nations.86 Germans had a habit of speed and English of slowness. Therefore, Hitler wanted to finish the war with lightning strikes, while Churchill wanted to bring it to an end by starving out Germany. The author recounted a joke to underline this difference in character: a German and an Englishman drove their cars on a bridge in opposite directions 76

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until they met in the middle. However, the way was wide enough to offer space for one vehicle only. At first, none of them gave in. After a while, the German issued a declaration of about three hundred pages detailing why the English should retreat. The English, however, did not move at all but answered in a cool manner: “When you have finished reading it, let me know, so that I can read it, too.” Over that, the German got mad and drove his car back to give way. The British, “Sawanih” implied, were more reliable than the Germans. In September 1940, it compared the bargaining in Baghdad’s markets to the offers of the war nations. Thus, he implicitly answered the question of what side to take in the war.87 In Baghdad, customer and salesman settled the price between the salesman’s offer and the customer’s reaction to it. In regard to the costs of war, as Italy and Germany presented them on the one side and Britain on the other side, the author believed that the prices offered by Britain were fixed prices. Britain was more accountable. “Sawanih” also recounted a fable on Germany and Czechoslovakia.88 The wolf said to the lamb that it disturbed his waters while drinking from a brook. The lamb replied that it was impossible, because it was standing downstream. But the wolf said to the lamb that it had insulted him the year before. However, the lamb replied that it was only half a year old. Then the wolf said that it must have been its father, uncle, or grandfather and swallowed it. In the same manner Germany had said to Czechoslovakia that it had mistreated the Sudeten Germans. It said something similar to the Polish people, the Danish, the Norwegians, the Dutch, and the Belgians. Last, the Greek had “provoked” the Albanians until the Italians had lost patience and the armies of the Axis states had struck Greece. For a reader who followed the current events, it was clear that Germany and Italy were as greedy as a hungry wolf. Among the sources presented here, Saut al-Sha2b contained a few of the rare comments on the persecution of the Jews in Germany. They were located in a wider context of German greed and violence. In “Sawanih”, a story about a church sacristan provided such a hint at Nazi racism.89 The sacristan drank too much alcohol until it affected his health. A priest told him that alcohol was the greatest enemy of man. He replied that in the church they said: love your enemies, and so he loved alcohol. The priest replied again that he had said in church that they should love their enemies but not that they should swallow them. The author used this story as a metaphor for Hitler’s treatment of other races: he did not drink but still he resembled the drunkard. He had declared in his book Mein Kampf that the non-Germanic races were backward and detrimental to the progress of civilization. Still he tried to swallow them! Hence, the author implied that this greed would finally be bad for Hitler’s and Germany’s health. In a more sincere commentary, another author considered Nazi persecution as an example of the general failure of Western civilization in the war.90 The Nazis were not even satisfied with the persecution of the Jews, they even started to persecute the church, in which they were a member of themselves. They even started to form a new religion. Arguably, the author subscribed to a perception 77

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that regarded the Jews as alien to Europe. Therefore, he found the persecution of Christians even more absurd. Still, this was a strong criticism of any racist persecution. The author remarked that materialist Europe could still learn a lesson from the East, where it had taken its religion, philosophy, and wisdom from. At the least, we can conclude that Saut al-Sha2b followed a clear antiNazi line during the first few years of war. Even if we pose the question how representative the newspapers were for public opinion, British complaints about a general pro-Nazi stance of the Iraqi press seem quite unjustified. If suspicions are accurate that some newspapers of Baghdad were funded by the German mission in the 1930s, it would not be astonishing if Saut al-Sha2b, in turn, was close to the British embassy. To sum up, the newspapers were undecided about the right side to take in the war. They did not suggest a clear alliance. There were clear anti-German standpoints, but also statements of admiration, to say the least. General cultural criticism of the onslaught was a dominant topic. The persecution of the Jews in Germany hardly came up in the debate at all.

“Fascist Imagery” The discussion of pro-totalitarian tendencies among a generation of intellectuals, as well as the inquiry into directions of a representation of Germany in Iraqi newspapers, has so far brought up a number of issues. Central to the debate were not only character and strength, as well as personal sacrifice, but also a certain role of youth and the desire for leadership. These themes, however, moved in a wider discursive context. For instance, a theme such as leadership was linked preferably to neighboring examples such as Turkish Kemalism. Themes of strength and character were most of the time related to topics of youth and its formation. In that context, nationalist discourse portrayed youth in highly gendered terms, thus drawing parallels to European debates on masculinity. In early April 1941, a military coup brought Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani and his Government of National Defense to power. Rufa1il Butti stated that the new government tried to push him to publish only the news that the directorate general for propaganda gave out. (Significantly, these news dispatches were based on Reuters reports.) In reaction to this pressure, he and a few other editors decided to stop publishing, but the prime minister convinced him to resume shortly afterwards.91 Apparently, Butti’s newspaper was important for Rashid 2Ali. An article that al-Bilad published soon after the coup tells why. It praised the new regime using a terminology that represented much of the pro-totalitarian vocabulary that was popular at the time.92 Again, this fact ran counter to Butti’s claim that he remained impartial during the war years. The author of the article declared that the change of government was a historical moment, a projection of the greatness of the army, of the leadership, and notably of the people. The nation was done now with the lazy, the weak citizens, the witty, and those who had to be put down without pity. Here, the article showed clear connotations of 78

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fascist demands as well as the totalitarian pressure to bring all members of the society in line. Next to an honorable army, the country had a leader in Rashid 2Ali, stated the author. From its natural disposition, the people of Iraq were both peaceful and ready to defend themselves, a disposition only prevalent in people whose awakening was deeply rooted in culture. The Arab nation had now gone through turmoil and had achieved its awakening to make a new power, and a leader arise in one of its parts. Hence, the author no longer distinguished between Iraq, the country in particular, and the Arab world in general when he referred to “people.” Apparently, he wrote about the Arab people but ignored the connotations that this had for Iraqi Kurds, for instance. He appealed to leadership and legitimized it with the inherent historical strength of the Arab people rather than current achievements. It is significant that the author mentioned the Hashemite king for the first time only at the very end of the article: army, leader, and people turned the throne of Faisal II into a true pillar. The author closed with the following exclamation: “Long live the people, long live the king, long live the people, long live the army, long live the leader.” If we regard this as a climactic order, the author placed the king on a rather low level, flanked by the people, and put most emphasis on the leader. Leadership was hence not expected from Faisal’s throne. The article contained three main themes of an Arab revival in Iraq: leadership, military strength, and strength handed down by the ancestors’ example.93 Indeed, this terminology of leadership connected to “people” could not but make British observers suspicious of closer ties between the Iraqi nationalists and the Nazis in 1941. In a wider context, however, this terminology emerged out of a strongly established nationalist discourse that had developed during the 1930s and earlier. Habazbuz As shown in Chapter 3, it is a widespread assumption that many Arab nationalists considered Germany’s belligerent unification of 1871 as a model for nationalist rebirth. This image referred to traditional patterns of Germanophilia inherited from a Sherifian officer tradition. As the example of Ja2far al-2Askari shows, the militarism of Germany prior to the First World War served as a model for the envisaged nationalist militarization of the Iraqi state, because the Sherifian officers had learned to admire Germany during their Ottoman military education. However, among the intellectuals of the 1930s, there were no national preferences in the selection of models. Militarism did not need a German model but could also refer to the Ottoman heritage. The satirical journal Habazbuz is a strong example for the promotion of such a view of an Iraqi soldierly mentality. The genre “satirical journal” did not turn Habazbuz into an oppositional forum, though. Satire functioned in the form of a specific style of text. A typical structure of a satirical piece was, for instance, that the harlequinesque character Habazbuz encountered someone to pose a question 79

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to him, or that he simply raised an issue as an introduction into the topic of the article. Habazbuz then usually commented on this issue at length, quoting either from other texts or from interviews. Most of them were made up and some were written in the vernacular. Often the introductory plot was more or less unrelated to the issues treated in the main part of the article. The humorist side of the texts was either in the funny personalities and their comportment, or in the irony of the selection of examples or quotes to underline certain standpoints. These standpoints, however, rarely seemed to be of oppositional character to the state and its nationalist doctrine. On the contrary, Habazbuz was a supporter of the nationalist doctrine. The humorist context served as a didactical vehicle. In an article on the “sacred military spirit” (“Al-Jundiyya al-muqaddasa”),94 Habazbuz referred to jundiyya as a theme in nationalist discourse. It claimed that a truly strong nation required a strong army to rise again. The story went that Habazbuz was in bed with fever, when “one of the well known 2ulama1 ” came to see him and asked him whether he knew “the Pasha.” “What Pasha? There are no more Pashas,” replied Habazbuz. The 2alim said: “No: Bakr Sidqi Pasha.” And Habazbuz claimed that, indeed, he knew him, was even “like a brother to him.” The 2alim’s plea was that Habazbuz should talk to Bakr Sidqi to get his son exempted from military service. Habazbuz became angry because, as he wrote, the 2alim should have known that he stemmed from a family of soldiers. Habazbuz stressed that the Iraqis had forgotten their military soul: “Do you know what is the greatest loss of the occupation of this country?”, he asked. They have made us forget the taste of jundiyya, and blinded our eyes with black oil. There were times when an Iraqi would take pride in being a soldier. [. . .] And it was the hope and wish of an Iraqi youngster to become an officer and defend his country. Habazbuz claimed that “ten years of occupation had made the new generation forget the taste of jundiyya, which was the basic founding stone of every nation.” The article presented militarism as both a modern achievement and an ancient heritage. Habazbuz introduced the 2alim in a jocular manner as someone who was hopelessly backward. He even had not learned to distinguish between the new military leaders and the Ottoman officers, who used to be called “Pashas.” Because of this backwardness, he surely could not grasp the importance of the army and the newly established compulsory military service. The military was of crucial importance for the representation of the state and its modernity. Hence, Habazbuz was stunned and angry, not only about the backwardness of the 2alim but also because of his own soldierly lineage as well: all his ancestors had been soldiers, and he even claimed that he would immediately give away his son for the military if he only had one. Hence, it is evident that militarism did not need Germanophilia. It also referred to an Iraqi officer tradition which was a genuine Iraqi gift within the Ottoman tradition. Moreover, Habazbuz claimed that Iraqis had an ancient soldierly mentality, corrupted through colonial dependence. As we 80

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shall see later, the linkage of Iraqi military spirit to the ancient past was a common topos of nationalist discourse. But Habazbuz also ridiculed the militarism of the younger generation of Iraqi intellectuals. In an article of December 1936, he criticized the practice of the authorities to assign unsuitable journalists to military events, such as the maneuvers of the Iraqi army.95 On the day when Habazbuz heard about the maneuvers, one of the “old officers” came to his office. He learned from the officer that he was not among the observers of the maneuvers; neither was 2Abd-al-Ghaffur al-Badri, founder of al-Istiqlal and a hero of the 1920 Revolt. Habazbuz was astonished because they were the only journalists who were old Arab Muslim soldiers. The old soldier asked who was there to interpret the maneuvers instead of them. Habazbuz answered that among them was Rufa1il Butti who had been a highly decorated soldier at the side of Kemal Atatürk. In fact, Butti had been in secondary education during the First World War. Habazbuz thus used sarcasm once more to underline what he considered an absurdity: to deploy Butti for military reportage. In the same way, Habazbuz ridiculed other members of the press delegation, such as Taufiq al-Sam2ani, editor of al-Zaman.96 He depicted them as great Ottoman Arab officers who had fought at the side of German generals. Sam2ani, however, was a Christian monk and a colleague of Butti as a teacher in Mosul and Baghdad. Later, he left the order and became a journalist.97 Yusuf Harmuz, the editor of Saut al-Sha2b “al-ghair masmu2,” the voice “unheard,” was a great soldier because he had assisted Yusuf al-2Azma at the battle of Maisalun, and so on. With this satire, Habazbuz expressed his admiration for the old Ottoman officers. In context with his other comments on military spirit, he portrayed them implicitly as its true source, instead of the current army. He had apparently a low opinion of the military spirit of his contemporaries and colleagues, such as Butti. Habazbuz neither used Germany as a model for the old officers, nor for the modern army. The old officers were genuine Iraqi soldiers for him, while the current army was a shadow of the old Iraqi military spirit. From Habazbuz’ perspective, the Ottoman tradition was equal to that of the German ally during the First World War. It is remarkable that Habazbuz put emphasis on an Iraqi national tradition as opposed to an Arab one, thus following the current of Bakr Sidqi’s Iraqism. Where Turkey was considered a leading Middle Eastern nation in military concerns, it also provided the outstanding example for leadership. Bakr Sidqi favored Kemalist authoritarianism, in particular.98 In the aforementioned article “Al-Jundiyya al-muqaddasa,” Habazbuz continued his speech to the 2alim and said that a national awakening in Iraq needed a strong army under a strong soldierly leadership. He related, “Here are some examples for you” of the benefactors of countries, and he mentioned Iran, Turkey, Germany, and Italy. He stressed the existence of four leaders in these countries, in the following order: Reza Shah, Atatürk, Hitler, and Mussolini, emphasizing that all of them had been brave soldiers. Hence, the leaders of model countries had to be examples for military spirit as well. The awakening of the model countries had come through their “jundiyya.” Nevertheless, his ideal of jundiyya was the old Iraqi soldierly 81

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mentality. Through the link he made to his ancestors, it was an Ottoman quality as well. Hitler and Mussolini thus appeared as soldiers, not as fascist ideologues. In a further article, Habazbuz was even clearer in his ranking of leaders.99 He reminded his readers of the desparate situation in which Kemal Atatürk had found himself and his Turkish fatherland after the defeat of the Ottoman Empire. Still, Habazbuz stressed that the Turkish leader had kept his faith and took the first step to the Turkish awakening with many steps to follow and many “nahda”s to follow, which had no equal in history. Consequently, Habazbuz posed the question: “Where are Hitler and Mussolini and others if compared to Kemal Atatürk? They built the existence of their peoples on something that was there, but Atatürk created new Turkey from nothing!” Habazbuz continued to ask where they and other dictators of today were as compared to the great man of the East? We do not want to put them into a cultural equilibrium because we believe in the word of god: Do you believe that those who know and those who do not know are equal? Thus, he rejected that a Western infidel could match a Muslim like Atatürk, adding that he would also not want to compare the two fascist dictators to Atatürk because, unlike him, they had not achieved the status of “first soldier” in the armed forces. However, Habazbuz did compare Hitler and Mussolini to Atatürk in terms of their achievements. When Hitler came to power, Germany had been at the forefront of Western culture before and after the First World War. He did not found a new culture in it, except for his shaking of its old financial foundations through the persecution of the capitalist races (“ 2anasir al-mal”), who for Habazbuz (who seemingly had an anti-Jewish attitude in general) were the Jews “of course” (“al-Yahud tab2an!”) and except for the objective to clear Germany of communism and replace it with Nazism. In the same manner, Habazbuz stated that Mussolini’s only achievements were his fight against the Italian socialist party, which, he remarked, had been his own party before, and the replacement of communism with fascism. His galloping hopes and dreams made him press for his desired goal to revive ancient Rome and imperialism and to enslave weak people. “Whatever it may cost him,” he announced himself Protector of Islam and the Muslims (“hami al-islam wa1l-muslimin”),100 while he was a neighbor of the Vatican and “one of those who believe in the teachings of the church of St Peter.” Atatürk, however, had turned Turkey upside down. To illustrate that in a humorist style, Habazbuz used the somewhat racist picture that Mustafa Kemal took a savage from untamed Africa, put him into the “oven of awakening” (“furn al-nahda”). After ten years, he pulled him out as a modern man in French dress (“rajul 2asri fi badlat al-bunjur”). But even though he carried degrees from Oxford, Cambridge, and the Sorbonne, he remained a faithful Muslim, explained Habazbuz. He started to receive a salary from the republic and decided to use it to raise the poorest children with a favorable education. Later, he became a peasant to introduce modern agriculture, before he returned the farms to the 82

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people. At the end, Habazbuz wrote that he even donated his life to the state treasury. Clearly, there was sarcasm in Habazbuz’ statements on the exchange of communism for fascism in both Germany and Italy. Habazbuz’ image of the modern “Easterner” was a person with Western habits but aware of his Muslim predicament. His description of the new Turkish republican suggested that Habazbuz was close to socialist ideas like those propagated by the Ahali group. Al-Ahali ruled the day during Habazbuz’s time of writing. However, his treatment of communists in other articles made obvious that he found it quite ridiculous to insist on any sort of ideological adherence. In July 1937, he presented a satirical picture of activists who stemmed from wealthy background but still claimed to be communists. Habazbuz complained that they received their strength from the ignorance of the people who were prepared to dance to every tune they heard if only strong hands beat the rhythm.101 As the Iraqi Communist Party was still an “embryonic” movement then,102 Habazbuz maybe referred more to the moderately socialist Ahali group in the government during Bakr Sidqi’s time. Habazbuz showed further distaste for ideologies when he ridiculed the communists’ stance toward women and marriage. In an article of August 1937, he complained that words such as virtue and honor had no meaning in communism because they had no material value. Thus, women had to undertake all sorts of immoral relationships in Soviet Russia, when they came of age and were not in a relationship. They had to register with the police, would receive a booklet, and were supposed to have sexual intercourse at least twice a week. If they failed to note as many in their booklets, they were sent to army units to fulfill their duty there under the threat of severe punishment. Getting married was an affair of bureaucracy that took half an hour. Children were taken away from their parents and sent to special institutions. Habazbuz wondered whether Iraq was really the right soil in which to sow the seeds of communism then.103 One of the “rogues” of Iraq’s interwar historiography is Sami Shaukat. Unfortunately, only bits and pieces of his biography are known. Nevertheless, his personality requires some separate space in this study. He held several official functions and appeared frequently in the Iraqi media of the 1930s. There is a bulk of references to him in studies on extremist nationalism in Iraq of the time. He was accused of being one of the forerunners of the dissemination of pro-Nazi and racist thought among the youth. Shaukat was born in 1893.104 In a speech to fifth-grade students at the Central Secondary School, he mentioned that he had been a student at an Ottoman “I2dadi” school during the Young Turk Revolution of 1908.105 In Iraq, he entered political functions in the early 1930s.106 Kamil al-Jadirji, a member of the leftist Ahali group, was full of contempt for Shaukat. Jadirji’s son Rif2at recalled that his father often told the story of a school trip in their boyhood to an ancient site. Sami climbed and kicked the debris with his feet, demanding in rage that the ruins should be destroyed because they were not Arab. Kamil al-Jadirji stated that this ignorance led to chauvinism.107 He was an opponent of a pro-German position during the war and was very enthusiastic 83

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about the confrontation between democracy and fascism, especially after Churchill’s “Blood, Sweat and Tears” speech during the Battle over Britain in fall 1940.108 In January 1946, Kamil al-Jadirji attacked Sami Shaukat in the Ahali newspaper with an article titled “Mussolini of Iraq” (“Muzuli [sic] al-2Iraq”). At the time, Shaukat was about to found a new party. The article accused him of fascist tendencies in the past and present. The author referred directly to Shaukat’s former function as “Hami al-Futuwwa,” the “Protector” of the Iraqi youth movement, and to his crucial book Hadhihi Ahdafuna,109 a publication of 1939 that contained many of his speeches and articles related to the forming of Iraqi youth. The author accused Shaukat of “aggressive nationalism, a nationalism of strength, of blood, fire and destruction.” The same newspaper attacked Sami Shaukat in a series of articles under the title “Evocation of Fascism in Iraq.”110 An analysis of Sami Shaukat’s writings and speeches can help to clarify whether this allegation was based on ideological contents of his thought, or whether it was a polemic attack against Shaukat’s chauvinistic appearance as “Hami al-Futuwwa,” leading Futuwwa parades on horseback. Rufa1il Butti recounted that Sami Shaukat initiated new enthusiasm in education through the spirit of chivalry, or “Futuwwa,” when he entered the Directorate General for Education in the early 1930s. He gave speeches and incited the youth to arm themselves with the doctrine of strength and Futuwwa in life, in order to create a new generation. Butti described that Shaukat popagated these ideas “in the manner of Doctor Goebbels.” Apparently, people mocked him for this authoritarian habit. When he tried to teach the youngsters the “profession of death” (“Sina2at al-Maut”) in one of his infamous speeches held in 1933, Hanna Khayat, director general for health, wrote, “The profession of death is the work of an ignorant medic known in the world of medicine.” A local paper placed this comment in a prominent place, opposing the policy of Sami Shaukat. The speech, however, found a wide circulation in government schools.111 Most of Shaukat’s quotations in the literature stem from Hadhihi Ahdafuna, including the speech “The Profession of Death.”112 Al-Istiqlal published a digest of two reviews of the book. Zaki Mubarak from Egypt and 2Abd-al-Rahman al-Shahbandar from Damascus praised the book wholeheartedly. Mubarak wrote about Shaukat: “Oh friend [. . .]! God may turn you into a model for those who serve education in the rest of the Arab lands.”113 Since Sylvia Haim has published this infamous speech, writers have associated Shaukat with pro-German and pro-Nazi currents in Iraqi.114 The appointment of the ardent nationalist as director general of education in 1939 is said to have marked the climax of pan-Arabism in education and it was “strongly influenced by German ideas of nationalism.”115 In contrast to this assumption, Sami Shaukat wrote a lengthy article for al-Istiqlal comparing different peoples’ sources of strength.116 Diverse channels could bring an awakening, dependent on the national character, he claimed. Shaukat ridiculed the desire of the peoples to be like Great Britain and the USA in order to equal them in their power. Shaukat explained that Britain and America were considered exceptional as the 84

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acknowledged democratic countries, because their peoples imposed everything they wanted on their governments, and they obeyed their people’s will. The other peoples of the world exceeded each other in their ambitions to be like these two peoples for the good or for the bad. To contrast this ambition, Shaukat put much emphasis on his opinion that every nation had its psychological peculiarities. They weighed heavier than other customs and characteristics that were common to all mankind. The Germans, Shaukat said, were known for their military spirit, and their affection and love for the system. If their restoration came through the military and the dissemination of military spirit, then their restoration would find fertile ground. Only briefly, Shaukat mentioned that in those terms the Germans were second to the Turks, probably pointing to the Kemalist reforms. Shaukat continued to evaluate the cultural and mental capacities of different peoples for a “nahda”: the French and other Roman nations were in love with arts and poetry and glorified the woman, and thus they were prepared for an awakening through literature, poetry, and the female in society. Indians and Persians were dominantly religious. Therefore, they had to look after the religious people and institutions. While the Englishman’s success was embedded in his noble character and politeness, the Jew was in love with gold. The Japanese had a natural disposition for ardent nationalism and self-sacrifice. The Arabs’ special quality was their pride and devotion to kin and ancestors. In a comparison of these different qualities to the mainstream of the Arab nationalist discourse in Iraq of the time, Shaukat would have probably identified with Germans and Japanese. Military and strength of character were favorite themes of nationalist writers. The more astonishing it is, then, that Shaukat stated that the Arabs had certain psychological similarities with the English. Only an elevation of their moral qualities would bring their awakening. The Arab’s soul, said Shaukat, was not satisfied with military or economic renaissance, or scientific awakening. Shaukat thus virtually rejected German militarism, but he concluded next that the Arab’s awakening through strength of character needed the example of a leader: pillars of good character who had the last word on every thought or principle that emerged. Shaukat’s statements show that a fascist principle like superior leadership provided an example for a revival of national strength in defense against the democratic but imperialist powers of Britain and France. The interest in specific ideologies was superficial, though. Germany belonged to strong model nations alongside others only, such as Turkey, Iran, or Japan. However, Shaukat did not attribute strength and awakening to a specific country. He even placed the Arab character next to the British one, a power that was the foremost adversary of Arab nationalism in the eyes of nationalist writers. Shaukat had no clear Germanophile inclination, even though he belonged to the Sherifian generation of Istanbul graduates. At a festival for the anniversary of the Arab Revolt, he gave a speech and referred to the origins of Arab consciousness in the Young Turk movement.117 For him the Young Turks represented the split of the society into old and young, where the young adhered to new principles. 85

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He thus implicitly created a link between the Iraqi youth debate and Ottoman Turkey. While he had attended the medical college in Istanbul, Shaukat had observed that the young were strong in affection and in their aims, whereas the old adhered to the religious traditions and those of the Ottoman Empire. Violent clashes between the two groups took place, but the shabab always prevailed. It is interesting that Shaukat referred to this generational divide, even though he did not belong to the shabab but rather to the old generation of Iraq. Apparently, his speech provided an educative impetus to strengthen and discipline the younger generation. Shaukat went on that the Arabs had agreed with the Young Turks. The future belonged to the shabab. Later, when the Arabs heard news about the Arab Revolt in the Hejaz, they took up plans for a bi-national Arab and Turkish state, because they were ignorant of Arab history. At school, they had only learned European and Ottoman history. For Shaukat, a national history was thus a prerequisite of national revival. The Arabs, he emphasized, found out that, next to Arab history, the histories of the other nations would appear small. Arabs then became proud and committed to a restoration of glory. This genuine cause was therefore Ottoman incited. The Ottoman state, said Shaukat, had been bound to disappear regardless of victory or defeat. He was sure that Germany would have put her hands on the rest of the Ottoman economic facilities had it won the war. It would have colonized all rich parts of the Ottoman territories. Either the Germans would have enslaved the Arab lands or the victorious Turks, or as it actually happened, the Allies. Indeed, these statements show no signs of pro-German sentiments at all. Studies on interwar Iraq present Shaukat as a major representative of anti-Semitic tendencies in Iraq because [u]nder Dr. Sami Shaukat [. . .] fanatic statism on the Nazi model, heavily imbued with anti-Semitism, was inculcated in the school system [. . .]. In fact, in one of his addresses to educators, he branded the Jews as the enemy from within, who should be treated accordingly, and in another he praised Hitler and Mussolini for making the eradication of their internal enemies, the Jews, a cornerstone of their own national revivals.118 However, the original text of Sami Shaukat’s speeches reveals that the allegation rested on a misunderstanding. For instance, where Shaukat supposedly stained the Jews as enemies from within, he actually did not mention Jews at all.119 In his speech, Shaukat identified two enemies of the Umma, one internal and one external, while the internal one was more serious. The internal one sold out culture and tried to Westernize education. Thus, the internal and external enemy formed an alliance that affected all aspects of social life. Shaukat named Turkey and Iran before their awakening as outstanding examples for this danger. Both countries were “reborn” even though they were rotten because of colonialism and control

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by the great powers. In foreign propaganda, the states became examples of weakness. When Atatürk and Pahlavi set out to liberate the countries, they first did away with the internal and external enemies without mercy. Here, Shaukat added that Hitler and Mussolini did the same. However, he mentions them in the context of a general nahda only, Turkey and Iran being examples that were more prominent. Shaukat then compared the contemporary state of the Arab states to that of Turkey and Iran in the wake of their nahda. When people looked behind bad propaganda, the Arabs would realize that their bad situation was only due to foreign interference. Arabs would have to fight the internal enemy as the Turks and the Persians had done. Among the means that Shaukat mentioned was the control of nongovernment schools, their curricula, and staff as well as their nationalist attitude. Considering the aforementioned importance of Jewish schooling in Iraq and the role it gave to the Jews after the foundation of the state, one may interpret Shaukat’s statements as at least directed against the Jewish community of Baghdad. However, it is an overstatement to read overt anti-Semitism into this. The context provides that Shaukat referred to the Ottoman example and the large impact of denominational schools, such as Christian schools, as well. Hence, “enemies from within” were not as ethnically defined as in the Nazi sense. A second reference refers to a further speech that Shaukat gave to a delegation of the Damascene Arab Club in Baghdad on November 23, 1938.120 Shaukat’s remarks in that speech show open anti-Jewism. He claimed that peoples such as the Chaldeans or the Asyyrians in Iraq, and the Phoenicians in Syria, were Semites but had nearly died out, except for the Arab branch that grew steadily after the appearance of “the most beautiful and merciful and most holy of its sons, Muhammad.” Only the “Israelites” deviated from their origin to treat it with hostility time and again. They used their endowments from god in terms of wealth and financial power to bring damage to the community which they had been admitted to. If god had led them on the right way with a political view reaching as far as their perception of money and economy, they would have cooperated with the Arabs to create an Arab Empire, said Shaukat. They had amalgamated with the Umma, had returned to her, and become Arab, as it had turned out for the Chaldeans and the Semites of their like. Shaukat thus did not reject the Jews based on a supposed racial inferiority, as European anti-Semitism did. Rather, he considered them as the tribe that had gone astray in the development of the larger Semitic framework. It would have been a better choice to submit to Arab leadership, which, according to Shaukat’s interpretation, Muhammad had offered through the spread of Islam and the submission of the other Semitic tribes under the new religion. Thus Shaukat’s statements echoed a Western concept of prejudice – the international Jewish conspiracy as represented in the Jewish international capital being detrimental for all hosting societies – but he reshaped it to fit into the local discourse, acknowledging that a rejection of the Jews on the basis of anti-Semitic racism would backfire to the Arabs. Instead, Shaukat encouraged the Jews to “drop a useless affair” – surely, he meant the Zionist project in

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Palestine – that only brought detriment to the Jews themselves and to the Arabs. They should rather contribute to the reestablishment of the Arab Empire. AntiJewism, as presented by Shaukat, thus had the political aim of opposing the Zionist project in Palestine and was not as absolute as European anti-Semitism. Instead, Shaukat saw a prospect for the betterment of Arab–Jewish relations. Anything else might well have sounded absurd to Arab nationalists in an Iraqi society which comprised a well respected Jewish minority that tried to express as much national loyalty as possible through its most sincere representatives.

The debate on the youth As we have seen, pro-German and pro-fascist tendencies in interwar Iraq did not emerge out of a determined will to align with Germany, but rather they were expressions of various themes in nationalist discourse. Whereas the generation of the state founders was traditionally fond of militarism, whether related to Prussian Germany or the Ottoman tradition, a younger generation of intellectuals was fascinated with aspects of a totalitarian society formation. Themes such as strong leadership and obedience of the individual were prominent. The youth and the improvement of its character was the central object of this debate, with a focus on discipline and masculinity. The institutional embodiment of this spirit of youth was the state-official youth movement “al-Futuwwa.” Al-Futuwwa did not escape the gaze of the satirical commentator Habazbuz either. In May 1936, he called an article on the movement “Yas, Yam.”121 Habazbuz was probably a moderate socialist and rejected Hitler and Mussolini, but still he was most supportive of militarism and, as he indicated, of youth training: “Yas, Yam” referred to “left, right!” (“yasar, yamin!”) and thus to the sound of marching soldiers. Habazbuz described how he witnessed a Futuwwa unit marching with that sound and recounted how he grew up to that sound, because his father had been a soldier in the Ottoman army. In fact, his entire family had consisted of soldiers. When he had to choose a profession, Habazbuz’s father wanted his son to become a medical doctor. At the end of the day, Habazbuz’s stubbornness succeeded and he became an army doctor during the First World War. In the article, he then underscored his militarism and stressed that he took every non-soldier for half a man only and that true masculinity was only in those marching to the sound of “Yas, Yam!” He would defend his fatherland with the same belief as his belief in God. Once more, Habazbuz derived his militarism only from an Ottoman soldierly tradition prior to the First World War. It is remarkable, though, that he related this military spirit to the masculine spirit of al-Futuwwa which, in research literature, has commonly been considered as the most salient expression of pro-Nazi tendencies in 1930s Iraq. Al-Futuwwa took arguably a more extreme outlook after Habazbuz’ time of writing this article, but the basic features of militarism and masculinity in the respective debate remained the same. In the eyes of Iraqi pan-Arab nationalists, the youth played the role of vanguard of nationalism. The national youth movement, al-Futuwwa, provided an image of 88

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a masculine youth who referred to aspects of masculinity such as boldness, physical fitness, chivalry, fighting spirit, self-sacrifice, and priority of the community over the individual. This new youth model corresponded with expressions of generational conflict during the time. Generational awareness had been formed by a group of intellectuals, but it found a violent expression during the Rashid 2Ali government in 1941. Al-Futuwwa: a gendered perspective The fascist outlook of Arab youth movements of the 1930s and 1940s has often been used to give proof of pro-Nazi and pro-Fascist inclinations in the Arab world. From a general perspective, youth organizations were a phenomenon that spread in the Arab world since the 1920s and gained strongly in popularity in the 1930s. Nationalist parties, such as al-Kata1ib and the Syrian Social Nationalist Party in Lebanon or Misr al-Fatat in Egypt, all established paramilitary youth branches to promote strong nationalism and physical fitness as well as strength of character. They offered a sense of community and paramilitary training. The common view is that Arab youth movements of the 1930s were a superficial copy of fascist models, which found the strongest expression in the wearing of uniformlike colored shirts. Admiration was for German and Italian national strength and recovery after the First World War, for discipline and efficiency were in the background. However, being pro-German, for instance, was rather a matter of fashion than a serious approach for them.122 Inherent contradictions prevented a deeper adoption of the fascist “esthetization of politics,” which was supposed to integrate divergent classes of a nation. Such contradictions existed, for instance, between Arab nationalism and imperialism.123 The Iraqi youth movement al-Futuwwa is outstanding among these groups because it was a state-official institution. It did not belong to any of the parties and groupings in the Iraqi pseudoparliamentary system, which concealed politics of personalities and clientelism. The exact founding date of al-Futuwwa is not clear.124 Butti attributes the introduction of the Futuwwa system to Sati2 al-Husri and dates it to 1935. Husri was director general of public instruction under Prime Minister Yasin al-Hashimi then.125 There is a photo in the official Iraqi guide of 1936 that shows a unit of Iraqi youth parading in front of King Ghazi during a celebration. The subtitle still calls them Boy Scouts. This photograph provides a striking example for the copying of fascist symbolism, because the parading youth are greeting the king with a raised and outstretched right arm: the Nazi salute.126 There is another picture in the official guide that shows a band of youth presenting their rifles: “al-Futuwwa al-musallaha” (the “armed Futuwwa”) of the Baghdad schools. The accompanying text says that al-Futuwwa was a new military system that had been designed to create military spirit among the youth.127 A further source claims that al-Futuwwa evolved out of the already mentioned Jauwal al-2Arabi Society and became a state-authorized institution in 1934.128 Again, there is another author who assesses that al-Futuwwa was 89

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founded in 1932. However, it was canceled again in 1934 because of strong criticism that it contradicted “tradition.”129 An article in al-2Alam al-2Arabi mentioned in February 1936 that a group of “Futuwwa students” attended a tea party in the Dar al-2Ulum college in Baghdad.130 Without doubt, al-Futuwwa became the crucial vehicle for nationalist indoctrination and disciplining of the youth in the late 1930s. It started to occupy a prominent place in the nationalist imagery of the newspapers. Only in 1939, it became compulsory for every student of secondary state schooling to take part in al-Futuwwa’s paramilitary training.131 By this time, this was still a small group. Moreover, al-Futuwwa was not the only youth movement in Iraq of the 1930s. For instance, a society called “Muslim Youth” (“ash-Shubban al-Muslimun”) had existed since 1929.132 Darwaza mentioned the Islamic Guidance Society (“Jam2iyyat al-Hidaya al-Islamiyya”) in 1937.133 It had been founded in 1930, and further societies followed.134 None of them played a significant role in the public debate on youth in the press, though. Iraqi publicists discussed al-Futuwwa as an ideal as much as an organization. It stood for the desired manly and chivalric qualities of the Iraqi young man. Thus, it seemed to be an appropriate name for the Iraqi youth organization. The term is old, however. It had been used in the Middle Ages already to describe the characteristics of a “fata1,” a young man, as opposed to the “muruwwa” of a grown-up man. Both terms had connotations of bravery and courage, nevertheless. Futuwwa was also a name for urban militias in medieval Arab cities. Only the late nineteenth century brought about an image of youth as avant-garde, which attributed a certain authority to youth. The Young Turk movement in the early twentieth century was an expression of this trend that had an impact on later Arab debates.135 As an Iraqi organization, al-Futuwwa was part of nationalist schooling. In the Iraqi Arab debate, it was a central symbol for the enhancement of the state of the youth through the “improvement of character.” This theme reflects general European trends of formation and education of the youth, which had their origin in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries and drew upon a clear-cut image of true masculinity. The Iraqi Arab concept of youth was remodeled according to specific national myths, referring to the warriors of the early Islamic conquests, for instance.136 Thus, the imagery of youth was part of a historicizing process. The central aim of the Iraqi youth concept was to turn young boys into soldiers ready to sacrifice their lives for the nation. However, we will see that the debate – albeit focused on masculinity – also provided a limited public forum for female voices, such as teachers and students from secondary schools. In spite of that, restrictive role models for both sexes, outlined by the male leaders of the movement, shaped the idea of gender relations among the national Arab youth. Masculinity Masculinity was a leading stereotype in the imagery of nationalism.137 Furthermore, modern masculinity was closely connected to the rise of middle 90

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class society. Self-restraint and discipline were part of this manly ideal, represented and exercised in sports and fair play. Manliness and youth joined in the stress of masculinity on physical fitness. The rise of gymnastics in Germany in the late eighteenth century created a link between a firm character and the firm body of man. Physical fitness was propagated among the youth. A leading figure in that context was Friedrich Ludwig Jahn who initiated the German “Turner” movement in the first half of the nineteenth century. Jahn decreed that the “gymnasts themselves must be ‘chaste, pure, capable, fearless, truthful, and ready to bear arms.’ ”138 Both, dynamism and order were the guidelines of the male, but it all encompassed the notion of service to a higher ideal, which laid the foundation for the militarization of masculinity. The spread of gymnastics all over Europe was thus a major concern of the military that demanded physical fitness from the recruits in compulsory military service. Strength of will and courage were considered Christian virtues, too. During the French Revolution and the subsequent European wars, a new warrior image spread among the volunteers of all classes. The modern warrior now joined the Greek youth and the athlete as a model of masculinity. (. . .) Heroism, death and sacrifice on behalf of a higher purpose in life became set attributes of manliness. (. . .) . . . death and sacrifice were joined to the idea of freedom, whether it was liberty, equality, and fraternity, or as in the German Wars of Liberation, the quest for national unity.139 Death, however, was most sanctified – in the eyes of nineteenth century patriots and propagators of manhood – by self-sacrifice for the highest ideal: one’s own nation. Thus, nationalism and masculinity were inseparably linked. In early nineteenth-century Germany already, the warrior’s death as a sacrifice for the nation was an image of utmost strength. This image was sanctified, and even religion adopted the nationalist struggle as part of the struggle against sin.140 In Germany, the link between a nationalist education and military training of the youth became a prominent feature during the Wilhelminian era. “Charaktererziehung,” the “forming of the character,” was the term used to distinguish military education at Prussian cadet schools from civil education. Wilhelm II expected that the teaching of history would underline the importance of the monarchy to uphold an orderly organization of state and society to protect the individual. The central aim was patriotic education (“vaterländischer Unterricht”) in many subjects. Boys were supposed to be unconditionally faithful to the emperor. Rather than bookworms and little scholars, they had to be slim, healthy, physically and militarily trained, well-disciplined, and uniformed. A cabinet order of 1890 prescribed that military education had to concentrate on the formation of characters, as based on a harmonious combination of physical, scientific, and religious training.141 Hence, a discourse of a masculine formation of pupils was readily shaped in late nineteenth-century Europe. 91

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The idea of teaching history as a subject of convictions was a prominent feature in the Iraqi curricula of the 1930s, too. Sati2 al-Husri’s reception of German nationalist thought and its relation to history had a strong influence on the curricula of Iraqi state education.142 Newspaper articles provide evidence that the debate on youth showed parallels to European turn-of-the-century debates, too. In that, it is important to stress that the obsession with masculinity was a general European phenomenon. The preoccupation with male health and physical capacities for military service, threatened by an ill urban environment, was widespread: The “nation’s virility” was considered endangered, the family a threat to virility because it weakened the men. Supported by Social Darwinism, there was a fear that civilization was a threat to the efficiency of the mechanisms of nature. Concerned men resorted to male bonding. All in all, the resulting debate on youth, the rising generation, and inherent conflicts were a consequence of class struggle and bourgeois anxieties rather than of conflicts between age cohorts.143 In Iraq, generational cleavages were one expression of a struggle for power and control over state resources. There were striking parallels in Iraq to a gendered image of nationalism and the role that youth played in it. Traces of an Iraqi youth debate appeared in the first half of the 1930s related to Robert Baden-Powell’s ideas of a formation of the youth. Baden-Powell initiated the Boy Scout movement in 1908 and founded it on the principles of self-restraint, discipline, and fair play in sports. The officer Baden-Powell passed on his military experience gained in the Boer Wars directly to the boys. The counter type to the true, sporty, and upright Scouting Boy was weak, smoking, and had a bad physical appearance. The image of the proper Scouting Boy was close to the ideal taught in the British public schools. It was essential that the Scout be trained to obey orders in wartime, and endure, and show honest chivalry. Discipline was a virtue that should be disseminated among the male middle class youth.144 In that, the Boy Scouts were an institution to support the establishment rather than one of youthful protest.145 The ideals of masculinity had a deep impact on the relation between British colonial officers and their colonial subjects.146 In British India, aspects of masculinity, such as “love of sports, . . . a disdain for the ‘bookworm’, . . . a chivalric (and therefore distancing) approach to women, all contributing to the ‘manly character’ which was seen as the well-nigh unique mark of the Briton,” were contrasted with the image of the Bengali colonized being “effeminate, bookish, over-serious, languorous, lustful and lacking in self-discipline.”147 The 1870s brought about the rising of an educated middle class of native Indians who began to complain in newspapers about the physical decline of the elite. In that sense, the appearance of the “elite Hindu male” was a sign of the impact of colonialism on Hindu society. The Indians themselves subscribed to the concept of colonial masculinity when they supposed that an “emasculation” of Indians would challenge the elite of colonizers. British and Indian “politics” of manliness were intertwined. In the Indian debate, the topic of effemination was connected to a decline from earlier stages of manly superiority, here in an Arian past of manliness, which was considered the common origin of apparently superior 92

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Europeans and Indians. In its extremes, this concern led to the promotion of a militant and nationalist youth. It was a base for anti-British terrorism.148 It is striking to what extent the ideas of manliness and chivalry as Baden-Powell proposed them materialized in the Arab equivalent “kashafa.” For instance, an article in the Iraqi newspaper al-2Alam al-2Arabi of November 1934 praised the Boy Scouts of Port Said in Egypt with a hymn on Baden-Powell. The author of the article portrayed the bravery of the officer Baden-Powell during the Boer War.149 In fact, young Egyptians from the African continent thus adopted the colonial narrative of heroism in an imperialist war in Africa: a war over supremacy on African soil among two parties of European colonizers. The article contained many aspects that recurred later in the Iraqi debate on youth. These were aspects such as excellence of character and high esteem for military spirit. Boy Scouts existed in Iraq at least since 1919.150 The late Ottoman government had already introduced a kind of Boy Scout movement in Iraq, called “Genj dernekleri” [sic].151 Anis al-Nusuli, who caused the Omayyad riots of 1927, was a member of the Boy Scout movement.152 In the later 1930s, the Futuwwa movement incorporated many principles of the international Boy Scout movement. As an institution in the framework of a colonial narrative, the Boy Scouts nevertheless became a model for an Iraqi disciplining institution that should prepare the youth for the struggle against imperialism. George Mosse confirmed that the Boy Scouts’ “influence was great, and not confined to any one national elite as scouting and organizations modeled upon it became popular in many nations.”153 With all its differences, the Iraqi case showed similar tendencies as those that have been described for Bengal. The Iraqi establishment tried to overcome the vigor of the youth by pressing it into a disciplining institution with a strict pattern of gender relations and gender ideals. As in the Indian case, the Iraqi debate used references to a mythical past and decline from a historical state of strength and superiority. The phenomenon of an emergence of a masculinity discourse in the empire does “illustrate the essentially interactive process in the deployment of the discursive mechanisms of colonial rule.” The obsessive concern with the emasculation of the Bengalis among the Bengali middle class cannot be attributed solely to the power of British colonial propaganda . . . [T]he production of colonial knowledge in India was always a two-way process, constructed out of the contestation and collaboration of certain sections of the Indian elite with the British. Thus, it served certain middle class strata.154 Moreover, colonial disciplining institutions equipped the colonized to set up anti-colonial movements.155 Nationalist education or youth movements had a disciplining function to promote national spirit. In Iraq, the Futuwwa movement was such an anti-colonial project. It was not, as has often been assumed, a product of fascist propaganda and influence but rather a result of the wider colonial discourse. The claim cannot be upheld that al-Futuwwa was in its substance modeled on the Hitler Youth.156 93

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Fascist models? As early as 1934, al-2Alam al-2Arabi emphasized the need for a favorable education of the youth to lift up the nation. Both the government and the people had to spend efforts and money and bear sacrifices for a good education of the youth, in order to take care of the character. In turn, the youth had to fulfill duties for the nation at all times and places. The author promoted the common aim to form the Iraqi youth according to the model of nations that were deeply rooted in culture and strength and were forerunners and gave a lofty example. Then, there would be no doubt that the Iraqi youth fulfilled the hopes of the nation and plunged into battles and fights in all aspects of life.157 It is apparent that the author of the article associated youth with battle, strife, and strength, and education had to prepare for them. His emphasis was, however, that the model for this strength had to come from outside. This perception was about to change in the course of time, as for instance in an article praising the Arab Revolt of the First World War.158 It said that youth of both Bedouin and urban origin had gathered around Sherif Husain. For them, death had been sweeter than a dark life. Thus, the article referred to the topos of a youth that was prepared for self-sacrifice for the nation. The youth of the revolt had declared to the entire world that they had woken up from their sleep to demand the return of their possessions. As opposed to this linkage between the awakened youth of the Arab past and the contemporary Iraqi youth, few references to fascist youth movements appeared in the papers. Japan was a favorable example for a positive shaping of the youth. In an article in 1936, the editor of al-2Alam al-2Arabi presented “character” as the word that “we lovers of improvement” reiterated to the pulpits and in the newspapers.159 The author asked how positive characteristics could enter the minds. The government, for instance, had an eye on detrimental publications. Japan, he wrote, provided an example that should catch the eye of the Iraqi government, because it had managed to rise to the level of big states within a short period. There was control over what habits of Western civilization had entered the country. Achievements of modernity were accepted but detrimental things rejected. The country did not accept Western commodities only for the sake of their being Western. Thus, the country could preserve its good traditions, its character, and its habits. In that sense, a reference to Japan was not a reference to an authoritarian and pro-fascist country but rather to a successful defense of the inherited customs. Still, al-Futuwwa, the institutionalized version of Iraqi youthful spirit, looked quite Western in its outfit. Habazbuz made a satirical reference to the obsession with colored shirts and the copying of fascist youth movements.160 Habazbuz reported about a journey to Italy and mentioned the Italian Fascists of Mussolini. Black shirts had become their distinguishing feature. Habazbuz found this quite appropriate, because the hearts beating under these shirts were full of desire for a revival of imperial times. Second, he referred to the Nazis. Their leader, Hitler,

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had made grey shirts [sic] as their distinguishing mark. As many people considered this the color of the military, Habazbuz was not astonished that the Nazis chose that color for the people of Frederick the Great, Bismarck, the man of politics of iron and fire, as well as the masters of the First World War such as Hindenburg, Ludendorff, and Mackensen. He emphasized that he was referring to Bismarck who was “la Bismarq al-2Arab,” not the Bismarck of the Arabs. It is unclear whether this related to a specific dictum about Bismarck in Iraq, or whether he wanted to express that Bismarck was still not a friendly figure for the Arabs but an imperialist nationalist with fire and iron. Habazbuz interpreted the color of shirts as justified through the spirit of the peoples: the imperial stance for the Italians and military soul for the Germans. He related the German spirit to the First World War and referred to its examples of superior military skills, as in several other articles. However, Habazbuz also ridiculed the German military heroes of the World War and their military spirit. It “came from them and was directed towards them.” Even a German child in the mother’s womb, he wrote, was in a state of preparedness, as if it guarded the placenta. Habazbuz assured that he found these appearances of the youth positive, even though they seemed strange habits to him. They had positive results, because the shirts, made of cotton, wool or silk, were grounded on wars and rifles and guns – and other tools of war that Habazbuz enumerated in a satirical tone. At the end, however, Habazbuz wrote that there was something wrong in this affair. There were those weak and defenseless people, “even from a kitchen knife.” Imperialist armies covered their existence, but they tried to achieve their complete independence and to put an end to their enslavement through clothing themselves with silken shirts in varying colors, namely blue, green, white, and even iron. Habazbuz wondered: “Iron (“al-hadidiyya”)? Not silken (“al-haririyya”)? – No, iron!”161 Habazbuz felt pity that the Arab youth had not read about their forefathers whose iron shirts had actually been of iron and not of silk. “When these shirts protected their chests so full of belief . . . , their hands were allowed to pull out their sharp blades.” Yet, the silken shirts would not protect them against the evils of modern weaponry. The youth should rather put on the appropriate shirts for modern weapons. Habazbuz underlined that “we would not listen to a people that made its belief in nationalism real by putting on a shirt made of cloth.” Thus, he emphasized that in his view it was ridiculous for the Arabs to imitate the habits of the European fascists and believed that this would help them to achieve their independence. Italy and Germany had all modern weaponry behind them, the same weaponry that also enslaved the Arab people. Instead, the Arabs needed the modern equivalent of the true iron shirts that their ancestors had worn to struggle for their freedom themselves. This notion of Arab capacities of the past played a general role in the youth debate of the time, as we see later. The aforementioned Egyptian newspaper report on Iraqi youth of the late 1930s described the coercive nature of youth policy positively.162 According to the Futuwwa system, students were obliged to wear the military Futuwwa clothes 95

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both outside and inside the school. The Egyptian observer wrote that the system was supposed to lead the youth back to principles of roughness of life, morality, military spirit, knighthood, and manliness, to be disseminated in the classrooms at all levels of schooling, and among the teachers, also in technical schools (“Madrasat al-Sina2a”). In February 1940, al-Bilad praised the Futuwwa system and reported that the Protector of Futuwwa (“Hami al-Futuwwa”) and the deputy director general of education had issued an order to all employees of education in Baghdad and the other regions to wear the summer uniform of Futuwwa in their official hours starting from March 15.163 Those not obeying would not be allowed to school. All those affiliated with the Ministry of Education would have to mention their Futuwwa rank underneath their signature in addition to their function as from February 25. This shows that Futuwwa militarization was penetrating all levels of the state educational system at the time. A few days later, the same newspaper provided more details on the Futuwwa system in a follow-up article.164 The author emphasized that school education had to unite soul and body. The concrete principles of al-Futuwwa were that every class or section of a class (“shu2bat saff ”) was a Futuwwa unit. A school had Futuwwa units according to the number of classes. To every class or section of a class, a “Head of the Youth” (“Ra1is al-Fityan”) was allocated among the students, as well as a “First, Second, and Third Youth” (“Fata al-Auwal,” “Fata al-Thani,” “Fata al-Thalith”). Those four were the ones in charge (“those who had ranks,” “Ashab al-Rutab”). The article continued to enumerate many more of these prescriptions.165 Many studies say that al-Futuwwa was modeled on the Nazi Youth, especially after a visit of “Reichsjugendführer” Baldur von Schirach in Iraq in 1937, who also invited a delegation of Iraqi youth to the “Reichsparteitag” in 1938.166 In his memoirs, Schirach gave a short account of his trip but only mentioned his meeting with King Ghazi in one sentence alongside that with the Shah of Persia and the men he met in Romania, Yugoslavia, and Hungary. He elaborated in detail on a conversation with Atatürk, however. Hence, from a memoir perspective, he was probably not so deeply impressed by his stopover in Baghdad.167 Accordingly, a German newspaper report of December 1937 also mentioned only Schirach’s encounter with Atatürk.168 The only Iraqi newspaper article about the visit that was available for this study is a short notice from al-Istiqlal two weeks after Schirach’s return to Germany. The report is a plain, uncommented translation of Schirach’s report on the journey, which he prepared for Goebbels. Originally, the English journal News Review had published it.169 The report pointed to the actual reason behind Schirach’s trip: he made sure first of all that all Germans who lived in an Arab country and criticized the Nazi government would lose their jobs. Only then did he remark that the Arabs needed German guns and money. When the Germans would provide the Arabs with this material, the Germans could rely on them. All in all, Schirach’s meetings with Arab leaders had been satisfying. German news had reported that Goebbels was pleased with this report. It is likely that the stress on the suppression of oppositional opinions among German expatriates did not throw a favorable light on Nazi policy in the 96

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eyes of al-Istiqlal’s readers. Arabs may have taken it as an insult to assume that the Germans could easily bribe them with guns and money. Youth-related issues were not mentioned in the report, such as praise for al-Futuwwa or the like. The German archival records about Schirach’s visit contain the information that he encouraged King Ghazi to set up a national institution for the military training of the youth. The Boy Scouts as an international organization were unsuitable for that. Grobba had prepared this meeting and suggested relations between the Hitler Youth and al-Futuwwa.170 These were intentions from the German side, however. The following paragraphs show whether the contemporary Iraqi youth debate actually reflected this Iraqi–German approach. Al-Futuwwa in the press The Iraqi press was not only concerned with discipline and militarism. In February 1940 al-Istiqlal published an article by the Egyptian intellectual Ahmad Amin.171 It treated typical problems of young individuals.172 Amin subsumed the major problem of the contemporary youth as a feeling of dissatisfaction with education, job, marriage, or with the position in the family, or with the bans on expressing political concerns in secondary school. The author remarked that the problems were a consequence of the progress in civilization, which the older generation had experienced to a much smaller extent. At their time, everyone had married, had obeyed the parents’ will, and had been at ease with his situation and satisfied with his share in life. There were no politics at school. Whereas the youth were the blossom of life and the pillar of the nation and its future, the greatest problem of the youth was currently the discontent with the political situation of the nation. Reasons for this agony were disagreements with the parents, economic dependence on them, and high economic demands, while there were no more creeds and morals. Amin’s concern about problems of the individual was exceptional in the Iraqi press of the time, but it is significant that the editor of the Iraqi newspaper assumed that these were not only problems of an Egyptian but of an Arab youth in general. The article pointed directly to a generational conflict that was about to develop into a political threat to the generation of fathers. Politicization of the youth and discontent with the state of the nation were portrayed as an illness, because the Iraqi establishment considered itself the embodiment of the nation. Hence, the question of how to form the youth and to build up their character seriously concerned the older generation. The youth might challenge their grip on power. In Iraq, the political class perceived the situation very similarly. An al-Istiqlal article of April 1940 provided an implicit contrast to these sorrowful remarks from Egypt. The paper published a report on the comportment of Iraqi Futuwwa youth during a severe flood of the Euphrates and the Tigris. The article provoked the impression that, in Iraq, a split between the national establishment and its youth was not an issue.173 A call to the Futuwwa had been broadcast via radio ordering the boys to their duty to face the flood. Within a very 97

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short time the “young lions” (“ashbal”) had left their occupations and were at the forefront of the activities with obedience and enthusiasm. The author wrote that it was their duty to obey their commanders on the one hand but also a duty to stand up for the country on the other hand. The comportment of the youth convinced the author that al-Futuwwa was full of lofty feelings, visible among all layers of society, fighting danger day and night with strong nerves and strength of steel. The student, the soldier, the official, and the simple son of the countryside who was not corrupted through luxury all represented this youth. They were abundant with vitality, strength, humanity, and recklessness toward danger. The author closed with an expression of his hope that this spirit would raise the fatherland which was in deep need of this lofty kind. As compared to the concerns of Ahmad Amin about the lack of unity of the nation, this article burst with pride and confidence in exactly this sort of unity. Taking into consideration that al-Futuwwa was an institution of state schooling and thus a matter of urban circles at the time, the stress on the simple land-dwellers is interesting. It is significant that the layers of society as presented in the article comprised the modern middle class groups such as students, soldiers, and state officials and incorporated the “unspoiled” rural population. “Traditional” groups, such as members of notable families, tribal leaders, or the religious establishment, did not appear. Around the late 1930s, the topic of a manly Iraqi youth developed into an elaborated debate on the forming of Arab youth in the framework of al-Futuwwa. The issue of discipline was central for this debate. A quote from the Baghdad newspaper al-Istiqlal of late 1939 alluded to the nature of masculinity as a universal concept: “Manhood belongs to the essential requirements of the nation in the present age.”174 This link between nation and manhood, between “watan” and “rujula,” can be traced throughout the Iraqi press of the late 1930s. The same newspaper article underlined that the embodiment of the link was al-Futuwwa. The article outlined three goals for the training of the soul, which were complementary to physical training carried out in al-Futuwwa: love of obedience, strength of character, and respect for order. An obedient nature was considered essential to form a strong character. The same stress appeared in another article in the newspaper – apparently part of a special issue on al-Futuwwa. Here again, the major duties of the youth movement were guidance to manhood, which equaled military spirit, and being the vanguard of the Arab nation.175 The boys were presented as the men of the future (“rijal al-mustaqbal”). Their task was to develop their military spirit, because a people that had such brave youth would not be enslaved nor would it bow its head. Thus, al-Futuwwa was meant to be a beneficent propaganda to the Arab brothers who were only artificially divided by boundaries. For the author of the article, al-Futuwwa was the primary representative of Iraq’s efforts to catch up with “the other nations” in an age of rigorousness, of movement, light, aviation, radio, an era of strength and speed. For the author, militarism and hence discipline were consequently the essence of modernity as modeled on Western technologically developed societies. 98

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To give the semblance of modernity to a society that intellectuals regarded as backward was a central theme of the debate on al-Futuwwa. For them, it was important to be able to cope with the modern nations of the West, and the means to do so was to provide a representation of the potentials of the Iraqi Arab nation. Al-Futuwwa represented these potentials in the shape of a masculinity that resembled European trends. Besides technology, Iraqi intellectuals perceived two contradicting achievements of “Western modernity”: the democratic states as represented by the imperialist powers Britain and France, and the fascist–totalitarian state. For several reasons the totalitarian version must have seemed more suitable at least for younger intellectuals who were deprived of the benefits of collaboration with the British as enjoyed by the political class. The British Mandatory power had imposed representative democracy and constitutional monarchy on Iraq to resemble their own political system, but the nepotism of the Iraqi leadership disqualified it, and so did the extent of control that the British exerted over the Iraqi government and trade even after independence was gained in 1932. Abstract modernity of institutions was therefore unattractive for the intellectuals who wrote about a strong and masculine nation in the papers. Rather, the fascist states offered an alternative model of modernity, which allowed for a much more tangible symbolism, for a focused and concentrated image of the nation, and for an easily imaginable identity linked back to a mythical past.176 This code of references was welcome in Iraq: the origin of the Arab nation was dated back to the times of Muhammad, who was reinterpreted as the historical arch-leader of the Arab nation. Thus, the youth won a clear-cut masculine model of endurance and devotion: the warriors of the early Islamic conquests.177 An outstanding example of this reference to early Islam was the front page of the newspaper al-Bilad of April 19, 1940, the Maulid feast of the birth of the Prophet.178 It combined several aspects of the self-perception of Arab nationalism in Iraq during the period. On the front page, two articles inquired into the historical role of Muhammad, next to photographs celebrating al-Futuwwa marching in the city, and marching in the countryside, and of the boy King Faisal II, carefully watched over by the Regent 2Abd-ul-Ilah. The headline exclaimed: “Yahya al-2Iraq, yahya al-Malik!!” This triptych represents the carrying of the spirit of al-Futuwwa into the country, for the sake of the boy king. The motto of the collage, “Long live the King, long live Iraq”, underlines that the editor of the paper identified the future of the nation with youth. Thus, the collage contains a spatial aspect: the creation of a community of youth as a nucleus in the Iraqi capital. From this nucleus, the nationalist spirit should spread to the rest of the country. The same aspect of spatiality was present in yearly gatherings of the Boy Scouts from several Iraqi districts in Baghdad, which Sati2 al-Husri initially organized. They were a means to strengthen the nationalist spirit in the students of the elementary schools who belonged to the new generation (“al-nash1 al-jadid”). Husri’s Boy Scouts created a new Arab style through a specific Arabic helmet (“khudha”) and uniforms. On trips from town to town to the “interior” of 99

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the country (“fi dakhil al-2Iraq”), they called for a “nahda” of thought and for “qaumiyya.”179 The Boy Scouts were thus sent out as a uniform group of youngsters from the city to the countryside in order to represent the sprit of the capital and to spread nationalism and “nahda” into apparently empty spaces. It was a journey “fi dakhil al-2Iraq,” “inside Iraq”: Baghdad was the visible representation of the new state. What lay outside the borders of the capital was actually the hidden “inside.” The “dark and hidden parts” of the nation should be enlightened by the carriers of the new times to come: the youth. Al-Bilad’s Maulid articles of 1940 contrasted the image of youthful fighting spirit among the Iraqi youth with a praise of the prophet Muhammad and his comrades. Both articles emphasized Muhammad’s role as the unifier of the Arab nation through Islam. The warriors had achieved liberation of the Arab lands – stretching from the Arab Peninsula to Iraq – from foreign rule by Byzantine and Persian imperialism, which the author compared explicitly with British and French imperialism. To counter this imperialism, the youth of Iraq should follow the model of the “Sacred Generation” of the prophet’s comrades.180 The model was one of self-sacrifice. The author referred to great battles of the Arabs and encouraged the youth to look at the grass growing on the graves scattered between the banks of Tiberias, the Yarmuk, and the plains of Qadisiya. “It is the spirit of the sacred generation of the comrades and helpers of Muhammad, which covers the land of the Arab conquest.”181 Behind this call was the desire to have a new sacred generation to liberate and unify the Arab lands once more. In June 1940, the author Isma2il al-Rashid stressed that the nation’s character had come down from a pure source like that of the forefathers, the heroes of the Islamic conquest.182 They carried the mission (“risala”) of “Muhammad the Arab” to the entire world. The Islamic conquests were thus interpreted as an affair of Muhammad the Arab and no longer the messenger of god. The only religious marker of his figure remained the usual formula following his name, “God be merciful upon him.” In fact, Muhammad was turned from a messenger being sent out (“rasul”) into someone who gives out a mission (“risala”) in the name of his nation. This was a continuing mission because “[w]e are the descendants of these conquerors, and deep in our hearts there is still a healthy portion of this character,” passed on from fathers to sons. Al-Rashid called this inherited spirit “the secret of the concealed vitality in an Arab soul,” which could take several forms, such as fighting violently for honor, against insults, and for the rescue of the threatened. This formidable character rejected those who were deceived by the material fineries of civilization and adopted a new Western character instead of the genuine character. This dangerous adoption played into the hands of the enemies who considered the changing of character their strongest and fastest means to fulfill their desire. A few years earlier, Habazbuz had presented this struggle between the true manly Arab character and the weakening effects of Western civilization. Habazbuz claimed in the title “Ila1l-jaish! Ila1l-jaish! La hayat li-sha2b la tu2azzizuhu jaish qauwi!” (“To the army! To the army! [. . .]”) that there was “no life in 100

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a people that is not strengthened by a strong army!”183 He recalled the pride among the students of the Baghdad military college on the day when they were sent to the Harbiye Officer Academy in Istanbul. Habazbuz’s black humor underlined the military spirit of the time when he told that his father had demanded him not to return without having become a martyr. After the First World War, only 20 of the class of 75 remained, and the author returned as the only survivor of his brothers. However, his father only received him well after Habazbuz had presented him a bullet cut out of his flesh. At the end of the article, he complained once more that military spirit had died among the Iraqis in the twenty years since the end of the First World War. Iraqis had proven that they were shaped as soldiers and died as soldiers. Occupation and Western commodities of amusement had corrupted this spirit, however. Habazbuz thus related the ethos of sacrifice and rejection of Western amusement to the Ottoman tradition. One way to grasp the notion of masculinity entailed in the youth movement is to look into opposites created in al-Futuwwa imagery: true masculinity as opposed to effeminate behavior. Some of the speeches and articles in Shaukat’s Hadhihi Ahdafuna present how a leading Arab nationalist construed this opposition. In an article on the aims of al-Futuwwa and the uniform clothing of the youth (“Ahdaf al-Futuwwa al-2ulya wa-tauhid malabis al-fityan”),184 he told the youth to beware of effeminate comportment: present generations would have to undergo an education of their characters more necessarily than previous generations, because today, they were exposed to luxury, civilization, amusement, and prone to bodily fatness. Thus, Shaukat implied that the Western achievements of technology and wealth as well as entertainment would necessarily lead to decline and weakness. Consequently, the unspoiled chastity of tradition and of the world before corruption should be revived through proper manliness. Shaukat described the following aims of the Futuwwa system: accustoming the youth to the roughness of life and to enduring labors and sacrifices, the dissemination of military spirit and the qualities of manliness and chivalry, which enclosed the qualities of love of the system and of obedience. All this was supposed to be achieved through military training. Sami Shaukat’s combination of virtues is familiar: manliness – chivalry – endurance – sacrifice. He meant that the youth should learn to obey orders, like obeying god and religion, and to live like the forefathers on the dust and in tents. Love for the nation and its glorious history combined with all the mentioned virtues would make the nation rise again, said Sami Shaukat. The link between masculinity and nationalism could not have been clearer. In the same article, Shaukat presented his idea of the female in this concept: the Futuwwa system should not be applied to girls’ schools, because, in “sanely mature communities,” girls should only be raised to become good mothers and housewives. As opposed to the uniforms of the boys, the girls should go on to wear dresses and not luxurious or elegant clothing and should avoid putting on makeup. When rich and poor looked the same, they would return to their tasks and to obedience to god and the system. Remarkably, Sami Shaukat announced 101

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that outstanding teachers for physical exercise from the most famous universities of the West would be hired to train the girls and form healthy mothers and good housewives. Western teachers should thus help the girls to get rid of what Western civilization had made of them and what had alienated them from the forefathers. Arguably, Shaukat regarded his notion of the female role as modern. He attributed it to how “mature,” that is, modern nations would see it. In a speech published in 1939 in al-Istiqlal, he praised the awakening of Turkish women and underlined his belief that the Iraqi “nahda” was largely rooted in the nahda of the woman in Iraq. Thus, he continued, Iraq followed the ways that the awakened countries had taken before. The fact that 50,000 young girls were in Iraqi schools was for him a sign of the envisaged nahda.185 However, this number comprised just a bit more than 3 percent of the estimated female population.186 If we take into account that probably the greater portion of women were below the age of maturity, public education did not reach a representative segment of the female population yet. In Shaukat’s perception, the meaning of modernity through renewal was blurred. It was associated with the achievements of the West, but the expectations of modernity were anti-Western and oriented to the past. Thus, the perception of females was ambivalent: girls remained subordinate to men in their function within society, but still they gained access to the public area of state schooling. Schooling for girls followed the aim to alienate them from their families through the claim on education. Even though Shaukat’s ideas provided that the girls would be formed according to a role model, as much as the boys, the girls would still have entered the public according to the function attributed to them. In the same sense, Salah-al-Din al-Sabbagh dedicated his memoirs (though written after 1941), besides many others also, to “the Arab woman who nourishes her baby with love of the nation and Arabism.” The strengthening of the family and the access of women to the spheres of interaction in society were preconditions of a true awakening for him: “We want to teach woman to bear the burdens of social life because this does not stain her chastity and keep her away from her household duties and her motherly care” in order to make her enjoy life like man in the limits of morality and Arab nature.187 Sabbagh thus conceded a role to women in society and wanted to bring them closer to the status of men but all within the limits of a supposed Arab nature and not at the expense of her household duties. This stance also contained an adoption of a European narrative of women’s role in society. In Germany, this role model of women had been shaped during the wars of liberation in the early nineteenth century already. During this period, women attained the role of being preservers of morality in the domestic nucleus of the nation. The principle was that, without a prospering household, there would be no prospering nation either. The female task was to take care of the “cultural side” of life, preserve honor, and raise the children according to nationalist principles.188 In Iraq of the 1930s, this model was arguably still a counter model against the role of the female in the pre-independence society of Iraq. From 1930 onwards, however, there was a girls’ club in Baghdad 102

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(“Nadi al-Banat al-Baghdadiyya”).189 Already in 1929, the newspaper al-Bilad had a special weekly section for women and girls190 and the first women’s journal, Fatat al-2Arab, appeared in 1937. Its editor was Maryam Nazma.191 In the same year, there were fifteen female students at the Baghdad Medical College.192 In 1938, an Iraqi delegation took part in the Eastern Women’s Conference in Cairo.193 The Muthanna Club established a women’s committee.194 Further evidence for a change in women’s role in society is hard to find, however, because Iraq has been marginal in Middle Eastern women’s studies so far.195 A proper evaluation concerning the entry of women into the public sphere would require a lot more information on the role of women in Ottoman Baghdad society, for instance.196 However, the general scarcity of information on women in Iraqi sources about intellectual life or politics makes female voices stand out clearly in the male domain of nationalist politics and publishing. Women were not only to enter public education but also, in some instances, they were even rendered a public voice. For instance, the newspaper al-Bilad published a speech on Teachers’ Day by Sabiha al-Shaikh Dawud, student at the law college.197 It is astonishing, though, that she did not mention the role of women in her speech at all. The fact itself that she as a woman took up the exposed task to give this speech was not a topic for her. Instead, she praised the teachers and the model they offered as strongholds of science and truth. She emphasized that her college was the well from which the national awakening spread in Mesopotamia. Her school prepared the majority of the great men (“rijalat”) for their service to the nation, because the graduates of this college belonged to the elite. The speech leaves the reader wondering why Sabiha attended this school if only the male graduates were the ones whose service for the country was accounted for. It is therefore more illuminating to look at a speech given by Maryam Nuri al-Mufti, headmistress of the girls’ school of Samarra, on the occasion of Futuwwa day in June 1940.198 Her approach was somewhat different from Sami Shaukat’s, who attributed a passive role to the Iraqi girl. In principle, she agreed with the warrior role of the man, but her vision of the girl’s role included a strong position in the Futuwwa system. Women, she said, presented their own kind of Futuwwa. Maryam Nuri al-Mufti stated that the Iraqi girl had wanted for a long time to be equivalent with her brother in the field of service to the nation and in the readiness to sacrifice herself at his side. Now, she had found a way to raise her head in al-Futuwwa. As much as the male leaders of the youth emphasized the descent of the “shabab” from the warriors, the headmistress stressed that the Iraqi girl descended from the toughest kind as well, inheriting the true determination of the faithful women of ancient times. In contrast to this statement, women never appeared in the usual references of male Iraqi Arab nationalist rhetorics to early Islam. Here, however, Maryam Nuri al-Mufti claimed that al-Futuwwa offered a field for female drive and desires as well. Hence, the day when al-Futuwwa was established had been a day of joy for the girls of Iraq. The speech reached its 103

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climax when she expressed her certainty that the Futuwwa of women was the founding stone for the Futuwwa of men because “she” guarded “him” for the sake of the rising nation. Futuwwa would lend the Iraqi girl strength to approach all difficulties with patience in running the domestic economy or raising the children in the light of nationalism. Al-Mufti made explicit that her picture followed the role of European women during wartimes. The Iraqi mothers and grandmothers had taken part in wars, proud in the same way as the European young women were proud during the ongoing war. Indeed, she said, the day of the Iraqi girl was near. Al-Mufti linked female wartime efforts to further kinds of female Futuwwa: taking care of the hopeless, the weeping orphans, and the sick were all Futuwwa. The girls performing these virtues would sanctify Arabism. In contrast to Sami Shaukat’s refusal to grant a place to the Iraqi girls in al-Futuwwa, al-Mufti’s speech provided a picture of a female warrior fighting at the home front and thus laying the true foundations for the nation. Perhaps, rising female self-consciousness through nationalist education had caused this change of paradigm. It is equally possible that news from the European war had an influence on the perception of the role of women in society. A trace of this influence appeared in an article by the aforementioned 2Abd-al-Majid al-Hashimi, deputy to the Director General for Propaganda, in January 1941.199 He wrote about different kinds of mobilization, not only in war but also in times of peace, for instance “mental mobilization.” He stressed that under conditions of mobilization a great contribution of women was possible as well. She could work as a substitute of the man who went to the front and could replace him in the factories, government offices, and hospitals, as well as in other services that were in accordance with her physical capacities. This idea of a female contribution came closer to Maryam Nuri al-Mufti’s perception, but still it was not the independent “female nahda” that she envisaged. That was the case as long as the woman remained in the position of being merely a substitute for the man in her service to the nation and not according to her own value. Central to the imagery of masculinity were aspects such as fighting spirit, self-sacrifice, and a high regard for physical fitness. In Nazi Germany the same “virtues” were considered a part of “Preußentum” and should distinguish liberal bourgeois education from military education according to the spirit of “obedience and duty, freedom and honor, watchfulness and firmness, chivalry, patriotism, trust in god, faith and honesty as well as readiness for self sacrifice” that had made the people great.200 A Futuwwa functionary could have brought up the same ideals but so could have Baden-Powell. In Germany, the guideline for the military education of the child was the honor (“Standesehre”) of the Prussian officer, which took medieval knighthood as an example. It culminated in a specific sense of honor (“Ehrgefühl”). To deviate from it was a violation of manly dignity and chastity.201 Chivalry was therefore a principle, too, that emerged in the European context. In Iraq, it mingled with an Arab heritage. The British themselves did not consider British Boy Scouts and Fascist Youth Movements 104

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antagonists. In March 1933, Baden-Powell visited Italy. He had a very favorable impression of the Fascist Balilla and emphasized that it would have a very positive impact on the Italian nation.202 In that, the British considered al-Futuwwa a positive element in Iraq as well, because – in the best British Boy Scout tradition – they regarded it as a disciplining institution. Al-Husri supported al-Futuwwa as a form of Boy Scout movement, even though he was an outspoken adversary of Shaukat’s imagery of death.203 As far as German military education is concerned, there was a striking difference between Nazi military education and earlier forms. Military education emerged at the turn of the century in England, Germany, and elsewhere and was an institution to reproduce the privileged caste of officers from conservative national bourgeois background. The Nazi state transformed the military institutions into producers of cadres to recruit functionaries for the apparatus, in order to become independent of the functionaries of the traditional elite. Criteria for admission to Nazi schools, the so-called Napolas, differed greatly from the ones of the cadet corps: the Nazis had no interest in social homogeneity but put all emphasis on racial criteria. The aim was no longer to support the stability of the officer corps’ social background. The inclusion of sons of workers was even encouraged. The traditional elite was supposed to be replaced with a racial elite.204 Hence, the Iraqi schooling system and the Nazi system had at most a point of reference in common, but, in the social setup of the student body and in the imagery that they used, they were very different. Faisal I already had introduced paramilitary education at schools right after independence.205 It arguably drew on British models, however, an orientation that remained valid for the official Iraqi youth movement as well.

The youth of 1941: protest and violence Youth debates in Iraq referred to a specific set of discursive themes when they discussed the vanguard role of youth in Iraq and its gendered aspects. This set resembled turn-of-the-century debates in Europe. Phenomena of youth protest in Germany (as opposed to the youth discipline of schooling and youth organizations) suggest further parallels in the formation of youth and youth protest in Iraq. One reason for the strength of the youth myth, which promoted the youth as an “imagined community” in Germany, was the fact that the other “imagined community,” the nation, was so weak.206 Where the adult groups were divided by inherited and established lines of division, the “youth, Young Germany, was a fluid group not yet cast into the fixed moulds of particular interests.” Youth was in that context, not only the group that disagreed with existing norms, but rather it was still unspoiled by the inherent conflicts and the infighting as well as the particularities of German society as a whole. “The projection ‘youth’, . . . , remained so strong in Germany partly because the projection ‘nation’ was so fragile.”207 In spite of all the obvious differences in scale and historical development, it is striking how this fits the Iraqi situation: the Arab nation had a merely virtual 105

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existence, the Iraqi society was shaped by infighting of contradictory forces, and those who claimed to represent the youth, that is the Young Effendiyya, stood aside, disagreed and considered themselves a homogeneous body. Earlier on, it has been argued that the youth movement was actually a disciplining institution. The establishment used it as a vehicle in order to check the potential of the youth. Only very little can be said about the popularity and impact of the Futuwwa system on the youth themselves. In this section, the Farhud shall be interpreted as an event when al-Futuwwa became a vehicle for youthful disagreement and protest resulting in acts of violence after the Kailani government had fled Baghdad in the last days of May 1941, leaving behind a power vacuum.208 In late April 1941, a few weeks after Kailani’s government had assumed power, an article appeared in the newspaper al-Bilad that praised the beauty of the Iraqi port city Basra in spring.209 The symbolism of the article reflected the political circumstances: the new government tried to present itself as a “Government of National Defense” with Rashid 2Ali as the leader who would guarantee the awakening of the country, but still it adhered to the same disciplining mindset of the old establishment. As much as Basra was described as blossoming in spring, the national awakening and “nahda” or springtime of the nation should be brought about by Kailani’s nationalist government. As in many other cases, the article used imagery that linked an awakening to references to the past and to modern masculinity. The author mentioned the glorious past of the city and referred to the early days of the Islamic era: the excellence of Basra as a haven of science, poetry, and jurisprudence. This image of past glory was in accordance with the contemporary gems of the city: the army, ready to die for the nation, and the boys of the city, ready to sacrifice themselves. In this city, one would find strong bodies and a unified spirit only. The article was published only a few days before war broke out between Britain and Iraq in May 1941. Surely, there is a bitter irony of history in the contradiction between the symbolism of awakening in the article from the end of April 1941 and the pending downfall of the Kailani government only a month later. The events indicate that there was generational conflict and youthful protest in Iraq on a broader level than merely in the intellectual debates of the newspapers. There are hints at tendencies to group protest in the rising anarchy that dominated the streets of Baghdad during the two months of the Rashid 2Ali movement. Again, research on youthful protest draws on the existing scholarship on European youth movements. At the turn of the nineteenth to the twentieth century, the manly ideal was firmly established in Europe, yet there were protests against the paternalistic style of its bourgeois version. The Youth Movement – for instance, in Germany – carried on to transmit strength and willpower as well as fitness as ideals. Thus, it crucially supported the imagery of masculinity but took on a paradoxical role: it protested against the patriarchal stance of the older generation and demanded greater individual freedom in exchange for self-restraint.210 The European Youth Movements of the early twentieth century were of a contradictory nature: they were carriers and transmitters of discipline and authority on 106

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the one hand and locations of protest on the other hand: “grown-ups” funded the movements and were the instructors of the youth, who were supposed to remain disciplined and apolitical. When the state demanded stronger control and subjugation to norms after the First World War, the bourgeois youth of Germany answered with the claim to be itself the norm for society. This holds especially true for the sons of soldiers of the First World War. However, the state prevailed and the bourgeois public managed to uphold its discursive definition of youth as immature. An answer to this bourgeois hegemony was the emergence of “Männerbünde” (male bonding), which objected to the family ideal and emphasized comradeship and masculinity. Students were at the forefront of these movements and their political standpoints varied greatly. The youth movements tried to provide an apolitical counter model against the dirty world of politics and parties.211 Youth movements were defined as “essentially iconoclastic.” Contemporary critics of the British youth movement pointed to the German movement when they wanted to present an example of youthful protest. Their criticism was that England had youth organizations but no youth movement. However, both German and British youth organizations were excluded from active participation in politics. The authorities were suspicious of movements such as the German “Wandervögel,” who aimed at autonomy for the youth.212 Nevertheless, schools and youth groups were transmitters of youth ideas. Thus, the state paradoxically enforced and supported generational conflict through the institutions that it was providing, as much as by the establishment of a separate social group “youth” through the invention of “adolescence” as a transitory formation period.213 Whereas the contents of the youth myth had existed before the First World War already, the self-estimation of youth as a new generation “was imagined into being” during the war. During the Weimar period, “[e]ven more than in earlier periods, the fantasy that youth might redeem the nation gained in attractiveness.” An autonomous youth should deliver a humiliated and dishonored Germany divided by party politics. Carriers of this fantasy were often adults.214 In Iraq, the conflict of generations between young and old was not as clear-cut as the terminology might suggest either. The Muthanna Club was a disciplining institution where the generations mingled. Members of the Young Effendiyya, like politicians, journalists, and young officers, were in close interaction with the Sherifian elite not only in the club. At times, they even held posts in the same government. Al-Futuwwa started as a state-funded disciplining institution, too, but the intellectual debate as Sab2awi and Butti pursued it provided the youngsters with a self-esteem as an elite and pushed them to bring about change. Al-Futuwwa, however, intended to provide a controllable framework for the youth in summer camps, outdoor activities, and military training. The nationalist doctrine that was taught at schools and the grip of the state on the leisure time should remove the youth from traditional safeguards of family, quarter, profession, tribe, ethnicity, or religion.215 However, in the anarchy of 1941, the Futuwwa youth entered into a phase of youthful protest under the guidance of a group of 107

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ardent Young Effendiyya nationalists, among them army officers and politicians such as Yunus al-Sab2awi. An article that appeared a year before the events of 1941 showed how the youth had internalized the principles taught at school and in al-Futuwwa. In April 1940, al-Bilad published a speech by Najda Fathi Safwa. He had won a rhetorical competition between the Dar al-Mu2allimin al-Ibtida1iyya, the Dar al-Mu2allimin al-Rifiyya and the Central Secondary School with an analysis of the mission of the writer (“adib”) in the nation.216 Probably, he considered himself an “adib.” The adib, he said, was the leader (“qa1id”) of his nation’s hearts and souls. Thus, he had the most important role in the national awakening. Safwa believed that the natural mission of the writer was one of strength, enthusiasm, and faith. Literature had to be nationalist, strong and optimistic, and encouraging for the youth and for every individual of the nation. Themes had to be strength, manhood, life, power, and unity. He rejected everything feeble: “Let us leave for the time being this weak and flabby literature, this indolent and numb literature.” He asked whether it was not a shame and a mistake that Arab poets were so weak and retreated from the world. Safwa found it ridiculous that the Arab poet rejected living and shed tears, because his love had turned away from him. At the same time, his nation plunged into blood, and there was pain and injustice everywhere. He exclaimed: “Enough yearning for nightly love, yearn a little for honors and . . . bombs . . . [and the] sound of bullets . . . describe us [. . .] the beauty of sacrifice for the fatherland!” In these last lines, there was a violent tone, which hints at an absorption of all the rhetorics of military masculinity and soldierly mentality. Safwa had internalized the obsession with strength and sacrifice, and his effort was honored with an award for his rhetorical skills. According to a dominant historical narrative, the violence of the Farhud was mainly a result of British indifference and German incitement. In order to avoid the impression of a straightforward occupation, the British troops hesitated to enter Baghdad before the return of the Iraqi Regent.217 In this period of power vacuum and anarchy, a mob attacked the lower and middle class strata of the Baghdadi Jewish population.218 The Iraqi army, however, sealed off upper class living quarters, where Jews lived alongside Muslims, and those attempting to trespass fell in the fire of heavy machineguns.219 This fact supports the assumption that it was largely a pogrom-like attack of an uncontrolled, murdering mob rather than anything comparable to the crimes happening in Europe. 2Abd-al-Amir 2Alawi witnessed the events in Baghdad and underlined that numerous Iraqi Arabs protected their Jewish friends against the “hooligans” in the streets.220 Arab Muslim memoirs and Iraqi Jewish writers often stress this kind of support and protection.221 The presence of German troops on the war scene, however, gave way to interpretations of the pogrom as a racial anti-Semitic endeavor “in the fringes of the Shoah, the Jewish Holocaust.”222 While this is surely an exaggeration in its comparative perspective, the apologetic approach of several Arab authors is insufficient as well. According to them, the outbreak of violence resulted from the anti-Zionist zeal of the public and from the fact that the Iraqi soldiers and the 108

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crowd were furious about the Jews’ “provocative” welcoming of the Regent’s return to Baghdad.223 An official Iraqi government report about the events explained shortly after the downfall of the government of national defense, however, that the Jews had been in the streets to celebrate Shavu1ot.224 It is of major concern here that many reports point to a distinctive role played by the youth in the time preceding the days of pillage and murder and maybe even in the pogrom itself. During April and May, the youth patrolled the streets of Baghdad and harassed people in an arbitrary manner.225 There are Jewish reports that youth bands marked Jewish houses before the start of the pogrom.226 Hayyim Cohen wrote that al-Futuwwa and other youth groups “continued to imbue Iraqi youth with hatred for Jews and at the beginning of 1941, three small Nazi groups were added to the list: ‘Kata1ib al-Shabab’ (Youth Troops), ‘Haras al-Hadid’ (The Iron Guard) and ‘Quwat al-Sab2awi al-Wataniyah’ (The Sab2awi National Force), all of them headed by Yunus al-Sab2awi”. These groups, Cohen added, were most active in the Farhud. They received money from Fritz Grobba, “who distributed funds and Nazi films, books and pamphlets in the capital of Iraq.”227 The latter probably refers to reports on German activities in the 1930s, because German support for Rashid 2Ali arrived in Baghdad only late in May 1941. The Iraqi government had severed diplomatic relations with Germany in September 1939, and Grobba had left the country. Cohen concluded “that in general it was soldiers, officers, policemen and youngsters imbued with hatred against Jews who were the main perpetrators of the slaughter, while civilians, the common people and uneducated masses, were responsible for most of the looting.” The official report on the events of the Farhud confirmed that the perpetrators of physical violence had been those exposed to Nazi propaganda, “especially soldiers, officers, policemen, and members of the para-military groups.” The violence broke out after Sab2awi fled to Iran and ceased to control the brigades.228 The murderers were therefore those who were able to read or had access to radios. Cohen separated them clearly from the looters: “the uneducated, illiterate masses,” who looked only for material gain. It was easy for the armed forces to stop them with a few shots. As there was only a limited number of those involved in the killing, victims were relatively few, around one hundred and eighty. Furthermore, Baghdad was the only location for violent attacks on the Jews because, said Cohen, the impact of Nazi propaganda was restricted to the capital. The city attracted the educated and talented youth from other centers such as Mosul, Basra, and 2Amara for further studies and employment. In addition, the Palestinians, Syrians, and Germans who were, according to Cohen, active in propaganda had their bases in Baghdad.229 Cohen also related the violence to the separation between the Jewish and the other communities, which was stronger in Baghdad than in other towns where the feeling of personal responsibility for the Jews was stronger among Muslims, because they were in daily exchange with them.230 There is a certain apologetic element, too, in the fact that the official report put all the blame for the outbreak of violence on foreign influence. The British were prepared to believe this because of their deeply rooted suspicion of possible 109

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Nazi sympathies among Iraqis. They preferred to use this as an explanation for the entire Rashid 2Ali affair rather than putting too much weight on Iraqi antiBritish feelings. This did not explain the anti-Jewish furor among the youth, though. What, then, was behind this outbreak of violence if we do not subscribe to a sole explanation of Nazi influence? As in other Arab countries, there was a potential for uncontrolled violence among the youth.231 Violence against Jews in particular had erupted in Iraq before 1941. For instance, Jews had become victims of violence during the First World War already, when the war circumstances produced violent attacks on wealthier Jews. According to Musa Shabandar, news made the rounds that six Jewish bankers had been killed and thrown into the river, because they had obstructed a change in currency policy.232 In November 1938, violent clashes between demonstrators, partly of student background, and the army took place in Baghdad after the decree of a partition of Palestine had been announced. After a peaceful start, the demonstrators directed their march toward the Jewish market and looted it and then attacked Jewish living quarters. The clashes with the army left four people dead.233 By chronology, this event was unrelated at least to German radio propaganda, which took off in 1939 only.234 Nevertheless, Elie Kedourie observed an increase of violence in Iraq parallel to a growth of violence in the international arena.235 According to him, this had to do with the rise of Hitler to power in Germany. He assigned that, in Iraq, minorities were the primary victims of force, coercion, and onslaught. Obviously, he implied the Assyrian massacre of 1933, which many consider the initiation of ethnic violence in Iraq.236 However, the British Royal Air Force had provided the first model for the use of military force against the deviation of certain groups in the 1920s already. This had mainly happened to compel tribes into paying their taxes.237 Influential people in the Iraqi public developed a violent tone against Jews in public speeches, though not directly against Iraqi Jews. The Palestinian exile Akram Zu2aitir lectured at the Muthanna Club in May 1939. In his talk he referred to the “Kristallnacht” and considered it exemplary for the assertion of national dignity. He contrasted the great damage sustained by “world Jewry,” as a result of a Jew daring to kill a German official in the German embassy in Paris, with the many examples of Jews treating Arabs in Palestine with such contempt that they were destroying them wholesale.238 As we have seen, however, such opinions did not find their way into the newspapers. Yet, it is hard to determine how much views such as those of Zu2aitir influenced certain youth groups that probably took part in the Farhud of 1941.239 In 1938, at least, Zu2aitir no longer distinguished between Zionists and Jews anymore.240 Rufa1il Butti’s memoirs contain a detailed description of the events of April and May 1941.241 He wrote that, when war broke out in May 1941, the time seemed 110

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right for the youth to take part in the defense of the rights and the independence of the fatherland. The aforementioned Jauwal Society announced the foundation of the “Kata1ib al-Jauwal” as a group of educated and noneducated youth, both male and female. Their task was to support passive resistance during the war, to provide first aid and propaganda, to help upholding security, and to fight foreign espionage. There was a lack of confidence in the state authorities among the leaders of the younger generation, wrote Butti. Apparently, the state administration was suspicious of the activities of al-Kata1ib in turn. They were but orally recognized two days before the collapse of the Kailani movement at the end of May 1941 after an intervention of the Mufti Amin al-Husaini. There was apparently a rift between al-Kata1ib’s supporter Yunus al-Sab2awi, who was minister of economics in Kailani’s government, and the prime minster, who remained indifferent and provided government funding only very reluctantly. The director of police and the Mutasarrif of Baghdad opposed the Kata1ib, because they feared a disintegration of police control in regard to the persecution of espionage, as well as further deviations. Nevertheless, the public response to the establishment of al-Kata1ib was great and its numbers grew to 6,000. Boys were active in antiespionage reconnaissance and support of the troops, while the girls collected donations for the air force and performed as propagandists among women. Butti mentioned that weapons were distributed among the youth after Minister Sab2awi had declared military rule over Baghdad and its surroundings in the last days of the war. Thus, they should help to maintain public transportation, for instance. Butti mentioned further that reports about an involvement of the Kata1ib in the horrible events of the Farhud spreaded shortly afterward. He insisted, however, that they were nothing but propaganda from the opponents of al-Kata1ib and from the British.242 It is beyond the scope of this study to inquire to what extent the youth were actually involved in the Farhud. The major argument is, however, that only under the circumstances of April and May 1941, youthful protest gained shape in the form of arbitrary violence when more or less organized youth bands controlled the streets of Baghdad. Before, the official youth organization al-Futuwwa had curbed the potential of violence with rules and discipline. Sab2awi, who was a forerunner of youthful protest in generational conflict, as well as the army promoted the youth militias, whereas the law and order establishment of Baghdad’s police and administration as well as the Kailani faction were reluctant to lend it support. Elkabir’s memoirs support this thesis. He described the tense situation during the war in Baghdad, which “was aggravated by the appearance of a local militia formed by a band of youngsters under the command of one of the triumvirate, the unscrupulous and dreaded Youniss Sabawie [sic].” Elkabir, who was director general of finance at the time, clashed with Sab2awi, then minister of economics, when he asked for an unspecified amount of money in order to purchase supply goods for Baghdad. Furthermore, he demanded that Elkabir should provide money for the local defense organizations that terrorized the people.243 Apparently, Sab2awi started to claim leadership over the other ministries.244 111

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Sylvia Haim considered Elkabir’s office of director general of finance as an unusual post for a Jew at this time. She added that Rashid 2Ali trusted and relied on him.245 This could be a hint that there was no general aversion to Jews and not on a racial basis. Elkabir confirmed that Rasheed Ali and several of his colleagues were known to be friendly to the Jews with whom many had some personal connections. They were however dominated by three military officers, nicknamed the golden triangle [in fact: square], who were led by the Mufti of Jerusalem and by Dr Grobba, the German Ambassador [in fact: envoy] who was in real and effective control of the junta. A semi military formation under the control of one of the officers, Al Futuwa (. . .) which was a sort of home guard soon started to terrorize the population and particularly the Jews. The division between the old establishment and the younger generation is clear in this report. It is likely, however, that Elkabir mixed his memoirs of the time before and after the 1941 movement when he described the role of the Germans. He wrote that Radio Berlin kept barking ‘Achtung’ with uninterrupted broadcasts in German or Arabic. People were seen in the streets shouting ‘Quick march! Romel’ [sic] Jews felt desperately threatened by Romel from the West and Paulus from the East. Many were arrested for futile charges, others were blackmailed. It did not last long.246 Rommel’s big successes, however, and Paulus’ advance in the Barbarossa campaign took place after the events of May 1941 only. In summary, the confrontation between the youth and its Young Effendiyya leaders on the one side and the old establishment on the other side was at least partly due to an open outburst of a generational conflict when the authorities lost control over the youth. Thus, the state controlled al-Futuwwa actually failed in 1941 and gave way to the uncontrolled violence of al-Kata1ib.

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The Iraqi Arab nationalist discourse of the time contained multifaceted perceptions of authoritarianism, totalitarianism, and fascism in Europe and elsewhere. It ranged from complete rejection to wholehearted approval of the achievements of a totalitarian organization of society. An analysis of the discourse of the 1930s and early 1940s therefore does not support the “single-thread-narrative” of Iraqi pro-Nazi tendencies. The latter claimed that the Germanophilia of former Arab Ottoman officers, the influence of Sati2 al-Husri’s “völkisch”-oriented history curriculum, and the influence of German propaganda altogether led to a common pro-Nazi stance of the public. Consequently, some scholars considered the Rashid 2Ali movement of 1941 as an expression of a common ideological pro-fascist standpoint of the Iraqi leadership and public. Much more than that, the signs and symbols of the discourse moved between allusions to authoritarian, totalitarian, and openly fascist models. In that, they remained quite shallow. A positive image of Germany in particular was not as widely accepted as many studies claim.1 The inherited Germanophilia of the Sherifian officers corresponded to militarism, because Germany was a model through its belligerent unification under Prussian leadership, for instance. This image had nothing to do with fascism and was even no direct link to Germany. It was inherited from Ottoman traditions. The desired strength of an Iraqi army had a connotation with national awakening (“nahda”), which was a dominant theme of the discourse. Military strength or the superior leadership of a “Superman” should bring about national strength. Nietzschean terms were very popular among the intellectuals. The idea of a leadership state was close to fascist ideas, but leading models for a national awakening were neighboring countries such as Turkey or Iraq, as well as Japan, rather than Germany or Italy.2 The names of Hitler and Mussolini appeared simultaneously with Atatürk and Reza Shah most of the time. In the course of the 1930s, the image of a self-disciplined youth was the most popular reference in a debate on how to achieve a national awakening. The youth had to be masculine and prepared to die for the nation and ready to subordinate itself under superior leadership. The superficially fascist appearance of the youth movement al-Futuwwa did not reflect an adoption of fascist models, however. The debate about the movement in the press and elsewhere suggests that its principles 113

CONCLUSIONS

were closer to the Boy Scout movement and European turn of the century debates than to the Hitler Youth, for instance. Between the poles of rejection and approval of totalitarianism, there were statements that opposed dictatorship and discrimination but applauded charismatic leadership and the spirit of renewal. The reception of authoritarian, totalitarian, and fascist ideas functioned in the framework of “Fascist Imagery.” Foreign observers in Iraq interpreted this as an alignment with fascism, but it seems in the context of the contemporary nationalist debate that this was a misunderstanding, or at least an exaggeration. For example, Kemal Atatürk’s popularity was not restricted to Iraqi nationalists. In 1952, even Sir John Troutbeck, British Ambassador in Baghdad, wrote home that the country was lacking a leader like Atatürk. This was notably after the 1941 events. Troutbeck had served in Turkey before and had come to admire the Turkish leader’s capacities to transfer his country to modernity.3 In the debate on youth, direct references to European fascist youth movements were rare. Instead, references to the Islamic past provided the dominant models for the youth, both in terms of leadership and the demand for chastity, chivalry, and fitness. Nevertheless, Iraqi newspaper writers used a language and created concepts that resembled European concepts of a national youth and ideals of true manhood and the favorable role of women in society. These concepts, however, were adapted to an imagery that was understandable in the local context. Hence, Muhammad and his comrades became a model for the ideal relationship between a charismatic Arab leader and devoted warriors who were ready to sacrifice themselves. The language of discipline and renewal of the society was essentially defensive. Iraqi authors considered the perceived efficiency of authoritarian and totalitarian societies as an achievement of the West. Thus, they adopted a Western idea of modernity in order to get rid of colonial control. They compared the state of their own nation and society with more successful ones of the 1920s and 1930s. In that, they looked at the nations that had managed to challenge the great powers and had preceded Iraq in their achievement of modernity. Doing so, they preferred to refer to nations of the East such as Turkey and Japan. Hence, the approach was contradictory. These nations had achieved modernization through the adoption of certain elements of Western culture but used them to reject Westernization. Iraqi nationalists aspired to something similar. It is arguable, of course, that Iraqis played consciously with “Fascist Imagery,” but when they did it, they had an Iraqi Arab and mainly Sunni new middle class audience in mind, with all its inherited patterns of references and a fund of understandable images and stories common to all of them. A European terminology of “modernity” was discussed in many late colonial societies and so in Iraq.4 The rising extremism in Iraq of the 1930s and early 1940s was due to generational conflict, too. An established generation of the founders of the state exploited the “Young Effendiyya” in opposition to other factions of the Sherifian generation, for instance against the Anglo-Iraqi treaty of 1930, or in tribal and 114

CONCLUSIONS

sectarian conflicts. The Effendiyya, however, adopted forms of an urban “Westernization” and discussed certain ideas and ideologies to threaten the prevailing system of clientelism. The young intellectuals were torn between the claims of more or less traditional interest groups and the public nature of Western state models such as democracy represented by the imperialist powers Britain and France on the one side and the fascist–authoritarian state on the other side. The generations were in close interaction, nevertheless. Venues such as the Muthanna Club served as meeting places, where the establishment could uphold its control over the debates. During the later 1930s, both generations even cooperated in governments, when the Young Effendiyya, embodied in a group of younger high-ranking officers, effectively took over the control over the state. The Rashid 2Ali movement consisted of members of both the Sherifian and the Young Effendiyya generation. During the movement, however, the old establishment lost control over the Young Effendiyya and the youth as a whole. The anarchy and violence during the war of May 1941 and the subsequent Farhud in Baghdad were a result of that. A comparison of the Iraqi debate with a theory of European fascism does indeed show parallels, but the differences weigh a lot heavier. George Mosse reduces a characterization of fascism to the following aspects: According to him, fascism was a revolutionary movement, which took the existing symbolism of nationalism to its extremes. Fascism thus developed a “liturgy of nationalism” and adopted Christian imagery to create a “civic religion.” Fascism used racism to include physical and thus very concrete aspects into its language. In Europe, fascism emerged as a continuation of the “war experience” after the First World War and embodied in comradeship, violence, and male exclusiveness. The process of focusing culminated in the orientation to an infallible leader.5 As we have seen, the Iraqi debate had striking parallels in its selection of themes, for instance with reference to religion, comradeship and masculinity, and, first of all, the myth of leadership. The Iraqi debate showed a strong desire for change, indeed, but it did not develop a revolutionary drive, except during the events of 1941. The debate moved within the existing structures of political system and elite. Religion played a role when references to Islam had a tendency to secularize and historicize Muhammad and the early conquests of his comrades. The cult of youth alludes to Mosse’s “liturgy of nationalism.” Racism, however, did not play a role in the Iraqi debate. There was a notion of Arab leadership but not of racial superiority. Anti-Jewism was a political rather than a racial issue at the time. Those who shaped the discourse lacked all war experience. The debate about national strength was essentially defensive in character. The idea of a revival had no inclination toward imperialist expansion and rule of the superior race. Rather, a liberation from imperialist enslavement was intended. Iraqi intellectuals clearly perceived this difference between the European fascists and, for instance, Turkey and Iran, the emerging strong states of the “East.” Hence, a proper term for the references to authoritarian, totalitarian, or fascist principles is “flirting with Fascist Imagery.” There was no direct adoption of fascist thought. 115

CONCLUSIONS

Intellectuals took up a popular, anti-colonial (anti-British) imagery and reworked it into a local context. Arab sympathies for Germany during the Nazi period are often explained with the slogan “my enemy’s enemy is my friend,” in the sense that Germany was a natural ally for those under French and British rule. The reception of authoritarianism, totalitarianism, and fascism went deeper than this, however, even though it was not a reception of pure Nazism. During the war, the debate in Iraq presented the opponents Britain, France, and Germany as two factions that offered contradictory systems struggling for dominance. Iraqis felt that they were free to choose what suited their own situation best. Certain parts of the intelligentsia adopted totalitarian views and made efforts to realize them in politics when they preached a doctrine of strength and sacrifice to the youth. They felt that this was their way to reach the upper echelons of Iraqi politics and to overcome the old Ottoman-shaped establishment, which they considered an obstacle to a modernization of country and society. Surely, there were strong voices from the other side of the political spectrum, people such as Kamil al-Jadirji or the entire Ahali group who considered themselves liberals and democrats. However, in April 1941, the worshippers of strength won a decisive but temporary victory and pushed the country into a devastating defeat. The Rashid 2Ali movement then found a solid place in the national myths of youth, strength, and leadership as well as authoritarian and totalitarian society formation. The following authoritarian and totalitarian Iraqi regimes root to a certain extent in the events of 1941 and the failure of both the Iraqi establishment and the British occupiers to deliver on the desires of the Iraqi intelligentsia and the rising middle classes. These desires were hidden behind the pro-German outlook of the Rashid 2Ali regime. It was an Iraqi product, and authoritarian, totalitarian, and pro-fascist tendencies of the years were the result of an intellectual reworking of foreign models. The language of strength and sacrifice was an Iraqi one. To paint it with Nazism was an easy exculpation for the old establishment and the British occupiers.

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1 INTRODUCTION 1 Al-Bilad, 16, March 1941, p2: “Fityan Baghdad fi masiratihim al-ra1i2a.” 2 Details and military history in Bernd Philipp Schröder, Irak 1941, Einzelschriften zur militärischen Geschichte des Zweiten Weltkrieges 24 (Freiburg i. B., 1980); Geoffrey Warner, Iraq and Syria 1941 (London, 1974). See respective chapters of Majid Khadduri, Independent Iraq 1932–1958: A Study in Iraqi Politics, 2nd ed. (London, 1960); Reeva S. Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars: The Creation and Implementation of a Nationalist Ideology (New York, 1986); Mohammad A. Tarbush, The Role of the Military in Politics. A Case Study of Iraq to 1941, 2nd ed. (London, 1983). On German–Iraqi negotiations see Peter Wien, “Arab Nationalists, Nazi-Germany and the Holocaust: An Unlucky Contemporaneity,” in Der Völkermord an den Armeniern und die Shoah/The Armenian Genocide and the Shoah, ed. Hans Lukas Kieser and Dominik J. Schaller (Zurich, 2002), 599–614. 3 Mahmud al-Durra, Al-Harb al-2Iraqiyya al-Britaniyya 1941 (Beirut, 1969), 11f; Stefan Wild, “Der Generalsekretär und die Geschichtsschreibung: Saddam Husayn und die irakische Geschichtswissenschaft,” in The Challenge of the Middle East. Middle Eastern Studies at the University of Amsterdam, ed. Ibrahim A. El-Sheikh et al. (Amsterdam, 1982), 169. 4 Iraqi Arabic word for “disorder, robbery.” See Daphne Tsimhoni, “The Pogrom (Farhud) Against the Jews of Baghdad in 1941: Jewish and Arab Approaches,” in Remembering for the Future: The Holocaust in an Age of Genocide, ed. John K. Roth and Elisabeth Maxwell (Basingstoke, New York, 2001), 570. 5 Respective criticism in review articles by Rashid Khalidi, “Arab Nationalism: Historical Problems in the Literature,” American Historical Review 96, no. 5 (1991): 1366; Basheer M. Nafi, “The Arabs and the Axis: 1933–1940,” Arab Studies Quarterly 19, no. 2 (1997). 6 Elie Kedourie, “The Kingdom of Iraq: a Retrospect,” in The Chatham House Version and Other Middle-Eastern Studies, ed. Elie Kedourie (London, 1970), 275; Bernard Lewis, The Middle East: A Brief History of the Last 2000 Years (New York, 1996), 348; Phebe Marr, The Modern History of Iraq (Boulder, CO, London, 1985), 76; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, chapter 2; Bassam Tibi, Nationalismus in der Dritten Welt am arabischen Beispiel (Frankfurt a.M., 1971), 104ff. 7 Norman A. Stillman, The Jews of Arab Lands in Modern Times (Philadelphia, PA, New York, 1991), 405ff. 8 For a differentiation between “generic fascism and racial national socialism” as a suitable, “typological” definition in an inquiry on the Arab East see Keith D. Watenpaugh, “Steel Shirts, White Badges and the Last Qabaday: Fascism, Urban Violence and Civic Identity in Aleppo Under French Rule,” in France, Syrie et Liban

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9

10

11

12 13

14 15 16

17 18 19 20 21 22 23

1918–1946: Les ambiguïtés et les dynamiques de la relation mandataire, ed. Nadine Méouchy (Damascus, 2002), 326n. Klaus-Dietmar Henke, “Achsen des Augenmerkes in der historischen Totalitarismusforschung,” in Totalitarismus: Sechs Vorträge über Gehalt und Reichweite eines klassischen Konzepts der Diktaturforschung, ed. Klaus-Dietmar Henke (Dresden, 1999), 9ff; Sigrid Meuschel, “Totalitarismustheorie und moderne Diktaturen. Versuch einer Annäherung,” in Totalitarismus: Sechs Vorträge über Gehalt und Reichweite eines klassischen Konzepts der Diktaturforschung, ed. Klaus-Dietmar Henke (Dresden, 1999), 61. Steffen Kailitz, “Der Streit um den Totalitarismusbegriff: Ein Spiegelbild der politischen Entwicklung,” in Prägekräfte des 20. Jahrhunderts: Demokratie, Extremismus, Totalitarismus, ed. Eckhard Jesse and Steffen Kailitz (Baden-Baden, 1997), 227; Juan José Linz, Totalitäre und autoritäre Regime, Potsdamer Textbücher 4, ed. Raimund Krämer (Berlin, 2000), 20ff, 129ff. This was different in al-Risala, though. The journal’s authors considered racism as the distinguishing factor in the Nazi paradigm. Israel Gershoni, “Egyptian Liberalism in an Age of ‘Crisis of Orientation’: Al Risala’s Reaction to Fascism and Nazism, 1933–39,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 31 (1999): 556, 561f. Majid Khadduri used the term “totalitarian”, too, for example in order to characterize the inclinations of Iraqi “ultra-nationalists” of the period. Khadduri, Independent Iraq, 166. Haggai Erlich, “The Arab Youth and the Challenge of Fascism,” in Fascism Overseas, ed. Stein Larsen (New York, 2001), 422. Pierre Jean Luizard, “Mémoires d’Irakiens: à la découverte d’une société vaincue . . .,” Monde arabe: Maghreb Machrek 163 (1999): 16f. Even an Iraqi history of the 1941 movement published in Baghdad provides that point of view: Walid Muhammad Sa2id al-A2zami, Intifadat Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani wa’l-harb al-2Iraqiyya al-Britaniyya 1941 (Baghdad, 1987). On a British colonial perspective see also Toby Dodge, Inventing Iraq: The Failure of Nation-Building and a History Denied (New York, 2003). Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 112. She quotes the following record: U.S. Dept. of State 890g.00/483. #1307. Knabenshue to Secretary of State, Baghdad, June 7, 1939. Compare Khalidi, “Arab Nationalism,” 1363ff. Often the same authors point to the prominence of the Turkish case: Marr, Modern History, 69f; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 168f; Reeva S. Simon, “The Teaching of History in Iraq before the Rashid Ali Coup of 1941,” Middle Eastern Studies 22 (1986): 43; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 116. Hanna Batatu, The Old Social Classes and the Revolutionary Movements of Iraq: A Study of Iraq’s Old Landed and Commercial Classes and of its Communists, Ba’thists, and Free Officers (Princeton, NJ, 1978), 29. Israel Gershoni, “Rethinking the Formation of Arab Nationalism in the Middle East, 1920–1945. Old and New Narratives,” in Rethinking Nationalism in the Arab Middle East, ed. James P. Jankowski and Israel Gershoni (New York, 1997), 10. Compare Keith D. Watenpaugh, “ ‘Creating Phantoms’: Zaki al-Arsuzi, the Alexandretta Crisis, and the Formation of Modern Arab Nationalism in Syria,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 28 (1996): 365. Gershoni, “Old and New Narratives,” 4ff; Khalidi, “Arab Nationalism,” 1363f, 1370f. Gershoni, “Old and New Narratives,” 13f. Werner Ende, “Neue arabische Memoirenliteratur zur Geschichte des modernen Irak,” Der Islam 49 (1972): 100f. Al-Istiqlal: 1934–05/1941; al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 07/1934–04/1936; Saut al- Sha2b: 10/1939–05/1941; al-Bilad: 09/1939-05/1941, Habazbuz: 1936–1939 (incomplete).

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24 Compare: Juan Cole, The Difficulty Writing Iraqi History in the United States (History News Network, [cited 29 January 2003]). Available from http://hnn.us/articles/ 1207.html; Elie Kedourie, “Arabic Political Memoirs,” in Arabic Political Memoirs and Other Studies, ed. Elie Kedourie (London, Portland, 1974), 178; Rasheeduddin Khan, “Survey of Source Material: Arabic Source Material for the Political History of Modern Iraq,” Quarterly Journal of the Indian School of International Studies II/3 (1961): 300; H. H. Kopietz, “The Use of German and British Archives in the Study of the Middle East: The Iraqi Coup d’Etat of 1936,” in The Integration of Modern Iraq, ed. Abbas Kelidar (London, 1979), 46–62; Tarbush, Military in Politics, xvf. Most comprehensive in the use of Western archives: Edgar Flacker, “Fritz Grobba and Nazi Germany’s Middle Eastern Policy 1933–1942,” PhD thesis (University of London, LSE, 1998). See the following exceptions: Edmond Cao-Van-Hoa, “Der Feind meines Feindes . . .”: Darstellungen des nationalsozialistischen Deutschland in ägyptischen Schriften, Europäische Hochschulschriften, Reihe III: Geschichte und ihre Hilfswissenschaften 423 (Frankfurt a.M., Bern, New York, Paris 1990), passim; Erlich, “Arab Youth”; Haggai Erlich, “Youth and Arab Politics: The Political Generation of 1935–1936,” in Alienation or Integration of Arab Youth, ed. Roel Meijer (London, 2000); Israel Gershoni, Light in the Shade: Egypt and Fascism (Tel Aviv, 1999); Watenpaugh, “Steel Shirts.” 25 See Martin Kramer, “Introduction,” in Middle Eastern Lives. The Practice of Biography and Self-Narrative, ed. Martin Kramer (Syracuse, NY, 1991), 7ff; Marvin Zonis, “Autobiography and Biography in the Middle East: A Plea for Psychopolitical Studies,” in Middle Eastern Lives. The Practice of Biography and Self-Narrative, ed. Martin Kramer (Syracuse, NY, 1991). 26 Susanne Enderwitz, Unsere Situation schuf unsere Erinnerung: Palästinensische Autobiographien zwischen 1967 und 2000, Literaturen im Kontext: arabisch – persisch – türkisch 10, (Berlin, 2002), 9ff. 27 Philippe Lejeune, Le pacte autobiographique (Paris, 1975), 35ff. 28 The distinction between the terms ‘memoirs’ and ‘autobiography’ and how they fit for Arab authors are discussed by Susanne Enderwitz, “Public Role and Private Self,” in Writing the Self: Autobiographical Writing in Modern Arabic Literature, ed. Robin Ostle, Ed de Moor, and Stefan Wild (London, 1998), 76f; Enderwitz, Palästinensische Autobiographien, 1ff. For reasons of practicality the term ‘memoirs’ will be used for the the works cited in this study. 29 Susanne Enderwitz, “The Mission of the Palestinian Autobiographer,” in Conscious Voices: Concepts of Writing in the Middle East. Proceedings of the Berne Symposium July 1997, ed. Stephan Guth, Priska Furrer, and Johann Christoph Bürgel (Beirut, 1999), 30; Benjamin C. Fortna, “Education and Autobiography at the End of the Ottoman Empire,” Die Welt des Islams 41 (2001): 7; Thomas Philipp, “The Autobiography in Modern Arab Literature and Culture,” Poetics Today 14, no. 3 (1993): 576–579; Christoph Schumann, “The Generation of Broad Expectations: Nationalism, Education and Autobiography in Syria and Lebanon, 1930–1958,” Die Welt des Islams 41 (2001): 176ff; Id., Radikalnationalismus in Syrien und Libanon: Politische Sozialisation und Elitenbildung 1930–1958 (Hamburg, 2001), 35ff. 30 William A. Cleveland, The Making of an Arab Nationalist: Ottomanism and Arabism in the Life and Thought of Sati’ al-Husri (Princeton, NJ, 1971), 92ff. Al-Husri was inconsistent in his use of the term as well. 31 Gershoni, “Old and New Narratives,” 5ff. 32 Ibid., 12; Wamid Jamal Nazmi, “Shi2at al-2Iraq wa-qadiyyat al-qaumiyya al-2arabiyya: al-Daur al-tarikhi qubayl al-Istiqlal,” Al-Mustaqbal al-2Arabi 42 (1982): 97ff. 33 Amatzia Baram, “A Case of Imported Identity: The Modernizing Secular Ruling Elites of Iraq and the Concept of Mesopotamian-Inspired Territorial Nationalism, 1922–1992,” Poetics Today 15, no. 2 (1994): 289. 34 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 297.

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2 THE HISTORICAL FRAMEWORK 1 For general reference see Lukasz Hirszowicz, The Third Reich and the Arab East (London, Toronto, 1966); Bernd Philipp Schröder, Deutschland und der Mittlere Osten im Zweiten Weltkrieg, Studien und Dokumente zur Geschichte des Zweiten Weltkriegs 16 (Göttingen et al., 1975); Heinz Tillmann, Deutschlands Araberpolitik im Zweiten Weltkrieg, Schriftenreihe des Instituts für allgemeine Geschichte an der Martin-Luther-Universität Halle-Wittenberg 2 (East Berlin, 1965). 2 Compare Milan Hauner, “The Professionals and the Amateurs in National Socialist Foreign Policy: Revolution and Subversion in the Islamic and Indian World,” in Der “Führerstaat”: Mythos und Realität. Studien zur Struktur und Politik des Dritten Reiches, ed. Gerhard Hirschfeld and Lothar Kettenacker, Veröffentlichungen des Deutschen Historischen Instituts London 8 (Stuttgart, 1981), 305–328; Kopietz, “German and British Archives,” 49ff; Haim Shamir, “The Middle East in the Nazi Conception,” in Germany and the Middle East 1835–1939: International Symposium April 1975, ed. Jehuda Wallach (Tel Aviv, 1975), 167–174. 3 Werner Feilchenfeld, Dolf Michaelis, and Ludwig Pinner, Haavara-Transfer nach Palästina und Einwanderung deutscher Juden 1933–1939, Schriftenreihe wissenschaftlicher Abhandlungen des Leo Baeck Instituts 26 (Tübingen, 1972); Friedrich Paul Harald Neubert, “Die deutsche Politik im Palästina-Konflikt 1937/38,” PhD thesis (Bonn, 1977); Francis R. Nicosia, “Arab Nationalism and National Socialist Germany, 1933–1939: Ideological and Strategic Incompatibility,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 12 (1980?): 351–372. Id., The Third Reich and the Palestine Question (Austin, TX, 1985). 4 Compare: John P. Entelis, Pluralism and Party Transformation in Lebanon: Al-Kata’ib, 1936–1970, Social, Economic and Political Studies of the Middle East 10 (Leiden, 1970); Daniel Pipes, “Radical Politics and the Syrian Social Nationalist Party,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 20 (1988) 303–324; Schumann, Radikalnationalismus; Christoph Schumann, “Symbolische Aneignungen. Antun Sa2adas Radikalnationalismus in der Epoche des Faschismus,” in Blind für die Geschichte? Arabische Begegnungen mit dem Nationalsozialismus, ed. Gerhard Höpp, Peter Wien, and René Wildangel, ZMO-Studien 19 (Berlin, 2004); Labib Zuwiyya Yamak, The Syrian Social Nationalist Party: An Ideological Analysis (Cambridge, 1966). 5 Erlich, “Youth and Arab Politics”; James P. Jankowski, Egypt’s Young Rebels: “Young Egypt”: 1933–1952 (Stanford, CA, 1975); Watenpaugh, “Steel Shirts.” 6 Elsa Marston, “Fascist Tendencies in Pre-War Arab Politics: A Study of Three Arab Political Movements,” Middle East Forum 35 (May 1959) 19–22, 33–35; Stefan Wild, “National Socialism in the Arab Near East Between 1933 and 1939,” Die Welt des Islams 25 (1985): 132ff. 7 Gerhard Höpp, “Araber im Zweiten Weltkrieg – Kollaboration oder Patriotismus?,” in Jenseits der Legenden. Araber, Juden, Deutsche, ed. Wolfgang Schwanitz (Berlin, 1994), 91; Fritz Steppat, “Das Jahr 1933 und seine Folgen für die arabischen Länder des Vorderen Orients,” in Die Große Krise der dreißiger Jahre: Vom Niedergang der Weltwirtschaft zum Zweiten Weltkrieg, ed. Gerhard Schulz (Göttingen, 1985), 272. 8 Tarbush, Military in Politics, 36ff. 9 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 16ff. 10 Ibid., 23; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 51f; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 10. 11 Compare Efraim Karsh, “Reactive Imperialism: Britain, the Hashemites and the Creation of Modern Iraq,” The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History 30, no. 3 (2002): 55–70. He puts weight on Faisal’s individual efforts in the preparation of his accession to the throne.

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12 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 319f; Paul P. J. Hemphill, “The Formation of the Iraqi Army, 1921–1933,” in The Integration of Modern Iraq, ed. Abbas Kelidar (London, 1979), 91f; David Pool, “From Elite to Class: The Transformation of Iraqi Political Leadership,” in The Integration of Modern Iraq, ed. Abbas Kelidar (London, 1979), 64ff; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 15f; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 71. The trend continued in the 1930s among a second generation of army officers: Ahmad Abdul Razzaq Shikara, Iraqi Politics 1921–41: The Interaction Between Domestic Politics and Foreign Policy (London, 1987), 111. 13 Werner Ende, Arabische Nation und islamische Geschichte: Die Umayyaden im Urteil arabischer Autoren des 20. Jahrhunderts (Beirut, 1977), 133f; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 14. 14 Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 75ff; Id., “Teaching of History.” Compare Sami Zubaida, “Contested Nations: Iraq and the Assyrians,” Nations and Nationalism 6 (2000): 365f. Liora Lukitz provides a synthesis of the factors at work in Iraqi state formation. Liora Lukitz, Iraq: The Search for National Identity (London, 1995). 15 Charles Tripp, A History of Iraq, 2nd ed. (Cambridge, 2002), 61f. 16 Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 9ff. 17 Ibid., 132. 18 Baram, “Imported Identity,” 287f. 19 Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 95. 20 Yücel Güçlü, “The Role of the Ottoman-Trained Officers in Independent Iraq,” Oriente Moderno 21, n. 2 n.s. (2002): 448; Hemphill, “Formation of the Iraqi Army,” 92; Simon, “Teaching of History,” 45. 21 Tripp, History of Iraq, 94f. 22 Shikara, Iraqi Politics, 109. For British tribal politics compare Dodge, Inventing Iraq. 23 Marr, Modern History, 57ff; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 59f, 123; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 72, 101f. 24 Khaldun S. al-Husry, “The Assyrian Affair,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 5 (1974) 161–176, 344–360; Zubaida, “Contested Nations.” 25 Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 117ff; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 73, 94, 96ff. 26 Tarbush, Military in Politics, 53ff, 102ff. 27 Fa1iq Butti, A2lam fi sihafat al-2Iraq (Baghdad, 1971), 9. 28 To my knowledge no such study exists in Western languages. A recent Arabic monography is Muzaffar 2Abdallah al-Amin, Jama2at al-Ahali: Munshi1uha, 2aqidatuha, wa-dauruha fi’l-siyasa al-2Iraqiyya 1932–1946 (Beirut, 2001). See also Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 300ff. In spite of the leftist inclination, Ahali members supported Kailani’s government in April 1941. al-Amin, Jama1at al-Ahali, 234. 29 Eliezer Be’eri, Army Officers in Arab Politics and Society (New York, London, Jerusalem, 1969), 17–19; Marion Farouk-Sluglett and Peter Sluglett, “The Social Classes and the Origins of the Revolution,” in The Iraqi Revolution of 1958: The Old Social Classes Revisited, ed. Robert A. Fernea and Wm. Roger Louis (London, New York, 1991), 124f; Marr, Modern History, 55f, 71–76; Shikara, Iraqi Politics, 111ff; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 127f. 30 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 28f, 337; Majid Khadduri, Political Trends in the Arab World. The Role of Ideas and Ideals in Politics (Baltimore, MD, London, 1970), 129f. 31 Michael Eppel, “The Elite, the Effendiyya, and the Growth of Nationalism and Pan-Arabism in Hashemite Iraq, 1921–1958,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 30 (1998): 227ff.

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32 Compare Israel Gershoni’s application of Anthony Smiths’s theory of nationalism on Arab societies. Smith argues that a nation’s rising new middle class intelligentsia takes up extreme and militant nationalist ideologies in order to overcome the obstructions put in place by an older generation. According to Gershoni this is exactly what happened in several Arab societies. Gershoni, “Old and New Narratives,” 17ff. With reference to Anthony D. Smith, The Ethnic Origins of Nations (Oxford, Malden, 1986), 153ff. 33 Marr, Modern History, 56. 34 Broadly speaking the use of the term discourse here refers to the concepts developed by Michel Foucault. See for instance Michel Foucault, The Archaeology of Knowledge (London, 2000). The use of the term “public sphere” refers to the works of Jürgen Habermas, bearing in mind criticism such as Geoff Eley, “Nations, Publics, and Political Cultures: Placing Habermas in the Nineteenth Century,” in Culture/ Power / History: A Reader in Contemporary Social Theory, ed. Nicholas B. Dirks, Geoff Eley, and Sherry B. Ortner (Princeton, NJ, 1994), 297–335. 35 For references see the chapter on generational conflict. 36 Ami Ayalon, The Press in the Arab Middle East: A History (New York, Oxford, 1995), 156ff. 37 Gershoni, “Old and New Narratives,” 14. 38 Ayad Al-Qazzaz, “Power Elite in Iraq – 1920–1958. A Study of the Cabinet,” The Muslim World 61 (1971): 277; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 47. 39 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 45. 40 Al-Qazzaz, “Power Elite,” 272ff; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 19. 41 Al-Qazzaz, “Power Elite,” 271. 42 Ibid., 282. 43 Tarbush, Military in Politics, 95. 44 In 1956, Majid Khadduri could still state that “political awareness can be found only in the cities and the big towns, while the great majority of the people neither understands the political issues involved nor do they show interest to take part in politics.” See Al-Qazzaz, “Power Elite,” 272. He quotes: Area Handbook on Iraq. Baltimore, MD, 322. 45 Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 81. 46 See for example al-A2zami, Intifadat Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani; Munir al-Raiyis, Al-Kitab al-dhahabi li1l-thaura al-wataniyya fi’l-Mashriq al-2arabi: Harb al-2Iraq 2am 1941 (Damascus, 1977). 47 Be’eri, Army Officers, 39. 48 Samira Haj, The Making of Iraq, 1900–1963: Capital, Power and Ideology (Albany, NY, 1997), 83. 49 Ibid., 83f. 50 Timothy Mitchell, Colonising Egypt (Berkeley, CA, Los Angeles, London, 1991), xi. 51 Compare the currents in Syria in Schumann, “Broad Expectations,” 174ff. For Iraq see Simon, “Teaching of History,” 38. 52 Compare recent reassessments of the Ottoman reforms: Fortna, “Education and Autobiography,” 1ff; Selçuk Akshin Somel, The Modernization of Public Education in the Ottoman Empire 1839–1908: Islamization, Autocracy and Discipline, The Ottoman Empire and its Heritage: Politics, Society and Economy 22 (Leiden, Boston, MA, Köln, 2001), 1ff. Compare also Hemphill, “Formation of the Iraqi Army,” 93. 53 See Cleveland, Making of an Arab Nationalist, 85ff; Tibi, Nationalismus, 113ff. 54 Fortna, “Education and Autobiography,” 5. He refers to the effects of education. 55 Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 83; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 35. 56 Marr, Modern History, 69f.

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3 GENERATIONAL CONFLICT 1 Erlich, “Youth and Arab Politics,” 48. 2 Ute Daniel, Kompendium Kulturgeschichte: Theorien, Praxis, Schlüsselwörter (Frankfurt a.M., 2001), 335–337; Elisabeth Domansky, “Politische Dimensionen von Jugendprotest und Generationenkonflikt in der Zwischenkriegszeit in Deutschland,” in Jugendprotest und Generationenkonflikt in Europa im 20. Jahrhundert: Deutschland, England und Italien im Vergleich. Vorträge eines internationalen Symposiums des Instituts für Sozialgeschichte Braunschweig-Bonn und der Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung vom 17.-19. Juni 1985 in Braunschweig, ed. Dieter Dowe (Bonn, 1986), 113f; Jürgen Reulecke, “The Battle for the Young: Mobilising Young People in Wilhelmine Germany,” in Generations in Conflict: Youth Revolt and Generation Formation in Germany 1770–1968, ed. Mark Roseman (Cambridge, New York, 1995), 92–94. 3 Jürgen Reulecke, “Jugendprotest – ein Kennzeichen des 20. Jahrhunderts?” in Jugendprotest und Generationenkonflikt in Europa im 20. Jahrhundert: Deutschland, England und Italien im Vergleich. Vorträge eines internationalen Symposiums des Instituts für Sozialgeschichte Braunschweig-Bonn und der Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung vom 17.-19. Juni 1985 in Braunschweig, ed. Dieter Dowe (Bonn, 1986), 3, 5. 4 Karl Mannheim, “Das Problem der Generationen,” in Wissenssoziologie: Auswahl aus dem Werk, ed. Kurt H. Wolff, Soziologische Texte 28 (Berlin, Neuwied, 1964), 526ff. In English Id., “The Problem of Generations,” in Essays on the Sociology of Knowledge, ed. Paul Kecskemeti (London, 1952), 276–322. 5 Mannheim, “Generationen,” 536, 543, 547f. 6 Eppel, “Effendiyya,” 231f. 7 Detlev J. K. Peukert, “Alltagsleben und Generationserfahrungen von Jugendlichen in der Zwischenkriegszeit,” in Jugendprotest und Generationenkonflikt in Europa im 20. Jahrhundert: Deutschland, England und Italien im Vergleich. Vorträge eines internationalen Symposiums des Instituts für Sozialgeschichte Braunschweig-Bonn und der Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung vom 17.–19. Juni 1985 in Braunschweig, ed. Dieter Dowe (Bonn, 1986), 140ff. 8 Compare Erlich, “Youth and Arab Politics,” 48; Mark Roseman, “Introduction: Generation Conflict and German History 1770–1968,” in Generations in Conflict: Youth Revolt and Generation Formation in Germany 1770–1968, ed. Mark Roseman (Cambridge, New York, 1995), 24. Erlich states that “[a] study of education as developed by politicians, and the way in which students, in their turn, responded by challenging the political establishment, may shed a great deal of light on 20th century Middle Eastern dynamism.” 9 Reinhart Koselleck, “ ‘Erfahrungsraum’ und ‘Erwartungshorizont’ – zwei historische Kategorien,” in Vergangene Zukunft. Zur Semantik geschichtlicher Zeiten, ed. Reinhart Koselleck (Frankfurt a.M., 2000), 349–375. In English, Id., Futures Past: On the Semantics of Historical Time, trans. Keith Tribe (Cambridge, MA, 1985). 10 See also Jürgen Reulecke, “Generationen und Biografien im 20. Jahrhundert,” in Psychotherapie in Zeiten der Veränderung: Historische, kulturelle und gesellschaftliche Hintergründe einer Profession, ed. Bernhard Strauß and Michael Geyer (Wiesbaden, 2000), 28. 11 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 319f; Güçlü, “Ottoman-Trained Officers,” 441–458. Pool, “From Elite to Class,” 64ff.; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 15–16; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 71. 12 According to Yücel Güçlü the first military coup in Iraqi history that he staged in 1936 was the first serious challenge to the Sherifian dominance in the country. Güçlü, “Ottoman-Trained Officers,” 445. 13 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 6–8, 11–14, 46–47, 319f; Yitzhak Nakash, The Shi2is of Iraq (Princeton, NJ, 1994), 88ff; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 28–30, 41–44.

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14 Erlich, “Youth and Arab Politics,” 51. Compare also Eppel, “Effendiyya,” 242f. 15 Erlich, “Youth and Arab Politics,” 55f. He puts the tendencies in a wider Arab framework. 16 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 28–29, 337; Eppel, “Effendiyya”; Khadduri, Political Trends, 129–130. 17 Watenpaugh, “Creating Phantoms,” 380. 18 2Ali Jaudat, Dhikrayat 1900–1958 (Beirut, 1968), 9f. 19 Ibid., 13ff. 20 Compare Güçlü, “Ottoman-Trained Officers,” 442. 21 Compare Hasan Kayali, Arabs and Young Turks: Ottomanism, Arabism, and Islamism in the Ottoman Empire, 1908–1918 (Berkeley, CA, Los Angeles, London, 1997), 37f, 47ff. 22 Tripp, History of Iraq, 61. 23 Jaudat, Dhikrayat, 175. 24 Naji Shaukat, Sira wa-Dhikrayat Thamanin 2Aman, 1894–1974, 2nd ed., (Beirut, 1975), 37. There are two Arabic transcriptions given for the leader of the German airforce unit: on p37 it is “Adlugh,” whereas on p39 it is “Awlugh.” It is evident, however, that both transcriptions refer to Aulock who is pointed out as the commander of the unit in Hans Werner Neulen, Feldgrau in Jerusalem: Das Levantekorps des kaiserlichen Deutschland (München, 1991), 154. 25 Shaukat, Sira wa-Dhikrayat, 22, 29; Mir Basri, A2lam al-Siyasa fi2l-2Iraq al-Hadith (London, 1987), 141. 26 Shaukat, Sira wa-Dhikrayat, 30f. 27 Ibid., 40. 28 Ibid., 32f. 29 According to the information provided by ‘Askari it was probably “1. Badisches Leib-Grenadier-Regiment Nr. 109” of the “55. Infanterie-Brigade” which belonged to the “28. Division” of the “XIV. Armeekorps (Badisches).” 30 Ja2far al-2Askari, Mudhakkirat, ed. Najda Fathi Safwa (London, 1988), 6ff. (Introduction by Najdah Fathi Safwah); Marr, Modern History, 36; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 74f. 31 al-2Askari, Mudhakkirat, 33. 32 Be’eri, Army Officers, 17. 33 al-2Askari, Mudhakkirat, 38. 34 Ibid., 35. The Arabic transcription for Altrock is “Altruk,” for Rettberg “Rutbirk.” Compare Rangliste der Königlich Preußischen Armee und des XIII. (Königlich Württembergischen) Armeekorps für 1911. Mit den Dienstalterslisten der Generale und der Stabsoffiziere (Berlin, [1911]), 264f. 35 al-2Askari, Mudhakkirat, 35. 36 Tarbush, Military in Politics, 87. 37 al-2Askari, Mudhakkirat, 36ff. 38 Marr, Modern History, 63. 39 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 319ff; Hemphill, “Formation of the Iraqi Army,” 91. 40 al-2Askari, Mudhakkirat, 36. 41 Ibid., 39f. The Arabic transcription for Krosigk is “Kruzig.” Compare Rangliste der Königlich Preußischen Armee, 92. 42 al-2Askari, Mudhakkirat, 41. 43 A list of his works in Kurkis 2Auwad, Mu2jam al-mu2allifin al-2Iraqiyyin fi’l-qarnain al-tasi2 2ashar wa’l-2ishrin: 1800–1969, 3 vols, vol. 3 (Bagdad, 1969), 272. 44 al-Durra, Al-Harb al-2Iraqiyya, 15. 45 Ibid., 14f, 47.

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46 2Auwad mentioned that 2Alawi’s book “Dalil al-umm fi tarbiyyat al-tifl” (“The mother’s Guide in Raising her Child”) was in its third edition in Baghdad in 1946. 2Auwad, Mu1jam vol. 2, 207. 47 2Abd-al-Amir 2Alawi, Tajarib wa-Dhikrayat (London, 2000). The memoirs were edited by his son 2Ali 2Alawi, currently Minister of Finance of the first democratic government of Iraq after the fall of Saddam Hussein. I learned a lot from him about the Iraqi exile community, especially on those of the generation of his father. 48 Rufa1il Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya 1900–1956, 2 vols, vol. 1, ed. Fa1iq Butti (Damascus, 2000). According to different information he was born in 1901: Butti, A2lam, 85. 49 Khaldun S. al-Husry, “The Political Ideas of Yunis al-Sab’awi,” in Intellectual Life in the Arab East, 1890–1939, ed. Marwan R. Buheiry (Beirut, 1981); Khairi al-2Umari, Yunus al-Sab2awi: Sirat siyasi 2isami (Baghdad, 1978). 50 Salah-al-Din al-Sabbagh called him a “torch of intelligence.” Salah-al-Din al-Sabbagh, Mudhakkirat al-shahid al-2aqid al-rukn Salah-al-Din al-Sabbagh: Fursan al-2uruba fi’l-2Iraq (Damascus, [1956]), 15. 51 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 456. 52 The Committee was a venue for influential Iraqi nationalists and organized much of the Iraqi support for the Arab revolt in Palestine. See Michael Eppel, The Palestine Conflict and the History of Modern Iraq: The Dynamics of Involvement 1928–1948 (Ilford, Portland, 1994), 30ff. 53 Butti, A2lam, 92ff. 54 His only book mentioned in 2Auwad’s bibliography was not available for this study: “Al-Qaumiyya wa’l-wataniyya: Haqaiq wa-idahat wa-manahij li’l-mustaqbal,” published in Mossul in 1938. ‘Auwad, Mu2jam vol. 3, 493. 55 Ende, “Memoirenliteratur,” 107; Muhammad Mahdi Kubba, Mudhakkirati fi samim al-ahdath: 1918–1958 (Beirut, 1965), 16. 56 Kubba, Mudhakkirati, 35ff, 99. 57 Email conversation with 2Ali 2Alawi, June 26, 2003: 2Abd-al-Amir 2Alawi “. . . left Baghad in 1959, as apart from a short ban on his travel, he was not really harassed by the Qasim regime. He became a Professor at the Institute for Child Health in London, but returned to Iraq to reopen his clinic in 1961. He avoided political entanglements and though clearly disapproving of military rule, he was treated reasonably well by the regime of the Aref Brothers. However when the Baath returned to power in 1968, he was increasingly threatened and was jailed in 1971 on trumped up charges relating to an imaginary membership of a ‘masonic conspiracy.’ When he was released, his practice continued to be strong but he could not abide the regime. When his travel ban was lifted, he found himself in London again and when the Iran–Iraq War broke out, we prevailed on him to stay in London. He loved London but he loved Iraq even more but the family would not allow him to return. One of my great regrets is that he didn’t live to see the demise of Saddam and the Baath who destroyed his beloved Iraq.” 58 2Alawi, Tajarib, 129. 59 Elie Kedourie, “The Break between Muslims and Jews in Iraq,” in Jews among Arabs: Contacts and Boundaries, ed. Mark R. Cohen and Abraham L. Udovitch (Princeton, NJ, 1989), 25f. 60 Nusuli had come to Iraq among a number of “specialists” in education who followed Sati2 al-Husri’s call. Thus, the Shiite protests were an indirect assault on Husri and his educational policy as well. Ende, Arabische Nation, 132ff; Nakash, Shi’is of Iraq, 114; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 98, 108. 61 2Alawi, Tajarib, 67. 62 Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 81. She refers to the 1930s when the system of state schooling had even become significantly stronger than during 2Alawi’s time.

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63 64 65 66 67 68

69 70 71 72 73 74

75

76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84

85 86 87 88

Efforts to bring more Shiites into state schooling had increased: Nakash, Shi’is of Iraq, 111f, 125f. 2Alawi, Tajarib, 25. Ibid., 62. Even though the educational system expanded in the 1930s, more than three-quarters of students in higher education lived in the cities. Al-Qazzaz, “Power Elite”; Tarbush, Military in Politics, 19. 2Alawi, Tajarib, 55. Ibid., 41. Ibid., 70. See Khaldun Sati2 al-Husri, “Muqaddimat fi tarikh al-2Iraq al-hadith,” in Mudhakkirat Taha al-Hashimi 1919–1943, ed. Khaldun Sati2 al-Husri (Beirut, 1967), 24. Husri introduces Kubba as a very influential thinker of the interwar period. His first publications listed in 2Auwad appeared, however, after the Second World War. 2Auwad, Mu2jam vol. 3, 254. Nakash, Shi’is of Iraq, 23–25. Kubba, Mudhakkirati, 16. Ibid., 11. Ibid., 18. Nakash, Shi’is of Iraq, 66ff, 81. Compare Tramontini, Leslie “ ‘Fatherland, if ever I betrayed you . . .’ Reflections on Nationalist Iraqi Poetry,” al-Abhath 50–51 (2003) (Ms. Tramontini kindly made the original typescript available to me.) Werner Ende remarks that the Sunni reaction to the Omayyad riots of 1927 was rather shaped by a call for secular, non-confessional Arab nationalism than by religious strive. Ende, Arabische Nation, 140. Muhammad Husain Zubaydi, ed., Mudhakkirat 2Ali Mahmud al-Shaikh 2Ali: wazir fi hukumat al-difa2 al-wataniyya fi wizarat Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani al-akhira sanat 1941 (Baghdad, 1985), 13f, 245. I refer to the summary of the memoirs in the introduction by the editor, first of all. Ibid., 16f. Muhammad 2Abd-al-Fattah Yafi, Al-2Iraq baina inqilabain (Beirut, 1938), 118ff. Yafi counted him among the great men of Iraq (“rijalat al-2Iraq”) and as one of the enthusiastic youth (“min al-shabab al-watani al-mutahammis”). Talib Mushtaq, Auraq Aiyami: al-juz1 al-auwal 1900–1958 (Beirut, 1968), 88. Ibid., 9ff. Ibid., 20f, 31, 38ff, 52ff. Ibid., 145f. Ibid., 188ff. Compare Kedourie, “Break between Muslims and Jews,” 27; Peter Sluglett, Britain in Iraq: 1914–1932 (London, 1976), 159f. Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 2, 31. See the large number of Iraqi clubs and societies in al-Dalil al-1Iraqi al-rasmi (
The Iraq Directory), (Baghdad, 1936), 825ff. Cohen states that Darwish al-Miqdadi had founded the society in 1931 in the Baghdad state secondary school. Hayyim J. Cohen, “The Anti-Jewish Farhud in Baghdad, 1941,” Middle Eastern Studies 3.1 (1966): 6. According to Jabbar, the society was established in 1933: 2Abbas 2Atiyya Jabbar, Al-2Iraq wa’l-qadiyya al-Filastiniyya: 1932–1941 (Baghdad, 1990), 16. Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 450f. See al-Istiqlal: 12/09/1939, p4: “Ijtima2 al-hai1a al-2amma li-Jam2iyyat al-Jauwal al-2Arabi.” Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 298n. See for instance Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 72, 88. For links to Syria see Philip S. Khoury, Syria and the French Mandate: The Politics of Arab Nationalism, 1920–1945 (Princeton, NJ, 1987), 564ff.

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89 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 298. 90 Jabbar, Al-Qadiyya al-Filastiniyya, 52f. For the founding date see also al-Dalil al-rasmi, 831. 91 Kubba, Mudhakkirati, 54ff. 92 See for instance Tripp, History of Iraq, 88ff. 93 Kubba, Mudhakkirati, 55. 94 See for instance the newspaper al-Bilad on September 18 and 19, 1940, al-Istiqlal on November 17, 1940 etc; See Jabbar, Al-Qadiyya al-Filastiniyya, 52f. 95 At the time, many Iraqi Arab nationalist put stress on the national heritage to construct an ‘imagined community’. See Baram, “Imported Identity,” 292ff; Eric Davis, “The Museum and the Politics of Social Control in Modern Iraq,” in Commemorations: The Politics of National Identity, ed. John R. Gillis (Princeton, NJ, 1994), 93ff; Simon, “Teaching of History,” 43ff. Compare Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, 12th ed. (London, 2003). 96 Compare European trends in Domansky, “Politische Dimensionen,” 115ff; Reulecke, “Battle for the Young,” 96. 97 Compare Tripp, History of Iraq, 96. 98 Jabbar, Al-Qadiyya al-Filastiniyya, 53. 99 Kubba, Mudhakkirati, 56–59. 100 al-Husri, “Muqaddimat fi tarikh,” 24. He quotes 2Umar Abu-Nasr, Al-2Iraq al-Jadid (Beirut, 1938), 86. According to Stefan Wild, Abu-Nasr published a partial translation of “Mein Kampf ” in 1935 in Beirut. He “seems to have been an allround historian and journalist, whose work made up in breadth what it lacked in profoundness.” However, he was apparently critical of Hitler and National Socialism. See Wild, “National Socialism,” 148f. 101 In the 1950s British junior Foreign Office officials in the Middle East were told to read her books “to learn how to enter into human relationships with the people around them.” Molly Izzard, Freya Stark: A Biography (London, 1993), 15, 13ff. 102 al-Durra, Al-Harb al-2Iraqiyya, 15, 46f. 103 Kemalism was at its peak in Iraq during the rule of Bakr Sidqi and Hikmat Sulaiman who both admired Atatürk: Güçlü, “Ottoman-Trained Officers,” 451ff. 104 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 2, 263ff. 105 Ibid., vol. 1, 145. 106 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 457. 107 Schumann refers to Bourdieu’s concept of “habitus” to describe this sense of community. Compare Schumann, “Broad Expectations.”; Id., Radikalnationalismus, passim. 108 Güçlü states that the opposition against the treaty in fact came from old Ottoman officials who rejected the dominance of the Sherifians in nationalist politics. Güçlü, “Ottoman-Trained Officers,” 446. 109 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 146f; Id., Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 2, 31f; Id., al-Sahafa fi’l-2Iraq: Muhadarat (Cairo, 1955), 112f. Among those imprisoned were Yunus al-Sab2awi, Fa2iq al-Samarra2i, Khalil Kanna, 2Abd-al-Qadir Isma2il, and Jamil 2Abd-al-Wahhab. They were sentenced to 6 months imprisonment and were released after 2 months. 110 Mannheim, “Generationen,” 544f. 111 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 32. 112 Ibid., 165. Among the first to praise Atatürk as a model for the Arabs was Sati2 al-Husri. See William A. Cleveland, “Atatürk Viewed by his Arab Contemporaries: The Opinions of Sati’ al-Husri and Shakib Arslan,” International Journal of Turkish Studies 2, no. 2 (1981–1982); Id., Making of an Arab Nationalist, 116. 113 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 449. 114 Ibid., vol. 2, 32f. 115 al-2Umari, Sab’awi, 37f.

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116 117 118 119 120 121 122 123 124 125 126 127 128

129 130 131 132 133 134 135 136 137 138 139 140

141 142 143 144

Compare Erlich, “Youth and Arab Politics,” 55. 2Alawi, Tajarib, 129. Ibid., 124ff. Ibid., 130. Ibid., 116ff. Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 449. Ibid. Ibid., 32. Gershoni, “Crisis of Orientation,” 570. Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 194ff. Ibid., 204ff. Ibid., vol. 2, 291. Emil Ludwig, Napoleon (Berlin, 1930); al-2Umari, Sab2awi, 51. Emil Ludwig (1881–1948) was one of the most famous German writers of the interwar period. He was of Jewish origin, a liberal, and had a worldwide reputation as a leading representative of Weimar Germany. His biographies of Bismarck, Wilhelm II, and Napoleon were translated into many languages, which made him one of the most successful authors of the time. In 1932 he emigrated to Switzerland, and in 1933 the Nazis burnt his books. When he emigrated to the USA in 1940, he became a special consultant for President Roosevelt. In 1945 he returned to Switzerland where he died. “Ludwig, Emil,” in Neue Deutsche Biographie, ed. Historische Kommission bei der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (Berlin, 1987), passim. Ludwig’s books were very popular in the Arab world, but the first translations into Arabic of his biography of Napoleon appeared after the Second World War in Cairo. See Mustafa Maher, Wolfgang Ule, and Inter Nationes e.V., Deutsche Autoren in arabischer Sprache, arabische Autoren in deutscher Sprache, Bücher über Deutsche und Deutschland in arabischer Sprache (München New York, London, Paris 1979), 15, 124. Sab2awi therefore probably read an English translation. Ludwig, Napoleon, 15. Ibid., 20. Ibid., 676. Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 2, 268. Compare Wild, “National Socialism,” 150ff. al-2Umari, Sab2awi, 41. Haj, Making of Iraq, 83f. Ibid., 84f. al-2Umari, Sab2awi, 40. Reulecke, “Generationen und Biografien,” 29. al-2Umari, Sab2awi, 36. Al-Habazbuz, 31/08/1937, p3: “Ash- Shuyu2iyya wa’l-mar1a.” Sab2awi had gone into exile during the regime of Bakr Sidqi and Hikmat Sulaiman. At the time of writing he had probably not returned yet even though the Hikmat-Bakr government fell in mid-August. On Sab2awi’s stance toward the Hikmat-Bakr regime see Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 2, 188ff. He never developed communist inclinations, though, as Batatu confirms. Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 457ff. Mushtaq, Auraq Aiyami, 350ff. Sasson Somekh, “Lost Voices: Jewish Authors in Modern Arabic Literature,” in Jews among Arabs: Contacts and Boundaries, ed. Mark R. Cohen and Abraham L. Udovitch (Princeton, NJ, 1989), 16ff. Anwar Sha1ul, Qissat Hayati fi Wadi al-Rafidain (Jerusalem, 1980), 11, 14–20, 34f, 56, 79, 138–140, 148ff; Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 151.

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145 Butti, A2lam, 91. 146 2Auwad, Mu2jam vol. 1, 156. 147 See, for instance, Sylvia G. Haim, “Aspects of Jewish Life in Baghdad under the Monarchy,” Middle Eastern Studies 12 (1976): 189f; Daphne Tsimhoni, “Jewish Muslim Relations in Modern Iraq,” in Nationalism, Minorities and Diasporas: Identities and Rights in the Middle East, ed. Kirsten E. Schulze, Martin Stokes, and Colm Campbell (London, New York, 1996), 96. 148 The Palestinian nationalist Muhammad 2Izzat Darwaza observed this during a visit to Baghdad in 1937 and learned that most of the cinemas belonged to Jews as well. Muhammad 2Izzat Darwaza, Mudhakkirat Muhammad 2Izzat Darwaza: Sijill hafil bi-masirat al-haraka al-2Arabiyya wa’l-qadiyya al-Filastiniyya khilal qarn min al-zaman, 1305h–1404h/1887m–1984m, vol. 3 (Beirut, 1993), 46. See also Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 244ff. 149 Aron Rodrigue, French Jews, Turkish Jews: The Alliance Israélite Universelle and the Politics of Jewish Schooling in Turkey, 1860–1925 (Bloomington, IN, 1990), 47ff. Compare also Reeva S. Simon, “Iraq,” in The Jews of the Middle East and North Africa in Modern Times, ed. Reeva S. Simon, Michael M. Laskier, and Sarah Reguer (New York, 2003), 359ff. 150 “Alliance Israélite Universelle,” in Encyclopaedia Judaica (Jerusalem, 1971), 652. 151 A. S. Elkabir, “Memoires,” typescript, Babylonian Jewry Heritage Center, Or Yehuda, [1963–1970?], 42f. See also Kedourie, “Break between Muslims and Jews,” 23; Tsimhoni, “Jewish Muslim Relations,” 96. 152 Moshe Gat, The Jewish Exodus from Iraq 1948–1951, (London, Portland, 1997), 6f, 10ff; Kedourie, “Break between Muslims and Jews,” 23. Briefly on Jewish participation in Iraqi press culture in Ali Ibrahim Abdo and Khairieh Kasmieh, Jews of Arab Countries, vol. 82, Palestine Monographs, ed. Palestine Liberation Organisation (Beirut, 1971), 22. Compare also Simon, “Iraq,” 364. 153 Yusuf Rizq-Allah Ghanima, Nazhat al-mushtaq fi tarikh Yahud al-2Iraq. Ma2a Mulhaq bi-tarikh Yahud al-2Iraq fi’l-qarn al-2ashrin. Bi-Qalam Mir Basri (London, 1997), 285ff. 154 Kedourie, “Break between Muslims and Jews,” 27ff. Compare also Jabbar, Al-Qadiyya al-Filastiniyya, passim. – Eppel, Palestine Conflict. 155 Jabbar, Al-Qadiyya al-Filastiniyya, 55. 156 Darwaza, Mudhakkirat 3, 53f. 157 Ibid., 48, 290. 158 Sha1ul, Qissat Hayati, 48ff. 159 Ibid., 56. 160 Haim, “Jewish Life,” 189. 161 Gat, Jewish Exodus, 15. 162 Sha1ul, Qissat Hayati, 139. 163 Published in al-Hasid: 11/12/1930: “Sa2a fi sijn Baghdad ma2a al-zamil al-ustadh Rufa2il Butti.” Ibid., 161–165. 164 Ibid., 119f. 165 Ibid., 120. 166 Darwaza, Mudhakkirat vol. 3, 545, 603, 676. See also Sha’ul, Qissat Hayati, 214f. 167 Darwaza, Mudhakkirat vol. 3, 50f. 168 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 156ff. According to Mir Basri, Meneshi Za2rur (1897–1972) was called “the Unknown Soldier in the world of Iraqi press” (“al-jundi al-majhul fi 2alam al-sahafa al-2Iraqiyya”). Ghanima, Nazhat al-mushtaq, 291f. 169 Sha1ul, Qissat Hayati, 133. 170 Ibid., 139. 171 Salman al-Safwani in his paper al-Yaqza and Kamal-al-Din al-Ta1i in Majallat al-Hidaya al-Islamiyya, and somtimes Sa2id al-Haj Thabit. Ibid., 213.

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172 Salman al-Safwani in his paper al-Yaqza and Kamal-al-Din al-Ta1i in Majallat al-Hidaya al-Islamiyya, and somtimes Sa2id al-Haj Thabit. Ibid., 215f. 173 Ibid., 63, 213, 227, 240. 174 Ibid., 63. 175 See Wien, “Unlucky Contemporaneity.” 176 Sha1ul, Qissat Hayati, 245ff. 177 Elkabir, “Memoires,” 1f. 178 Ibid., 42, 89, 92, 99, 103f. 179 Ibid., 43f. 180 Ibid., 106. 181 Ibid., 132ff. 182 Ibid., 136f. 183 Ibid., 138f. 184 Ibid., 139. See the following chapter on Yunus Bahri. 185 Ibid., 139ff. 4 THE DEBATE OF THE IRAQI PRESS 1 Erlich, “Arab Youth,” 417ff; Gershoni, “Crisis of Orientation,” passim. 2 The analysis is based on a day-to-day assessment of the issues of the respective newspaper. Most of the articles were chosen on the ground of their value as genuine commentaries emerging from an Iraqi point of view. Mere news reports were not included. 3 Gershoni, “Old and New Narratives,” 10. 4 See Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, passim. 5 Al-Istiqlal: 21/04/1936, p1: “Al-Istiqlal fi 2amiha al-sabi2 2ashar.” 6 Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 194. 7 Ayalon, The Press, 91–95; Butti, Muhadarat, 93ff, 109ff. Butti’s works are key for understanding the history of the press in the interwar period. Majid Khadduri regarded Butti as the best journalist of his time. Khadduri, Independent Iraq, 99n. 8 Ayalon, The Press, 91. 9 Ibid., 92f; Tripp, History of Iraq, 41ff. 10 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 139, 150, 166. An acknowledgment of this assessment in Fa1iq Butti, Sahafat al-2Iraq: Tarikhuha wa-kifah ajyaliha (Baghdad, 1968), 113f. 11 Sha1ul, Qissat Hayati, 152f. 12 Butti, Sahafat al-2Iraq, 110. 13 Butti, Muhadarat, 117f. 14 Ibid., 143ff. 15 Butti, Sahafat al-2Iraq, 117f. 16 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 142. 17 Ibid., 171. 18 Butti, A2lam, 98. 19 Ayalon assigns that reportage as a journalistic genre was “of secondary importance and was marked by amateurishness, while technical standards were, on the whole, equally poor.” According to him the exception from this rule was al-Zaman by the Christian Taufiq al-Sam2ani. It was founded in 1937 and its “balanced news reports” brought about “popular respect and even a circulation abroad.” Unfortunately no copies of al-Zaman were available for this study. Ayalon, The Press, 95. Fa1iq Butti pointed to the genre “maqal” (“article,” here rather “essay” or “commentary”) as the strength of Iraqi journalism at the time. Butti, A2lam, 8; Id., Sahafat al-2Iraq, 110. 20 Ayalon, The Press, 95. 21 Butti, A2lam, 75ff; Id., Sahafat al-2Iraq, 100ff; Id., Dhakira ‘Iraqiyya 1, 141ff. 22 Butti, Sahafat al-2Iraq, 116f.

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23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31

32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42

Ayalon, The Press, 95. Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 169f. Ayalon, The Press, 50f; Butti, Sahafat al-1Iraq, 117. See for instance al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 12/06/1935, p3: “Khawatir haul mabda1 al-nushu1 wa’t-tatauwur: asl al-insan.” Cohen, “Farhud,” 6. Gat, Jewish Exodus, 18. Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 39. Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 148. Flacker, “Fritz Grobba,” 132. He is referring to German and British Foreign Office files from the years 1938–1940. These were partly years when Germany and Iraq had severed diplomatic relations. The available material limited a contents analysis of al2Alam al-2Arabi to the period 1934–1936. In any case, there is information that al2Alam al-2Arabi was closed in 1936 due to its violent anti-British and anti-Jewish stance after the outbreak of the Arab revolt in Palestine. It is not clear whether the ban was permanent, however. Eppel, Palestine Conflict, 35n. Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 6/09/1934, p1: “Alladhina bi-yadihim siyasat al-2alam.” Mushtaq depicted Japan as an inspiring force in one of his history books as well. Simon, “Teaching of History,” 45. Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 13/09/1934, p1: “Li-daman al-nizam wa’l-itmi1nan wa-dawamihima.” Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 18/01/1935, p4: “Al-Mabadi1 al-siyasiyya mundhu sanat 1932.” Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 18/04/1936, p1: “Ad-Diktaturiyya: la tumahhiduha al-aqlam wa’lafwah.” Kedourie, “Break between Muslims and Jews,” 28; Marr, Modern History, 67f, Tarbush, Military in Politics, 116; Tripp, History of Iraq, 88. Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 2/06/1935, p1: “Haul khalq al-mashru’at li-tashghil aidi abna1 al-sha2b wa-mukafahat al-batala.” Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 12/12/1935, p1: “Al-Mustaqbal al-muzallam li-khirriji al-madaris al-sina2iyya.” Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 7/09/1934, p1: “Kifah 2anasir al-bashariyya wa-ra1y Musulini fihi.” Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 4/01/1936, p3: “Qanun al-2anasir fi Almaniyya al-haditha.” The author’s name is provided as “Doctor H. J. Huwawibir,” which is difficult to trace back to the original form. It is very likely to be German, however. 1. Verordnung zum Reichsbürgergesetz vom 14. November 1935, §4, Absatz 2: Jüdische Beamte treten mit Ablauf des 31. Dezember 1935 in den Ruhestand. Wenn diese Beamten im Weltkrieg an der Front für das Deutsche Reich oder für seine Verbündeten gekämpft haben, erhalten sie bis zur Erreichung der Altersgrenze als Ruhegehalt die vollen zuletzt bezogenen ruhegehaltsfähigen Dienstbezüge, sie steigen jedoch nicht in Dienstaltersstufen auf. Nach Erreichung der Altersgrenze wird ihr Ruhegehalt nach den letzten ruhegehaltsfähigen Dienstbezügen neu berechnet

Bernhard Lösener and Friedrich A. Knost, Die Nürnberger Gesetze über das Reichsbürgerrecht und den Schutz des deutschen Blutes und der deutschen Ehre nebst den Durchführungsverordnungen, dem Ehegesundheitsgesetz sowie sämtlichen einschlägigen Bestimmungen (insbesondere über den Abstammungsnachweis) und den Gebührenvorschriften, 2nd ed. (Berlin, 1937), 46. 43 They were influenced by the theory of ancient Arab immigration to Mesopotamia according to the “Semitic Wave” theory. In 1929, a history book by Darwaza promoted this theory for the first time. Compare Baram, “Imported Identity,” 292; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 101f.

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44 Compare the German efforts to prepare an official translation of Hitler’s “Mein Kampf ” that should replace the term “anti-Semitic” with “anti-Jewish.” Wild, “National Socialism,” 139ff. 45 Flacker, “Fritz Grobba,” 132f. 46 Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 12/09/1934, p3: “Thiqat al-sha2b al-Almani bi-za2imihi.” 47 Flacker, “Fritz Grobba,” 132. 48 Al-Istiqlal: 9/05/1935, p1: “Ittijah jadid fi’l-siyasa al-2Iraqiyya fa-hayya ila tauhid al-sufuf.” 49 Marr, Modern History, 67. 50 Al-Istiqlal: 22/08/1935, p1: “Fi-bilad al-Dutshi! Ruma . . .” 51 For instance Yunus Bahri, Asrar 2 Mayis 1941m. Al-Harb al-2Iraqiyya al-Inkliziyya, Manshurat Dar al-Bayan 48 (Baghdad, 1968). 52 Algemen Handelsblad, 8/05/1934: “Over Land naar Batavia: Ontwikkeling van het juist geëmancipeerde mandatsgebied Irak.” 53 Flacker, “Fritz Grobba,” 208f. 54 Schröder, Deutschland und der Mittlere Osten, 252. 55 Erlich, “Arab Youth,” 412. He does not provide a source, however. 56 Al-Istiqlal: 19/03/1936, p1: “Al-2Anasir al-ajnabiyya wa-turuq al-wiqaya minha.” 57 Al-Istiqlal: 20/04/1938, p1: “Birnad Shaw wa-siyasat Hitlar iza1a’l-Yahud.” 58 For example, al-Istiqlal also published a speech held at a meeting of Arab students in England that had a strong nationalist tone but showed no hostility to Great Britain at all. Rather than that the speaker 2Abd-al-Rahman al-Bazzaz encouraged the students to learn more about the hosting country and its superiority. Al-Istiqlal: 1/04/1938, p1: “At-Tullab al-2Arab fi Inkiltira.” 59 Butti, Sahafat al-2Iraq, 119f. 60 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 190ff. 61 Ibid., 195ff. 62 Ibid., 194. He wrote that al-Istiqlal was closed at the time of writing, using the word “now” (“al-an”) and putting the year 1942 in brackets behind it. 63 Wien, “Unlucky Contemporaneity,” 604ff. Compare the full text of the declaration in Documents of German Foreign Policy, vol. XI (London, 1961), D XI, Doc 190, p. 320f. 64 Hirszowicz, Third Reich, 91, 93; Schröder, Deutschland und der Mittlere Osten, 49. 65 Al-Istiqlal: 25/10/1940, p1/4: “Ahdaf al-umma al-2Arabiyya wa-bayan Almaniya wa-Italiya al-mushtarak.” 66 Al-Istiqlal: 28/10/1940, p1/4: “Ta2arud al-siyasa al-duwaliyya fi tahqiq amani al-bilad al-2arabiyya.” 67 Al-Bilad: 24/10/1940, p1: “Al-2Arab wa’t-tasrih al-Almani.” 68 Al-Istiqlal: 4/9/1939, p1/8: “Mauqif al-2Iraq min al-azma al-duwaliyya wa’l-harb al-muntazara.” 69 See for instance a report by C. J. Edmonds, British adviser in Iraqi Ministry of the Interior: By the beginning of July the improvement in the tone of the press, dating from the middle of May, which had survived the first shock of the French capitulation, had spent itself. The Director General of Press Propaganda instructed editors to refrain from publishing disparaging remarks about Hitler and Mussolini; articles began to appear praising the Gailani Cabinet’s policy of “absolute neutrality” (a policy, incidentally, quite inconsistent with the wait-and-see resolution of June 17th); articles expressing pro-British sentiments, especially those giving reasons for complete solidarity with Great Britain were heavily blue-pencilled by the Director himself. Letter to the Ambassador, Baghdad 10/10/1940, Private Papers Cecil John Edmonds (1889–1979), St Antony’s College, Middle East Centre, Private Papers Collection.

132

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70 Nevill Barbour, “Broadcasting to the Arab World: Arabic Transmissions from the B.B.C. and other Non-Arab Stations,” Middle East Journal 5 (1951): 63ff; Erlich, “Arab Youth,” 402; Callum A. Macdonald, “Italian Wireless Propaganda in the Middle East and British Countermeasures 1934–1938,” Middle Eastern Studies 13 (1977): 195–207; Heinz Odermann, “Taktik gewinnt Schlachten - Strategie des Krieges. Zu einigen Aspekten der deutschen Nahost- und Nordafrikapolitik und -propaganda (1940–1942),” in Jenseits der Legenden. Araber, Juden, Deutsche, ed. Wolfgang Schwanitz (Berlin, 1994), 93–110; Steppat, “Das Jahr 1933,” 22; Wild, “National Socialism,” 145f. 71 Musa al-Shabandar, Dhikrayat Baghdadiyya: Al-2Iraq baina’l-ihtilal wa’l-istiqlal (London, 1993), 229. Shabandar spent a long time as Iraqi diplomat in Germany prior to the Second World War. 72 Al-Bilad: 7/03/1940, p1/6: “Limadha tatatawalu al-di2aya al-Naziyya 2ala fakhamat al-Sa2id?” 73 Al-Istiqlal: 11/06/1940, p1: “Mauqifuna min al-di2aya al-haddama.” 74 Saut al-Sha2b: 6/02/1940, p1/3: “Ad-Duwal al-muhayida baina’l-hulafa1 waAlmaniyya al-Naziyya.” 75 Al-Istiqlal: 1/02/1940, p5: “Ahlam Almaniyya al-isti2mariyya.” 76 The author of the book (Hans Lustinadir) could not be identified. 77 Otto Richard Tannenberg, Groß-Deutschland die Arbeit des 20. Jahrhunderts (Leipzig-Gohlis, 1911). The book was translated into French as well: Id., Le rêve allemand! La plus grande Allemagne. L’oeuvre du XXe siècle (Lausanne, Paris, 1916). 78 Al-Istiqlal: 17/01/1940, p4: “Al-Jundi al-Almani fi 2ahd Almaniyya al-Naziyya.” 79 Al-Istiqlal: 05/09/1940, p1/4: “Al-Harb al-mahiqa fi andar 2uhud al-hadara.” 80 Al-Istiqlal: 25/08/1940, p1/4: “Hisar am hujum fa-ihtilal.” 81 Al-Istiqlal: 23/08/1940, p1/4: “Fi buhran al-karitha al-2alamiyya al-kubra: wajib al-2Arab li-hafz kiyanihim wa-siyanat turathihim.” 82 Saut al-Sha2b: 3/03/1941, p1: “Ad-Dimuqratiyya hiya’llati satantasiru fi’l-nihaya.” 83 Erlich, “Arab Youth,” 417. 84 Saut al-Sha2b: 27/03/1940, p1: “Sahih sahih. Kadhib kadhib. Hadhihi di’aya.” 85 Saut al-Sha2b: 28/02/1941, p1: “Al-Fukaha fi khitab al-hirr Hitlar.” 86 Saut al-Sha2b: 23/08/1940, p1: “Tshurshil wa-Hitlar.” 87 Saut al-Sha2b: 8/09/1940, p1: “Al-Balaghat al-Harbiyya.” 88 Saut al-Sha2b: 29/10/1940, p1: “Baina’l-dhi1b wa’l-hamal.” 89 Saut al-Sha2b: 29/09/1940, p1: “Tashabuh.” 90 Saut al-Sha2b: 21/05/1940, p1: “Hadhihi’l hadara, harb wa-takhrib wa-taqtil wa-tadmir wa-ahqad tantaqilu min al-aba’ ila1l-abna1.” 91 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 198f. 92 Al-Bilad: 15/04/1941, p1: “Yaum 10 Nisan al-tarikhi: buruz 2azamat al-jaish wa’l-za2ama wa’l-sha2b.” 93 Compare Khalidi, “Arab Nationalism,” 1366. 94 Habazbuz: 29/12/1937, p2: “Al-Jundiyya al-Muqaddasa.” The given date is probably a misprint, because the article mentions Bakr Sidqi as a leading figure. Sidqi was assassinated in August 1937, however. So it was either 29/12/1936 or 29/01/1937. 95 Habazbuz: 29/12/1937, p4/5: “Al-Junud al-qudama1.” 96 Ayalon, The Press, 95. 97 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 150f. 98 Güçlü, “Ottoman-Trained Officers,” 451ff. 99 Habazbuz: 29/06/1937, p2/3: “Rajul al-tadhiya.” 100 The Axis agreement between Italy and the German Reich of October 24, 1936 had defined the Mediterranean as Italian sphere of expansion. In the following, Mussolini presented himself as a friend of Islam. Symbolically he received the “Sword of Islam” in Tripoli on March 18, 1937. The sword was a product of Italian craftsmanship.

133

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101 102 103 104 105 106

107 108 109 110 111 112 113 114 115 116 117 118 119 120 121 122

123

See Erlich, “Arab Youth,” 406f; Josef Schröder, “Die Beziehungen der Achsenmächte zur arabischen Welt,” in Deutschland und die Mächte: Materialien zur Au
enpolitik des Dritten Reiches, ed. Manfred Funke, Bonner Schriften zur Politik und Zeitgeschichte 12 (Düsseldorf, 1976), 367f. See a photograph of the ceremony in Tripoli on the cover of Enrico Gallopini, Il Fascismo e l’Islam, Quaderni del Veltro 36 (Parma, 2001). Habazbuz: 6/07/1937, p2/3: “Wa-ma2a dhalika! Fa ana shuyu2i quhh! La ghubar 2ala shuyu2iyyati!” Tripp, History of Iraq, 91. Habazbuz: 31/08/1937, p3: “Ash-Shuyu2iyya wa2l-mar1a.” 2Auwad, Mu2jam vol. 2, 28. Sami Shaukat, Hadhihi Ahdafuna (Baghdad, 1939), 50. Title of the speech: “Al-Qaumiyya al-2Arabiyya qubayl al-harb al-2amma.” Amatzia Baram writes that Shaukat became Director General of Education for the first time in 1927. A table in Reeva Simon’s book dates his first period in this office from 1931 to 1933, however. From 1939 on, he held the office again until 1942, with a short interruption as minister of education from February to March 1940. Hence he remained on the post through the Rashid 2Ali intermezzo and even afterward. From April 1939 to February 1940, he was minister of social affairs as well: Baram, “Imported Identity,” 294; Cleveland, Making of an Arab Nationalist, 167fn, 163f; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 78, 164, 177. Rif 2at al-Jadirji, Surat ab: al-Hayat al-yaumiyya fi dar al-siyasi Kamil al-Jadirji (Beirut, 1985), 108. Ibid., 89. Shaukat, Hadhihi Ahdafuna. Butti, Sahafat al-2Iraq, 124f; al-Jadirji, Surat ab, 108. Butti added that there was competition between Shaukat and Khayat as directors general in the government. Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 2, 34; Khadduri, Independent Iraq, 166f. In an article, Habazbuz proclaimed that as a Minister, he would spread military spirit and the teaching of the Profession of Death at school in 1934: “Habazbuz al-Wazir,” in Butti, A2lam, 83. Al-Istiqlal: 12/09/1939, p4: “Ahdaf al-Futuwwa al-2Iraqiyya fi nazr al-dukturain al-Shahbandar wa Zaki Mubarak.” Sylvia G. Haim, Arab Nationalism: An Anthology (Berkely, CA, Los Angeles, London, 1976), 97–99. Marr, Modern History, 79. Shaukat, Hadhihi Ahdafuna, 15f. “Ahdaf madarisina wa-usus nahdatina.” Ibid., 25ff. “Sha2ban 9.” Sylvia G. Haim, “Arabic Antisemitic Literature: Some Preliminary Notes,” Jewish Social Studies 17 (1955): 311. Quote from Stillman, Jews of Arab Lands, 116. Shaukat, Hadhihi Ahdafuna, 34ff. “Al-Imbiraturiyya al-2arabiyya.” Ibid., 62ff. “ 2Anasir al-qaumiyya al-haqqa.” Compare Baram, “Imported Identity,” 295. He writes that Shaukat was “[p]erhaps under the influence of European racial theories.” Habazbuz: 5/05/1936, p2: “Yas! Yam! Ila junud al-Futuwwa al-bawasil!” See Erlich, “Arab Youth,” 409ff; Höpp, “Araber im Zweiten Weltkrieg,” 91; id. “ ‘Nicht 2Ali zuliebe, sondern aus Hass gegen Mu2awiya’. Zum Ringen um die ‘Arabienerklärung’ der Achsenmächte 1940–1942,” asien afrika lateinamerika 27 (1999): 571; Jankowski, Egypt’s Young Rebels Marston, “Fascist Tendencies,” 19–22, 33–35; Steppat, “Das Jahr 1933,” 272; Watenpaugh, “Steel Shirts,” 325–347; Wild, “National Socialism,” 126–173. Erlich, “Arab Youth,” 413.

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124 Erlich dates its origins to 1931, Simon to 1932, which would have been under Sami Shaukat as director general of education. Erlich, “Youth and Arab Politics,” 61; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 110f. 125 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 449; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 78. 126 The Iraq Directory: A General and Commercial Directory of Iraq with a Supplement for the Neighbouring Countries ( al-Dalil al-2Iraqi al-rasmi) (Baghdad, 1936), 402. 127 Al-Dalil al-rasmi, 618. 128 Cohen, “Farhud,” 6. 129 Flacker, Fritz Grobba,” 141. The information was provided by Najda Fathi Safwa in an interview, who was a student in the 1930s (see later). 130 Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 18/2/1936, p4: “Haflat shay Dar al-2Ulum li-tullab al-Futuwwa.” 131 Cohen, “Farhud,” 6f; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 110ff. 132 Cohen, “Farhud,” 6. 133 Darwaza, Mudhakkirat 3, 38. 134 Al-Dalil al-rasmi, 832; Jabbar, Al-Qadiyya al-Filastiniyya, 63f. 135 Claude Cahen, Der Islam I: Vom Ursprung bis zu den Anfängen des Osmanenreiches, Fischer Weltgeschichte 14 (Frankfurt a.M., 1987), 173ff; Id., “Mouvements populaires et autonomisme urbain dans l’Asie musulmane du moyen âge, II-III,” Arabica 6 (1959): 30ff, 233ff; “Futuwwa,” in Encyclopedia of Islam (Leiden, 1991); Bernard Lewis, The Political Language of Islam (Chicago, II, London, 1988), 16f. 136 Compare Khadduri, Independent Iraq, 167. 137 See George Mosse, The Image of Man: The Creation of Modern Masculinity (New York, Oxford, 1996). On the link between youth, masculinity, and education, see for instance, Klaus Schmitz, Militärische Jugenderziehung: Preußische Kadettenhäuser und Nationalpolitische Erziehungsanstalten zwischen 1807 und 1936, Studien und Dokumentationen zur deutschen Bildungsgeschichte 67 (Köln ec., 1997). See further related works in the section on “Generational Conflict.” 138 Mosse, Image of Man, 43. Quote from Friedrich Ludwig Jahn and Ernst Eiselen, Deutsche Turnkunst (Berlin, 1816), 233. 139 Mosse, Image of Man, 50–51. 140 Ute Frevert, “Soldaten, Staatsbürger: Überlegungen zur historischen Konstruktion von Männlichkeit,” in Männergeschichte – Geschlechtergeschichte: Männlichkeit im Wandel der Moderne, ed. Thomas Kühne Geschichte und Geschlechter 14 (Frankfurt a.M., New York, 1996), 73f, 80ff; Mosse, Image of Man, 49f. 141 Schmitz, Militärische Jugenderziehung, 8, 87f, 95ff, 134. 142 Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 79ff; Id., “Teaching of History,” 43. 143 Roseman, “Introduction,” 19f. 144 Mosse, Image of Man, 135f. 145 John Springhall, “ ‘Young England, Rise up, and Listen’: The Political Dimensions of Youth Protest and Generation Conflict in Britain,” in Jugendprotest und Generationenkonflikt in Europa im 20. Jahrhundert: Deutschland, England und Italien im Vergleich. Vorträge eines internationalen Symposiums des Instituts für Sozialgeschichte Braunschweig-Bonn und der Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung vom 17.–19. Juni 1985 in Braunschweig, ed. Dieter Dowe (Bonn, 1986), 154. 146 Helen Kanitkar, “ ‘Real True Boys’: Moulding the Cadets of Imperialism,” in Dislocating Masculinity: Comparative Ethnographies, ed. Andrea Cornwall and Nancy Lindisfarne (London, New York, 1994), 184–196; Mosse, Image of Man, 15. 147 Mrinalini Sinha, Colonial Masculinity: The “Manly Englishman” and the “Effeminate Bengali” in the Late Nineteenth Century (Manchester, New York, 1995), [vii]. These are notes by the editor John M. Mckenzie. 148 Ibid., 6f, 20f. 149 Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 15/11/1934, p. 3–4, “Al-Kashaf al-a2zam al-2alami bi-Bur Sa2id.”

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150 Gillian Grant, Middle Eastern Photographic Collections in the United Kingdom, Middle East Libraries Committee Research Guides 3 (Durham, 1989), 139. The collection of the Scout Association, Baden-Powell House, Queen’s Gate, London contains material on Iraq from 1919 to 1921: logbook and box of glass slides covering the activities of the Baghdad and District Boy Scouts Association, with special reference to 3 troops-9th Baghdad (protestant), 11th Baghdad (Armenian School) and 12th Baghdad (Ta2awun School). 151 Walter Björkmann, “Das irakische Bildungswesen und seine Probleme bis zum Zweiten Weltkrieg,” Die Welt des Islams n.S. 1 (1951): 175. 152 Ende, Arabische Nation, 136n. 153 Mosse, Image of Man, 135. 154 Sinha, Colonial Masculinity, 21f. 155 Compare Mitchell, Colonising Egypt, xi. 156 On that claim and on al-Futuwwa in general see Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 112ff. 157 Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 1/08/1934: “Ash-Shabab . . .” 158 Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 16/11/1934, p1: “Al-Yaum al-muqaddas au 9 Sha2ban.” 159 Al-2Alam al-2Arabi: 9/2/1936, p1: “Ash-Shabb asir bi1atihi, arada au lam yurid.” 160 Habazbuz: 18/05/1937, p6: “Al-Qumsan! Ila shabab al-2Arab.” 161 The “Iron Shirts” (“al-Qumsan al-Hadidiyya”) was a Syrian youth organisation established in 1929 and a branch of the “National Bloc.” See Erlich, “Arab Youth,” 411; Id., “Youth and Arab Politics,” 60; 2Ali Muhafaza, Mauqif Faransa wa-Almaniya wa-Italiyya min al-wahda al-2arabiyya 1919–1945, Mawaqif al-duwal al-kubra min al-wahda al-2Arabiyya 1 (Beirut, 1985), 326; Watenpaugh, “Steel Shirts,” 325ff. 162 Shaukat, Hadhihi Ahdafuna, 17. 163 Al-Bilad: 26/02/1940, p2: “Al-Futuwwa wa-tanshit al-tadrib al-2askari fi madaris al-2Iraq.” 164 Al-Bilad: 4/03/1940, p2: “Tashkilat al-Futuwwa fi1l-madaris.” 165 Compare the article on al-Futuwwa in “L’Istituzione scolastica militare ‘al-Futuwwah’ nell’Iraq,” Oriente Moderno 20 (1940): 297ff. 166 Erlich, “Arab Youth,” 411; Flacker, “Fritz Grobba,” 143; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 40; Wild, “National Socialism,” 136. Compare also the report in Oriente Moderno 18 (1938): 10f. 167 Baldur von Schirach, Ich glaubte an Hitler (Hamburg, 1967), 227f. 168 Frankfurter Zeitung: 12/12/1937: “Atatürk empfängt Baldur von Schirach.” 169 Al-Istiqlal: 6/01/1938, p1: “Taqarrub Almaniya min al-2Arab: Za2im al-shabab al-Nazi yaqul fi taqririhi al-2Arab bi-haja ila madafi2ina wa-amwalina . . . !” 170 Flacker, “Fritz Grobba,” 142f. 171 Amin (1886–1954) was a professor for Arabic literature at the Egyptian University at the time. He frequently wrote articles on literature and social issues in magazines such as al-Risala or al-Thaqafa. “Ahmad Amin,” in Encyclopedia of Islam (Leiden, 1986), 279. 172 Al-Istiqlal: 02/02/1940, p4: “Mashakil al-shabab fi’l-2asr al-hadith.” Compare the problems of youth as described in Erlich, “Arab Youth,” 408. 173 Al-Istiqlal: 24/04/1940, p1: “ 2Aza1im al-shabab hiyala tughyan Dajla wa’l-Furat.” 174 Al-Istiqlal: 20/11/1939, p.3, “Hadith al-yaum: Harakat al-Futuwwa.” 175 Al-Istiqlal: 02/05/1940, p.6, “Al-Futuwwa wa’l-di2aya li’l-2Iraq.” 176 Compare George L. Mosse, The Fascist Revolution: Toward a General Theory of Fascism (New York, 1999). 177 Compare the emphasis on Islamic history in state education and the founding of Islamic museums as well as the increase in excavations of Islamic sites in Iraq: Baram, “Imported Identity,” 290f.

136

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178 179 180 181 182 183 184 185

186 187 188 189 190 191 192 193 194 195 196

197 198 199 200 201 202

203 204 205 206 207 208

Al-Bilad: 19/04/1940, p.1: Articles by Mahdi Muqallad and Khalid al-Durra. Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 447. Al-Bilad: 19/04/1940, p.1: “Muhammad, saiyid Quraish” by Mahdi Muqallad. Al-Bilad: 19/04/1940, p.1: Tiberias probably alludes to the Battle of Hattin in 1187, when Saladin defeated the Crusaders. Al-Istiqlal: 12/06/1940, p1/6: “Mana2atuna al-khulqiyya.” Habazbuz: 19/01/1937, p2f. Shaukat, Hadhihi Ahdafuna, 7–14. First published in al-Istiqlal. Al-Istiqlal: 5/12/1939, p1: “ ‘Uyubuna al-ijtima2iyya wa-mahasinuha.” In 1935 there were 85 girls schools, as opposed to 365 boys schools. Girls’ education became apparently an important issue of educational policy in 1930s’ Iraq. Björkmann, “Das irakische Bildungswesen,” 182. In 1930 the population of Iraq amounted to ca. 2,824,000. Tarbush, Military in Politics, 16. al-Sabbagh, Fursan al-2uruba, 3, 10. Karin Hagemann, “Heldenmütter, Kriegerbräute und Amazonen. Entwürfe ‘patriotischer’ Weiblichkeit zur Zeit der Freiheitskriege,” in Militär und Gesellschaft im 19. und 20. Jahrhundert, ed. Ute Frevert, Industrielle Welt 58 (Stuttgart, 1997), 182, 185. Al-Dalil al-rasmi, 826. Butti, A2lam, 93. Butti, Sahafat al-2Iraq, 118. Björkmann, “Das irakische Bildungswesen,” 183. Jabbar, Al-Qadiyya al-Filastiniyya, 61. Ibid., 53. Compare Nikki R. Keddie, “Women in the Limelight: Some Recent Books on Middle Eastern Women’s History,” International Journal of Middle East Studies 34 (2002), 553–573. Keddie omits references to Iraq almost entirely. An insightful article on that topic is Dina Rizk Khoury, “Drawing Boundaries and Defining Spaces: Women and Space in Ottoman Iraq,” in Women, the Family, and Divorce Laws in Islamic History, ed. Amira El Azhary Sonbol (Syracuse, NY, 1996), 173–187. Al-Bilad: 27/12/1939, p5, “Kalimat al-fatat al-huquqiyya fi takrim al-asatidha al-judud.” Al-Istiqlal 28/06/1940, p2, “Yaum al-Futuwwa.” Al-Bilad: 1/01/1941, p1/4: “Hadith 2askari li’l-ra1is al-rukn 2Abd-al-Majid al-Hashimi.” Here p4. Compare Schmitz, Militärische Jugenderziehung, 135. Quote translated by the author. Ibid., 135ff. Jens Petersen, “Jugend und Jugendprotest im faschistischen Italien,” in Jugendprotest und Generationenkonflikt in Europa im 20. Jahrhundert: Deutschland, England und Italien im Vergleich. Vorträge eines internationalen Symposiums des Instituts für Sozialgeschichte Braunschweig-Bonn und der Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung vom 17.–19. Juni 1985 in Braunschweig, ed. Dieter Dowe (Bonn, 1986), 203. Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 113. Roseman, “Introduction,” 30; Schmitz, Militärische Jugenderziehung, 192, 226, 263, 302ff. Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 119. For the term “imagined community” compare Anderson, Imagined Communities. Roseman, “Introduction,” 13. This alludes to Haggai Erlich’s remark that – in the focus of his study – the Italian Fascist youth provided a model for the Arab “angry youth.” Erlich, “Youth and Arab Politics,” 422.

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209 Al-Bilad: 29/4/1941, “Thaghr al-2Iraq yabsimu li’l-rabi2 al-zahir,” 1. 210 Mosse, Image of Man, 95. 211 Domansky, “Politische Dimensionen,” 126, 131; Reulecke, “Battle for the Young,” 98; Id., “Jugendprotest,” 3, 7ff; Roseman, “Introduction,” 27. 212 Reulecke, “Battle for the Young,” 99f; Springhall, “Young England,” 157f. 213 Roseman, “Introduction,” 24. 214 Ibid., 25. 215 Compare Mitchell, Colonising Egypt, xi. Much of the debate on youth and discipline rests on the basis of Michel Foucault’s Surveiller et punir: La naissance de la prison, first published in 1975. In the German translation I refer to Michel Foucault, Überwachen und Strafen. Die Geburt des Gefängnisses, trans. Walter Seitter (Frankfurt a.M., 1994), 173ff. See also Stefan Breuer, “Sozialdisziplinierung: Probleme und Problemverlagerungen eines Konzepts bei Max Weber, Gerhard Oestreich und Michel Foucault,” in Soziale Sicherheit und soziale Disziplinerung: Beiträge zu einer historischen Theorie der Sozialpolitik, ed. Christoph Sachße and Florian Tennstedt (Frankfurt a.M., 1986), 60, etc. 216 Al-Bilad: 30/04/1940, p3/5: “Risalat al-adib al-2Arabi.” 217 Historiography has blamed the British Commander Wavell and the British Ambassador Cornwallis for that fatal decision, as well as the Regent for his hesitation in calling in the British. Cohen, “Farhud,” 13f; Kedourie, “Break between Muslims and Jews,” 32ff. 218 Batatu mentioned that at least Yunus al-Sab2awi considered the events as “furious mass outbreaks” in the wake of the downfall of the regime. Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 459. 219 According to an eyewitness report of the Israeli writer Sami Michael, of Iraqi Jewish origin, which is in his novel Sufa bein hadekalim (A Storm between the palmtrees). I refer to the German translation: Sami Michael, Bagdad: Sturm über der Stadt (Weinheim, 1998), 156f. Michael confirmed in an interview I conducted with him on November 2, 2001 in Haifa that the account in the novel reflects personal memory. He believed that more Muslims were killed by the Iraqi army in the Farhud than Jews were killed by the mob. Jewish and Muslim victims are also mentioned in al-A2zami, Intifadat Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani, 127. 220 2Alawi, Tajarib, 130f. A. S. Elkabir’s account of the looting comes close to 2Alawi’s assessment: the plundering was committed by “terror gangs of hooligans which included soldiers and policemen in uniform.” From my window in the Serai, I could see people bargaining and sometimes fighting for their loot. A policeman in uniform carrying a costly woman’s dress was conducted to police headquarters by an armed police inspector. Motoring through Rasheed Street at midday by a special permit on 2nd June 1941, I witnessed two bodies lying on the pavement, piles of goods, papers, books, etc. left over in the streets by the mob in flight. (Elkabir, “Memoires,” 148) 221 Haim, “Jewish Life,” 194; 2Abd-al-Karim al-Uzri, Tarikh fi dhikrayat al-2Iraq 1930–1958 (Beirut, 1982), 150f. 222 Tsimhoni, “Pogrom,” 570, 583. See also Isaac Alteras, “The Holocaust in the Middle East: Iraq and the Mufti of Jerusalem,” in Sephardim and the Holocaust, ed. Gaon Solomon and M. Mitchell Serels (New York, 1987), 101–109. – Stillman, Jews of Arab Lands, 113, etc. 223 Samih Shabib, “Al-Hajj Amin al-Husaini wa-dauruhu al-qaumi fi’l-2Iraq (1939–1941),” Shu1un Filastiniyya 219–220 (1991): 26f; 2Abd-al-Razzaq Hasani, Al-Asrar al-khafiyya fi harakat al-sana 1941 al-tahririyya, 2nd ed (Saida, 1964), 243. 224 Stillman, Jews of Arab Lands, 405f.

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225 Haim, “Jewish Life,” 192. 226 Michael, Sturm über der Stadt, 79; Tsimhoni, “Pogrom,” 573. See also the collection of reports in Abraham Hayim Twena, The Pogrom in Baghdad, Jewry of Iraq: Dispersion & Liberation 6 (Ramla, 1977). 227 Cohen, “Farhud,” 7. 228 Stillman, Jews of Arab Lands, 405ff. 229 Compare a letter from the Iraqi Communist Party to the prime minister published in Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 453ff. In this letter, the Communist Party declares its support for the Government of National Defense, but rejects the violence against Jews in Baghdad. Interestingly, the letter attributes the violence to “acts of provocation [. . .] by the retainers of British imperialism on the one side, and the propagandists of German imperialism on the other.” Note the nuance: not “German propaganda,” but “propagandists,” which seems to refer to pro-German Arab nationalists in Iraq. Still, the Communist Party quite uncritically subscribed to the allegation that there were “traitors who belong to the Jewish sect and who have made common cause with the wicked band of 2Abd-ul-Ilah and Nuri al-Sa2id.” 230 Cohen, “Farhud,” 12f. See further Gat, Jewish Exodus, 21. 231 Watenpaugh, “Steel Shirts,” 325ff. 232 al-Shabandar, Dhikrayat Baghdadiyya, 57f. 233 Darwaza, Mudhakkirat 3, 744. 234 Wild, “National Socialism,” 145. 235 Kedourie, “Break between Muslims and Jews,” 29. 236 For instance: Henner Fürtig, Kleine Geschichte des Irak: Von der Gründung 1921 bis zur Gegenwart (München, 2003), 30; Gat, Jewish Exodus, 19n; Zubaida, “Contested Nations,” 379. Zubaida draws a quite tenuous line. 237 Dodge, Inventing Iraq, 131ff; Sluglett, Britain in Iraq, 259ff. 238 Kedourie, “Break between Muslims and Jews,” 29. He quotes Akram Zu2aitir, Yaumiyyat Akram Zu2aitir: Al-Haraka al-wataniyya al-filastiniyya 1935–1939 (Beirut, 1980), 597. Sami Shaukat invited Zu2aitir to Iraq in 1937. Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 99. 239 See Cohen, “Farhud,” 6. He attributes a crucial role to Palestinian and Syrian exiles in the spreading of anti-Jewish views. 240 Zu2aitir, Yaumiyyat, 369. Quoted in Kedourie, “Break between Muslims and Jews,” 30. 241 Butti, Dhakira 2Iraqiyya vol. 1, 451f. 242 Ibid., 454f. 243 Elkabir, “Memoires,” 120f. 244 Compare Batatu, The Old Social Classes, 457. Batatu attributes a decisive role in the government to Sab2awi, while he presents Rashid 2Ali more as a figurehead. 245 Haim, “Jewish Life,” 194. 246 Elkabir, “Memoires,” 147. Sylvia Haim confirms that there was no violence against Jews as long as Rashid 2Ali was still in charge. Haim, “Jewish Life,” 193. Moshe Gat states that “[t]he nationalists, who operated against the Jews, constituted a small minority of the Iraqi Arab population.” There was no government activity against the Jews but for the activitiy of “individual ministries.” Gat, Jewish Exodus, 18f. Shabandar noted that the youth, the fanatics, and the common people started to support the Kailani movement, but the moderate people, the merchants, and the minorities feared dictatorial and military rule. Al-Shabandar, Dhikrayat Baghdadiyya, 259.

5 CONCLUSIONS 1 Erlich, “Arab Youth,” 407. 2 Marr, Modern History, 69f; Simon, Iraq Between the Two World Wars, 100, 132.

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3 Wm. Roger Louis, “The British and the Origins of the Iraqi Revolution,” in The Iraqi Revolution of 1958: The Old Social Classes Revisited, ed. Robert A. Fernea and Wm. Roger Louis (London, New York, 1991), 37. 4 Compare, for instance, Sinha, Colonial Masculinity. With a special focus on Egypt, compare Rotraud Wielandt, Das Bild der Europäer in der modernen arabischen Erzähl- und Theaterliteratur (Beirut, 1980), 278ff, 375ff. 5 Mosse, Fascist Revolution, xi ff. Compare Simonetta Falasca-Zamponi, The Aesthetics of Power in Mussolini’s Italy (Berkeley, CA, Los Angeles, London, 1997).

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INDEX

Abdo, Ali Ibrahim 129 n.152 Abu-Sa2ud, Hasan 76 al-Ahali 6, 10, 53, 83, 84, 116 al-Ahram 56; see also Egyptian press al-Alam al-2Arabi 42, 56, 59, 60, 61, 64; appeal of dictatorship 59; authors 57; on “Futuwwa students” 89, 118 n.23; general perception of Japan 62; need for favorable education of youth 94; praise of Boy Scouts 93; on racial principles in Italian and German politics 61; strong anti-Zionist stance 63 2Alawi 2Abd-al-Amir 24, 26, 108, 125 nn.47, 57, 58, 61, 126 nn.63–67, 128 nn.117–120, 138 n.220; admiration for Nazism 38; conflict of generations in professional sphere 38; desire for modern professionalism 38; pro-Nazi statement 37 Albanians 77 Alliance Israélite Universelle 43 Altrock, von, Colonel 21, 22, 124 n.34 American Friends of the Middle East 49 Amin, Ahmad 97, 136 n.171 al-Amin, Muzaffar 2Abdallah 121 n.28 Anderson, B. 127 n.95, 137 n.206 Anglo-American polity 50 Anglo-Iranian treaty of 1919 29 Anglo-Iraqi treaty: of 1924 29; of 1930 114; of independence 25 anti-British feelings 10, 11, 37, 64; terrorism 93 anti-Fascist and anti-totalitarian voices in Iraq 52 anti-Jewism 48, 64, 87, 115 anti-Nazi stance 73; in the Arab world 52 anti-Semitism 51; see also anti-Jewism anti-Zionist agitation 48

Arab nationalism (“qaumiyya”) 10, 13, 18, 32; concept of “New Narrative” in 4; discourse 66; state education 24; state schools, themes and terminology of 11; of Young Effendiyya generation 18; see also Young Effendiyya Arab Revolt 16; of First World War 94; in the Hejaz 8, 70, 86; of Sherif Husain 30 Arab–Jewish relations 87 Arab–Nazi collaboration, post-1945 Zionist narrative of 1; sympathy 2 Arabness, expression of 45 Arabophiles 50 Arabs/Arab: awakening (“nahda”) in Iraq 12, 79; debate, problem of terminology 5; and Germany, link between 7, 116; history 14, 86; Jews 45; Muslim nationalist circles 45; nation 6, 58, 105; youth in framework of al-Futuwwa 98 al-2Askari, Ja2far 19, 20, 21, 22, 30, 79, 124 nn.30, 31, 33–35, 37, 40–42; memoirs of 20, 21; on role of monarch in militarist state 22 Assyrian Levies 9 Atatürk, Kemal 4, 34, 36, 59, 60, 64, 81, 82, 87, 113; popularity 114; see also Kemalism Aulock, von, Captain 19, 20, 124 n.24 Australian laws based on race 62 authoritarianism/authoritarian 3; of Arab nationalists 59; and totalitarian Iraqi regimes 116; of Young Effendiyya 46 2Auwad, Kurkis 124 n.43 125 nn.46, 54, 126 n.68, 128 n.146, 133 n.104 Axis declaration 70

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Ayalon, A. 122 n.36, 130 nn.7, 8, 9, 19, 20, 131 nn.23, 25, 133 n.96 al-A2zami, Sa2id 118 n.13, 122 n.46 Baden-Powell, R. 92, 93, 104, 105 al-Badri, 2Abd-al-Ghaffur 52, 53, 57, 81 Baghdad 7; demand for newspapers 56; Jewish population 108; Military College 18; pogrom 108–109; Staff College 10; violent attacks on Jews 109 Bahri, Yunus 65, 72, 132 n.51; pro-Nazi propaganda 66 Baram, Amatzia 119 n.33, 121 n.18, 127 n.95, 131 n.43, 133 nn.106, 120, 136 n.177 Barbour, N. 133 n.70 Basri, Mir 129 n.168 Batatu, Hanna 4, 10, 118 n.17, 119 n.34, 120 n.9, 121 nn.12, 28, 30, 122 n.39, 123 nn.11, 13, 124 nn.16, 39, 125 n.51, 126 n.87, 127 nn.89, 106, 128 n.141, 129 n.148, 130 n.6, 138 n.218, 139 nn.229, 244 Battle over Britain 76 Be’eri, Eliezer 121 n.29, 122 n.47, 124 n.32 Beirut 7 Belgians 77 al-Bilad 24, 25, 26, 32, 35, 46, 53, 55, 67, 68, 69, 78, 103, 106, 118 n.23; coverage of war 71; different names 54; endeavor to reject German propaganda 72; and al-Istiqlal, comparison of 68; Maulid articles of 1940 100; Nazi propaganda 72; praise of Futuwwa system 96; reference to early Islam 99; weekly section for women and girls 103 Bismarck, O. von 95 Björkmann, W. 136 n.151, 137 nn.184, 192 Boy Scout movement 92, 93, 99, 114 Breuer, S. 138 n.215 Britain/British: administration of Iraq, uprising against 28; artificial construction of Iraq 8; Boy Scouts 104; coalition governments 57; colonial control 114; imperialism 72; as infidels 11; Mandatory Power 9, 41, 99; Middle Eastern Empire 34; occupation 29, 53; “politics” of manliness 92; Public Record Office

of 3; Royal Air Force 110; war with Iraq 1 British India 92 Buheiry, Marwan, R. 125 n.49 Bürgel, J. C. 119 n.29 Butti, Fa1iq 39, 121 n.27, 125 n.49, 130 n.10 Butti, Rufa1il 24, 31, 32, 33, 34, 45, 46, 53, 54, 55, 57, 59, 67, 81, 84, 89, 107, 111, 125 nn.48, 53, 126 nn.83, 85, 127 nn.104, 105, 109, 111–114, 128 nn.121–123, 125, 132, 140, 144, 129 nn.145, 168, 130 nn.4, 7, 10, 13–22, 131 nn.24, 30, 132 nn.59–62, 133 nn.91, 97, 110–112, 135 n.125, 137 nn.179, 190, 191, 139 nn.241, 242; approach to totalitarian principles 36; expertise on Iraqi press 52; memoirs 25, 26, 35, 39, 40, 56, 110; moderate approach 25; newspaper 78; Nietzsche reception 36; portrayal of war years 68; worldview 36 Cahen, C. 135 n.135 Cairo Conference 21 Campbell, C. 129 n.147 Cao-Van-Hoa, E. 119 n.24 Cleveland, W. A. 119 n.30, 122 n.53, 127 n.112, 133 n.106 Cohen, H. J. 109, 126 n.84, 131 n.27, 135 nn.128, 131, 132, 138 n.217, 139 nn.227, 230, 239 Cohen, M. R. 125 n.59, 128 n.143 Cole, J. 119 n.24 colonial discipline institutions 93 Committee for the Defense of Palestine 44 Common Military College education and activities 16 communism 82 conscription army 8, 13 Cornwall, A. 135 n.146 Czechoslovakia 73, 77 Daniel, U. 123 n.1 Darwaza, Muhammad 2Izzat 44, 45, 46, 90, 129 nn.148, 156, 157, 166, 167, 131 n.43, 135 n.133, 139 n.233 Davis, E. 127 n.95 Dawud, Sabiha al-Shaikh 103 death, sanctified 91 dictatorship 57, 60; debate in Iraq 59 Dirks, N. B. 122 n.34

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INDEX

discipline 97; among male middle class youth 92; and renewal of society 114 Dodge, T. 118 n.13, 139 n.237 Domansky, E. 123 n.1, 127 n.96, 138 n.211 Dowe, D. 123 nn.2, 3, 7, 135 n.145 al-Dura, Khalid 137 n.178 al-Durra, Mahmud 24, 34, 117 n.3, 124 nn.44, 45, 127 n.102; remarks on politicization of army 35 Dutch colonial policy 65 Eastern Women’s Conference in Cairo 103 economic shortages 50 Edmonds, C. J. 132 n.69 education 8 Egypt 13; press 58; report on Iraqi youth of late 1930s 95; see also al-Ahram Eley, G. 122 n.34 elite awareness 24 Elkabir, A. S. 43, 44, 47, 48, 49, 51, 65, 112, 129 n.141, 130 nn.177–185, 138 n.220, 139 nn.243, 246; on deterioration of Arab–Jewish relations in interwar Iraq 51; as Iraqi Jewish patriot 51; memoirs 111 El-Sheikh, I. A. 117 n.3 Ende, W. 118 n.22, 121 n.13, 125 nn.55, 60, 126 n.74, 136 n.152 Enderwitz, S. 119 nn.26, 28, 29 Entelis, J. P. 120 n.4 Eppel, M. 121 n.31, 123 n.6, 124 nn.14, 16, 125 n.52, 129 n.154, 131 n.31 Erlich, H. 3, 65, 118 n.12, 119 n.24, 120 n.5, 123 nn.1, 8, 124 nn.14, 15, 128 n.116, 130 n.1, 132 n.55, 133 nn.70, 83, 100, 122, 123, 135 n.124, 136 nn.161, 166, 172, 137 n.208, 139 n.1 Europe/European anti-Semitism 49, 87; broadcasting stations 53; concepts 13; narrative of women’s role in society 102; thinkers 35; Youth Movements of early twentieth century 106 European Enlightenment Project 41 Faisal Ibn Husain, King 8, 23, 79, 99; army 16; loss of Syrian throne 8 Falasca-Zamponi, S. 140 n.5 Farhud of 1941 1–2, 47, 110, 111; violence of 108

Farouk-Sluglett, M. 121 n.29 fascism 52, 59; bloc formation and Iraqi party politics 65; in Europe 3; ideology 3; in Italy 66; reforms 58; youth movements, references to 94 Fascist Imagery 3, 4, 52, 65, 78–79, 114 Fascist Youth Movements 104 Fatat al-2Arab 103 Feilchenfeld, W. 120 n.3 Fernea, R. A. 121 n.29, 140 n.3 First World War, peace treaties after 7 Flacker, E. 119 n.24, 131 n.31, 132 nn.45, 47, 53, 135 n.129, 136 nn.166, 170 Fortna, B. C. 119 n.29, 122 n.52, 54 Foucault, M. 122 n.34, 138 n.215 France 59; coalition government 57 Franklin, B. 18 Frederick the Great 74, 95 Frevert, U. 135 n.140, 137 n.188 Frick, W. 62 Funke, M. 133 n.100 Furrer, P. 119 n.29 Fürtig, H. 139 n.236 al-Futuwwa system 36, 75, 84, 88, 89, 95, 97, 112, 113; debate on 75; gendered perspective 89–90; imagery 101; institutionalized version of Iraqi youthful spirit 94; militarization 96; modeled on Nazi Youth 96; as part of nationalist schooling 90; physical training in 98; press 97–105; state-funded disciplining institution 107; vehicle for youthful disagreement and protest 106; vision of girl’s role 103 Gallopini, E. 133 n.100 Gat, Moshe 129 nn.152, 161, 131 n.28, 139 n.236 gendered image of nationalism 92 generation/al: approach in analysis of societies, legitimate 15; awareness 14, 26–34, 42, 89; conflict 14, 89, 114 generation-as-actuality 14, 15 generation-location 14, 15 generation-unit 15 The German World Empire 73 Germanophilia 2, 9, 13, 21, 79, 80, 113; admiration of Prussian-German army 74

155

INDEX

Germany 3, 4, 16, 34, 52, 58, 59, 64, 81, 91; anti-Semitism 50; and Arab relations in 1930s 7; bourgeois youth of 107; declaration 68–78; Foreign Office 7; foreign policy in Arab world 7; and Iraq 1; and Italian declaration, joint 7, 68, 69, 70; Italy, and Turkey as examples for revival based on bloc formation 65; Jewish policy 67; Jews, emigration to Palestine 7; as leadership state 58, 67; legation in Baghdad, influence on al-2Alam al-2Arabi 64; military education 105; as model country 61; Nazi systems 47; and Ottoman partnership 21; policy, campaign against Semites 63; prior to First World War 14, 19; propaganda 65, 72, 113; race laws 62, 63; radio propaganda 110; Republic 21; role model of women 102; technical schools 61; “Turner” movement 91; vocational education 61; Wehrmacht in Persia 65; wireless reports on German victories 71; see also Nazism Gershoni, I. 3, 118 nn.11, 18, 20, 21, 119 nn.24, 31, 32, 122 nn.32, 37, 128 nn.124, 130 nn.1, 3 Geyer, M. 123 n.10 Ghanima, Yusuf Rizq-Allah 129 nn.153, 168 Ghazi, King 9, 10, 23, 89 Gillis, J. R. 127 n.95 Goebbels, J. 72, 96 Golden Square 1, 38 Government of National Defense 1, 106 Grand Mufti of Jerusalem 1 Grant, G. 136 n.150 Great Britain see Britain Greater Arab State 24 Greater Syria 8 Grobba, F. 47, 57, 109 Güçlü, Yücel 123 nn.11, 12, 121 n.20, 124 n.20, 127 nn.103, 108, 133 n.98 Gutah, S. 119 n.29 Haavara-Transfer Agreement between Third Reich and Jewish Agency in Palestine 7 Habazbuz 55, 56, 79–88, 94, 100, 118 n.23; on Atatürk, Kemal 82; image of modern “Easterner” 82; interpreted color of shirts 95; militarism of younger generation of Iraqi

intellectuals 81; on movement “Yas, Yam” 88; on “sacred military spirit” (“Al-Jundiyya al-muqaddasa”) 80 Habermas, J. 122 n.34 Hagemann, K. 137 n.188 Haim, S. G. 84, 86, 112, 129 nn.147, 160, 133 nn.114, 118, 138 n.221, 139 nn.225, 245, 246 Haj, Samira 122 nn.48, 49, 128 n.135 Handelsblad, A. 132 n.52 Haras al-Hadid 109 Harmuz, Yusuf 81 Hasani, 2Abd-al-Razzaq 138 n.223 al-Hashimi, 2Abd-al-Majid 72, 73, 104 al- Hashimi, Yasin, Prime Minister 19, 30, 32, 53, 59, 65, 89 al-Hasid 46, 54 Hassun, Salim 57 Hauner, M. 120 n.1 Hemphill, P. P. J. 121 nn.12, 20, 124 n.39 Henke, K. -S. 118 n.9 Heskel, S. 48 Hikmat-Bakr regime 33, 128 n.140 al-Hilal 52 Hindenburg, P. von 21, 95 Hirschfeld, G. 120 n.2 Hirszowics, L. 120 n.1, 132 n.64 Hitler 7, 36, 58, 59, 60, 64, 81, 87, 113; anti-Jewish policy 66; and Mussolini as soldiers 82; remilitarization 60; Youth 93, 97; see also Mein Kampf Hizb al-2Ahd 35 Hizb al-Watani 53 Hobsbawm, E. 52 Höpp, G. 120 nn.4, 7, 133 n.122 “Horizon of Expectation,” shared 15 Husain, Saddam 1 Husain, Sherif 30, 69, 94 al-Husaini, Amin, Mufti 1, 49, 76, 111; and the Four Officers 69 al- Husri, Khaldun Sati2 121 n.24, 125 n.49, 126 n.68, 127 n.100 al-Husri, Sati2 9, 13, 32, 89, 92, 99, 105, 125 n.60; Boy Scouts 99; reception of German nationalist thought 92; “völkisch”-oriented history curriculum 113 Ikha1 al-Watani 35, 64, 65 Ikhwan al-Hurriyya Club 33, 34 imperialism, cooperation with 16 India, British 92 industrialization 61

156

INDEX

internationalism 59 Iran 4, 58, 61, 64, 81, 85; laws based on race 62 Iraq/Iraqi: of 1930s and early 1940s, rising extremism 114; Arab concept of youth 90; Arab nationalism 1, 2, 62, 113; army, victory over Assyrians 10; attempts to secure Axis powers support for struggle against imperialism 69; British alliance 72; Commission to look into Farhud 2; Communist Party 83; debate with theory of European fascism 115; entry into League of Nations in 1932 44; foundations for generation-unit 15; government efforts to counter foreign propaganda 72; “homeland,” history of 6, 92; independence 2, 99; Jews 43, 108, 110; Kingdom of 21; Kurds 79; “nahda” 102; national system of education 9, 92; nationalists 12, 28, 79; organic law of 1924 9; pan-Arab nationalists 88; perception of Nazi Germany 2, 79; postwar press 53; press see press; pride in historical achievements 63; primary school curriculum 6; pro-Nazi tendencies 113; pseudoparliamentary system 89; ruling elite, emergence of 8–9; schooling system and Nazi system 105; soldierly mentality 79; Sunni society 32; treaty of independence with Britain 9, 54; tribal component of society 16; watershed of First World War 15; war with Britain 2; Young Effendiyya see Young Effendiyya; youth movement see al-Futuwwa Iraqi Revolt of 1920 11, 28, 29, 52, 53 Ireland 59 Islam: conquests of 100; as harbinger of democracy 76 Islamic Guidance Society (“Jam2iyyat al-Hidaya al-Islamiyya) 90 Isma2il, 2Abd-al-Qadir 53 Istanbul Harbiye Military School 20 Istanbul Military Academy 18 Istanbul Staff College 20 al-Istiqlal 52, 53, 55, 56, 69, 75, 81, 84, 97, 118 n.23; allegations against 68; analysis of German Italian declaration 69; and al-Bilad, comparison of 68; anti-British activities of 68; on Battle over Britain 74; on Britain as imperialist power 75; coverage of war

71; imperialist history of Germany in Middle East 73; on Nazi totalitarianism and its de-individualization 74; positive picture of Nazi Germany 67; reaction to German race laws 66; sympathy for leadership regimes and fascist principles 64; three goals for training of soul 98 Italian Fascism 47, 94; see also Mussolini Italy 3, 34, 58, 59, 64, 81; Germany, and Turkey as examples for revival based on bloc formation 65; as leadership state 58, 67; propaganda 72; sphere of influence 7; see also Mussolini Izzard, M. 127 n.101 Jabbar, 2Abbas 2Atiyya 126 n.84, 127 nn.90, 94, 98, 129 nn.154, 155, 137 nn.193, 194 Jabr, Salih 4 al-Jadirji, Kamil 83, 116; attack on Sami Shaukat 84 al-Jadirji, Rif 2at 133 nn.107, 108 Jahn, F. L. 91 Jamil, Husain 53 Jankowski, J. P. 118 n.18, 120 n.5, 133 n.12 Japan 57, 58, 61, 64, 85, 113; products and abundance of factories 61 Jaudat, 2Ali, Prime Minister 17, 124 nn.18, 19, 23; as Arab Ottoman citizen 18; memoirs 17–19 Jauwal al-2Arabi Society 89 al-Jauwal, Jam’iyyat Society see Society of Wanderers Jerusalem 7 Jesse, E. 118 n.10 Jews/Jewish 43–51; cultural revival 43; intellectuals 45; international capital 87; international conspiracy 87; and non-Jewish Iraqis 63; persecution of 77; among population 62; problem 44; violence against 110; and Zionists, hostile campaign identifying 49; see also Shoah journalism in Iraq see Iraqi press journals, satirical 55 jundiyya 81; as theme in nationalist discourse 80 justice in fascist states 58 al-Kailani see Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani Kailitz, S. 118 n.10 Kanitkar, H. 135 n.146

157

INDEX

Karsh, E. 120 n.11 Kashafa see manliness Kasmieh, Khairieh 129 n.152 Kata1ib al-Jauwal 111; in Lebanon 7; uncontrolled violence of 112 Kayali, Hasan 124 n.21 Kecskemeti, P. 123 n.4 Keddie, N. R. 137 n.195 Kedourie, Elie 100, 117 n.6, 119 n.24, 125 n.59, 126 n.82, 129 nn.151, 152, 154, 131 n.37, 138 n.217, 139 nn.235, 238 Kelidar, Abbas 119 n.24, 121 n.12 Kemalism 58; authoritarianism 81; reforms 58, 85 Kettenacker, L. 120 n.2 Khadduri, Majid 117 n.2, 118 n.11, 121 n.30, 122 n.44, 130 n.7, 135 n.136 Khalidi, R. 117 n.5, 118 n.15, 133 n.93 al-Khalisi, Muhammad Mahdi, Imam 28 Khan, Rasheeduddin 119 n.24 Khoury, D. R. 137 n.196 Khoury, P. S. 126 n.88 Kieser, H. L. 117 n.2 Kingdom of Iraq see Iraq kinship and religious adherence 12 Knost, F. A. 131 n.42 Kopietz, H. H. 119 n.24 Koselleck, R. 15, 123 n.9 Kramer, M. 119 n.24 Krämer, R. 118 n.10 Kubba, Muhammad Mahdi 24, 26, 32, 125 nn.55, 56, 126 nn.70–72, 127 nn.91, 93, 99; nationalist activities 28; Muthanna Club see Muthanna Club Kühne, T. 135 n.140 Kurds 12 labor 60 Larsen, S. 118 n.12 Laskier, M. M. 129 n.149 League of Nations 59; Palestine debates at 44 Lebanon 19 Lederer, Doctor 37–38 Lejeune, P. 119 n.27 Lewis, B. 117 n.6, 135 n.135 Lindisfarne, N. 135 n.146 Linz, J. J. 118 n.10 literary studies 5 Lösener, B. 131 n.42 Louis, W. R. 121 n.29, 140 n.3 Ludendorff, E. 95

Ludwig, E. 39, 128 nn.128–131 Luizard, P. J. 3, 4, 118 n.12 Lukitz, L. 121 n.14 Macdonald, C. A. 133 n.70 Mackensen, A. von 95 Mckenzie, J. M. 135 n.147, 148 manliness 93 “Männerbünde” (male bonding) 107 Mannheim, K. 14, 15, 35, 123 nn.4, 5, 127 n.110 Marr, P. 118 n.15, 121 nn.23, 29, 122 nn.33, 56, 124 n.38, 131 n.37, 132 n.49, 133 n.115, 139 n.2 Marston, E. 120 n.6, 133 n.122 martial law, censorship 54 masculinity 90–93 Maxwell, E. 117 n.4 Meijer, R. 119 n.24 Mein Kampf 40, 47, 63; Arabic translation of 57 Mekka, declaration of Arab independence in 30 memoirs 5 Méouchy, N. 117 n.8 Meuschel, S. 118 n.9 Michael, Sami 138 n.219, 139 n.226 Michaelis, D. 120 n.3 Middle Eastern memoir literature 5 al-Midfa2i, Jamil, Prime Minister 33 militarism 97, 113; and authoritarian tendencies in politics and public life 13; of Germany prior to First World War 79; as modern achievement and ancient heritage 80 military coups 4 military dictatorship 10 military rule over Baghdad 111 minorities, victims of force 110 al-Miqdadi, Darwish 32 al-Misbah 43 Misr al-Fatat 7 Mitchell, T. 13, 122 n.50, 136 n.155, 138 n.215 Mond, A., Sir 48, 49, 64 Moor, E. de 119 n.28 Mosse, G. L. 93, 115, 135 nn.137, 138, 139, 140, 144, 136 nn.155, 176, 138 n.210, 140 n.5 Mubarak, Zaki 84 al-Mufti, Maryam Nuri 103, 104 Muhammad the Prophet 100 Muqallad, Mahdi 137 n.178

158

INDEX

Mushtaq, Talib 29–31, 126 nn.78–82; 128 n.142, 131 n.33 Muslim Youth (“ash-Shubban al-Muslimun”) 89 Muslims and Jews in Iraq, growing misunderstandings between 48 Mussolini 34, 36, 58, 59, 60, 61, 64, 81, 87, 94, 113; defamation of Japan 62; see also Italy Mustafa al-Ghazi Abu1l-Turk see Atatürk Mustafa Kemal Atatürk see Atatürk Mutasarrif of Baghdad 111 Muthanna Club 31, 32, 33, 34, 44, 103, 107, 110, 115 al-Muthanna Ibn Haritha al-Shaibani 33 Nadi al-Shabab (“Youth Club”) 36 Nafi, B. M. 117 n.5 Nakash, Y. 123 n.13, 125 nn.60, 62, 126 nn.69, 73 Napoleon 39 national awakening (“nahda”) 16, 113 National Socialism 4, 33, 63, 120 n.6; see also Nazism nationalism 41; activities during 1920 Revolt 31; of army 34; education and contact with “modern” ideas 31; educational system 13; “qaumiyya,” use of 5 Nazism/Nazi (National Socialism ) 4, 7, 42, 82, 127 n.100, 128 n.133, 132 n.44, 133 n.70, 134 n.122, 136 n.166, 139 n.234; measures against unemployment 60; movement 34; persecution 77; propaganda 109; race laws of 1935 62; reforms 58; sympathy for 26, 37; see also Germany Nazma, Maryam 103 nepotism 10 Neubert, F. P. H. 120 n.3 Neulen, H. W. 124 n.24 “New Middle Class” definition, economically oriented 15 New Narrative 4; of Arab nationalism 52 newspapers of interwar Iraq 53; founded after coup of 1936 55; total circulation of 56; warnings against effects of propaganda 71; see also press Nicosia, F. R. 120 n.3 Nietzsche: idea of “Superman” 36, 41; “Zarathustra” 39 Norwegians 77

Nuremberg laws 64 Nuri al-Sa2id 21, 33, 67; government 68 al-Nusuli, Anis 27, 125 n.60 Odermann, H. 133 n.70 “Old Narrative” of Arab nationalism 4 Ortner, S. B. 122 n.34 Ostle, R. 119 n.28 Ottoman/Empire: education 17, 24; elite awareness for Sherifians 23; heritage 79; military education 79; officers of Iraqi origin 8; as point of reference 15; related Germanophilia 16; tradition 80, 88; vilayets of Mosul, Baghdad, and Basra 8 Ottoman Staff College in Istanbul 8, 16 Pahlavi see Reza Shah Palestine 19; problem 10, 11, 49, 72; Revolt in 1936 44; Zionist project in 87 pan-Arab nationalism 12; clandestine diplomatic exchanges 68; taught in schools 10 parliamentary system 10 patriotism as “wataniyya” 5 persecution: of Christians 78; of people for race and political beliefs 58 Petersen, J. 137 n.202 Peukert, D. J. K. 123 n.7 Philipp, T. 119 n.29 Pinner, L. 120 n.3 Pipes, D. 120 n.4 Poland 73; people 77 political agitation during 1920s 53 political elite 15 politicization of army 34 Pool, D. 121 n.12, 123 n.11 press: debate of 52; direct references to Germany and fascism 56–78; environment 52–56; Fascist models 94–97; journalism 54; propaganda and 72–78; system of licensing 54; youth of 1941, protest and violence 105–112; youth, debate on 88–105; see also newspapers propaganda 72–78 pro-totalitarian tendencies 2, 73, 88 Prussia 88; as seen by Arabs 24, 34; cadet schools, military education at 91; militarism 52

159

INDEX

Al-Qazzaz, Ayad 122 nn.38, 40, 41, 42, 44, 126 n.64 2Quwat al-Sab2awi al-Wataniyah1 (The Sab2awi National Force) 109 racism 62, 115; policy of German government 63 Radio Berlin 68, 72 al-Raiyis, Munir 122 n.46 Rashid 2Ali al-Kailani, Prime Minister 1, 38, 47, 53, 54, 79, 109, 110, 112; and Four Officers in 1941 39; government of 33, 42, 67, 78, 89, 106; movement 2, 24, 25, 34, 113, 115, 116 al-Rashid, Isma2il 100 Red Crescent Society 50 Reguer, S. 129 n.149 Reulecke, J. 123 nn.2, 3, 10, 127 n.96, 128 n.138, 138 nn.211, 212 Revolt see Iraqi Revolt Reza Shah 34, 36, 81, 113 al-Risala 3, 52 Rodrigue, A. 129 n.1 49 Rommel, E. 112 Roseman, M. 123 nn.2, 8, 135 n.143, 137 nn.204, 207, 138 nn.211, 213, 214 Roth, J. K. 117 n.4 Rufa1il Butti see Butti Russia 58 Saarstatut 57 al-Sab2awi, Yunus 24, 25, 35, 37, 42, 45, 47, 57, 59, 107, 108, 109, 111; biographer 41; choice of idols 39; on Hitler’s Nazism 40; principles 60 al-Sabbagh, Salah-al-Din 24, 102, 125 n.50, 137 n.187; and the Four Officers 68 Sachße, C. 138 n.215 al-Sadat, Anwar 1 Safwa, Najda Fathi 108 Safwani, Salman al- 129 n.171 al-Sa2id, Nuri 30, 32, 72 al-Sam2ani, Taufiq 81 Saut al-Sha2b 55, 73, 76, 81, 118 n.23; anti-Nazi line 78; Britain as promoter of democracy and liberalism 75; on persecution of Jews in Germany 77 Sawanih: fable on Germany and Czechoslovakia 77; superiority of British over Germans 76 al-Sayyab, 2Abd-al-Qadir 64, 65

Schaller, D. J. 117 n.2 Schirach, B. von 136 n.167; encounter with Atatürk 96; visit of 96, 97 Schmitz, K. 135 nn.137, 141, 137 nn.200, 201, 204 Schröder, B. P. 117 n.2, 120 n.1, 132 n.54 Schulze, K. E. 129 n.147 Schumann, C. 119 n.29, 120 n.4, 122 n.51, 127 n.107 Schwanitz, W. 120 n.7, 133 n.70 Second World War 11, 51 Seeckt, H. von 21 Seitter, W. 138 n.215 Semitic race 62 Serels, M. M. 138 n.222 Shabab, Kata1ib al- (Youth Troops) 109 al-Shabandar, Musa 110, 133 n.71, 139 n.232, 246; memoirs 72 Shabib, Samih 138 n.223 al-Shahbandar 2Abd-al-Rahman 84 al-Shaikh 2Ali, 2Ali Mahmud 29 Shamir, H. 120 n.2 Shaukat, Naji 19, 21, 22, 124 nn.24–28; memoirs 19–20 Shaukat, Sa1ib 32 Shaukat, Sami 85, 86, 134 nn.105, 109, 116, 117, 119, 136 n.162, 137 n.184, 139 n.238; on contemporary state of the Arab state 87; Hadhihi Ahdafuna 101; imagery of death 105; interwar historiography 83; perception of meaning of modernity 102; refusal of place to Iraqi girls in al-Futuwwa 104; representative of anti-Semitic tendencies in Iraq 86; speech to Damascene Arab Club 87; on Turkey and Iran, outstanding examples 86; Western concept of prejudice 87; writings and speeches 84 Sha1ul Anwar 15, 17, 43, 45, 46, 53, 54, 128 n.144, 129 nn.158, 159, 162, 169, 170, 130 nn.11, 176 Shaw, G. B., translation of interview with 66, 67 Sherifian generation 17–24, 114; Arab nationalism of 32; elite 16, 23; founding fathers 9; Germanophilia 24, 52, 113; officers 8, 9; Revolt in Hijaz 44; Space of Experience 19; and Young Effendiyya, generational conflict between 11

160

INDEX

Shiites 8; grievances 12; majority in country 12; religious establishment of holy cities 11 Shikara, Ahmad Abdul Razzaq 121 nn.12, 22, 29 Shirazi, Muhammad Hasab, Mujtahid 28 Shoah, Jewish Holocaust 108 Sidqi, Bakr, General 10, 16, 32, 81; military coup 59 Simon, R. S. 117 n.2, 118 nn.14, 16, 120 n.10, 121 nn.12, 14, 16, 17, 23, 25, 122 nn.45, 51, 55, 62, 126 n.88, 129 n.149, 152, 131 nn.29, 33, 43, 133 n.106, 135 nn.125, 142, 136 nn.156, 166, 137 nn.203, 205, 139 n.2, 238 Sinha, M. 135 n.147, 148, 136 n.154, 140 n.4 Sluglett, P. 121 n.29, 126 n.82, 139 n.237 Smith, A. 122 n.32 Social Darwinism 92 social reformists 10 Society of Wanderers/Hiking Society 31, 32, 111 Solomon, G. 138 n.222 Somekh, S. 128 n.143 Somel, Selçuk Akshin 122 n.52 Sonbol, Amira el Azhary 137 n.196 Soviet Union 3, 83 “Space of Experience,” shared 15, 24 Spain 59 Springhall, J. 135 n.145 Stark, F. 34 state leaders, older generation of 31 Steppat, F. 120 n.7, 133 n.122 Stillman, N. A. 117 n.7, 138 n.224, 139 n.228 Stokes, M. 128 n.147 Strauß, B. 123 n.10 Sudeten Germans 77 Sulaiman, Hikmat, Prime Minister 10 Sunnis: Arabs 8; dominance 11; elite 16; Kurds 8; Ottoman state 8; political establishment of 12; Sherifians 31 Syria 19; Social Nationalist Party 7 Ta1i, Kamal-al-Din al- 129 n.171 Talib Mushtaq 42 Tannenberg, O. R. 73, 133 n.77

Tarbush, M. A. 117 n.2, 118 n.16, 120 nn.8, 10, 121 nn.13, 26, 122 nn.38, 43, 55, 123 nn.11, 13, 124 n.36, 126 n.64, 131 n.37, 137 n.186 Tennstedt, F. 138 n.215 Thabit, Nuri 55 Thabit, Sa2id al-Haj 129 n.171 Thompson, D. 49 Tibi, B. 117 n.6, 122 n.53 Tillmann, H. 120 n.1 totalitarianism 3; organization of society 113; regimes in Europe, studies on rise of 14 Tramontini, L. 126 n.74 Tribe, K. 123 n.9 Tripp, C. 121 nn.15, 21, 124 n.22, 127 nn.92, 97, 131 n.37, 133 n.102 Troutbeck, J., Sir 114 Tsimhoni, D. 117 n.4, 129 nn.147, 151, 139 nn.222, 226 Turkey 4, 61, 64, 81, 85, 113; Italy, and Germany as examples for revival based on bloc formation 65; Kemalism 78; as leadership state 58, 67; leading Middle Eastern nation in military concerns 81; literature 18 Twena, A. H. 139 n.226 Udovitch, A. L. 125 n.59, 128 n.143 al-2Umari, Khairi 125 n.49, 127 n.115, 128 nn.128, 134, 137, 139 Umayyad riots 27 unemployment 60 university education at state institutions 17 United States (US): Ambassador Knabenshue 4, 118 n.14; immigration laws 62; National Archives 3 urban “Westernization” 115 al-Uzri, 2Abd-al-Karim 49, 138 n.221 Versailles Treaty 60 Wallach, J. 120 n.2 Warner, G. 117 n.2 al-Watan al-2Arabi 6 al-Watari, Mahmud 47 Watenpaugh, K. D. 117 n.8, 118 n.19, 119 n.24, 124 n.17, 133 n.122, 136 n.161, 139 n.231

161

INDEX

Young Turk movement 90; origins of Arab consciousness in 85; Revolution of 1908 19 youth (“shabab”) 19; debates in Iraq 105; images and myths of 15; link between nationalist education and military training 91; masculinity entailed in movements 101; movements 13; potential for uncontrolled violence among 110; self-disciplined 113; spirit of chivalry (“futuwwa”) 75

Western concept of modernization 13 Western dress 17 Western modernity 18, 99 Wielandt, R. 140 n.4 Wien, P. 117 n.2, 120 n.4, 130 n.175, 132 n.63 Wild, S. 117 n.3, 120 n.6, 127 n.100, 128 n.112, 133 nn.70, 122, 136 n.166, 139n.234 Wildangel, R. 120 n.4 Wilhelm II 91 Wolff, K. H. 123 n.4 Yafi, Muhammad 2Abd-al-Fattah 126 n.77 Yamak, L. Z. 120 n.4 Yishuv 7 Young Effendiyya 2, 11, 15, 16, 17, 24–51, 106, 107, 114, 115; biographies of 25–26; ideology of 34–42; intellectuals 12; in interwar Iraq, generational awareness among 26; nationalists 108

al-Zaman 81 Za2rur, Meneshi 43, 46 Zionism 44, 46, 87 Zonis, M. 119 n.25 Zu2aitir, Akram 110, 139 nn.236, 238, 240 Zubaida, Sami 121 n.14 Zubaydi, Muhammad Husain 126 nn.75, 76

162

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