State and Society in Syria and Lebanon 0312095864, 9780312095864

Table of contents :
Contents
Acknowledgements
List of Contributors
Introduction
One. Arabism, Society, and Economy In Syria 1918-1920
Two. An Evaluation of The Arab Governmentin Damascus 1918-1920
Three. Les Orthodoxes Entre Beyrouth et Damas: Une Millet Chrétienne dans Deux Villes Ottomanes
Two. An Evaluation of The Arab Government in Damascus 1918-1920
Four. Le Grand-Liban et le Projet de la Confédération Syrienne d‘après des Documents Français
Five. Greater Lebanon: The Formation of a Caste System?
Six. Laissez-Faire, Outward-Orientation, and Regional Economic Disintegration: A Case Study of the Dissolution of the Syro-Lebanese Customs Union
Seven. Linkages and Constraints of the Syrian Economy
Eight. The Treaty of Brotherhood, Co-operation and Co-ordination
Nine. Syrian Foreign Policy at the Crossroads: Continuity and Change in the Post-Gulf War Era
Ten. Concepts of Nation and State with Special Reference to the Sunnis in Lebanon
Notes
Notes to Introduction
Notes to Chapter 1
Notes to Chapter 2
Notes to Chapter 3
Notes to Chapter 4
Notes to Chapter 5
Notes to Chapter 6
Notes to Chapter 7
Notes to Chapter 8
Notes to Chapter 9
Notes to Chapter 10
Index

Citation preview

STATE AND SOCIETY IN SYRIA AND LEBANON

STATE AND SOCIETY IN SYRIA AND LEBANON edited by

Youssef M. Choueiri

St. Martin’s Press

New York

© Youssef M. Choueiri and the several contributing authors 1993 All rights reserved. For information write: Scholarly and Reference Division, St. Martin’s Press, Inc., 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010 First published in the United States of America in 1994 Printed in Great Britain ISBN 0-312-09586-4

Library of Congress Cataloguing-in-Publication Data State and society in Syria and Lebanon / edited by Youssef M. Choueiri. p. cm. ISBN 0-312-09586-4 1. Syria—History—20th century. 2. Lebanon—History— 1918-1946. I. Choueiri, Youssef M., 1948. DS98.S765 1993 93-7555 956.9104’2—dc20 CIP

Contents List of Contributors Introduction Youssef M. Choueiri 1 Arabism, Society, and Economy in Syria, 1918-1920 Abdul-Karim Rafeq

viii ix 1

2 An Evaluation of the Arab Government in Damascus, 1918-1920 Khairia Kasmieh

27

3 Les Orthodoxes entre Beyrouth et Damas: une Millet Chrétienne dans deux villes Ottomanes May Davie

32

4 Le Grand-Liban et le Projet de la Confédération Syrienne d’après des Documents Français Wajih Kawtharani

46

5 Greater Lebanon: the Formation of a Caste System? Sofia Saadeh

62

6 Laissez-Faire, Outward-orientation, and Regional Economic Disintegration: a case study of the dissolution of the Syro-Lebanese customs union Carolyn L. Gates

74

7 Linkages and Constraints of the Syrian Economy Huda Hawwa

84

8 The Treaty of Brotherhood, Cooperation and Coordination: an assessment Fida Nasrallah

103

9 Syrian Foreign Policy at the Crossroads: continuity and change in the post-Gulf War era Ghayth N. Armanazi

112

10 Concepts of Nation and State with Special Reference to the Sunnis in Lebanon al-Fadl Shalaq

120

Notes Index

131 150

Acknowledgements I would like to thank various colleagues and friends for their support and encouragement. I should like to express gratitude to my postgraduate student, Suha Taji-Faruki, for her diligence and devotion in organising the various stages of the conference. I wish to thank Aziz al-Azmeh, Riyad El-Rayyes, Raghid al-Sulh and Nadim Shehadi for their contributions to the colloquium. I am particularly grateful to my colleagues, Ian Netton and Jack Smart for their invaluable help, and to Sheila Westcott for typing the manuscript. Paul Auchterlonie has compiled the index with his usual efficiency and cheerfulness. Mr Simon Baker of University of Exeter Press copy-edited the typescript with meticulous and admirable attention to detail. Youssef M. Choueiri Exeter, 14 March 1993

List of Contributors Ghayth Armanazi is the Director of the League of Arab States Office, London. May Davie holds a PhD in History from the Sorbonne, Paris. She is an acknowledged expert on the Greek Orthodox communities in the Levant. Carolyn Gates is a senior research analyst on Asian and Centrally-Planned Economies at the University of Amsterdam. She received a D.Phil from Oxford University in 1985 with a thesis on Lebanon’s economy. Hudda Hawwa is a PhD candidate at the Politics Department, University of Exeter. She is working on Middle Eastern politics and the regional sub-system. Khairia Kasmieh is Professor of Modern Middle Eastern History, Uni­ versity of Damascus. She is the author of The Arab Government in Damascus 1918-1920 (in Arabic). Wajih Kawtharani is Professor of History at the Lebanese University. He has published numerous books and documentary collections on Greater Syria. Fida Nasrallah holds a PhD in International Relations from the London School of Economics. She is a Research Associate at the Centre for Lebanese Studies, Oxford. Abdul-Karim Rafeq is Professor of Modem Arab History, University of Damascus and Visiting Professor of History, College of William and Mary, USA. Sofia Saadeh is Professor of Sociology at the American University of Beirut. She is currently writing a book on Lebanese society. al-Fadl Shalaq is President of the Board for Reconstruction and Develop­ ment in Lebanon. He is also co-editor of an academic journal, al-Ijtihäd.

Introduction Youssef M. Choueiri

On the eve of its modem history, Greater Syria was divided into four Provinces (Aleppo, Damascus, Tripoli and Sidon). Each province was governed by a Pasha who exercised his authority in the name of the Ottoman Sultan. These administrative divisions were largely the result of political calculations designed to contain rebellious local chieftains. How­ ever, during the eighteenth century the Syrian provinces began to emerge as an autonomous entity within the Ottoman empire. Consequently, these four provinces witnessed a realignment of social and political forces aimed at mitigating the debilitating effects of Ottoman decline. Such a realignment turned them into centres of power vying with each other to reestablish the territorial unity of the country. This drive for unity expressed the need for a viable economic market capable of exploiting its own resources. The absence of an effective central authority, previously represented by Ottoman military control, made the rise of alternative mechanisms of political rule a matter of mere survival. Thus, issues such as trade, access to cultivated areas and tax collection figured much larger than theoretical pronouncements on national characteristics. It is generally agreed that Damascus, Palestine and Mount Lebanon managed to achieve relative economic prosperity. It was an achievement that ran contrary to the general prevalent conditions in other eighteenthcentury Ottoman provinces. This growth was the result of improved coastal trade with Europe, the promotion of commercial exchanges with Asian markets, and the revival of the pilgrimage route between Damascus and Western Arabia. However, at the turn of the nineteenth century Syrian ports and commercial centres entered a period of stagnation and severe dislocations. A number of internal and external events conspired to make economic prosperity a short-lived phenomenon. First, a galaxy of local rulers disappeared as a result of natural death or direct Ottoman intervention. Second, the outbreak of the French Revolution and its repercussions IX

YOUSSEF M. CHOUEIRI

throughout Europe and the Mediterranean disrupted trade routes. Hence, Syrian commercial links with Europe were bound to suffer. Third, the alliance of a puritanical religious movement, Wahhabism, and the armed bands of Al-Sa‘üd family detached most of central and western Arabia from Ottoman control. From 1807, two years after their occupation of the two holy sanctuaries of Mecca and Medina, the Wahhabis prevented the Syrian pilgrimage caravan from proceeding to the Hijaz for almost a decade. This act by itself dealt a severe blow to the economy of Damascus and its adjacent areas. Finally, Napoleon’s invasion of Egypt and Syria in 1798 and 1799 crippled the economies of both countries, leaving in its wake a trail of destruction, and leading to repeated European interventions in the internal affairs of the Arab world down to the present time. It was, however, the Egyptian occupation of Syria between 1831 and 1840 that marked the beginning of its modern history. In a sense, the eighteenth century saw a resurgence of local centres of power largely modelled on the Ottoman classical system. Hence, no significant changes were effected in economic structures or political institutions, and no deliberate attempt was made in response to the challenge of modern Europe. Consistent reform, having as its concern the rejuvenation of the Ottoman Empire as a whole, did not become an official policy until the reign of Sultan Selim III (1789-1807). This policy became imperative when the Ottoman army suffered a series of defeats at the hands of the Russian and Austrian empires between 1787 and 1792. Although the modem reforms of Selim III were largely nullified, owing to the reaction of religious leaders and the Janissaries, they set a precedent for others to follow. Sultan Mahmud II (1808-39) took up the issue of reform after an interval of careful planning and preparation. It was this sultan who undermined the economic and political power of the provincial notables and feudal lords in Rumelia and Anatolia, replaced the Janissaries with a modem army, and made a determined effort to assert the central authority of the state. Nevertheless, these reforms were confined to the Turkish heartland, so that Syria continued to be ruled in the traditional manner. Egypt, on the other hand, was in the throes of more radical trans­ formations, thanks to the exuberant exertions of its ambitious viceroy, Muhammad ‘All 1805-1848. And it was Muhammad ‘All’s son, Ibrahim Pasha, who contrived the entry of Syria into the modem age. His was a comprehensive programme of reforms echoing to a large extent his father’s policies in Egypt. Politically, Greater Syria was unified into one single territorial entity, with Damascus as its capital. Socially, security and order were achieved by •

#

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7

INTRODUCTION

curbing the power of chieftains, notables and tribal groups; subduing bedouin tribes and nomads; and introducing a uniform system of govern­ ment based on the equality of all subjects—Muslims, Christians and Jews —before the law. Economically, both agriculture and commerce were promoted and made the direct responsibility of the state. New villages were built, and the energies of wanderings nomads channelled into cultivating the land, while Europeans were encouraged to trade under more favour­ able conditions. Defying the authority of his nominal suzerain the Ottoman Sultan, Ibrahim was anxious to allay European fears and ward off outright hostility. He accordingly practised an open-door policy in both the commercial and educational fields. Nevertheless, his rigorous system of conscription, disarmament and corvée alienated many Syrians, whereas his treatment of the native Christians as equal citizens aroused the suspicions of the leading Muslim families. Finally, the Great European Powers—Britain, Austria and Russia—arrived at the conclusion that Muhammad ‘All’s political, economic and military ambitions constituted a direct threat to their interests in the Ottoman empire. Ibrahim Pasha’s army was thus defeated by a coalition of European, Ottoman and local forces. Following his withdrawal from Syria, old rivalries were resurrected and compounded by the appearance of a persistent European interest in the fortunes of the country. However, the legacy of Ibrahim’s policies left its indelible mark on the subsequent history of the country. The territorial unity of Greater Syria, equality of all citizens before the law, economic growth and national independence—these objectives and others inspired a new generation of Syrians and acted as a vantage-point to measure the accomplishments of others. Even European officials were henceforth tempted with the idea of recreating a single Syrian political unit. In the nineteenth century, the two major civil wars of Mount Lebanon (1841-45 and 1860) prompted British diplomats and officials to propose the reconstitution of Greater Syria into one unified province. Thus, in the wake of Ibrahim’s withdrawal from Syria, civil war threatened to engulf Mount Lebanon and other mountainous regions. In order to avert such an outcome, Richard Wood, the British political agent in the Ottoman empire, sensed the urgency of devising a new administrative and constitutional formula. Having played a prominent role in fomenting Syrian discontent against Ibrahim’s rule, he thereafter wrote one memorandum after another deploring the Ottoman plan to redivide Syria into a number of Pashaliks. He emphatically stressed the advisability of placing the entire country under one authority consisting of a governor-general and a supreme council XI

YOUSSEF M. CHOUEIRI

residing in Damascus. He also thought that Syria, despite its inclusion within the Ottoman empire, was unique in its social composition, requiring young officials with a good knowledge of Arabic and an ability to understand local customs as well as ‘the spirit of the people’. His most original proposal had to do with the incorporatipn of the administration of Mount Lebanon in the new institutions of Syria as a whole.1 A few months later, he was taken aback by the insistence of the Ottoman government to divide Syria into five separate provinces. This time his objections were raised on the basis of administrative, financial and logistical considerations. ‘Three evils will naturally accrue from this unnecessary Division of the Country—a want of connexion in the different branches of the administration, an enormous expense to Government, and a difficulty to provision the army. The first will result from the different Pashas acting independently of each other, the second by their keeping separate establishments of high officers, and the third by the separation of some Districts and their Villages from the sea-coast towns which have large garrisons to maintain.’2

Following the eruption of a second civil war between the Maronites and the Druze in 1860, the Great European Powers, along with the Ottoman state, intervened to create viable political structures capable of ensuring ‘the future well-being’ of the Syrians. Another British diplomat, Lord Dufferin, resurrected once again the idea of a single central authority in Syria. He looked forward to seeing ‘the motley population of Syria’ being transformed into a compact national body under the leadership of an intelligent viceroy. He thought that by conducting the administration of the country on rational principles and in accordance with the common interests of the population, social relations would gradually obliterate the negative aspects of religious or racial differences. He went on to state: ‘Under these circumstances, and with this prospect, I am disposed to think that it will be advisable to abolish the anomalous privileges of the Lebanon, and to assimilate its administration with that of the rest of the Province.’3

These proposals were also supposed to be implemented under the supervision of the Five European Powers—Britain, France, Austria, Russia and Prussia. However, France voiced its objections to Dufferin’s plan for settling the affairs of Syria. ‘All Pasha, the Ottoman Grand Vezir, thought ••

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INTRODUCTION

that Dufferin’s plan tended ‘to nothing less than the formation of a new Principality, quite independent, under the direction of a European Com­ mission; in other words, to separate Syria from Ottoman rule’.4 To the Ottoman statesman, the principle of the integrity of his empire required the division of Syria into separate administrative units. This principle was also repeatedly upheld by both Britain and France during this period. The International Commission of the Five Powers, formed to settle the Syrian question, was therefore requested to confine itself to deliberating ‘the modifications to be introduced into the Government of the Lebanon’.5 Thus Mount Lebanon was established after 1861 as an autonomous district or mutasarrifiyya, and endowed with institutions based on sectarian representation. The rest of Syria, by contrast, was brought under tighter Ottoman rule. Between 1840 and 1908 the Ottoman government embarked on im­ plementing a wide-ranging programme of reforms. This programme con­ sisted of combining centralization and modernization and involved the creation of a new concept of citizenship known as Ottomanism. The idea of modernization was embodied in the introduction of an extensive network of roads linking the main cities of the country, in addition to telegraph lines and railways. It also led to the conscription of a local army and police force, and the establishment of administrative and municipal councils. Nevertheless, these reforms were largely financed by loans from Euro­ pean banks or carried out by European companies. Moreover, whereas Ibrahim’s reforms were financed by local taxes and revenues and, as part of a coherent plan designed to improve productivity and create one single national market, closely supervised by a central authority, the Ottoman government built an infrastructure without a corresponding productive sector. Furthermore, European capital and manufactured goods were granted extensive opportunities to deprive the Syrian economy of its indigenous crafts and industries. Politically, the Ottoman government perpetuated Syrian geographic and social divisions by dividing the country into separate administrative units dependent on the capital of the empire. Instead of carrying out its promises to abolish the traditional system of tax collection, tax-farming remained the dominant form of administering farms and agricultural lands, with the exception of Mount Lebanon. The land law of 1858 which introduced private ownership and the modernization of various state institutions paved the way for the rise of two interrelated social strata: large landowners and state officials. The first were originally state agents, often acting as tax-farmers, while the second belonged to urban notable families. Both continued to dominate Syrian politics until 1958. •••

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Under the long reign of Sultan ‘Abd al-Hamid II (1876-1909) social peace was finally achieved in most urban centres. This allowed the rise of an ever-expanding elite which dominated local councils and succeeded in penetrating the central bureaucracy and the military. Members of this social elite were also responsible for articulating the national interests of the Syrians, now considered to belong to a common fatherland. After the fall of ‘Abd al-Hamid II, his successors presided over the final disintegration of the Ottoman empire. In the meantime, both Britain and France had arrived at a political agreement whereby Syria was to become a French protec- torate, with the exception of Palestine, whereas Britain looked forward to including Iraq in its dominions. Following the end of the First World War, the majority of the inhabitants of Greater Syria opted for an independent state under the leadership of Faysal (see Chapter One). Both the British and the French objected to the formation of an independent Syrian kingdom. Their officials contended that such a decision, taken by the Syrian Congress on 8 March 1920, contravened the terms of the Paris Peace Conference as set out by the victorious allies, The British government opposed ‘the inclusion of Palestine in the area of Syria’ as well as the incorporation of Mosul. The French authorities considered Fayçal to be a mere usurper who had no right to act without prior consultation with their legal representatives. However, Field-Marshal Allenby wrote to Earl Curzon from Cairo urging on him the necessity of persuading the Great Powers to acknowledge Faysal’s sovereignty ‘over an Arab nation or confederation embracing Syria, Palestine and Mesopo­ tamia’.7 Moreover, Allenby was certain that the Syrian Congress which crowned Fayçal sovereign of a united kingdom represented the will and feeling of the vast majority in Syria. As Chapters One and Two demonstrate the fall of Faysal was engineered in order to pave the way for the partition of Syria under French auspices. It could be argued, as Chapter Three illustrates, that the political development of both Syria and Lebanon was largely determined by socio-economic factors which the French simply exploited to serve their own interests. Nevertheless, Wajih Kawtharani offers us a timely reminder (Chapter Four) of the various schemes worked out by French officials in order to prevent the emergence of a coherent Syrian entity. In 1926, the French High Commissioner de Jouvenel announced the formation of a Lebanese Constituent Assembly, ordered the promulgation of a new constitution and proclaimed Greater Lebanon a republic. By 1945 Lebanon had gained its independence, become a full member of the United Nations and joined the Arab League. Its sovereignty was xiv

INTRODUCTION

finally consecrated regionally and internationally. Moreover, on the eve of its independence, two of its traditional leaders, Bishára al-Khürí and Rïyâd al-Sulh, claiming to represent the two wings of Lebanon, or the Maronites and the Sunnis respectively, concluded a verbal agreement known as the National Pact. Its main terms announced the conclusion of a compromise, or rather a truce between two warring factions. The representative of the Maronites acknowledged the ‘Arab face’ of Lebanon, whereas the other affirmed the Muslims’ adherence to its independence. Furthermore, alKhüri undertook to lessen the Christians’ dependence on France, and the Sunni leaders reciprocated by admitting the special cultural and religious bonds between the Maronites and Europe.8 Thus, the confessional system was formalized in the allocation of administrative posts, and by designating the highest executive and legisla­ tive posts on the basis of sectarian lines. Thenceforth, the President of the republic had to be a Maronite, the prime minister a Muslim Sunni, and the speaker of Parliament a Shi‘ite. As the subsequent civil wars demonstrated, the communities of both sides took the agreement to be no more than a temporary concession dictated by overwhelming circum­ stances. Some, if not most. Maronite leaders did not take seriously the Arab character of Lebanon. Hence their insistence on reducing it to a cosmetic exterior. Despite the fact that Greater Lebanon had an equal number of Muslims and Christians, the Maronites continued to consider this much enlarged state as their exclusive national homeland. Their main concern remained the intrusion of the Syrian hinterland. This attitude made them all the more determined to behave as the sole trustworthy custodians of the new state. The Muslims were not to be trusted with either the presidency of the republic or the supreme command of the armed forces. The same rule applied to the Central Bank, the education system and other key institutions. The Muslims and other non-Maronite Christians often felt that they were second-class citizens, whereby the pace of their socio­ economic and political life was held in check, watched over and moulded to conform to the interests of one sect. Sofia Saadeh in Chapter Five, offers a sociological analysis of Lebanese society, arguing that the social structures of the various sects have evolved into a fully-fledged caste system. To some extent, the Maronite attitude expressed the fears of a minority jealous of its privileges and status. Other Lebanese sects were less inhibited in their relations with the Arab world. As a matter of fact, the National Pact was initially proposed by members of the Maronite community who had intermarried and had close commercial links with prosperous Catholic and Orthodox families. Whatever hostility was exhibited towards the French by the Syrians of xv

YOUSSEF M. CHOUEIRI

the interior or their Muslim allies in Lebanon, no substantial modification of a fait accompli was achieved. The Syrian leaders themselves, largely a group of landowners and notables, tended to soften their demands towards the end of the Second World War. Harassed, exhausted and besieged, they gradually came to accept the inevitable, and settle for their share in running an independent state of Syria. After independence, a new generation of Syrians fixed its gaze on a wider unity embracing the whole Arab world. As early as the 1930s, Syrian lawyers, teachers, army officers and students inaugurated a new phase of radical politics. This heralded the era of a new Arab nationalist movement. Intellectually, the first two decades of the French Mandate in Lebanon saw the revival of the Phoenician past as the expression of the country’s identity. It was an official ideology devised to underline the distinct character of Lebanese history. On the other hand, the identity of Syria became synonymous with Arab nationalism, so much so that even con­ servative Syrian politicians became the champions of Arab unity and radical change. These ideologic divergences can be clearly seen in the dissolution of the Syro-Lebanese Customs Union in 1950. It was carried out against the background of free trade and laissez-faire policies versus protectionist measures and state intervention. As Carolyn Gates shows in Chapter Six, free trade was the ideology of a new Lebanese governing elite which sought to ensure its survival by integrating the economy into foreign markets. Hence, the conflict was essentially between a merchant republic in Lebanon and a nationalist government in Syria anxious to create a viable productive infrastructure. Syria called for economic unity, while Lebanese merchants and financiers clamoured for total separation, arguing the case for close ties with Western countries. However, not all Lebanese were in favour of the dissolution of the Customs Union. Industrialists, farmers and reformers supported an eco­ nomic union between the two republics. For all that, on 15 March 1950, the Union was formally dissolved. Gates argues that the dissolution ran contrary to Lebanese long-term interests, particularly its industrial output and agricultural products. Those who reaped short-term benefits were merchants and international markets. Huda Hawwa, in Chapter Seven, continues this line of analysis by focussing on the vicissitudes of the Syrian economy from 1970 down to the present time. It is in the realm of economic policies and structures that Lebanon and Syria began to develop in opposite directions. Whereas radical regimes in Syria carried out land reforms, built an industrial base and tried to create efficient armed forces, Lebanon kept its laissez-faire attitude and patronage »

xvi

INTRODUCTION

system of traditional politics. Thus once a new civil war erupted in Lebanon, Syria was in a strategic position to gain the upper hand and assert its own interests on Lebanese territory. Such an outcome was embodied in the recent Syro-Lebanese Cooperation Treaty, analysed by Fida Nasrallah in Chapter Eight. Although she deplores the emasculation of Lebanese independence and sovereignty, her analysis does not rule out the establishment of special relations between two neighbouring countries. It seems that a certain convergence of interests and policy has been developing in both countries since the 1980s. Both Ghayth Armanazi in Chapter Nine and al-Fadl Shalaq in Chapter Ten concentrate on con­ temporary issues, such as the Gulf War and the Middle East peace process. However, Shalaq’s analytical scope ranges over the history of Islam, offering a rigorous defence of the idea of Arab unity and its inevitability. In September 1991, the Department of Arabic and Islamic Studies, University of Exeter, and the Centre for Lebanese Studies, Oxford, held a colloquium on ‘State and Society in Syria and Lebanon 1919-1991’. The object of the organisers was to explore the development of both countries in the period from the disintegration of the Ottoman Empire until the present. It was envisaged that the contributors to the colloquium would compare and contrast the evolution of state institutions, socio-economic structures, cultural policies and ideological currents. The main aim was thus to shed light on the similarities and divergences in the history and politics of two neighbouring countries, and highlight the close historical relationship which had created patterns of interaction, tension and co­ operation. The papers presented, and collected in this volume, succeed to a large extent in offering a comparative perspective by means of concentrating on major turning points in the history of Syria and Lebanon between 1919 and 1991. Taken as a whole, the chapters bring out the similarities, contradictions and possible convergence of a shared historical experience. This experience encompasses a common Ottoman background, the French Mandate, the struggle for independence and repeated attempts to build viable political structures. However, there have been other historical and social aspects which prevented a complete convergence of national and economic interests. The realm of this divergence can be clearly seen in the manner in which the Syrian state, after a number of coups d’état and setbacks (1949-1970), finally managed to spread its dominance or hegemony over its society. This apparent hegemony offers some indication as to the ability of the Syrian state to contain social strife or suppress trends and tendencies towards civil XVII

YOUSSEF M. CHOUEIRI

war. In other words, a political formula based on certain economic, military and cultural configurations made it possible for the Syrian state to anticipate social disintegration and put into operation effective devices to reverse such an outcome. In Mount Lebanon, civil war seems to have been built into the system as an underlying factor ever since its inception as an entity in the first half of the nineteenth century. Consequently, civil strife became synonymous with Lebanese society and politics. A number of explanations have been offered by various scholars to account for this particular characteristic of Lebanon. No single explanation has so far succeeded in unravelling the bewildering varieties of causes and factors. What can be said with confidence is that the repeated failures of the Lebanese state to emerge as the dominant institution of its society go a long way towards unlocking the secret behind Lebanon’s gradual disintegration. This was particularly the case in the last civil war which lasted for about fifteen years (1975-1990).

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One

Arabism, Society, and Economy In Syria 1918-1920 Abdul-Karim Rafeq

1. Introduction: Arabism, from vision to reality Despite centuries of Turkic rule, the idea of the Arab state of old which the Arabs had struggled to re-establish in a modern sense in the nineteenth century never died away in their national conscience. Islamic identification with fellow, but non-Arab, Muslim rulers did not efface or weaken the Arabs’ attachment to their identity and their loyalty to their Arab-Islamic Umma. Arab contributions to culture never ceased to occur despite periodic ups and downs. When alien Muslim rulers became supreme in the Arab lands, the Arabs measured their loyalty to them by the degree to which these rulers served the interests of the Arab lands and the people they governed. By contrast, the Ottomans who ruled most of the Arab lands for a much longer period were not viewed by the Arabs in the same way that they viewed the Mamluks because the Ottomans moved the Arab centre of power to outside the Arab lands, exploited Arab resources to finance their wars in Europe, and, since the time of conquest, none of their sultans had visited the Arab lands, not even to perform the pilgrimage (the only exception being Sultan ‘Abd al-‘Aziz’s visit to Egypt in 1863). The Ottomans as a major world power, it is true, defended the Arab lands against foreign invasions as long as they were supreme; that is, up to the end of the eighteenth century. Since then they were unable to defend the Arab lands against an expanding capitalist Europe. Thus the Ottoman pattern of expansion was reversed. Starting as an Amirate of Ghäzis (warriors for the faith) around 1300, the raison d ’être of the Ottomans was to fight the enemies of the faith and to expand in Europe. They balanced their conquests there by conquering Anatolia and then the Arab lands. When they started losing territory in Europe they also began losing territory in the Arab lands until, in 1918, they went back to 1

1

ABDUL-KARIM RAFEQ

the same place from where they issued six hundred years earlier—to Anatolia. It is generally assumed and widely accepted that Arabism and Arab nationalism appeared in the nineteenth century under the impact of Europe. What then, one might ask, did the Arabs feel about their identity before the nineteenth century and to whom did their loyalty go? For the Syrians, the Ottomans were the Rüm, the term by which the Christian Byzantines were known to their Muslim adversaries. Throughout Ottoman rule, the Syrian ‘ulamä’ defended the rightful application of Islamic Shari* a and were highly critical of any breaches of it. They censored the Ottomans on the issue of marriage fees which the latter had applied since the early days of their rule in Syria. The parties also differed with regard to interest money which the Ottomans, apparently for compelling economic reasons of state, had authorized and applied for, for instance in the Shari‘a courts in Anatolia. The Syrian Shari‘a courts were reluctant to abide by the Sultan’s orders to allow interest and when they did on limited occasions, they were keen to state in the transaction that it was done by order of the Sultan (bi-müjib ctbfojnr al-sharif al-sultânï). Again, when the Ottoman holders of land grants (timariots) attempted to bring back by force the peasants who fled from their timars because of injustice, the ‘ulamä’ defended the peasants as free Muslims entitled to live wherever they wanted, quoting the example of the Prophet Muhammad who fled from Mecca to Medina to avoid injustice. Shaykh ‘Abd al-Ghanï al-Nàbulsi in his defence of the persecuted peasants who suffered from Ottoman feudal law urged them to rise in revolt against their oppressors. Nabulsi also took to task a Rümï ‘älim for his rigidity in interpreting the Shari‘a with regard to non-Muslims (dhimmis). The Rümï maintained that non-Muslims were destined to Hell whereas Nâbulsî argued that they were merely threatened (wa‘id) by Hell and that this threat could be dropped and they could, like the Muslims, enter Paradise because the poll tax they paid was beneficial to the Muslims.4 These differences on the interpretation and application of the Shari‘a between the Ottoman and the Syrian ‘ulama’ fostered among the latter a sense of identity of their own which distanced them from the Ottomans. It is significant in this respect that the sixteenth-century biographer and Shâfi‘ï Mufti Najm al-Din al-Ghazzi raised the major question about the causes of the backwardness of this Umma (asbäb ta‘akhkhur hadhihi al-Umma), meaning the Arab-Islamic Umma at a time when the Ottoman Empire was at the peak of its power. The concern with Arab identity was also echoed by the eighteenthcentury Christian Damascene chronicler Mïkhâ’ïl Breik who began his 2

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

chronicle in 1720 notably because members of the local ‘Azm family whom he identified as (awläd al-‘Arab) first became governors in ‘our country’ (bilädinä), as he put it. Breik prided himself on the tolerant rule of the ‘Azms towards the Christians which fits in with the tolerance shown at the same time by Nabulsi. Under the devastating impact of capitalist Europe in the nineteenth century, the Arabs became conscious of the need for unity to save their country from the external and internal dangers that were threatening them. The ‘w/amd’ preached a return to early Islam when it was pure and simple in the hands of the Arabs, and in the heartland of Arabia, and before it became adulterated by the later excesses of popular sufism. The Islam of the ancestors (Salaf\ hence Salafiyya) implies an emphasis on the role of the Arabs in Islam. The Salafiyya, the adherents of secular nationalism and the exponents of adaptation and accommodation between Islam and Arabism, played major roles, in their own way, in bringing about a harmonious fusion between Islam and Arabism. Fears of heavy Jewish immigration to Palestine already expressed by Nu‘mân al-Qasàtlï in 1874, and the long-term clash between Zionism and Arab nationalism voiced by Najib ‘Azouri in 1905 brought the danger home and alerted the Arabs to their common destiny. To add to the problems of the Arabs and at the same time to heighten their need for unity, the young Turks after 1909 turned their back on Islamic solidarity with the Arabs and adopted a pre-Islamic Turanian-type of nationalism which alienated the Arabs. From advocating Arab-Turkish brotherhood by means of decentralization, the Arabs moved, under the pressure of unrelenting Turkish nationalism, to seek independence and unity. The Arab revolt of June 1916 and the withdrawal of the Turks from Syria in October 1918 brought about the establishment of the first modern Arab state. 2. The Arab State The first provisional Arab government to be established in Damascus after exactly 402 years and one month of Ottoman rule was formed on 27 September 1918. At its head was Amir Sa‘!d al-Jaza’iri, a scion of the famous ‘Abd al-Qädir al-Jazä’iri, who claimed to have the support of the Damascene notables. Although al-Jaza’iri declared his allegiance to Sharif Husayn, in reality he was expressing a long-cherished dream of the Jaza’iri family to achieve power in Syria with the support of the militant Maghàriba (North African) community in the city. Amir Sa‘id could have been encouraged by French tacit approval. Within three days, al-Jaza’iri, who >

3

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merely filled the power vacuum in the city, was dismissed by the Sharifian troops who entered the city on 1 October 1918, followed by their allied British troops. General Allenby, the commander-in-chief of the British forces operating in Palestine, nominated Shukri Pasha al-Ayyübï, a Damascene notable of Kurdish stock and a former Ottoman officer, as military governor of the Eastern Occupied Zone centred on Damascus (the Western Coastal Zone was to be under French occupation and the Southern Zone in Palestine under the British). Shortly afterwards, Ayyübl was replaced by Rida Pasha al-Rikâbï, a Damascene wealthy landowner and former Ottoman officer. Amir Faysal, the chief representative of his father, Sharif Husayn, entered Damascus on 4 October 1918. He immediately recognized Rikabi as head of the first Arab government. Soon Sharifian authority, supported by the British, extended its sway over all the Eastern Zone. Faysal’s Arab government attempted to control Beirut and hoisted the Arab flag there, but the French evicted its representative from the city. From the outset, there was a duality of authority in Damascus between Rikabi, the militaj^jgovernor of the Eastern Zone, who was answerable to the British, and Faysal who represented his father and the Arab nationalists. This duality created much confusion in the country and limited the nationalist attempts at creating an independent Arab state sooner than 8 October 1920, when an independent Syrian state was announced. The British wanted Rikabi’s government to be caretaker until the future of Syria was decided by the Peace Conference in Paris. Indeed, the govern­ ment of Rikabi was composed of directors (mudîrïn), not ministers, whose task was to conduct the administration, not to set policies. Faysal, for his part, established on 6 October 1919 a consultative council (majlis al-shûrâ) which was responsible for legislation.5 On 15 September 1919, Britain concluded an agreement with France according to which Britain was to withdraw from Syria and France was to replace it there. Rikabi, therefore, had to go. He resigned around the middle of December 1918. Faysal and the nationalists were left on their own to face France. Facing local and foreign opposition, Faysal and the nationalists who in the beginning voiced grandiose Arab plans for independence and unity, soon realized the difficulties ahead of them. The declaration of Arab independence was claimed by different parties from different places and at different times. A Damascus law court register, for instance, mentions that Arab independence was declared on 30 June 1918.7 The Arab state, according to a commercial court register {al-Mahkama al-Tijâriyya) also from Damascus, was officially announced on 1 Muharram 1337 (7 October 1918). The Damascus law courts immediately started using Arabic in place 4

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

of Turkish in the headings of their records. The records also began a new enumeration of cases beginning with number one on 19 Muharram 1337 (25 October 1918) and continuing until 30 December 1920. The French then introduced a new enumeration of cases of their own which started on 3 January 1921. Faysal was referred to in the official documents as amir. The courts issued judgements in the name of his father, King of the Arabs Husayn I. Occasionally, the records gave Husayn the titles of King of the Arabs and Caliph of the Muslims, or Sultan of the Arabs and Caliph of the Muslims.9 Faced with Anglo-French conspiracies aiming at occupying Syria and Iraq, the Arab nationalists, headed by Faysal, became more realistic and eventually gave up the Arab dream of creating an independent Arab state composed of Syria (geographical Syria that was known to the Arabs as Biläd al-Shäm), Iraq, and the Hijaz. Instead, they were satisfied with an independent Syria which was to include Lebanon and Palestine. Faysal took the lead in defining his concept of the future Arab state or states. On 5 May 1919, in a political speech described by the official journal al-‘Äsima as a serious political manifesto (al-bayân al-siyäsi al-khatir al-sha’n), Faysal addressed a large gathering of political, social, and religious notables who assembled in the hall of the government building in Damascus to hear his views on the Peace Conference he had attended in Paris. In his speech Faysal defended the Arab revolt led by his father against those who accused its leaders of being traitors to the fatherland (watan), the nation (umma), and the Ottoman league or community (al-JämVa al-‘Uthmäniyya). He said that the aim of those who organized the revolt was ‘to preserve a portion of the Ottoman Empire and shield it from the fate destined to befall Turkey following the war’. He gave credit to his father and the Hijaz is who staged the revolt and to the Syrians who inspired the Hijâzïs and won them over to the revolutionary movement. He then told his audience that his case for the Arabs in the Peace conference was based on two premises: first, that the Arab lands (al-Biläd al-‘Arabiyya) which he did not define but which apparently meant Syria, Iraq, and the Hijaz, were indivisible; secondly, since the only differences among the inhabitants had to do with levels of knowledge and education, (ikhtiläfät fi tabaqät al-Um wa l-ta‘ lim laysa ilia), the conditions, therefore, were not fit to make these lands into a single nation with a single government. Accordingly he made it known that Syria, Hijaz, and Iraq had Arab identities and their population sought independence for their respective countries. Faysal added that Najd and the adjoining Arab territory belonged exclusively to the Hijaz and were headed by his father. When referring to Syria, Faysal used the term al-Umma al-Süriyya (the 5

ABDUL-KARIM RAFEQ

Syrian nation) which desired to be independent. He also said that he defended the independence of Syria within its natural borders and spoke of the unity of economic interests among these countries. Faysal sounded a note of optimism that the Peace Conference had complied with the desire of the Syrians for independence. He then sought the approval of the assembled people for his rule and his policies which they granted him with enthusiasm.10 In two successive leading articles in al-‘Äsima, titled ‘The Federal Arab Governments’ (al-hukümät al-Arabiyya al-muttahida), Shakir al-Hanbali, director of public communications, explained Faysal’s speech as calling for the establishment of independent states in Syria and Iraq which would be bound with independent Hijaz by economic and educational ties. All three countries would have a united foreign policy. Hanbali, no doubt echoing also the opinion of the Syrian nationalists, favoured the proposed form of government to which he referred to in French as Etats Fédéraux. The leading articles in al-‘Äsima at this time reflected the Arab nationalists’ political dilemma as well as their realistic approach to the problems facing them. The article in the second issue of the paper dated 20 February 1920 discussed the Arabs and independence. Later articles dwelt on the leading role of the Hijaz and by implication the Hashemites in Arab ascendancy. To prepare the grounds for independence, al-Àsima published articles calling for love of one’s fatherland (hubb al-watan) which involved the love of the inhabitants the one to the other irrespective of religious faith, thus establishing, as the paper emphasised, a real Arab bond (Jamïa Arabiyya). Peace, reform, and execution of duty were also important for state building. In addressing social and economic ills, the paper discussed socialism, the workers’ right to strike, equality, and national responsibility. The sacred union (al-ittihäd al-muqaddas) between the followers of the religious faiths was given prominence in the paper in a bid to eliminate foreign attempts at sowing discord among the Arabs. Although hopes for independence and unity were vanishing, now that military might was having the upper hand, the paper still engaged, for the sake of the future if not the present, in examining Arab nationalism, national responsibility, patriotism, the fatherland, and the power of truth. Shortly before the demise of Faysal’s independent state in Syria, the paper, apparently resigned to the gloomy fate of the Arabs, preached happiness and peace. The sequence of these articles seems to apply to later periods in Arab history when conditions do not seem to be very different. Thus from the declared aim of liberating all the Arabs under Ottoman rule and winning for them national independence and unity, the Syrian nationalists faced with European plans to occupy and partition their 6

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

country showed a large measure of realism in advocating independence for Syria, Iraq, and the Hijaz as separate entities which would join with each other in a federal form of government. Today, eighty-one years later, this federal form of government is everybody’s hope. A major question poses itself at this stage: how did the Arabs, after four hundred years of Ottoman rule define their relations with Turkey, which like them was in the throes of putting its internal house in order while fighting against the invading European powers? The Arab nationalists, including the Hashemites, it is to be recalled, did not rise against Turkey as an Islamic state. On the contrary, they rose against the ultra-nationalist government of the Committee of Union and Progress which was deter­ mined to coerce the Arabs and shun Islamic solidarity with them. In fact, Islam remained, in the aftermath of the First World War when both Arabs and Turks were facing the same European enemy, a binding force between the two nations. In his aforementioned speech in the hall of the government building in Damascus on 5 May 1919, Faysal made it known that his father ‘organized the Revolt during the great world struggle after he saw the Turks drawn into the German stream and the Ottoman nation brought near to disaster. He felt that if the Arabs continued in the war on the side of the Turks who were allied to the Germans, they would share the same fa te.12

Throughout his rule in Syria, Faysal showed much sympathy towards the Turks. He is, for example, alleged to have signed a secret treaty with Mustafa Kamâl in Aleppo on 16 June 1919. The nine-article treaty written in French states in article one that ‘Les parties contractantes, la nation turque et la noble nation arabe, constatent avec regret la division qui existe en ce moment dans le monde musulman et elles se font un devoir sacré de faire disparaître cette division et d’assurer la coopération de deux nations liées par des intérêts matériels, moraux et religieux.’

Article two refers to the possibility of declaring the Holy war ‘En ce moment où l’indépendance des Arabes et l’unité et la liberté des Turcs sont en péril, quand les Puissances Etrangères veulent partager entre elles l’Irak, la Palestine, la Syrie et leurs environs, ainsi qu’une importante partie de l’Asie Mineure, nous nous sommes décidés

7

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á déclarer le lendemain même du jour où la Conférence de la Paix de Paris donnera une décision á notre égard, la Guerre Sainte, pour défendre la religion et la Patrie.’

To achieve this aim, the contracting parties refused any partition of the Turkish Empire and of Arabia. Also (article four): ‘Le Gouvernement Ottoman reconnaict officiellement la formation d’un gouvernement Arabe, auquel seront annexés le Hedjaz, Médome, l’Irak, la Palestine, Damas, Beyrouth et Alep á condition que l’Arabie soit liée á l’empire Ottoman et qu’elle reste fidèle au Califat. Le gouvernement Ottoman accepte et ratifie la domination du Chérif Hussein sur ces terres, sauf examen des détails sur la forme du Gouvernement et d’autres questions qui seront discutées ultérieurement et arrêtées par un traité spécial.’

Article nine states: ‘Ce traité est fait en double exemplaire, signé et échangé á Alep, le 16 Juin 1919, par l’entremise de Essad Bey, Mutessarif (Préfet) de Kerek.’

At the end, the names of Moustafa Kémal and then Chérif Fayçal are mentioned. A report by British intelligence officers to the General Staff in Con­ stantinople states that ‘Mustafa Kemal Pasha was in possession of orders from the Minister of War and other members of the Cabinet. . . to reach some agreement with the Arabs for resistance of foreign occupation by the formation of bands etc., and that it was on these instructions that he signed this treaty with the Emir Faysal.’

However, the report throws doubt on the authenticity of the treaty.13 Despite attempts by contemporary diplomats and later writers to dismiss the treaty as wholesale forgery, there are indications that the treaty could have been genuine. To begin with, Faysal left Damascus for Aleppo on 7 June 1919 arriving there on the 9th, after stopovers in Ba‘albak, Hims, and Hamah. Al-‘Äsima, which reported fully the festivities with which Faysal was received on his way to Aleppo and whilst in this city, was very brief about reporting his return to Damascus. In its issue dated Monday 16 June 1919, it reported that Faysal came back to Damascus yesterday (ams). Since 8

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

the paper is not always correct about days and dates even in its front page headings (note for instance no. 33), and since (ams) is not specific and could mean the day before the paper was actually published and not the date it officially carries of Monday 16 June, the date of his return to Damascus has to be corroborated by other sources. If the treaty had been signed on 16 June, Faysal could have returned to Damascus the same day. On the other hand, in his speech in Aleppo during this visit, it is significant that Faysal did not attack the Turks at all, as he had done so severely in his earlier speech in Aleppo on 11 November 1918.14 In his June 1919 address (no specific date is given for it), Faysal emphasized religious tolerance among the people in anticipation of the King-Crane Com­ mission’s visit to Syria in early July 1919.15 Mustafâ Kamâl, on the other hand, is reported to have arrived on 19 May 1919 in Samsun on the Black Sea in his capacity as inspector of the ninth army in Erzerum with full authority over the districts of Sivas, Trabzon, and Erzerum. His real aim, however, was to achieve the independence of Turkey from foreign control, and he issued a circular on 3 June to this effect. Recalled to Istanbul by the government of the Sultan, he refused to go, and issued instead on 22 June a proclamation condemning the action of the government and calling on the nation to safeguard its independence. Thus, it is likely that Mustafâ Kamâl in a moment of need, either acting upon orders from the Sultan or serving his future ambitions, had looked to Sharif Husayn and the Arab nation for joint action against the French which really took place at the time when Turkey supported the Syrian rebels against the French. Kamâl’s presence in the region of Samsun-Sivas could have enabled him to be within reach of Aleppo. The American consul in Aleppo who was received by Faysal on his June 1919 visit and who was active in his reporting on the relations between the Turks and the Syrians, largely out of concern for the welfare, of the Armenian and other Christian immigrants from southern Turkey into Syria, mentioned on more than one occasion the contacts between Mustafa Kamâl and Faysal, and between Sharif Husayn and the Sultan. The consul reported the correspondence between Faysal and Mustafa Kamâl in which the former attempted to enlist the support of the Turks hinting at the possible union of Syria, Hijaz, and Turkey.16 Signs of political and military cooperation between Turkey and Syria became evident after the ‘alleged’ treaty. On the political level, the Turks appealed to the Islamic religious feeling of the Arabs to stand united against European imperialism. In a proclamation issued by Mustafa Kamâl to the Syrians and circulated in Aleppo about 9 October 1919, he urged them: 9

ABDUL-KARIM RAFEQ

‘As a coreligionist I pray you not to heed the strife amongst us and which has separated us, we must remove all misunderstanding and let us all aim our arms against the treacherous parties who want to divide our country . . . We have cleared Konia and Brussa. We have cut the enemies’ Unes of communication by occupying Konia. The Mujahids who trust in the Right will soon be the visitors of their Arab brethren, and will scatter away the enemy. Let us live as brethren in Religion and may our enemies perish.’17

Other pamphlets were circulated by the Turks in Aleppo calling for common action between Turks and Arabs.18 On the military level, the Turks offered military aid, including a token army unit, to the Syrian rebels acting under the leadership of Ibrahim Hanänü and Shaykh Salih al-‘Ali who were in revolt against France in the northern and western Syrian mountains respectively.19 The Turkish muni­ tions were essential for the continuation of the rebellion in Syria. Apparently in implementation of the ‘alleged’ June 1919 treaty, the Faysal govemment^ent a delegation headed by Sa‘Id Hay dar, a founder of the secret Arab society al-Fatât, to Istanbul where he also met with representatives of Mustafa Kamâl. Haydar mentions that an accord of four points settling certain border issues and forming a united Arab-Turkish front against the common enemy, France, was reached with the Turks. Upon returning to Damascus in April 1920, Faysal had becomeon_ king (8 March 1920) and refused to sign the accord negotiated by Haydar. Fayçal showed much anxiety at the time with regard to the Bolshevik propaganda infiltrating into Syria with the Kamâlists and he reported it to the British.21 On 8 June 1920, during its last weeks of existence, the Arab government of Faysal sent an emissary to Aleppo; YUsuf al-‘Azmeh, the war minister in the newly formed cabinet of Hâshim al-Atasl, was to concert action with the Turks. The mission failed because relations between the Turks and the French were improving at the time.22 In a final attempt by Faysal to dissuade the Turks from reaching agreement with the French, he went to Aleppo on 15 June 1920, but his mission failed and he returned to Damascus on 20 June. Yet, Faysal kept supporting the Turks against the French till the very last day of his rule in Syria and even later on. He prevented the French from transporting their troops and munitions on the Riyàq-Aleppo railway to boost their war effort against the Turks in Cilicia. This stand by Faysal so much infuriated the French that General Gouraud in his five-point ultimatum to Faysal on 14 July 1920 insisted on putting the Riyâq-Aleppo railway at the disposal of the French.24 After he left Syria, Faysal kept his contacts with the Turks. While in Italy he sent on 10

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

27 August 1920 Sati‘ al-Husri, his former minister of education and his companion in exile, to Istanbul to seek support from the Kamâlists.25 Islamic solidarity with the Turks was sought by the Hashemites, par­ ticularly Faysal, to counter the French onslaught on Syria. Syrian public opinion also favoured cooperation with the Turks because they supported the rebellion in Syria and also because the Turks were fighting the common enemy, the French. The Syrians received with jubilation the news of the astounding victories of Mustafa Kamâl (now surnamed ghdz—warrior for the faith) and Atatürk (father of the Turks) against the European powers which occupied parts of Turkey.26 However, when Turkey reached an agreement with France on 20 October 1921 by virtue of which the French withdrew from Cilicia, Turkish aid to the Syrian rebels stopped, and the rebellion in Syria came to an end. Also, Atatürk exploited the Syrian enthusiasm towards his victories by trying to build up support for himself, and implicitly for Turkey, through the recruitment of agents and followers in Syria. Turkey’s claims in the Alexandretta region became more pro­ nounced. Its claim to Mosul on the pretext that it was still in Turkish hands when the Mudros Armistice was announced on 30 October 1918 was denied by a League of Nations arbitration committee in 1925. Foreign observers were unanimous in saying that Aleppo was thus saved from a possible Syro-Turkish dispute with regard to its boundaries.27 3. State and Society Syrian society under the Arab government of Faysal faced major difficulties as a result of the termination of four hundred years of Ottoman rule, increasing Anglo-French military intervention in its affairs, and growing Zionist ambitions in Palestine which formed the bulk of southern Syria then known as the Southern zone of Occupied Enemy Territory. Acts of theft, murder, and rape, both in the urban and the rural regions, abound in the cases brought before the law courts in Syria.28 One court register from Damascus mentions 214 such cases which were referred to the Court of Appeal in Damascus during the period between 17 October 1918 and 3 June 1919. Robbery on the highway was also endemic. The main attractions for robbers were pack animals, grain, and personal belongings. Shortages of supplies caused by the war were no doubt behind the stealing of grain. There were also instances of peasants attacking granaries belonging to landholders and to the government despite the severity of punishment imposed in such cases. These were cases mainly of social and economic banditry, but no signs of a class war were in evidence at the time despite the dissemination of Bolshevik propaganda in the 11

ABDUL-KARIM RAFEQ

country. Acts of theft usually occurred within the same village. Robbing people from other villages risked the retaliation of these villages against the robbers’ villages. The poor attacked the poor, peasants plundered peasants, Muslims molested Muslims, and Christians abused Christians. Non-Muslims were not especially targeted by Muslim robbers. The state of chaos which prevailed in Syria in the interregnum following the withdrawal of the Turks, the duality of rule between Faysal and the British in the Eastern Zone, and the military operations of the French in the Western Zone were largely responsible for the breakdown in law and order. Firearms were widespread at the time, largely because of the looting of government arms depots and partly also because some government gendarmes joined the people.29 The fact remains, however, that the Faysal government was in control and was able to bring many of those who broke the law to account, which indicates the determination of the government to establish law and order.30 Arrested persons outnumbered those who were convicted and imprisoned. More tribunals were established at the time to look into all cases properly31 and special care w e a k e n to appoint qualified people in the administration of justice.32 Urban society in Syria under the Arab government witnessed diverging loyalties among the élite. From the beginning of his rule, Faysal set out to broaden his support, neutralize his opponents, and rally the people around him. The group he favoured most was the Arab intellectuals who as active nationalists had formed his main support. High-school graduates were employed in the government to help establish the Arab administration. To placate the ‘Ulamâ’ and ensure administrative continuity, Faysal appointed members of the traditional families, such as the Kaylänis and the Barâzîs of Hamah and the Istiwânïs of Damascus to top administrative and judicial positions. The conservative religious groups, to whom the Ottoman Sultanate-Caliphate represented the religio-political model of government and implicitly served their interests by offering them stipends, privileges and favours, were unable to stop the growing influence of Arabism. The supporters of Faysal were represented by a broad coalition known as the Popular Front (al-Jabha al-Sha‘biyya). Its core was composed of intellectuals and army officers drawn from among Syrians and Arabs, notably Iraqis, many of whom served under the Ottomans. The members of the Popular Front, acting through several committees and organizations, chief among which was the Arab Club (al-Nâdl al-Arabï), the Progressive Party (Hizb al-Taqadum), and the Patriotic Syrian Party (Hizb al-Watanl al-Süri), were committed to Arab unity and independence. They con­ sidered Syrian unity as a stepping stone towards a larger Arab unity.34 ___

12

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

The convening of the Syrian Congress (al-Mu’tamar al-Watam) on 3 January 1919 put to the test the allegiance of many social groups throughout Syria. The Congress which met under the headship of Muhammad Rashid Rida from Tripoli chose as its speaker Hâshim al-Atasi, the deputy of Hims who represented an established urban family. Many families of similar status, whose power rested on commercial investment, land exploitation, and the professions, and who included a cross-section of the religious communities, figured in the Congress as supporters of Arab unity and implicitly of FaysaPs policies. The members of these families who were prominent in the Arab nationalist movement at the time were referred to as the New Generation (al-Jll al-Jadld). The Congress convened at the request of Rikabl’s government, acting upon orders from Faysal, to legalize FaysaPs position in Syria and to prepare the way for his nomination as its king. The prospects for a wider Arab unity did not seem encouraging at the time. In the course of its deliberations, some notables, such as ‘Abd al-Rahmàn al-‘Azm and Muhammad Fawzi al-‘Azm, who were described by a fellow member as Conservative Aristocrats (al-Aristuqrätiyyün al-Muhäfizün), withdrew from the Congress in protest against the predominance of the nationalist members and their endorsement of Faysal. Muhammad Fawzi al-‘Azm, one of the dissenters, seems to have returned to the Congress later on and concerted action with the Arab nationalists.37 His son Khâlid al-‘Azm, who later on figured in the life of independent Syria, was among the upper class young men who volunteered in the Arab army to fight the French.38 A split was soon to appear in the ranks of the Arab nationalists who supported Faysal. The ultra-nationalists, described as rigid and inflexible, saw in FaysaPs espousal of Syrian unity and independence a radical departure from his declared policy favouring Arab unity. They also took Faysal to task for giving so much attention to minorities. The moderates among the nationalists, referred to as Neutralists (Hiyädiyyün), approved of FaysaPs policies.39 Another issue which caused further dissension within the ranks of the nationalists was the deposition of Rikàbï by Amir FaysaPs brother Amir Zayd. The apparent reason for the deposition of Rikäbi was his opposition to Amir Zayd’s attempts to make military preparations against the French. Some nationalists split over this issue, but the majority remained neutral.40 The group that opposed Faysal in the Congress was made up of conservative aristocrats who included the upper strata of the bourgeois feudal families. They were known as the Old Notables {al-Dhawät alQudamä’), and they saw in Faysal and the nationalists a danger that could lead to clashes with the French and further destabilize the political 13

ABDUL-KARIM RAFEQ

situation. They even went to the extent of preferring European rule to national independence if independence was to be in the hands of youths rather than notables. Some of the Dhawât immediately and publicly declared their preference for the French, while others did so after the imposition of French rule. The former included Haqqi al-‘Azm, Jamil Mardam, and Husni al-Barazi.41 Other Damascene notables, including ‘Ulamâ’ and heads of Sufi tarlqas (orders), also expressed their readiness to accept the French mandate.42 One of the major preoccupations of Fay sal was to ensure the solidarity of the Syrian people. He therefore committed himself to religious tolerance. About one-fourth of the members of the two cabinets formed on 8 March 1920, after Faysal’s election as king, and 3 May of the same year, were Christian. The Municipal Council of Damascus formed on 12 January 1919 included two Christians and a Jew out of a total of twelve members. The Consultative Council {Majlis al-Shürä) included three prominent Christians from Damascus, Aleppo, and Beirut.44 Ten per cent of the eighty-nine members of the Syrian Congress were Christian, which falls below the actual percentage^ of Christians among the population. This is to be explained by the fact that the members of the Congress were partly elected and partly nominated by local bodies. Throughout his rule, Faysal was anxious not to alienate the religious minorities in Syria.45 Religious tolerance, after all, was an act of faith. Many Christians had been active in the Arab national movement which supported Faysal. Also, many Christians and Jews played important roles in the country’s economic life.46 Faysal emphasized the common denominator of Arabism which, according to him, predated all religions and bound the people together. In the address he delivered before the Arab Club in Aleppo in June 1919, he said: AO

‘As for myself, I can say that we have no majority and no minority. Nothing divides us. We are a single body. The actions of the temporary government clearly show that there are no religions or sects, for we were Arab before Moses, Muhammad, Jesus, and Abraham. We Arabs are bound together in life, separated only in death. There is no division among us except when we are buried.’47

Faysal’s words were received with shouts of approval and with applause from the audience. The Hijâzi Amir was thus emphasizing traditional Arab-Islamic tolerance which he shared with his Syrian audience. Legally, all persons, irrespective of their faith, under the Arab government of Faysal, were citizens of the Arab Syrian statè {min tib(at al-Dawla 14

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

al-‘Arabiyya al-Süriyya). Thus the Ottoman millet system was officially dead. The Faysal administration paid special attention to the plight of the Armenian refugees from Turkey and defended them against occasional public outrage such as happened in Aleppo on 28 February 1919.49 The sympathy shown by Faysal’s government towards the Armenians was not taken kindly by some Muslims. The expertise and cheap labour provided by the Armenians made them more competitive with the local workers. Later on, the enrolment of the Armenians in the French army increased tension between them and the Syrians. Another issue which made Faysal’s government unpopular was conscrip­ tion. Earlier, volunteers joined the ranks of the Arab army. According to the conditions laid down by the government in early March 1919, a volunteer had to be Arab by origin. Because of the growing need for volunteers at the time, the nationals of other Arab countries were admitted into the army. The age of the volunteer had to be between 19 and 35 years, the duration of his service was two years, and no resignation was allowed before the end of the first year.50 Educated young men and sons of notables and other social classes were among the early volunteers who signed their names in the Arab Club in Damascus and in other Syrian cities. Volunteers came in groups according to their respective quarters. They exercised daily with the exception of Friday and Sunday and paraded in the streets to boost public morale. The Christian clergyman Yusuf Istafan donned the military uniform when he accompanied Faysal on one of his visits to Europe. The notable Syrian politician Khalid al-‘Azm put on his uniform on the night of his marriage.51 To regularize admission into the army and to fill in the power vacuum created by the withdrawal of British troops from Syria in September 1919, a law establishing conscription in the Eastern Zone was issued by the Council of Directors (Majlis al-Mudirm) on 19 December 1919. It was approved by Faysal on 21 December. To allay the fears of the people, who were historically apprehensive of conscription (which had been cruelly imposed on them by alien rulers such as Muhammad ‘Alt in 1834, and later on the Ottomans) and who were subject to it between the ages of 20 and 40, it was announced that conscription was temporary, its duration was six months, money was acceptable in lieu of military service, and several exceptions were made. With increasing danger, the period of military service was increased to one year on 20 May 1920. Invoking earlier practices to avoid conscription under the Ottomans, some persons changed their birth dates. Unlike the Ottomans, Faysal approved of these changes apparently because of his need to rally the people around him.53 15

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To strengthen the attachment of the people to the fatherland (al-Watan) and make them proud of their identity and cultural contributions in the past, the Arab government established the Arab Museum (al-Muthaf al-'Arabi) and the Arab National Library {Dar al-Kutub al-'Arabiyya). A Scientific Academy {al-Majma‘ al-'Ilmi), an Arab School of Law {Madrasat al-Huqüq al-'Arabiyyà) and an Arab Institute of Medicine {al-Ma‘had al-Tibbi al-'Arabi) were either newly established or resumed their func­ tions, all in the same year, 1919. In establishing the institutions of the first Arab state in Syria, the government was aided in this task by a number of social groups, societies, notables, and ordinary citizens who made voluntary contributions in this regard. A society known as the Society of Scientific Advancement {Jam'iyyat al-Nahda al-'Arabiyya) was established in Aleppo in the summer of 1919. Its aim was to support the dissemination of knowledge through the opening of schools. A kindergarten and two elementary schools, one for boys, the other for girls, were established by this society to sustain the government efforts in spreading education.55 A similar society called the Society^ of Literary Advancement {Jam'iyyat al-Nahda alAdabiyya) was established in Damascus whose aim was to offer free education to 120 students in its First Evening Teaching Institute {Ma'had al-Tadris al-Layll al-Awwal).56 A committee was formed in Aleppo whose aim was to finance intelligent students to study in Europe. Wealthy parents were to support the education of their children abroad. Qualified but poor students would be given grants by wealthy people.57 In Hamah, the Society of Pious Relief {Jam'iyyat al-Is‘äf ál-Khayrí) offered scholarships to poor but intelligent students to study in Europe.58 The Society for the Promotion of Literary Performance {Jam'iyyat Nahdat al-Tamthll al-Adabi) which transferred its headquarters in the summer of 1919 from Hayfà to Damascus used its royalties to establish a school and to distribute food to the needy.59 The Society for the Advancement of the Oriental Girl {Jam'iyyat Nahdat al-Fatät al-Sharqiyya) which was established in Jerusalem by the widow of a martyr, Ahmad al-Husayni, decided to open a girls’ school in order to teach Arabic, sewing, and embroidery.60 Projects for the establishment of public reading rooms and night schools, subsidized by wealthy persons and scientific societies, were established in Damascus and Hamah. Compact social groups, such as the Kurds of Damascus, established the Salâhiyya Society (after Salâh al-Din, Saladin) which opened two schools for boys and girls at its own expense.61 The Arab Clubs in their joint meeting in Damascus on 2 October 1919 decided to meet yearly, to establish public reading rooms, and to recruit volunteers for the army from among supporters of the Club {Raht al-Nàdï al-'Arabi).62 16

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

Syrian women, on the other hand, volunteered to improve the lot of fellow women. A society for women in Aleppo set itself the goals of reducing clothing expenses, promoting local textiles, cutting down the expenses of tailoring, teaching tailoring and embroidery, and promoting patriotism among women.63 These spontaneous acts of social participation clearly indicate a sense of cultural responsibility on the part of many people with the aim of promoting the institutions of the newly-established Arab state. The dream had thus come true, and the state, it was felt, ought to be the focus of every person’s allegiance irrespective of the identity and the origins of the ruler. In the rural society of Syria, as in urban society, popular participation took the form of defending the homeland with support from the Arab government. The rural people may not have been motivated by an urban-type nationalism, but they rose in defence of the values they believed in such as family honour (‘urd), religion, and homeland, which together meant to them the fatherland. The Bedouin tribes which dominated a good part of the rural areas and the desert were already weakened by the Ottoman military action taken against them since the Tanzimät (the Turkish reforms) around the middle of the nineteenth century. They became less of a problem to the Arab government than they had been formerly or even subsequently when under French rule. Usually, during periods of political instability and change of rule, the Bedouin tribes played a destabilizing role by attacking trade routes, plundering villages, and devastating cultivated land. The important Bedouin tribe at the time controlled the regions to the east of a line passing through Aleppo, Hamah, Hims, Damascus, and Qunayfra. Three Bedouin groups dominated these regions: the Rwala under Nuri Sha‘län and the Fadl under Mahmud al-Fä‘ür dominated the region to the south and east of Damascus, notably the Hawrân, the Jawlân, and Qunaytra as far as Marj ‘Uyün; the feuding Mawâlï and Hadidiyyin controlled the region between Hims and Hamah; and the Abi Saràyâ tribe, which belonged to ‘Uqaydât, dominated under its leader Ramadan Shlâsh the region of Dayr al-ZürRaqqa. When Sharif Husayn was in revolt against the Ottomans in 1916, several Bedouin tribes supported him. Their anger was especially directed against the Hijaz railway which damaged the caravan route from which they profited by renting their camels to the pilgrims.64 One of the important tribal chieftains who in his support for the Arab government of Faysal, rose in revolt in the regions of Hâsbayyà, Râshayyâ, and Marj ‘Uytin was Mahmud al-Fä‘ür, head of the Fadl.65 In his address before the Arab Club in Damascus on 22 January 1920, Faysal praised the 17

ABDUL-KARIM RAFEQ

rising of al-Fä‘ür against the French and exhorted the nation and the youth to ‘do what al-Fä‘ür did in his quiet way’.66 General Gouraud in his note on 14 July 1920 to Faysal spoke of the news that reached him about ‘the Bedouin attacks in south and North Syria’, and he specifically referred to the rising in December 1919 of Faysal’s ‘personal friend’, the Bedouin Mahmüd al-Fâ‘ür.67 Another important Bedouin chief Nuri Sha‘län, supreme head of the Rwala tribe publicly pledged himself to Faysal’s support.68 Pending the promulgation of a law regulating the affairs of the tribes, a special committee under the leadership of Ibrahim Hanänü was formed in Aleppo in October 1919 to look into disputes among the tribes in accordance with their customary law and in consultation with an expert chosen from among the Bedouin when necessary.69 After Faysal was made King of Syria on 8 March 1920, his government issued in early May 1920 a temporary law (Qänün Mü’aqqat) aimed at deterring the members of the roving tribes (afrâd al-ashä’ir al-sayyära). By virtue of this law, the tribe was held collectively responsible for the actions of its members.70 Although the tribes as a whole did not play a major military role either in support of or against Faysal’s Arab government in Syria, they became more involved in political and military activity under the French. But the French attempted to contain them and institutionalize their position.71 Unlike the Bedouin, the Syrian peasantry, especially in the mountainous areas, were in full revolt against the French in support of the Arab government of Faysal. The rural revolts in Syria at the time have been rather neglected in most studies, the tendency being to concentrate on urban politics. Given the large percentage of the rural population in Syria, the politics of the countryside deserves more research and attention. Several revolts occurred in the Syrian countryside in the period between 1918 and 1921, mostly in the rugged mountains to the north-west, the west, and in 1925 in the south of Syria. The purpose of this chapter is not to go into details of these revolts, but to examine their significance in the national life of the country with special reference to Arabism and Islam. The revolts were led by persons whose power-base was either feudal, religious, or social, or a combination of these. Profiting from traditional bonds of tribal solidarity and from the nature of their terrain, the Syrian revolts were part of an established pattern of rebellion in the Arab lands against the imposition of alien rule. In Algeria in the 1830s, as in Tunisia and Egypt in the early 1880s, Libya and Morocco in the 1910s, and after World War One in Syria, Iraq, and Palestine, national responsibility for resisting the imposition of foreign rule rested at first with traditional groups and chieftains originating in the countryside. 18

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

Two major rural revolts occurred in Syria during Faysal’s rule: the first was centred in northern Syria and was led by Ibrahim Hanänü, the second was centred in Western Syria and was headed by Shaykh Salih al-‘Ali. Hanânü, an Arab landowner of Kurdish stock who originated in the village of Kafar Takhârim in northern Syria, served in the Turkish army, then joined the Arab army of Faysal, and was elected to the Syrian Congress. The revolt he headed against the French was known after him as the Hanâniyya revolt. It was composed of four allied revolts: the first in the region of Qusayr, near Antioch, was headed by Shaykh Yusuf al-Sa‘dun, the second in the region of Sahyün, whose centre is Haifa, was led by ‘Umar al-Baytâj^lthe third in Jabal al-Zâwiyya under the leadership of Musfafa Hajj Husayn, and the fourth in the region of Kafar Takhârim under the headship of Najib ‘Uwayyid. Shaykh Salih al-‘Ali, who led the revolt in western Syria, was an ‘Alawite feudal chieftain who commanded the respect and the support of a large number of followers. The two revolts were in contact with each other and both of them received the moral and material support of Faysal’s Arab government. They also received military support from Turkey against the common enemy, France. When the Arab government succumbed to the French on 24 July 1920 and the Turks later on reached a settlement with the French on 20 October 1921, the rural revolts in Syria, lacking support, petered out only to be revived more forcefully in the mid-twenties in Jabal al-Durüz and the Damascus region.72 Five aspects of these revolts are relevant to this study. First, despite the local character of the revolts, the different origins and occupations of their leaders, and the variation in the faiths of their members, the rebels shared the common aim of saving the homeland from foreign control. Secondly, the domination of the revolts by mostly feudal notables helped in containing the rebellion, thus preventing it from drifting into a war of social and economic emancipation. When such incidents occurred, the leaders were quick to stop them. Thirdly, the holy war (jihad) launched by the rebels who called themselves mujähidün (warriors for the faith), and the support they received from the Turks in the name of Islamic solidarity, for the rebels at least did not obscure their identity as Arabs. After the downfall of the Arab government, Hanânü went to Turkey seeking more military support. He concluded an agreement with the Turks for providing the Syrian rebels with munition and a token military force to boost morale. When he came back to Syria on 12 September 1920, he issued a declaration to his fellow countrymen about the agreement which he began with the words: ‘from the Arabs to the Arabs’. He later dwelt on Islamic solidarity between the Arabs and the Turks. The banner carried by the Turkish force •« f - «II- -

'

19

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had on one side the Arab flag and on the other the Turkish flag, each one of them bound by a white band which read in Arabic Q n one side: ‘believers are one (innama al-mu’minün ikhwa)\ and on the other side: ‘make peace between your two brothers (aslihü bayna akhawaykum)’. Despite Islamic solidarity, when members of the Turkish force unprovokingly looted the Christian village of Suqaylbiyya, in the region of Hamah, they were courtmartialled by Hanânü and their leader was executed on the spot. The credibility of the rebellion was above all other considerations. Fourthly, when it suited the interests of the Turks to reach an agreement with the French on 20 October 1921, they stopped aiding the Syrian rebels who had actually done the Turks a good service by engaging a massive number of French troops in the rugged mountains of Syria, who otherwise would have been directed against the Turks. Over fifty thousand French troops were then moved from Turkish Cilicia to Syria where they were concentrated against the rebels. The latter in the absence of support had to give up the fight. Rather than seek refuge in nearby Turkey as did other rebels, Hanânü went to Jordan. Two of the rebel leaders, Sa‘dün and ‘Uwayyid, who sought asylus^iu Turkey, later on refused to agree to Turkey’s demand in 1936 to help her annex Alexandretta. This stand by the two leaders, who were observing Muslims, emphasizes the fact that religiosity is supportive to patriotism (love of one’s country is an act of faith), and that religious solidarity, in this case, is no substitute for Arabism. 4. The State and the Economy The purpose of thia section is not to go into the details of the economic situation under the Arab government. However, the intention here is to survey the continuity of the basic patterns of economic activity that characterized Syria under the Ottomans. A major problem which confronted Faysal’s administration and alienated large sectors of the people was the deteriorating economic situation. At its core was the change of currency and its subsequent devaluation. Syria also lost the markets of Anatolia and the Ottoman Empire in general which particularly affected Aleppo. After the withdrawal of the Ottomans from Syria, Faysal and the British introduced Egyptian bank notes on a limited scale in the beginning because of the reluctance of the people to accept paper money for coins or for their produce.74 One of the consequences was that dealings in gold currency increased which put strains on it. The three major gold units, known as liras, were the Ottoman, the English, and the French. The Consultative Council of the Arab government, acting upon instructions from the military governor-general of Syria, issued a decree 20

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

on 15 Muharram 1337 (21 October 1918) stating that all contracts and financial obligations among the people and between them and the govern­ ment before the declaration of Arab independence on 30 June 1918, should be settled according to Ottoman laws and regulations. A special com­ mittee, known as the committee of liquidation of the accounts and the offices of the former government (i.e. the Ottoman), was established by the government. The committee requested each government department to prepare an inventory detailing its financial situation up to the end of September 1918. On 30 November 1918, the Consultative Council issued a decree forbidding the use of Ottoman paper money and allowing for the payment of debts contracted in gold in Egyptian bank notes. Shortly afterwards, the government itself accepted the payment of taxes in Egyptian bank notes. At the time, the value of the Ottoman gold lira was equal to 140 Egyptian or Ottoman bank note piastres. In early 1919, the government fixed the value of the gold lira at 87.7 Egyptian piastres. Debts contracted earlier at the higher rate caused disputes between the creditors and the debtors. The registers of the Mixed Law-courts (al-Mahäkim alMukhtalata) abound with cases of financial disputes caused by the change in the value of the currency.76 To consolidate their economic position, merchants resorted to partner­ ship cutting across religious barriers. However, because of local financial instability and prompt action taken by European creditors, based either locally or in in Europe, many partnerships ended in bankruptcy.77 To remedy the situation, the Consultative Council issued two decrees, dated 3 February 1920 (no. 234) and 2 May 1920 (no.1150) freezing all debts contracted during the war period without the indebted persons incurring any legal responsibility.78 A major act by the Faysal administration to win over the people to its side was the abolishing by the Consultative Council on 3 November 1918 of two arbitrary laws issued by the Ottomans: Qanün Wirku al-Harb (the law of the duty of War), that is, the law imposing taxes for financing war, which was issued on 5 Ramadan 1330 (18 September 1912) and Qânün Sadd A jz Mizäniyyat ‘Am 1330 (the law remedying the deficiency in the budget of the year 1330 (1911-1912), which was issued in two stages, on 1 February 1911/1329 and on 10 March 1912/1330. The Law of the Vergi of War increased by 25 per Cent the taxes levied on real estate, and by 3 per cent the taxes on salaries and on the revenue of waqfs (religious foundations). It also increased the amount of the bedel, that is, the money paid in lieu of military service, by 10 liras. Ten paras were to be levied on every kilo of salt. Between five to ten per cent were to be deducted from the travel allowances of officials. The Law of the Budget increased the 21

ABDUL-KARIM RAFEQ

vergi on real estate by 50 per cent. The fees of the court, of identity cards, of pay cheques, and of petitions were increased by 100 per cent. Taxes levied on sheep, cattle and pigs were increased by 25 per cent. The Consultative Council noted that these laws had already expired and that their continuation was detrimental to the interests of the people. Their abrogation, no doubt, won Faysal’s administration much needed support in its early stages. The shaky financial situation in Syria which developed later on and the withdrawal by Britain of a good portion of its subsidy to FaysaFs government made this government resort to unpopular measures to remedy the situation. On 27 January 1920, Faysal approved a decree, issued by the Council of Directors (.Majlis al-Mudmri) on 12 January, allowing for an increase in taxes to balance the deficit in the budget for the year of 1920. Taxes on rented land were increased by 50 per cent and on residential property whose tax exceeded 100 piastres by 25 per cent. Taxes levied on sheep and camels were increased by 50 per cent. Two Hijazi stamps, instead of one, were required for the payment of cheques exceeding 50 piastres. Petitions also needed two stamps.79 After Faysal became King of Syria, a law regulating the Syrian currency was published in the official paper, aWÄsima, on 26 April 1920. The unit of the currency in the Syrian Kingdom (al-Mamlaka al-Süriyya), according to the law, was the Syrian gold dinar which equalled 100 Syrian piastres. A silver Syrian riyäl was issued and was valued at 25 piastres. All foreign currencies were allowed to circulate in Syria.80 The Syrian currency law thus ended the existing contradictions in the value of the local and foreign currencies, albeit for a short period, in the Eastern, the Northern, the Western, and the Southern zones of Syria which were under different administrations. Shortly afterwards, a law, establishing the Syrian National Loan (Qânün al-qard al-Sürî al-Watanl), was issued on 17 May 1920. The loan was valued at half a million dinars, its interest was 6 per cent, and the state offered as security one million donums of state (mirï) land.81 Throughout its rule, the Arab government tried to stimulate the economy of Syria. To increase its revenues and promote the agricultural capability of Syria, the government gave its approval to the establishment of the Agricultural Company of Aleppo (al-sharika al-zirâ‘iyya al-Halabiyya). The company was allowed to import equipment free of customs duties.82 A similar agricultural society was already established in al-Khalil (Hebron) in Palestine with the same aim and privileges.83 An agricultural school was opened in Salamiyya, in the region of Hamah, in the midst of vast fertile plains. It had students from all over Syria, as far away as Gaza. An earlier agricultural school in the Ghutah, the green belt on the outskirts of 22

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

Damascus, was to be turned into an experimental field for promoting agriculture. Chambers of agriculture were likewise established through­ out Syria with the aim of regulating the affairs of agriculture and facilitating them.85 An agricultural bank was also established.86 On the industrial level, the government, in collaboration with the industrial school, built a factory in Damascus to produce rugs under the directorship of an Armenian expert. Its capital came from shareholders and subscribers, and its working force was drawn largely from among orphans.87 The Syrian Company for Minerals in Hayfa which had obtained the right to search for minerals and oil in Wâdl al-Yarmük and the region of ‘Ajlrni resumed its activity under the Arab government. It looked for cooperation with the British Oil Company of ‘Abadan.88 Special care was taken by the Arab government to ensure the prevalence of hygienic standards among the workers in the food industry.89 Chambers of Commerce were also established to regulate trade, in­ troduce new techniques in industry, and issue price lists for the various commodities. To facilitate the circulation of goods, the government took special care in improving the means of transportation, such as roads and railways.91 Camel caravans between Dayr al-Zür and Mosul were to proceed twice monthly on the 11th and the 27th. Three aspects about the Syrian economy under the Arab government may be noted. Firstly, although the government provided initiative, guidance, and organization for the various economic projects undertaken within the short period of two years, it still observed the traditional trends of the Syrian economy which in the past had brought about the economic and social well-being of the various communities among the population. It is to be recalled that under Ottoman rule, the working force in Syria, the craftsmen, were organized in autonomous guild-like organizations, known as tawa’if (singular taifa), the like of which did not exist under earlier Arab Islam. Then, an inspector (muhtasib) controlled the market, and any disputes between workers and masters were resolved internally, by the qâdï or the mufti, according to Islamic law and practice, but never by man-made regulations interposed between the Shari"a and the people. The taifas now regulated all affairs relating to work. Among other things, the taifas were able to integrate the various religious communities within their ranks through a system of work ethics whereby a craftsman was valued for his expertise rather than his religious affiliation. Thus, in the taifas of mixed membership, Muslims, Christians, and Jews appeared side by side before the qâdî, as representatives of their taifa, to announce a common decision they had taken, such as the nomination of their shaykh (head), or his deposition. Whereas mercantilist Europe had coexisted with the then 23

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prevailing system of Arab-Islamic economy, capitalist Europe, with the coming of the Industrial Revolution in the nineteenth century, became more aggressive vis-à-vis the traditional economies and societies, and it consequently destabilized Syria’s economy and society. New social and economic forces emerged in Syria under the impact of industrial Europe. Social and economic tensions developed in the country resulting in the communal riots in Aleppo in 1850 and in Damascus in 1860. Other riots happened as far as the Hijaz in 1858. No similar riots had occurred earlier in Syria, during a period of over three hundred years of Ottoman rule, because the religious communities were fully integrated in the traditional economy and society, largely based on organized and active ta’if as. However, the communities soon put the riots and their consequences behind them and went back to their early cooperation, this time by pooling resources through partnerships which, as before, cut across religious barriers in a bid to measure up to devastating European competition. Jacquard looms were imported from Europe, new techniques were in­ troduced, such as using water-wheels in cotton spinning, and local industry, especially textiles^as able to hold its ground and measure up to European products. A blend of Oriental and European-imported fashions was produced by the Syrian manufacturers.93 Under the Arab government, the traditional trends of Syria’s economy and society, whereby talent and expertise counted much more than religious affiliation, were again emphasized in a more modern sense. This economic and secular trend, already observed by the European bourgeoisie of the nineteenth century when talent and wealth were highly valued, indicated the growth of a nascent Syrian bourgeoisie which would even­ tually play a prominent political role in Syria. Faysal’s insistence in his public speeches on religious tolerance helped consolidate the coexistence of the religious communities not only in society but, more importantly, in the economy as well. This is a major achievement of the Arab government which can be illustrated by a number of examples. The founders of the Agricultural Company of Aleppo included five Muslims, five Christians, and an apparently Jewish member. The ratio is significant because it indicates that the religious culture in Syria did not create obstacles which could impede the recognition of talent and wealth. It also shows the degree of participation of the various communities in the agricultural field. In Damascus, on the other hand, a court register from 1919 mentions cases involving debt and credit in which thirteen Christians (36.1 per cent) and twenty-three Muslims (63.9 per cent) are creditors. The debtors include nine Christians (25 per cent) and twenty-seven Muslims (75 per cent). The figures indicate an intermingling of interests among the 24

ARABISM, SOCIETY, AND ECONOMY IN SYRIA 1918-1920

two communities, a high percentage of Christians taking part in financial transactions, and more importantly, security for the wealth of all members irrespective of which community they belonged to. Secondly, the readiness of Syria’s industrial and commercial classes, under the Arab government, to adopt foreign inventions with the aim of promoting the economy of Syria falls in line with the traditional openness of Syria’s economy. The Chamber of Commerce of Aleppo, for example, laid out a plan for introducing changes and reforms in industry and agriculture which would be financed by local capital. Included in the plan was the introduction of European looms to produce local textiles, the establishment of factories for matches, paper, glass, and spinning, the renovation of the factories producing carpets, hides, and glass, the opening of workshops for the maintenance of these factories, and the raising of cocoons for the production of silk.94 Such plans when implemented could bring much revenue to the national economy, provide jobs for hundreds of workers, and help maintain as many families. Thirdly, the right of the workers to go on strike was recognized by the Arab government which set a standard in establishing a smooth relation­ ship between factory owners and workers. Bolshevik propaganda, it is to be recalled, infiltrated into Syria through the agents of Kamâl Atatürk who tried to stir the people against the French imperialists. Al-Àsima in two leading articles on June 9 and June 14 1919 (nos. 33, 34), discussed in very sympathetic terms the concept of socialism and equality as they developed historically in the West. The two articles seem to have been written in reaction to the strikes staged by workers in a number of government businesses and companies. The leading article in the following issue (no. 35,16 June 1919) was titled ‘the strike of the workers’ {Vtisäb al-‘ummàl). It was written by Shakir al-Hanbali the director of the general bureau of correspondence. The article refers to the ‘blessed movement’ (haräka mubâràkd) among the workers who were seeking raises in their wages as a result of the rising cost of living. Hanbali mentions the strikes of the workers in the government press, the tram company, the factory in Qadam (type not specified), and the electric company over the question of better wages. The Arab government intervened and ordered a raise in wages. While conceding the right of the workers to go on strike, Hanbali, on the other hand, calls also for respecting the right of the factory owner to lay off workers and decrease their wages, provided he notifies them of his intentions ahead of time. According to him, the aim of both workers and factory owners ought to be their general and private well-being. The right to strike continued to be stressed by the Arab government. A strike by the workers of the railway linking Beirut with Aleppo occurred in late 25

ABDUL-KARIM RAFEQ

October 1919 bringing to a halt all services by rail between the two cities. Negotiations were undertaken and the railway company granted the workers most of their demands.95 Thus the liberal policies adopted by the Arab government during its Short tenure in office set a standard for government initiative in promoting the economic welfare of the country. They also fostered conciliation and compassion among the various social classes by avoiding class war among them and mobilizing their efforts for the building of an independent Arab state. In conclusion, writings on Syria under the Arab government of Faysal range from the few fully documented, highly detailed and objective studies to the subjective works which dwell on the negative side. These studies tend to blow out of all proportion the opposition to Faysal at the hands of the urban Damascenes. The truth is that the political, social, and economic developments that unfolded in Syria under the Arab government were the product of internal and external factors which were in operation in Syria for centuries. Social and economic patterns created over the years lend continuity to^pciety at large. The importance of the Arab government lies in the fact that it managed to set the basis of an independent Arab state which was the culmination of the past Arab efforts for statehood and independence, and the ideal to which politically fragmented Syria later on strove to achieve anew.

26

Two

An Evaluation of The Arab Government in Damascus 1918-1920 Khairia Kasmieh

The reign of the Arab government in Damascus was a short period of modern Syrian history. It began with the liberation of Damascus from Ottoman rule (30 September 1918) and ended on 24 July 1920, when the French troops occupied the same city. During this period an Arab government was established in the Asian Arab East for the first time since the beginning of the sixteenth century, when the troops of Salim I (1512-1520) entered the area. The Arab rule in Damascus that lasted for less than two years evolved from a military administration to a constitutional monarchy with a repre­ sentative council. The officials of the Arab government felt obliged to form a modem state in a country suffering the outcomes of war, and witnessing a state of economic disorder, political instability, external pressures, and internal isolation from the coast area. The fact that its reign was short prevents us from reaching a solid conclusion on this government’s achievements. But it is obvious that, in spite of the abovementioned hardships and the lack of resources and experience, the Arab government proceeded in the right direction; it tackled all aspects of life in Syria—political, economic and administrative.1 Its officials employed all efforts to establish a modern independent Arab state. They introduced new laws and legislations which the French authority later accepted as valid.2 They elected a council of representatives (The Syrian Congress) and issued a constitution. They sought to solve the problems of economy, education, health and administration. All worked sincerely to reflect a sense of Arabism after centuries of Ottoman rule. To many people, this government was an incarnate symbol of the modem Arab National Renaissance and the peak of the struggle launched by Arab militants many years before. It also represented a starting point towards the achievement of Arab unity and independence, and a prelude for the liberation of all Arab countries. 27

KHAIRIA KASMIEH

In spite of external pressures and the effect of world politics, a fact which sealed its fate, the Arab government stirred nationalist feelings in the Arab world, and gained wide popular support. It was the first Arabic government to be established in the birthplace of national thought, and it materialized this thought.ttn a statement delivered in 1918, as in all his speeches, Faysal confirmed that his government was based on nationalist links unifying the Arabs regardless of their different creeds. I^The Arab government supported the dissemination of the nationalist 'ideas in schools, press, clubs and societies. The political parties and associations played an important role in spreading these ideas. The Nationalist figures from all the Arab East were represented in the government. They employed all efforts to lead this government to success after years of Arab decline, and considered it as an inspiring instrument for all the Arab movements seeking independence. After the overthrow of the Arab government, the nationalist parties devoted their energies to the struggle against foreign mandates. Regardless of their country of origin, belief or social status, nationalists occupied administrative and military positions in the government.3 The Arab government provided justice, freedom, equality and social reform. It eliminated bigotry and favouritism.4 It located knowledgeable people from everywhere, and handed over governmental affairs to efficient experts from Egypt, Istanbul and other parts of the Arab world. Had it had the opportunity to survive, the Arab government could have achieved much more than it actually did; but before the end of its second year Arab hopes diminished under the weight of the French troops that invaded the country. '"J What were the factors behind the decline of the Arab government? In spite of its strength, the nationalist movement bore the seeds of weakness when it was confined to a certain stratum of the population, thereby failing to reach the people as a whole. Instead of frankly informing the people about the real situation, the political parties stirred up the popular zeal to the extent that any statement or action contradicting the emotional trend was considered as a form of treason. The population also considered the contradictions amongst officials as a form of weakness and hesitation which in turn decreased the credibility of these officials, as well as their ability to mobilize the people and organize their efforts. ‘Had the people been organized as much as they were enthusiastic, the battle of Maysaltm might have led to different results.’5 Internal strife appeared amongst the leadership; some of the leaders preserved their links with the Ottoman rule, while others believed that a temporary foreign mandate was necessary for the progress and prosperity 28

THE ARAB GOVERNMENT IN DAMASCUS 1918-192

of the country. ‘Each group affiliated itself to a foreign country and sympathized with its problems.’6 The leaders also lacked political experience and a comprehensive view of world politics. They often seemed to be satisfied with statements of general principles. The officers and leaders of the Arab government had a vague idea of the task they were called upon to fulfill, and were unaware of the ‘art of the possible’ which enables the weak to hope for a political success. They were extremists and considered any flexible step a sign of weakness. Hence, their demands tended to be exaggerated.7 Owing to the fact that success and failure were usually attributed to individuals, Faysal was the one to be blamed for the failure of the government. In spite of his intelligence and the wide public support he gained as the symbol of freedom and dignity,8 Faysal lacked decisiveness in his leadership; he was ‘sensitive to every sign of patriotism’9 and was hesitant. His views were not consistent; for example, he some­ times implied that a foreign mandate over the country was inevitable because of the non-existence of a national power that could protect the country’s independence. But upon facing the people, after his return to the country, he could not frankly express this belief, instead he promised what he was unable to fulfill. ‘Had he adhered to a consistent position and defended his ideas, he might have earned the support of the moderates’. Faysal had military experience rather than political or administrative. He was also obliged to stay in Europe for almost a year, leaving his brother Zayd as his deputy. Zayd was even less experienced and was much influenced by the extremists. All this led to a shift in the popular support from Faysal to Kamil al-Qassab in 1920, who possessed better qualifications to be a nationalist leader. In fact, the factors behind the decline of the Arab government reveal that most of the internal developments were a reflection of the international ones that took place away from the Arab scene in the closed or open sessions of the Paris Peace Conference. The Arabs placed blind confidence in the goodwill of the Allies. In his speeches Faysal expressed this confidence in stating that ‘the Allies are honest and they abide by their principles’.11 Controversies between him and the Allies were simply attributed to ignorance. The ministerial communiqué presented to the Syrian Conference on 27 March 1920 clearly indicates this.12 But the British government disappointed its Arab allies and im­ plemented its deal with France to divide the territories previously occupied 29

KHAIRIA KASMIEH

by the Ottoman Empire. France insisted on occupying the parts promised to it in the agreement, and the USA refrained from interfering in European policies. Thus the Peace Conference failed to fulfill the aspirations that motivated the Arabs’ participation in the war, and ratified the mandate policy which violated the principle of self-determination. The nationalist leaders were reluctant to express open opposition for Britain, and maintained good relations with the British government hoping for its help. They thus disregarded the suspicious moves of Britain. Had they been more realistic, they would have realized that Britain could not clash with France for the sake of the freedom of the Arabs, and that it implicitly agreed to France’s occupation of Syria. In this regard the prominent historian Temperley said: ‘So fell the Emir Faisal’s independent Syrian State—a State created and fostered by Great Britain in fulfilment, or partial fulfilment, of her pledges to the Arabs. It fell because its existence was in direct conflict with French ambitions, in circumstances which prevented British influence beingjnade for its preservation.’13

During the Cairo Conference held in 1921, Winston Churchill explained the situation clearly: ‘It was extremely painful to British opinion, and to British officers particularly who had served the Arabs, to see those who had been our comrades such a little time before and our allies, and who look to us for protection and to see their wrongs righted, to look on while they were thrashed and trampled down and their cities taken against the spirit of the treaties, if not against the letter by the French, and that has been a deep source of pain to politicians and to the military men who have been concerned. However, we have these strong ties with the French and they have to prevail, and we were not able to do anything to help the Arabs in the matter.’14

The decline of the Arab government closed a chapter of Arab history and paved the way for a new chapter. The National Movement was shocked, its leaders spread all over the Arab world to lead new struggles in their individual countries of origin. ‘The Arab cause acquired regional characteristics to the extent that gaining back its pan-Arab origin became very difficult.’15 The truth is that local and international conditions were not suitable after the expulsion of the Turks. Consequently, the Arabs could not 30

THE ARAB GOVERNMENT IN DAMASCUS 1918-192

establish their independent, unified state, which was a political goal as equally important as that of liberation from foreign occupation. Instead of independence, the experiment of 1920 had failed and was followed by the ‘Balkanization’ of the Arab world. Separate entities were established and various political and administrative systems prevailed.16 Thus the zeal stirred up by the Arab revolution turned into bitterness and hatred that wiped out British and French moral influence, and people took to the resistance of the mandate.

31

Three

Les Orthodoxes Entre Beyrouth et Damas U ne Millet Chrétienne dans D eux V illes Ottom anes

May Davie

Beyrouth, Damas: deux villes de la Syrie ottomane du XIXème siècle; une ville devenue ‘litjgjmjse’, l’autre devenue ‘syrienne’ dès les premières décennies du XXème: les mutations au Proche-Orient s’opèrent rapide­ ment. Qui dirait aujourd’hui, en observant Beyrouth et Damas, qu’il fut un temps où ces deux villes cachaient une anatomie similaire: dédales apparemment anarchique de ruelles, maisons carrées et basses en pierre et aux terrasses plates, bâb, khans, et qu’elles abritaient une population semblable: Musulmans sunnites. Chrétiens orthodoxes et catholiques, Juifs; et que leur pouls battait au même rythme lent des caravanes et du va-et-vient des biens et des hommes? Mais qui dirait aussi que la route et ensuite le chemin de fer qui avaient consacré leur union au XIXème siècle allaient fréquemment se fermer au courant du XXème. Et pourtant le mariage entre ces deux villes ne fut pas toujours fidèle. Damas avait d’autres partenaires, Sayda ou Saint Jean d’Acre; auparavant, il fut aussi un temps où elle tournait le dos à la mer, intéressée qu’elle était par Alep, Istamboul, Jérusalem ou Bagdad: c’est par ces itinéraires continentaux que passaient les flux du négoce—le littoral n’était qu’une donnée secondaire pour cette ville accordée au rythme du marché intérieur de l’Empire Ottoman. Mais au XIXème siècle, la conjoncture change et l’Empire Ottoman se met au diapason de l’Ocddent avec plus ou moins de bonheur. Avec le transfert des activités de l’intérieur vers la côte, Beyrouth mute en carrefour obligé, interface unique entre la mer d’où viennent et partent les produits et le continent où ils seront échangés. Elle supplantera même Damas. 32

LES ORTHODOXES ENTRE BEYROUTH ET DAMAS

Quelque soit la similarité ancienne entre ces deux villes, chacune possédait évidemment son originalité propre. Mais elle était subtile et fugace jusqu’à une certaine date; chacune s’affirmera par la suite, con­ séquence d’interactions complexes. Pour bien saisir les liens et les écarts entre Beyrouth et Damas, c’est vers le monde des hommes qu’il faut porter le regard plutôt que vers leur cadre physique, géographique. Une société, des quartiers, des parentés, un mode de vie, une architecture, des échanges, des déplacements . . . s’écrivent, se gardent, s’historisent. Un matériel historique précieusement conservé par un hasard étonnant à l’Archevêché Grec-Orthodoxe de Beyrouth nous a légué des témoignages de ce vécu. C’est à dire qu’à travers l’étude de la communauté orthodoxe que des points de similarité ou de divergence entre ces deux futures capitales arabes nous apparaissent pour le XIXème et le XXème siècle, ainsi que le temps et l’intensité de ces relations. Les textes montrent tour à tour des liens étroits dans des domaines précis, dans une fourchette chronologique, puis leur déclin pendant que d’autres liens, à d’autres niveaux se tissent, s’affirment pour décliner quelques années plus tard. Ces vagues sont synchrones pour certaines, d’autres en opposition de phase. Ces archives, malgré leur richesse, ont une limite: elles reflètent la situation vue de Beyrouth; la comparaison dans l’autre sens nous manque, nombre de documents ayant été détruits par ignorance et incurie ou lors de troubles et de guerre civile. Sans doute la réalité dans toute sa totalité est plus complexe et plus insaisissable. Les archives concernent uniquement une seule communauté, les Orthodoxes, alors que la ville comptait à partir de 1860 d’autres communautés chrétiennes importantes—sans oublier la musulmane et de moindre importance la juive—et c’est là une autre limite aux sources. Il reste cependant qu’une bonne part de la réalité peut être cernée car les archives sont de plusieurs types. Les cahiers de l’Etat civil, appelés daftar al zîjât, daftar al wafiyyât et daftar al ‘imâdât, ont consigné non seulement des noms et des dates mais aussi l’ascendance, l’origine, le métier, la résidence, la 'nationalité’, de chaque personne baptisée, mariée ou décédée et donc dévoilent les liens géographiques ou familiaux entre les membres de la communauté. Les cahiers du badal al ‘askariyyat renseignent sur la cotisation fiscale et donc sur le niveau de vie de chaque sujet imposé. Les registres de séances du majlis al-millat renseignent sur l’organisation intérieure de la communauté et ses relations avec les pouvoirs ou les autres entités de la ville. Quant aux actes d’héritage et de waqfiyyat, en décrivant les biens légués ou échangés, ils confirment des habitudes et mettent en valeur des éléments de civilisation. A l’aide de ces documents, des liens familiaux, institutionnels et culturels 33

MAY DAVIE

seront établis. Le ‘non-écrit’ sera tout aussi intéressant et aidera à cerner le moment et la nature des liens et des ruptures entre ces deux villes. L Jusqu’au XIXème siècle: un cadre institutionnel semblable, une continuité culturelle et sociale, des liens économiquès A Beyrouth comme à Damas, les Orthodoxes étaient régis jusqu’en 1918 par une même loi ayant pour assise un statut juridique identique. Elles appartenaient à une même entité appelée millet qui regroupait sous l’autorité des ecclésiastiques tous les sujets chrétiens de même rite quelque soit leur race ou leur langue. Cette situation remonte au XVème siècle, quand le Sultan Mehmed II, en 1453, prit après la prise de Constantinople, des dispositions légales envers la population orthodoxe de rite grec. A cette date, l’église rechut un statut et une organisation durable: le libre exercice du culte lui fut accordé et son indépendance spirituelle conservée. L’autorité du Patriarche Oecuménique installé à Constantinople, la capitale, est ainsi reconnue et confirmée, ainsi que celle des autres patriarches des provinces syrienne, palestinienne et égyptienne de l’Empire ayant respectivement pour siège Antioche, Jérusalem et Alexandrie. Le mot millet ne faisait pas référence á un statut juridique distinctif et une religion particulière en vue de son isolement; il signifiait une unité administrative qui présupposait une continuité, une ‘complémentarité’ dans la longue chaîne administrative ottomane, chaîne complexe et aux multiples rouages. Facteur d’intégration, la millet désignait dans son sens large, l’ensemble des Orthodoxes de l’Empire gérés par des lois particulières. Mais dans son sens étroit, il couvrait la population appartenant á une même agglomération urbaine ou á une région rurale dont les autorités religieuses étaient responsables devant l’Empire. Détenteur d’un pouvoir spirituel et d’un pouvoir temporel à la fois, l’Evêque réglait ainsi les différends entre les ouailles dont il était le représentant auprès des Autorités Ottomanes.1 Dans chacune des deux villes, Beyrouth et Damas, le siège de l’Evêché est devenu un des nombreux centres d’autorité de l’administration ottomane. Cette situation a nécessairement engendré dans les deux villes une organisation communautaire typique et une répartition géographique particulière. C’est à partir des registres des séances du majlis al-millet que nous avons déduit pour le XIXème siècle, la structure et le fonctionnement de la millet des Roums de Beyrouth regroupée dans un espace géogra­ phique étroit, le quartier. Comme à Damas, les Orthodoxes de Beyrouth habitaient dans une partie de la ville autour de leur lieu de culte. Ces quartiers résidentiels n’avaient toutefois pas une seule vocation. Ils comprenaient non seulement les églises mais aussi le siège de l’Archevêché, 34

LES ORTHODOXES ENTRE BEYROUTH ET DAMAS

le cimetière et les nombreux équipements communautaires: écoles, hospice, imprimerie tout comme les propriétés du Waqf formées essentiellement de boutiques, de dépôts, de jardins ou d’habitations. Encadrés par leur clergé, ils avaient un cadre de vie similaire pour ne pas dire semblable tant à Beyrouth qu’à Damas, pareil d’ailleurs à celui des musulmans, citadins comme eux. Le clergé en général suppléait au fonctionnement des institutions aidé toutefois par des civils choisis parmi les familles notables les plus influentes. La communauté avait également à charge certaines fonctions à caractère public telles que le gardiennage ou l’éclairage et même une fonction fiscale, celle de répartir et de collecter la taxe d’exemption du service militaire. La direction de la communauté nécessitait un personnel administratif, qualifié et nombreux: wakil, chaykh, amîcn, kâtib, nâ’ib, etc. Allant plus loin dans le dépouillement des écrits laissés par cette administration et plus particulièrement l’examen des actes de cession de propriétés foncières à Beyrouth entre 1803 et 1910, nous avons pu établir la structure urbaine de la vieille ville intra muros ainsi sa physionomie et déduire des points de rapprochement avec Damas. En comparant avec les travaux effectués par ailleurs, nous constatons que l’organisation spatiale de Beyrouth ne se différenciait pas de celle de Damas, ni d’ailleurs des autres centres urbains de l’intérieur. Beyrouth était structurée en quartiers appelés mahallat, constitués par des ruelles étroites (Hayy) couvertes ou à ciel ouvert, et d’impasses (zouqâq) bordées de maisons de pierre (dâr ou hârat) aux terrasses plates. Quant à l’habitat, le dâr beyrouthin traditionnel ne se différenciait pas non plus de celui de Damas: une maison en pierre d’un ou de deux étages, aux terrasses plates et portant une chambre supérieure pour l’été. Au rez-de-chaussée, une série de chambres adjacentes entouraient une cour á ciel ouvert comprenant un puits ou un bassin ainsi que des escaliers menant aux étages supérieures. A Beyrouth d’ailleurs, on disait de ce modèle qu’il était bâti selon le tarz al châmî. Nous voyons par là que la maison ‘traditionnelle’ si souvent citée en exemple à Beyrouth n’est pas la maison à hall central et au toit rouge: ce modèle fut non seulement tardif (fin du XIXème siècle) mais il eut la vie courte (jusqu’en 1930). Au XIXème siècle, les rapports entre les Orthodoxes de Beyrouth et ceux de Damas ne se limitaient pas uniquement au domaine institutionnel, social et culturel. Des liens familiaux anciens résultant de la proximité, de l’économie et de l’histoire, les rapprochaient également. Un travail effectué sur les cahiers du badal al ‘askariyyat a permis de dégager la composition par origine de la communauté beyrouthine en 1870. Au noyau originel de quelques 150 familles ‘beyrouthines’ se sont ajoutées au fur et à mesure 35

MAY DAVIE

des circonstances, des familles venues de l’arrière-pays. Parmi ces dernières, ce sont les familles damascaines qui étaient les plus nombreuses et qui ont été, vu leur nombre, inventoriées séparément. Les mouvements humains de va-et-vient entre Beyrouth et Damas ne sont pas nouveaux; ce qui est original, c’est l’ampleur du phénomène. Dans les archives, le patronyme châmî ou dimachqî indiquait habituellement l’origine des quelques familles damascaines de Beyrouth. Après Juillet 1860, l’afflux massif de damascains fuyant les massacres, conjugué à l’arrivée lente mais régulière d’immigrés attirés par les opportunités de travail dans cette ville en pleine expansion, a fait croître considérablement le nombre d’Orthodoxes dans la cité; la plupart de ces familles se sont définitivement installées à Beyrouth. Les cahiers les ont intégrées définitivement à partir de 1880 mais dans un but d’identification, elles étaient marquées jusqu’à la fin du siècle de la mention chwâm. Le mouvement allait continuer, moins important mais plus régulier jusqu’à la fin du siècle, portant le nombre de damascains à Beyrouth à environ 10 per cent de la population orthodoxe. Ces mouvements ont resserré les liens familiaux préexistants et noué des liens nouveaux de^parenté entre les deux communautés. Les registres des fianchailles attestent entre 1870 et 1900 de liens matrimoniaux entre Beyrouth et Damas, qui s’élevaient à environ 15 per cent du total des alliances conclues. Au plan économique, les archives sont étonnamment pauvres en in­ formation. Cependant le non-dit ne signifie pas ici l’absence de rapports. Il faut simplement comprendre que l’écrit économique est consigné ailleurs, sans doute dans des archives des personnes ou des entreprises. L’Archevêché ne s’occupait, et là les textes sont suffisamment pertinents, que des contentieux personnels liés aux ventes ou aux successions de biens. C’est ainsi que nous savons que la famille Hannoun originaire de Damas a maintenu son commerce dans sa ville natale après son départ pour Beyrouth, probablement en 1860. La famille Dagher de Beyrouth y possédait terrains et habitations, etc. Mais ces renseignements sont trop fragmentaires pour définir les liens économiques. De toute manière, celles-ci sont bien détaillées par ailleurs et les grandes lignes sont connues. Dans ce domaine, une synthèse sur le rôle des orthodoxes dans ce commerce reste à faire. En conclusion, pour cette période nous constatons que les deux com­ munautés, et par extrapolation les deux villes Beyrouth et Damas, avaient de nombreux points en communs. Une organisation spatiale pareille, une architecture semblable et une structure communautaire identique ren­ forcée par des contacts familiaux et économiques, deux cadres socio­ culturel et socio-économique qui se ressemblent. Peu de choses les 36

LES ORTHODOXES ENTRE BEYROUTH ET DAMAS

différenciaient aussi de leurs voisins musulmans, une citadinité de longue date les unissait tant à Beyrouth qu’à Damas. Jusqu’à la fin du siècle, dans ses rapports avec Beyrouth, Damas gardait néanmoins une certaine prééminence. Pour les Orthodoxes c’est le siège du Patriarcat et donc le sommet de la hiérarchie spirituelle et temporelle. Dans la pratique, la millet était une entité qui jouissait d’une certaine autonomie. Elle traitait directement avec le Wali de la ville où elle était instalée et ses décisions étaient définitives. Mais le Patriarche restait un recours pour tous le cas de litiges entre elle et les Ottomans; ces derniers d’ailleurs, ne manquaient jamais de mettre en oeuvre ce moyen de pression. Par ailleurs, dans les crises internes à la communauté (élection d’un évêque, litiges entre le clergé ...) le Patriarche intervenait tout naturellement, ce qui conférait à Damas un certain prestige sur Beyrouth et renforchait les autres liens. En comparaison, les liens avec le Mont-Liban, pourtant plus proche, étaient moins intenses. Pourtant l’Archevêché de Beyrouth avait juridiction aussi sur cet arrière-pays montagneux. Ici, l’autorité de l’Archevêché s’exercait au niveau spirituel tout comme dans le domaine de l’éducation et la gestion des biens Waqf. Mais au niveau administratif, les montagnards suivaient les lois ottomanes prévues pour le monde rural et différentes de celles de la ville. La hiérarchie sociale, les liens de solidarité, tout comme le cadre et le mode de vie étaient différents. La présence à Beyrouth après 1860, d’un nombre important de jabalis devaient favoriser les liens entre la ville et la montagne; mais ces relations n’avaient pas dépassé le cadre des réfugiés. L’intégration de ces derniers en ville se faisait très difficilement: aux élections du majlis al-millet, nous dévoilent les cahiers, parmi les familles notables appelées aux urnes, rares sont les familles convoquées d’origine montagnarde récente: aux hautes charges communautaires étaient toujours élus les représentants des anciennes familles patriciennes. Les damascains par contre avaient mieux réussi leur insertion et certains avaient même acquis une préséance sociale. Nous voyons ainsi à travers les Roums que les relations entre le monde rural du Mont-Liban et la ville marchande de Beyrouth n’étaient pas évidents. Les crises sociales et économiques de la montagne ne touchaient que marginalement Beyrouth qui vivait à un autre rythme, celui d’une économie marchande branchée sur les centres urbains voisins. L’économie de la soie libanaise qui utilisait son port et ses courtiers n’avait qu’une place marginale dans le commerce régional de Beyrouth tout comme la distribution dans les bourgs du Mont Liban à travers des marchands beyrouthins de produits manufacturés venant d’Europe. Les problèmes des villageois orthodoxes découlant de la guerre civile, 37

MAY DAVIE

de la crise de la soie, du prosélytisme des missions religieuses étrangères romaines-catholiques ou protestantes, ne remettaient pas en cause la prospérité de Beyrouth: les requêtes des villages en difficulté ne pré­ sentaient que 3 per cent du total des plaintes déposées au majlis. Certes des contacts et des services rendus existaient entre des familles notables de la montagne (telles que les Aswad ou les ‘Azâr) et la millet de Beyrouth, surtout après l’installation de ces dernières à Beyrouth. Le majlis fut aussi invariablement sollicité pour une aide pécuniaire aux pauvres de la montagne, à la construction d’une école ou d’une église à laquelle il donnait suite. En retour, le droit de regard qu’il avait sur la gestion des biens et les finances des églises et couvents de la montagne, butait contre l’opposi­ tion de ces derniers. Tout indiquait à croire que le mariage de la montagne et de la ville était inconfortable. Pourtant à partir des années 1880, des transformations majeurs à Beyrouth influeront sur le comportement des beyrouthins. 2. Les bouleversements de la deuxième moitié du XIXème siècle Autour des années 1860, débute une période de transformations im­ portantes au niveau de la ville de Beyrouth. Ces changements n’ont pas manqué d’affecter les relations entre les communautés de Beyrouth et de Damas. Ces signes étaient en fait présents dès les années 1860, mais leur impact ne fut définitif qu’à la fin du siècle, quand les écarts repérés sont devenus plus visibles que les points de rapprochement. Durant cette période, avec l’accélération du commerce international, Beyrouth se développe à un rhythme rapide. Elle doit opérer un change­ ment qualitatif de ses équipements commerciaux pour répondre à des quantités de plus en plus grandes de produits à échanger. Par Beyrouth en effet transite l’essentiel des flux de biens entre l’intérieur syrien et le Monde. Cette ville qui était quelques années auparavant le simple port de Damas, se transforme en centre régional de redistribution commerciale. Une urbanisation rapide et intense s’en suivit. Parallèlement, la ville assiste à un changement dans ses composantes démographiques: ville majoritairement sunnite avec une minorité chrétienne orthodoxe pour l’essentiel, elle accueille entre 1840 et 1860, des réfugiés Orthodoxes, Maronites et Grecs-Catholiques fuyant aussi les massacres du Mont Liban et de Damas. Ensuite, jusqu’à la Grande Guerre, elle rechoit par vagues successives, des ruraux de la montagne subissant l’exode rural,2 des citadins originaires des petites villes de la région et aussi beaucoup d’étrangers. Ced donne à Beyrouth un visage cosmopolite où l’élément chrétien prit une place non négligeable. Cette conjoncture ne va 38

LES ORTHODOXES ENTRE BEYROUTH ET DAMAS

pas manquer d’influencer les Orthodoxes dans leur mode de vie, leurs pensées et leur comportement. L’impact de cette conjoncture sur la communauté beyrouthine est en effet considérable. Les Roums prennent le chemin d’une ascension sociale et d’une influence politique sans pareilles, avantagés par la situation géographique privilégiée de la cité au moment du transfert des activités commerciales de l’intérieur vers la côte syrienne, favorisés par les Tanzimats3 et enfin par la création de la wilaya de Beyrouth en 1888. Autour des années 1850, les négociants orthodoxes, grâce à des réseaux d’échange et de correspondance le plus souvent familiaux, opèrent un déploiement régional de leurs activités économiques par des achats de maisons de commerce et de crédit, de manufactures^ de terrains et même des habitations dans les villes littorales du Levant: Izmir, Antioche, Lattaquieh, ‘Akka, Hayfa, Yafa, Alexandrie. Ils font de même dans les villes intérieures, Homs, Damas et même dans le Mont-Liban. Grâce aux Tanzimats, cette élite est placée à la tête de la communauté et partagent au sein du majlis al-millet les responsabilités de direction avec l’autorité cléricale. Grâce à la contribution des ces personnes avisées et à leur soutien financier, la millet prospère et se développe. Sur le terrain beyrouthin les conséquences sont visibles dès 1880. Des institutions pour le soin et le soutien aux orphelins et aux vieillards sont créées tant pour les beyrouthins que pour les nombreux nouveaux-venus dont les réfugiés. De nouvelles églises et des écoles sont construites. Dans leurs nouveaux quartiers Qirât ou Rmayl, bâtis sur les collines à l’Est de la vieille ville, comme dans le quartier à l’Ouest, Mousaytbeh, les Orthodoxes mènent un mode de vie différent de celui de l’ancienne cité. Ils adoptent un modèle d’urbanisation différent et une architecture nouvelle. Les rues en damier sont cernées par de nouvelles constructions spacieuses ouvertes de larges façades et au toit de tuiles rouges. La vie y est différente. Ils se distancent culturellement pour ainsi dire du mode de vie ‘ancien’ en fonction de leur niveau social d’abord, mais aussi grâce aux contacts avec l’Europe. Les relations dans cette ville cosmopolite, et l’éducation à l’Européenne dans leurs propres écoles ou dans les établissements des missionnaires étrangers, latins ou protestants, consolident cette différence. Les Orthodoxes opèrent aussi une ouverture envers les autres con­ fessions de la ville, envers les étrangers et surtout envers une région géographique restée jusque là secondaire pour eux, le Mont-Liban. Dans nos archives en effet, si les alliances matrimoniales avec Damas restent importantes jusqu’à la fin du siècle, des alliances de plus en plus nom­ breuses s’effectuent avec des citadins grecs-catholiques, maronites ou latins. Ces mariages presque inexistants jusqu’en 1890, se font au rythme bas mais 39

MAY DAVIE

régulier de 2 à 5 unions par trimestre, chiffre minime en soi mais très significatif pour l’époque. Les contacts avec le Mont Liban, essentiellement économiques au départ, deviennent aussi humains. Mis à part les liens familiaux qui lient les déplacés Orthodoxes avec leur parentèle montagnarde, la bourgeoisie citadine orthodoxe elle-même investit dans des terrains agricoles et achète des résidences secondaires avec jardins et terrasses pour la saison d’été. Hôtels et cafés y sont également bâtis surtout dans le district mixte du Mont-Liban, sorte de tourisme estival naissant pour la bourgeoisie citadine. Pour les Orthodoxes, les rapports ville-montagne deviennent plus fré­ quents donnant de l’ampleur à ce que les montagnards et surtout les Maronites tissaient en sens inverse à partir de 1860. Ces derniers qui ne jouaient aucun rôle important dans l’économie et l’administration de la cité, ont réussi petit à petit une certaine intégration. A la fin du siècle, ils sont même présents dans des postes-clé de la bureaucratie ottomane, au même titre que les Chrétiens autochtones. Ces liens nouveaux des Orthodoxes avec des régions et des partenaires différents distancent les beyroutins des dâàrascains. A Damas, l’évolution est plus lente. Elle maintient son mode de vie et son organisation traditionnelle. La com­ munauté damascaine n’a pas le même poids économique et social, et son influence sur la cité n’est pas déterminante. Le nombre des Orthodoxes est en déclin par les départ vers Beyrouth ou par l’émigration; leur rôle dans la ville est affaibli d’autant plus que les négociants qui s’installent à Beyrouth ne prévoient pas un retour (comme les familles Hannoun, Dabbas, Mnassah ou Doumani ...). L’impact des écoles et des missions étrangères est beaucoup plus faible, Damas n’ayant pas été choisie comme point d’installation préférentiel au Levant. En définitive, nous voyons que la millet orthodoxe a subi des mutations différenciées, lentes à Damas et plus accélérées à Beyrouth, résultant de variables démographiques et d’apports culturels. Cette millet en évolution sociale et spatiale est remise en cause avec la chute de l’Empire Ottoman en 1918 et l’occupation par des troupes étrangères donnant plus tard le Mandat. L’ancien ordre impérial disparaît pour un ordre qui se veut moderne, plus représentatif et ‘républicain’.3 3. A vec le Mandat français, les divergences Les conséquences de cette évolution différente dans les deux cités se manifestent au XXème siècle sur le terrain politique. Après la chute de l’Empire Ottoman, pendant l’occupation militaire française (1918-1920), la communauté orthodoxe est confrontée à un choix politique auquel elle

LES ORTHODOXES ENTRE BEYROUTH ET DAMAS

ne répond pas de manière uniforme. Les divergences sont de taille et elles seront définitives pour la destinée de la millet. Entre Beyrouth et Damas, les positions vis à vis de la nouvelle donne politique sont contradictoires: la communauté de Damas ‘coeur de la Syrie’ épouse tout naturellement les thèses nationalistes arabes, rejette le Mandat et réclame l’Indépendance du Royaume Arabe. Lorsque le roi Fayçal est battu en 1920 par les troupes françaises à Mayssaloun et qu’il dût quitter le pays, la Patriarche avait été la seule personnalité à le saluer en gare de Damas, marquant ainsi ce à quoi les Orthodoxe étaient attachés. A Beyrouth les positions sont par contre plus mitigées. Si la position la plus extrême par rapport à l’attitude du Patriarche fut celle de la bourgeoisie d’affaires accusée d’avoir ‘accepté le Mandat’, cette position ne fut pas celle de l’ensemble des Orthodoxes de la cité. Ainsi, l’écart n’est pas seulement entre damascains et beyrouthins mais parmi les beyrouthins eux-mêmes partagés entre l’appui ou non au Mandat, l’acceptation ou non du Grand Liban et le rattachement ou non de Beyrouth et d’autres provinces syriennes au Liban. Ces allégeances apparemment contradictoires s’expliquent par les muta­ tions particulières à la communauté mises à jour dans nos documents. Il faut d’abord mentionner les changements dans sa composition démogra­ phique. La conjoncture de la fin du XIXème siècle a permis, grâce à l’éducation et au contact avec l’Occident, l’éclosion, au XXème, siècle de nouvelles formations sociales aux intérêts divergents et aux idées politiques nouvelles. Parmi les familles autochtones et les familles les plus ancienne­ ment urbanisées, des membres des professions libérales émergent. Ils représentent un poids de plus en plus important face aux anciennes familles notables, véritables dynasties marchandes qui avaient fait la gloire de la communauté et de la ville au XIXème siècle. Ces dernières, formées de l’aristocratie urbaine, de la bureaucratie et de la bourgeoisie d’affaires, perdirent entre 1918 et 1940 de leur pouvoir et de leur influence liés précédemment aux circuits marchands régionaux à présent désorganisés. Les relations diplomatiques privilégiées qu’ils entretenaient avec les Grandes Puissances (l’Allemagne, la Grande Bretagne, les Etats Unis, la Belgique, etc) sont maintenant dominés par les Français qui favorisent des intermédiaires mieux acquis à leurs idées. Les mutations socio-professionnelles ont aussi touché le niveau moyen et inférieur de la pyramide sociale. La population qui exerçait auparavant de petits métiers privés (tailleurs, coiffeurs, artisans, épiciers, bouchers), évolue après la Grande Guerre vers les emplois rémunérés (fonctionnaires, cadres, professions libérales ...) formant l’embryon d’une classe moyenne qui va se développer rapidement et constituer aussi une force vive avec ses idéaux propres et dont il faudra tenir compte de plus en plus. Elle est 41

MAY DAVIE

rejointe par les salariés issus grâce à l’éducation des familles récemment urbanisées. Dans ses rapports internes, des clivages sont aussi apparents selon l’origine, le quartier ou les conditions d’installation. A côté des familles anciennement établies en ville, deux générations d’immigrés cherchent l’insertion sociale. Instalées pour la plupart dans les zones périphériques comme Achrafiyyeh ou Mousaytbeh, ces personnes ont des attitudes différentes selon l’expérience de chaque groupe auquel elles appartenaient dans leur lieu d’origine ou selon le degré de côtoiement en ville avec les autres confessions. On comprend la force de ce groupe quand on sait qu’il comptait entre le tiers et la moitié de la population orthodoxe de la cité. Cette société en transition dût subir trop vite l’abolition par le Mandat des anciennes structures qui faisaient sa cohésion. Après la chute de l’Empire Ottoman, la millet fut abolie tant au Liban qu’en Syrie et perdit ainsi son sens. Elle ne constitue plus une entité administrative et politique entre l’autorité et la population. Certes, le majlis à Beyrouth n’avait pas suspendu ses séances hebdomadaires consacrées à la gestion des institu­ tions, et l’Evêqué’^tâit consulté pour les nominations dans la nouvelle administration. Mais la millet en perdant ses fonctions, ne joue plus son rôle de cohésion intérieure face au pouvoir ni celui de l’intégration socio-politique avec les autres entités de la ville. Elle restait certes unie au niveau spirituel mais dans la vie publique, les Orthodoxes s’expriment à présent individuellement par la députation dans les deux pays. La repré­ sentativité traditionelle des notables subit la concurrence du système ‘républicain’ basé sur le nombre et imposé par la France. Face aux projets politiques que la France tenait de mettre en place, les Orthodoxes ne se présentaient pas, contrairement aux Maronites, comme un groupe avec un projet communautaire bien défini mais comme une somme d’individus ou des groupes de personnes aux intérêts divergents et formant une des nombreuses minorités de la région. A la différence du Patriarche Maronite, l’Archevêque de Beyrouth ne joua aucun rôle cristallisateur autour d’une idée-force confessionnelle, et l’élite non plus. Pour ces citadins, habitués de longue date à la mixité publique qui se reproduisait dans tous les centres urbains de l’Empire Ottoman, la politisation n’est pas confessionnelle. Par contre, et jusqu’en 1923, des courants politiques mobilisaient les Orthodoxes pour refuser le rattachement de Beyrouth au Liban et rejeter le Mandat. Ceci est attesté à l’Archevêché dans les cahiers de l’Etat civil qui enregistraient les personnes selon leur origine géographique, le watan et la nationalité, la tâbïiyyat. Entre 1918 et 1923, après la chute de l’Empire Ottoman, la tâbïiyyat des Orthodoxes auparavant ottomane est inscrite ‘syrienne’. Il faut attendre 1923 pour faire admettre à l’Archevêché le 42

LES ORTHODOXES ENTRE BEYROUTH ET DAMAS

principe de la nationalité ‘libanaise’, quand le Mandat attribué à la France en 1920 rentre définitivement en vigueur. Cette même position fut d’ailleurs proclamée par les notables en 1919 à la Commission King-Crane. Quant au rejet du Mandat, il s’explique aisément pour ces Chrétiens d’Orient qui n’avaient aucune raison affective de se rapprocher de la France. Si laïque qu’elle se voulût, la France n’en demeurait pas moins la fille ainée de l’Eglise de Rome et la protectrice des missions religieuses envoyées en Orient dans le but avoué de convertir ‘infidèles’ et ‘schis­ matiques’. Mais cette société difficile à saisir par le biais confessionnel fut néan­ moins assujettie par le biais social. C’est avec l’installation définitive du Mandat et surtout après l’échec de la révolte arabe, que les Orthodoxes ont été amenés à composer. D’autant plus que le Mandat semblait disposé á fonctionner avec la ville par la nomination à la plus haute charge de l’Etat de Charles Dabbas, notable orthodoxe appartenant aux grandes familles patriciennes, néanmoins francophile et marié à une française, sinon par le choix de Emile Eddeh appartenant à une vieille famille maronite certes mais de Beyrouth et associée à la famille Sursoq, la plus prospère des dynasties marchandes de la cité et doyenne du majlis al-millet. La bourgeoisie est arrivée ainsi au compromis pourvu que l’ordre soit rétabli et que les affaires reprennent. Elle fut rejointe dans sa position par des membres des Professions Libérales formés dans les écoles des mission­ naires religieux, acquis à la culture française4 et sensibles aux idéaux de la révolution française et de la République. Cette position qui adopte aussi le rattachement de la ville à la montagne ne déplaisait pas aux immigrés venus anciennement ou récemment du Mont Liban. Leur intégration dans la cité n’en serait que plus facilitée. Ainsi, pour beaucoup de beyrouthins, la solution semblait comme un moindre mal au moment où projets politiques pour les autres régions syriennes n’étaient pas encore définis. Vers la fin des années 1930, quand les Maronites rejettèrent à leur tour le Mandat, c’est en jouant sur les rivalités entre le Bloc Constitutionnel et le Bloc National, que les nouvelles élites orthodoxes issues de la fonction, ont réussi à s’imposer de manière définitive et écarter les anciennes familles de négociants citadins. Dans ces alliances, ils ont voulu se poser comme représentants de la communauté au moment où celle-ci, hors de ses structures traditionnelles ottomanes, n’est plus qu’un groupe hétéroclite. D’où un succès tout relatif car sans assise large, cette élite ne pouvait s’imposer au sein des alliances politiques face aux autres communautés. En retour, elle n’offrait plus rien à l’en­ semble de la communauté. Récupérée, elle fit plutôt le jeu des rivalités maronites pour récupérer le nouvel Etat. Car quelque soient les intérêts 43

MAY DAVIE

locaux du moment, la division de la communauté entre deux pays ne pouvait que réduire son influence.4 5 Les français en se basant sur le nombre6 ont ainsi justifié aux yeux de cette population diminuée la nomination aux postes administratifs traditionnellement tenus par les citadins dont euxmêmes, de personnes étrangères le plus souvent à la dté ou sans rôle précédant dans son économie et son administration. La correspondance entre l’Archevêque et le Haut Commissaire à ce sujet est tout á fait significative. Au Liban, la France ayant échoué à mettre de l’ordre, les ingérences britanniques aidant, c’est une république confessionnelle qui naît en 1943, allant dans le sens inverse de la longue marche vers la laïcité de la millet ottomane en milieu urbain et initiée par les Tanzimats. Quatrième minorité dans l’ordre numérique de la nouvelle république, sa place est marginalisée dans le nouvel Etat constitué et son rôle historique dans la cité, érigée en capitale, est en recul. Pour la partie proprement syrienne, dès la fin de l’Empire Ottoman et pour les mêmes raisons qu’à Beyrouth, la millat cesse de jouer un rôle, diminuée d’ailleurs au cours des ans par l’émigration et le prosélytisme latin. L’afflux à Dansas de populations rurales et entièrement sunnites, ont interdit une évolution semblable à leurs coreligionnaires de Beyrouth. Leurs concurrents politiques étant Sunnites (ou plus tard Druzes ou Alaouites), leur faiblesse démographique et leur isolement par rapport aux autres noyaux urbains de la région où ils étaient implantés, les différenciaient dans leurs choix politiques. En effet, à Beyrouth, les Orthodoxes ont vite cherché un compromis avec la France puis avec les Maronites autour de la question de l’allégeance, problème qui se posait autrement à Damas. Là, il était d’un autre ordre car le nationalisme arabe précédait le nationalisme ‘syrien’, dans un territoire morcelé et amputé. Politiquement, les deux communautés ne se retrouvaient plus sur une plate-forme commune. Il est regrettable que nous ne puissions mieux détailler ici l’évolution sociale des Orthodoxes à Damas. Les grandes lignes que nous connaissons ne confirment que partiellement nos conclusions. 4. Conclusion En d’autres circonstances, il peut sembler superflu d’insister sur des liens à priori évidents entre deux villes aussi proches. Mais l’idéologie ‘nationale’ qui a teinté l’historiographie du Liban et de la Syrie depuis le début du XXème siècle, en ne s’intéressant qu’aux épisodes susceptibles d’amener le plus d’acceptation sociale, a écarté de son champ d’intérêt des espaces géographiques et socio-économiques non conformes aux principes qu’elle s’était fixés dès le départ, la cohésion nationale. 44

LES ORTHODOXES ENTRE BEYROUTH ET DAMAS

En nous basant sur des données concrètes du vécu des hommes et des institutions, nous avons pu partiellement cerner pour le XIXème siècle, des liens culturels, sociaux et économiques entre les deux communautés et aussi entre les deux villes. Beaucoup de points les liaient: l’économie, la famille, l’Eglise. Ces liens ne concernaient pas uniquement les Ortho­ doxes mais encore plus les Sunnites. Parties d’un tronc commun socio­ culturel dont le fond est encore présent, les deux villes ont évolué différemment à partir de la fin du XIXème siècle avec l’ouverture de Beyrouth sur le Monde et surtout durant le Mandat. Celui-ci a créé des frontières, cassé la millet, imposé un pouvoir à assise rurale ou ‘néo­ urbaine’. Les bouleversements ont permis la montée d’une classe moyenne parmi les citadins orthodoxes, plus attachée à sa prospérité à Beyrouth qu’aux liens avec Damas, écartant encore plus ces deux villes l’une de l’autre. Bien peu les lie encore aujourd’hui.

45

Four

Le Grand-Liban et le Projet de la Confédération Syrienne d‘après des Documents Français Wajih Kawtharani

A la suite de son arrivée à Beyrouth, le Général Gouraud envoya au Ministère des Affaires Etrangères un télégramme (29 Décembre 1919) dans lequel il insistait sur la nécessité de liquider le royaume arabe de Damas, vu que lès visées des chérifiens dont la réalisation sur le littoral rendrait, dit-il, impossible l’organisation syrienne conformément à notre intérêt, sont en contraste formel avec les dispositions que manifestaient des députations de divers points de la zone Est elle-même.’1 Les exemples donnés par Gouraud découlaient alors de certaines attitudes exprimées par quelques notables syriens ‘qui voudraient, d‘après Gouraud, obtenir pour leur ville l’aide et le contrôle de la France sans l’intermédiaire de Faysal’, ainsi que de certaines attitudes manifestées par ‘les particularismes de certaines communautés: Druses et Alaouites . . . Tout cela amène les chefs de chaque communauté et les notables de chaque ville ‘à s’inspirer, d’après Gouraud, seulement du particularisme qui est le fait de ce pays pour essayer de se concilier la France sans passer par une autorité qui leur paraît une superfétation.’2 Ces ‘particularismes’ sont interprétés politiquement comme ‘divisions’, et par la suite, ils constituaient d’après les visions de Gouraud, des moyens d’utilisation politique: ‘Les divisions de la Syrie, qui doivent nous aider à l’organiser d’une manière pratique et favorable à notre intérêt, nous sont déjà fort utiles pour contenir le mouvement organisé contre nous. Il serait déplorable pour le présent et l’avenir, de les effacer dans l’unité d’une autorité chérifienne qui incarne aux yeux des populations l’hostilité contre nous et qui ne voit elle-même dans une entente avec nous qu’un moyen

46

PROJET DE LA CONFEDERATION SYRIENNE

temporaire en contradiction avec les principes sur lesquels elle a été fondée . . .’3 ‘La Syrie elle-même ne nous impose aucune concession: Le Gouvernement chérifien qui, en présence des chances que nous offre ce pays, n’y est pour nous qu’une inutilité et même une nuisance.’4

D ’autre part, un responsable français au Ministère des Affaires Etran­ gères (M. Baryeton), écrit dans son rapport le 20 Mai 1920 ‘il faut donc dès aujourd’hui envisager le régime qui devra succéder à celui de l’occupa­ tion et nous permettra de maintenir notre situation avec des moyens militaires réduits. Il sera même nécessaire de faire comprendre sur place que notre action militaire a un objet précis pour que la diminuation de nos effectifs n’apparaisse pas dans la suite une marque d’impuissance . . .’ La formule proposée est la suivante: ‘Il faudrait, dit-il, une façade indigène assez consistante, derrière laquelle nous pourrions agir sans responsabilité directe et dans la mesure et les circonstances où nous le jugerions utile . . . L’éventualité d’une dynastie arabe régnant sur une Syrie unitaire étant écartée, il parait sans danger de laisser les divers groupements ethniques constituer eux-mêmes ou avec notre aide demandée le cadre de leurs autonomies nationales.’5

Comment ‘ces autonomies nationales’ pourraient se constituer? Le conseiller français y mentionne la difficulté, mais encore, propose-t-il la solution. Il écrit dans son rapport: ‘La principale difficulté demeure dans la constitution des organismes politiques indigènes, non seulement prévus dans les déclarations répétées des Alliés et impliqués par le principe du Mandat, mais surtout indispensable au développement de notre politique en Orient.’6

La solution que préconise le responsable français, repose sur son point de vue quant à la notion ‘Etat/nation’ et sur son interprétation de l’histoire socio-politique ottomane: Il écrit: ‘Dans les pays autrefois compris dans l’Empire ottoman (le même phénomène se présente en Macédoine) l’opposition plusieurs fois

47

WAJIH KAWTHARANI

séculaire des notions d’Etat et de nation a développé l’esprit anarchique et frappé les populations d’incapacité à former autre chose que de petits groupements ethniques ou régionaux. Cette circonstance nous est favorable en rendant difficile une opposition généralisée; mais un trop n grand émiettement peut nous placer dans un égal embarras. Il conviendrait donc, continue-t-il, de pousser activement l’étude des groupements ethniques susceptibles de former au plus tôt les premières autonomies régionales . . . Pour exercer notre action, il faut que la Syrie s’organise. Et pour éviter qu’une Syrie unitaire se constitue par le Haut, il est urgent qu’une Syrie fédérative commence à se constituer par le bas . . .

Après Maysaloun (24 juillet 1920), où la résistance arabe dirigée par Youssef El Azmeh était battue par les troupes du Général Gouraud, ‘l’étude des groupements ethniques’ à laquelle les experts et les conseillers du Quai d’Orsay .étaient appelés, fut l’objet d’une réflexion et d’un dialogue politique entreterms entre le Président Millerand et le Général Gouraud à travers des télégrammes datés entre 6 et 23 août 1920.10 Le plan de Millerand Le 6 août 1920, le Président Millerand envoie au Général Gouraud un ‘plan d’organisation du Mandat de la France en Syrie’. Il explique au début la raison qui a poussé la France à battre et finir la monarchie arabe: ‘La chimère d’un gouvernement chérifien contrôlé par nousf n’a pas résisté à l’épreuve des réalités: l’expérience nous était imposée par l’organisation, de fait résultant de l’occupation et de la poütique anglaises, mais il est apparu bien vite que l’avènement artificiel en Syrie d’une monarchie chérifienne, étrangère aux aspirations et aux divisions traditionnelles du pays, ne pourrait subsister qu’en nous éliminant, la monarchie nationaliste et même militariste qui commençait à s’im­ planter en Syrie, était subie impatiemment avec son désordre, la conscription de l’emprunt forcé.’

A la place d’un ‘royaume arabe uni’, le Président Millerand propose tA llusion à l’accord conclu entre Démerceau et Faysal le 15 Septembre 1919.

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‘une série d’autonomies à forme républicaine (répondant à la diversité des races, des religions et des civilisations) groupés en fédération sous l’autorité supérieure du Haut-Commissaire, représentant du mandataire. L’unité ne sera pas celle d’une administration centrale, mais une unité économique (douanière et monétaire).11 Cette formule répondant, selon Millerand, aux intérêts français et en même temps, ‘aux particularités de la Syrie’, repose sur un plan d’organisation du mandat, dont voici les traits principaux pour chacune des régions visées par la stratégie française de l’époque. (i) Les pays turcs et Kurdes: Les territoires turcs (Biredjic, Aintab, Killis) et Kurdes (Est de l’Euphrate avec Ourfa et Merdine) ‘n’ont, selon Millerand, aucune affinité nationale avec la Syrie’; ‘ils pourraient être confiés à des chefs locaux, étroitement surveillés’. Et il en résulte que ‘l’organisation des territoires turcs et Kurdes poursuivie d’Alep et de Djérablous sous forme de pacification politique de la région d’Ain-tab et de pénétration prudente de la région à l’Est de l’Euphrate, permettra de décider s’ils doivent être orientés vers un régime autonome ou vers une adhésion à la Confédération syrienne. Dans tous les cas, il faut pour le moment faire un départ net entre eux et les pays syriens’.12 (ii) Les tribus arabes bédouines: Dans le même télégramme, Millerand propose un moyen de récupération pour traiter et contenir le sujet des tribus qui s’étendent à l’Est des quatre villes (Alep, Hama, Homs, Damas). Ces tribus n’avaient pas de sympathie pour le régime hedjazien et ‘se montrent, comme le dit Millerand, prêtes à s’entendre avec nous’. Il signale: ‘Comme nous n’avons aucun désir d’intervenir dans leurs affaires, ou d’exercer notre autorité sur le désert qui sépare la Syrie de la Mésopotamie, il est aisé de régler avec elles au moyen d’une investiture et de traiter sans exigences et sans contrôle tout ce que nous leur demandons: la tranquilité aux confins des quatre villes et l’ouverture des routes du désert au commerce. Les services que les officiers de liaison nommés près d’elles pourront leur rendre, les cadeaux et les égards qui leur seront accordés, assureront les bonnes relations qui sont dans l’intérêt commun. Une légère taxe de marché perçu dans les villes intérieures sur les moutons,13 seule vraie richesse de bédouins, ne peut soulever l’opposition.’ 't A

(iii) Liban: Se basant sur un mouvement autochtone revendiquant 49

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l’agrandissement du Liban sous le mandat de la France, Millerand propose une sorte de formule spéciale pour organiser la relation entre le Liban prévu et la confédération syrienne envisagée. Il s’adresse au général Gouraud en ces termes: ‘Le Liban a marqué de toutes manières son désir intransigeant d’une indépendance complète, sous le mandat de la France: il ne veut pas entrer directement dans la confédération syrienne, se jugeant plus cultivé et redoutant la majorité musulmane du pays. Il y aurait des inconvénients très sérieux à vouloir dès l’abord forcer le sentiment libanais et ce n’est que par la réalité et le succès d’un contrôle français sur la confédération syrienne qu’on pourra ultérieurement amener le Liban à s’y rattacher.’15

De son côté, le Président français croit, aussi, que la France n’a pas d’intérêt ‘à cette incorporation immédiate’, car: ‘Le Liban fournit, d’après lui, le gros de l’émigration syrienne, se réclame et ressortira de nos représentants à l’étranger; il deviendra, ainsi, un excellent élément d’influence et d’expansion commerçiale pour notre pays, nous avons intérêt à franciser le plus possible la population chrétienne en la tournant vers l’extérieur ( . . . ) Notre oeuvre doit consister à franciser le plus possible le Liban.’16

Chrétiens et Liban sont ainsi assimilés dans ce projet français dans une même identité: un libanisme francisé, c’est-à-dire, comme le prévoyait Millerand, conditionnés par deux mesures nécessaires: 1. La première se pose au niveau de la politique et des pouvoirs. Il écrit à Gouraud: ‘Il faut qu’une autorité française importante et représentative jouissant d’une large autonomie resta à Beyrouth et au Liban, même si le Haut-Commissariat est établi ailleurs.’ 2. La deuxième se pose au niveau géopolitique, économique et démographique. Elle consiste d’après lui, ‘dans la constitution du Grand Liban en lui incorporant la Beka ou Coelé-Syrie (c’est-à-dire la plaine nécessaire à la vie de montagne) et le Djebel Akkar (c’est-à-dire le Nord du Massif qui est en grande partie chrétien) jusqu’au Nahr El Kabir, en isolant le centre sunnite de Tripoli.’ Et il ajoute à ce plan: Tl paraît également difficile de ne pas incorporer au Liban, malgré les objections des maronites, le sandjak de Saida, 50

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c’est-à-dire (d’après les termes de Millerand) les Métowalis, musulmans chiites habitant le pays de Tyr et de Sidon, que l’on ne peut laisser isolés entre le Liban et les colonies sionistes envahissantes de la Palestine septentrionale.’17 Quant aux villes côtières qui ont la fonction des ports de l’intérieur de la Syrie, comme Tripoli et Beyrouth, Millerand leur propose ‘le régime de municipe’ qui pourrait jouer un rôle commercial commun unifiant le Liban ‘proposé’ et les autres parties de la Syrie dans une ‘union douanière’. Il note dans son télégramme: ‘La question des ports ne paraît pas se poser, car sous le régime de l’Union douanière, permettant au Liban de commercer librement, le régime de Municipe autonome parait répondre mieux à la situation de Tripoli, centre musulman sunnite qui ne veut pas être incorporé à un pays chrétien, et de Beyrouth, cité qui parait trop importante et peuplée pour n’être que la capitale du Liban qu’elle risquerait d’absorber et dont la population y est vraisemblamblement opposée. Dans le cas où l’on déciderait cependant de la rattacher au Liban, elle devrait conserver une large autonomie municipale et budgétaire.’18

Pour compléter cette organisation, Millerand propose une ‘modernisa­ tion’ du Statut de 1860, ce statut ‘qui a organisé, selon lui, la représentation des divers groupes du Liban’.19 (iv) Confédération Syrienne: Mais la notion des ‘groupes’, ethniques et communautaires sert, dans le plan de Millerand, comme référence pour organiser l’ensemble de la Syrie. ‘On peut prévoir, dit-il dans son télégramme, huit groupes autonomes qui seraient du Nord au Sud, le Sandjak d’Alexandrette, le Municipe d’Alep, le groupe d’Ansarieh, le Municipe de Hama, le Municipe de Homs, le Municipe de Tripoli, le Municipe de Damas, le Hauran (qui comprend d’ailleurs deux groupes: l’un druse, l’autre musulman).’ ‘L’organisation de ces groupes, continue-t-il, peut différer, car ils résultent, les uns de la géographie, d’autres d’une concentration d’intérêts, d’autres d’un groupement religieux compact. Mais du moment qu’on admet le principe d’une grande autonomie des cantons, les objections tirées de leur inégalité de culture, d’étendue, de population, de richesse, perdent leur importance.’21 Cependant, l’énumération qui vient d’en être faite n’a pas, selon Millerand ‘la prétention d’être définitive’. Elle semble comprendre les A A

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groupes qui se présentent spontanément dans un pays vu dans le miroir de la stratégie française, ‘sans tradition politique, ni opinion publique et habituée à tout subir de l’autorité’. Pour cela, le Président français conseille, alors, que ‘notre politique doit être très souple, constituer un groupe partout où il est viable et admettre que chaque groupe ait l’organisation particulière, qui peut lui convenir.’22 Dans son plan, Millerand esquisse des formules à chaque groupe dont voici les grandes lignes: 1. Le sandjak d’Alexandrette est divisé à la fois par la religion et la nationalité, puisqu’on y trouve des turks, des Kurdes, des Tcherkesses, des arabes ansariehs (Alaouites) et même 15,000 arméniens: ‘Nous y organiserons comme au Liban, propose-t-il, une représentation des divers groupes religieux’. Et, il attend que ‘la colonisation attirée par la culture du coton changera la proportion de ces groupes.’23 2. Les Ansariehs (Alaouites) établis dans la zone côtière montagneuse sont tous de -^ngue arabe; ‘ils forment un group religieux théorique­ ment rattaché à l’Islam, mais qui en fait s’en est complètement séparé: on ne doit pas les confondre avec les musulmans. Le contrôle français établi à Lattaquié devra être étroit pour pouvoir surveiller les différents chefs et protéger les minorités chrétiennes et musulmanes.’24 3. Chacune des cinq villes (Alep, Hama, Homs, Tripoli, Damas) constitue le centre d’attraction d’une région qui pourrait constituer ‘un canton ou municipe autonome’: ‘La population, dit-il, est musulmane sunnite et prétend à se gouverner; elle respecte l’autorité des familles patriciennes qui possèdent les terres de la campagne et pourraient former dans chacune un conseil de notables, sous un gouverneur syrien nommé par nous. Plus tard, on pourra étudier la question agraire et faciliter l’accession des paysans à la propriété du sol qu’ils cultivent.’25

4. Le Hauran associe la population druse de la montagne à la population musulmane sunnite des plateaux; il a des chefs féodaux que nous aurons à utiliser . . . Quant à la ‘relation entre Montagne et plateaux’, il se demande: ‘Faut-il laisser au Djebel druse son autonomie ou le grouper avec Hauran. C’est une question à résoudre par l’expérience’.26

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Les divisions ethniques, communautaires, municipales, ne constituaient pas en elles-mêmes, pour Millerand, un but géopolitique ou stratégique. Elles n’étaient, en fait, que des moyens organisationnels pour aboutir à une sorte d’unité syrienne ‘répondant aux besoins de l’unité économique’ in­ téressant, en premier lieu le mandat français. Il rapporte dans son télégramme adressé à Gouraud: ‘Pour constituer une unité syrienne répondant au sentiment international et au voeu de la partie la plus avancée de l’opinion indigène, il y a lieu de créer entre ces diverses autonomies un lieu fédéral qui consistera d’abord dans le Haut-Commissariat, repré­ sentant de la puissance mandataire, organe exécutif: aucune autorité indigène n’aurait l’ascendant, le désintéressement, ni la compétence voulus.27 Mais, à côté du Haut-Commissariat, Millerand voit ‘qu’il est désirable de créer en même temps un organe fédéral syrien au conseil des Etats, au début purement consultatif délibérant sur les intérêts économiques com­ muns, nommé non par le peuple au début, mais par les gouvernements des divers groupes autonomes, avec le même nombre de représentants pour chaque groupe: les avis de ce conseil fédéral auront une grande force s’ils sont compétents et représenteront l’opinion publique. Dans l’avenir, le Président de ce conseil fédéral, assisté d’un certain nombre de directeurs (toujours contrôlés par le Haut-Commissariat) sera sans doute appelé à prendre le caractère exécutif 28 Quant à la conception d’une organisation parlementaire dans ce projet fédéral, Millerand croit qu’elle ‘ne répond à aucune réalité dans l’état actuel de l’éducation publique du pays. Le dessein de la puissance mandataire est de considérer l’organisation de la Syrie d’une manière réaliste, conforme à l’intérêt de la masse de la population et non de quelques groupes à tendances politiciennes.’29 Le Haut-Commissariat sera, dans cette vision, l’axe unifiant les diverses parties de la fédération ou de la confédération syrienne proposée. L’essen­ tiel, pour le Président français, c’est que l’organe exécutif du HautCommissariat ‘aura la charge de certains intérêts d’ordre général: chemins de fer, grands ports, douanes, justice et légion syrienne ... Une autre question délicate a été posée par le Président français, c’était le choix du centre de la confédération: laquelle parmi ces trois villes? ‘Entre Damas, Alep et Beyrouth le choix est difficile, dit-il, mais s’il n’y a pas d’administration politique centrale, le choix de la capitale est moins décisif.’ Il conseille Gouraud ‘à adopter une solution mixte: Beyrouth conviendrait pour la Haute-Cour de justice, et peut-être aussi comme centre économique 53

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des relations avec le dehors ... Haut-Commissaire à Alep; Damas doitil rester un centre intellectuel musulman, le siège d’une université: il y a toujours à redouter le danger d’en faire un centre religieux d’opposi­ tion.’31 LE PROJET D U G ENERA L G O U R A U D

Les propositions déjà posées par le Président Millerand font l’objet d’une discussion détaillée par le Général Gouraud. Entre 13 et 20 août 1920, Gouraud envoya successivement de Beyrouth une série de télégrammes, dans lesquels il discutait le plan de Millerand.32 En ce qui concerne les limites de l’Etat libanais et la situation des villes côtières, Gouraud note que ‘le project du Département comporte la constitution de Tripoli en municipe (libanaise), alors que mon télégramme 1504 prévoit son rattachement au Liban.’ Gouraud explique l’origine de ce projet, en le mettant dans le contexte des événements avant Mayçaloun: ‘La constitution en municipe avait été envisagée, ici même, il y a quelques mois. Elle fut en faveur auprès des Sunnites du Groupement, mais sédusait à l’époque, ou au lendemain de la proclamation et devant la faiblesse de nos moyens en Syrie, le prestige de l’Emir Faysal était à son apogée.33 C’est le souvenir de cette époque qui a permis à M. de Caix de dire à V.E. que Tripoli de Syrie ne (voulait) pas être incorporé au GrandLiban. Mais la disparition de l’Emir Faysal a complètement changé l’aspect de la question et singulièrement diminué l’énergie comme l’importance de ces revendications. Les musulmans de Tripoli de Syrie acceptent aujourd’hui volontiers le rattachement au Grand-Liban sous réserve d’y conserver l’autonomie administrative qu’il est facile de leur garantir.’34

Et pour cela, ‘il suffît que la cité constitue un groupe administratif indépendant dans l’arrondissement dont elle serait le chef-lieu et qui comprenait les districts d’Akkar, de Zogurta, Batroun’. Selon Gouraud ‘la conception de municipe autonome est réalisée sur la base même qu’envisage le Département mais dans le Grand-Liban et non plus directement dans l’Etat fédéral.’35 L’incorporation de Tripoli directement à Etat fédéral au confédéral syrien, pourrait amener à un risque que signale le Général Gouraud: c’est 54

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mettre ce groupement directement ‘devant une attraction religieuse et politique’ venant de la Syrie intérieure.36 Tandis que le rattachement de Tripoli au Grand-Liban pourrait pré­ senter deux avantages (toujours d’après Gouraud) pour la politique française: 1. Equilibrer la composition démographique de Tripoli et de sa région au niveau communautaire, vu que la ville, comme sa région ‘com­ prennent d’importants groupements orthodoxes et maronites, en sorte que l’adjonction de la cité et des territoires de Homs et Akkar provenant de son sandjak au Liban, se traduit encore par rapport à cet état d’environ 67,000 chrétiens contre 57,000 musulmans sunnites.’37 2. Donner à Etat libanais ‘dont les intérêts sont indissolublement liés aux nôtres, le maximum d’extension et de force compatible avec les nécessités politiques, économiques et sociales dont aucune ne s’oppose à y comprendre Tripoli de Syrie.’38 Mais, au point de vue économique, ce projet ‘n’empêchera pas de constituer, d’après Gouraud, par la plaine Akkar et la voie ferrée Homs un débouché naturel de la Syrie intérieure.’ Seules des considérations politiques, disparues avec ‘l’Emir Faysal, auraient pu empêcher (Gouraud) de la laisser s’orienter.’39 La même attitude envers Beyrouth est envisagée dans le plan de Gouraud: ‘Un municipe réduit à la cité et juxtaposé au territoire du Liban pour devenir comme Tripoli de Syrie et en raison de sa situation spéciale de capitale, partie intégrante de lui-même et chef-lieu d’un arrondissement territorial particulier’. Il sera aussi ‘le siège particulier du gouvernement du Liban.’40 Pourtant, son rôle, en tant que ville commerçiale et port de la Syrie intérieure, est garanti selon Gouraud, par ‘la résidence du Haut-Commissaire’. Cette résidence résoudra, en effet, ‘la délicatesse’ du choix d’un siège à la confédération syrienne: ‘Damas étant, dit-il, à écarter pour les raisons énumérées par le Département (risque de se transformer en un centre d’opposition religieuse et politique); Alep, géométriquement étant incapable en raison de son manque de communications sûres avec la côte, qui ne peut être atteinte d’une part vers Alexandrette que par 100 kilomètres de sentiers de montagne, d’autre part sur Beyrouth que par près de 500 kilomètres de voie ferrée .. .’41 Beyrouth sera, donc, le siège du Haut-Commissariat, organe exécutif de la confédération syrienne envisagée par la politique française, et la capitale du Grand-Liban. 55

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Dans son télégramme. No. 1583, Gouraud insiste: ‘Je demande au­ jourd’hui, uniquement et instamment à V.E., de m’autoriser aux conditions précitées à proclamer très prochainement l’existence du Grand-Liban avec Beyrouth comme capitale et Tripoli de Syrie comme dépendance’42 et dans un télégramme suivant (No. 1624-19 août 1920) il ajoute ‘avec Akkar, Mardjaoun, Saida et Tyr.’43 Une autre mesure est devenue nécessaire pour la réorganisation de la Syrie intérieure et qui comportera selon Gouraud, l’annonce de la séparation du vilayet d’Alep de l’Etat de Damas, première des grandes scissions prescrites par le Département aux dépens de l’Ancien Etat de l’Emir Faysal.. Cependant, la réorganisation de la Syrie intérieure dans une ‘con­ fédération’ implique dans le plan de Gouraud une répartition différente de celle de Millerand. Dans son télégramme. No. 1631, daté 20 août 1920, Gouraud rapporte: ‘En ce qui concerne (la confédération), son morcellement en 8 ou 9 groupes présente- des inconvénients sérieux: —Au point de vue politique en général, cette mesure risque de servir l’idée d’unité au lieu de la détruire en créant des groupes trop réduits pour pouvoir assurer eux-mêmes leur existence, donc rendus solidaires et incités à se rapprocher par une communauté d’intérêts. —Il sera, au contraire, facile de maintenir l’équilibre entre trois ou quatre Etats assez vastes pour se suffire à eux-mêmes et au besoin de les opposer les uns aux autres. Ce fait est déjà sensible entre Damas et Alep. —Pratiquement, il faut noter également l’inconvénient de grever lourdement les budgets de ces petits Etats isolés, de dépenses d’admini­ stration hors de proportion avec leur faible importance.45

‘Les trois ou quatre Etats’ envisagés dans le plan de Gouraud seront: Damas, Alep, territoire des Alaouites, Hauran (gouvernement des druses). Quant au projet confédéral ou fédéral groupant ces Etats, il demeurera une formule confuse, ainsi que la relation du Grand-Liban à ce projet. Pourtant, une insistance sur ‘l’unité économique’ est remarquable dans le plan de Gouraud: ‘Je crois d’ailleurs, dit-il, que si nous voulions poser aujourd’hui

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l’indépendance absolue du Liban vis-à-vis de l’importance des intérêts communs aux deux économique, aboutirait nécessairement à une traduisant finalement par une incorporation du Liban dans la confédération’.46

la confédération voisine, groupes au point de vue union libano-syrienne se plus ou moins complète

RÉPONSE D E M ILLERAND

Le 23 août 1920, à 14 h. Millerand répond aux télégrammes successifs de Gouraud: ‘Je ne saurais vous fixer définitivement le nombre de groupes autonomes à créer dès maintenant provisoirement, il dépend d’ailleurs des circonstances actuelles que vous êtes à même d’apprécier sur place.’47 Pourtant, des observations d’ordre général ont été émises par le Président sur le plan de Gouraud, dont voici les principales: 1. Le système fédéral que la France a tant de raisons d’instituer en Syrie ‘risque, selon Millerand, de perdre beaucoup de sa réalité et de sa souplesse si nous réduisons le nombre des Etats à deux ou trois en dehors du Liban . . . ’ Le Président français conseille ‘de ne pas hâter l’entrée du Liban dans la confédération syrienne à moins que l’opinion des notables libanais, jusqu’ici hostiles, ne se prononce nettement pour elle’.48 2. L’inconvénient de se réduire à trois grands Etats vient de ce que des Etats relativement grands ‘deviendront vite moins maniables que des groupes municipaux et cantonaux. Ils fourniraient plus naturellement un cadre à une agitation politique’.49 3. Millerand se demande si la différence des termes utilisés par Gouraud (Etats d’Alep et de Damas et territoires des Alaouites) ‘répond-elle à l’idée d’une inégalité entre les membres de la confédération?’ 4. Le Président français estime que les groupes quelle que soit leur étendue et leur constitution intérieure ‘doivent avoir la même situation dans la confédération et dans la délégation permanente.’ Il prévoit aussi que ‘les termes conseil fédéral, ou conseil des Etats, doivent être adoptés dans le future statut organique.’ 5. Malgré la proposition de Gouraud d’incorporer Beyrouth et Tripoli au Liban, Millerand voit ‘qu’il est désirable de prévoir d’abord une période d’essai pendant laquelle Tripoli (et sa banlieue musulmane) 57

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et Beyrouth conserveraient une très large autonomie administrative et budgétaire.’51 6. De même, pour l’instauration des ‘Etats étendus’ comme Alep et Damas, Millerand s’en réserve et considère cette mesure comme ‘circonstancielle’. Il conseille de conserver ‘en constituant de larges autonomies locales la possibilité de composer plus tard la confédération d’éléments plus nombreux’.52 7. ‘Nous devons, sans doute, créer, dit-il, un organisme capable de fonctionner immédiatement, mais sans nous laisser enfermer définitive­ ment dans ce qui peut être une solution de circonstance et en lui laissant une variété de forme et une souplesse permettant toutes les retouches que suggérera l’expérience.’53 ‘CONSEIL FÉDÉR AL D E SYRIE ET D U L IB A N ?’

Mais l’expériencq^rançaise dans l’organisation de la Syrie, et dans un but fédéral ou confédéral, était toujours hésitante et paradoxale. La répartition de la Syrie en ‘Etats’, a eu lieu, comme on le sait, d’après le plan de Gouraud entre 1920 et 1922. Mais comment instaurer ‘une confédération ou fédération’ entre les ‘Etats syriens’ et l’Etat libanais? Cette question demeurait, en effet, une problématique théorique au niveau des discussions entre diplomates et stratèges français. Seulement, un conseil pour régir les intérêts communs en Syrie et au Liban, a été fondé en 1930, sous le contrôle direct du Haut-Commissariat. Tandis que, le ‘Conseil fédéral’ envisagé en 1920 aurait dû rester un projet dont les lignes principales ont été esquissées dans les documents des Archives du Quai d’Orsay. Un de ces documents qu’on a trouvé dans le dossier 126, Série Levant: Syrie-Liban 1918-1929, analyse les causes qui nécessitent l’institution d’un ‘organe fédéral’, propose deux formules organisationnelles, et commente la composition du conseil et son rôle. Les raisons qui nécessitent l’institution d’un organe fédéral sont (d’après le document):1 1. Pour résoudre certaines difficultés pratiques: réglementation ou législa­ tion commune (en matières financières, douanières, judiciaires) où il y aurait inconvénient pour le Haut-Commissariat à ne pas s’appuyer sur l’avis d’un organe national. 58

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2. Pour répondre à l’accusation que l’on répand contre nous de vouloir détruire le sentiment national syrien en morcellant le pays. 3. Pour éviter que ne s’impose à bref délai la constitution d’un parlement syrien et pour aiguiller dès maintenant la Syrie vers une forme fédérative plutôt qu’unitaire. Les deux formules de l’organisation se rapportent à la situation du Liban dans la confédération: 1. ‘Doit-on organiser une seule confédération dans laquelle le Liban entrerait sur le même plan que les autres Etats? Selon le schéma suivant: Confédération syro-libanaise Liban Damas Alep Alaouites Hauran 2. Ou bien organiser une simple fédération entre le Liban d’une part et une confédération d’Etats syriens d’autre part, selon le schéma suivant: Fédération syro-libanaise Liban confédération syrienne Damas Alep Alaouites Hauran D’après le document la seconde formule doit être écartée, 1. elle est compliquée. 2. elle est dangereuse, car le Haut-Commissariat se trouvera en dernier ressort en face de deux éléments seulement: Syrie et Liban: s’ils sont d’accord il sera difficile de ne pas leur donner entière satisfaction, s’ils sont en désaccord il sera difficile de les partager sans paraître favoriser l’un au détriment de l’autre. ‘La première formule est préférable, non seulement parce que plus simple, plus expéditive et moins coûteuse mais parce que constituée de 4 ou 5 éléments différents elle sera plus souple et permettra au Haut-Commissariat de faire plus facilement prévaloir ses vues soit en suscitant des oppositions soit en créant une majorité’.

Quant au rôle du Conseil, l’auteur du document prévoit que 59

WAJIH KAWTHARANI

‘ce conseil fédéral doit demeurer un organe diplomatique, chaque délégation recevant des instructions de l’Etat qu’elle représente; les décisions étant en principe prises à l’unanimité, le soin incombant au Haut-Commissariat de créer cette unanimité . . . . . . ses décisions ont elles-mêmes force exécutoire (pour les matières d’intérêt commun). Le Haut-Commissariat exercera son contrôle par le fait seul qu’il fera partie du Conseil. Au besoin on peut soumettre les décisions à la sanction express du Haut-Commissaire.’ Et même dans la composition du Conseil, il faut éviter que ce Conseil tende à se transformer en assemblée politique délibérante aboutissant à un Parlement. —Chaque délégation est désignée par le gouvernement de l’Etat qu’elle représente. —Le nóm breles, délégués doit être réduit (une assemblée nombreuse tend naturellement à se diviser en partis politiques, à introduire le système du vote et à se transformer en Parlement).’

Conclusion Le discours politique français exprimé dans ce genre de documents qu’on vient de citer, n’a pas besoin de commentaire ou d’interprétation. Les textes n’y étaient pas en effet, adressés à une opinion publique ou à des diplomates dans un contexte de relations internationales. Ils n’étaient pas des déclarations politiques, ni des entretiens entre diplomates, ils étaient, tout simplement, une manière de penser discrètement et d’exprimer cette manière de penser pour la transformer en une décision conséquente. Dans leurs correspondances secrètes, comme dans leurs télégrammes (en chiffres), les responsables français défendent leurs points de vue sans ornement et sans prétexte ‘idéologique’. ‘l’unité syrienne’, par exemple, est déjà reconnue à travers ce que les hommes d’affaires français ont appelé ‘Syrie intégrale’, mais c’est seul son contenu économique qui compte dans ‘le plan de l’organisation’; et ce plan n’est applicable qu’au niveau du Haut-Commissariat, l’organe de l’unité’, c’est-à-dire de son ‘substitut’: le pouvoir central.

60

PROJET DE LA CONFEDERATION SYRIENNE

Le ‘Conseil fédéral’ est nécessaire au niveau libano-syrien, non pour organiser le pays dans un but unitaire ‘ou démocratique’, mais pour couvrir le pouvoir central du Haut-Commissariat d’un ‘trait national’. Le Conseil fédéral doit être ‘représentatif, mais non législatif. Il ne doit jamais être ‘un parlement’, le principe de vote ne doit pas être adopté, ni le principe des partis politiques, ni les discussions et les délibérations entre les délégués. Les particularismes ethniques, communautaires et régionaux sont toujours gonflés et aiguisés. Ils ne constituent pas une diversité culturelle normale, d’ailleurs dans toute société humaine, mais ils sont toujours aux origines d’une série de ‘divisions’ permettant le morcelle­ ment du pays en ‘Etats‘ et ‘groupes autonomes’, vu qu’il y a toujours dans la perception des stratèges européens, l’idée d’une opposition entre Etat et nation dans les sociétés non-européennes et surtout musulmanes.

Cela est fait, les études françaises élaborées déjà par des experts, économistes et universitaires, en vue de ‘moderniser’ l’économie et la société syriennes (vers une réforme agraire, propriété paysanne, in­ dustrialisation des métiers ...) sont toutes écartées au profit de la priorité politique du mandat et l’hégémonie des ‘notables’: assurer une domination efficace tout en réalisant un intérêt rapide: monopoliser le marché syro-libanais, en matières d’importations et d’exportations vers la France.

61

Five

Greater Lebanon: The Formation of a Caste System? Sofia Saadeh

P art One: Definitions

1. Social structure Although a profuse literature has appeared during the last decade, and although men o^^ifferent and diverse professions have tackled the Lebanese problem ranging from journalists like Jonathan Randal, Robert Fisk, and Thomas Freedman; to politicians like Salim al-Hoss, Ghassan Tueni and Yusuf al-Ashkar; to historians such as Kamal Salibi, Masud Daher, Wajih Kawtharani, Hassan Hallaq; to social scientists such as Ahmad Baydoun, Munir Khoury and Paul Starr1—to mention a few—none of them have approached the social make-up of Lebanon from a structural point of view. But then, one may ask, what would be the benefit of a study of the social structure of Lebanon? The reasons are manifold. First, only a comprehensive view of the social structure will enable us to understand the mechanisms, the conflicts, the alignments, even the civil war within the Lebanese society. If we are able to grasp what type of structure we have, then it would be easier to find adequate solutions for a faltering country. Second, a sizeable number of thinkers who dwelt on Lebanon borrowed foreign, ready-made concepts and did not bother to study this society at close range and from the inside to deduce the proper conclusions. I am alluding in particular to the Marxist approach which has marred the vision of many a politician, a historian, a sociologist and a journalist into writing and propagating false notions as to the make-up of this society. Facing a complex and extremely intricate situation, a very simple recipe was produced: an analysis based on the division of the Lebanese society into oppressor and oppressed; feudalism versus peasantry in the nineteenth century, and later on, in the twentieth, capitalism versus the proletariat.2 62

THE FORMATION OF A CASTE SYSTEM?

Even revolutionary Islam, under the leadership of Khomeini followed suit and divided the world into the Mighty (al-mustakbirün) and the Deprived (ial-mahrumün). Third, it now appears to me, at this critical juncture of Lebanese history, of utmost importance and urgency, to study the social structure because wrong concepts and false notions may lead us into other civil, and futile, wars. Fourth, the conclusions I have reached as to the type of social structure the Lebanese society has, are shocking indeed. The shock may be due to the fact that we are all, to a certain extent, believers in progress and the evolutionary process, a legacy we have inherited from the nineteenth century,3 so that it seems hard for us to realize that obsolete and archaic patterns may appear again on the scene of history. Before introducing my hypothesis on the social structure of Lebanon, let me first define social structure. Structure is usually defined as something arranged in a specific pattern of organization. Thus, studying social structure involves: 1. 2. 3. 4.

The study of the patterns discernible in social life. The type of organization society has devised for itself. The interrelatedness of the parts making up this organization. The relations among the various parts in terms of the ‘differentiation’ of these parts.4 5. The possibility of conflict among the parts due to a change in social values.

Hence, social structures differ from one society to the other because structures are defined in terms of how a society sees itself and along what lines it is going to differentate itself. That is, it is the cultural system of a society, its values and norms which will give shape to a specific type of a social structure rather than another.6 It is due to this cultural aspect that social structures take different forms, and as a consequence, the study of the social structure of Lebanon requires the combination of two disciplines: history and sociology. For although it is possible for a sociologist to produce a theory of social structure in general, he will be unable to trace the origins, development and further transformations of a specific structure without the aid of history.7 My hypothesis is that the social structure of Lebanon has gradually evolved into a caste system, or quasi-caste system, and in order to explain the workings of this system, I shall use the structural as well as the historical approach. 63

SOFIA SAADEH

The sociologist Peter Blau has distinguished between two types of parameters in social structure:8 the nominal parameter which divides the population within a country into groups with explicit boundaries, and where there is no possibility of overlapping between the boundaries, and the graduated parameter which differentiates people on the basis of status and rank order. Examples of the nominal parameter would be to divide the population on the basis of sex, or religion, or race, or occupation, while the graduated parameter would distinguish the different strata of society on the basis of age, or education, or income, or prestige and power. A close correlation between the nominal and graduated parameter will lead to an ordinal parameter which will divide people not only into groups with distinct boundaries, but that will order these groups as well into a hierarchy of ranks; hence the development of a caste system. If we have a close look at the Lebanese social structure, we notice that the nominal parameter along which society has been divided into sub­ groups is religious affiliation.9 Moreover, these groups have come to occupy a hereditary hierarchy of ranks (graduated parameter) which follows, since 1943, the order ofv^frpm top to bottom): Maronite Sunni Shi‘i Druze Others 2. Caste The Modem Dictionary o f Sociology defines caste as: 1. A closed social stratum based on heredity that determines its members’ prestige, occupation, place of residence and social relations. Each caste is endogamous and social relations between members of different castes are severely limited and formalized. 2. Any rigid system of social stratification based on heredity.10

None of the historians or social scientists who worked on Lebanon ever discussed the Lebanese structure in connection with caste. Instead, the system was defined as being either tribal, sectarian, community centred, or feudal in nature. I shall briefly go over these definitions in order to show their shortcomings in trying to comprehend the Lebanese structure. 64

THE FORMATION OF A CASTE SYSTEM? 11

(i) The social structure o f Lebanon as a tribal system. The tribal theory is inadequate in explaining the complex political, social and economic picture of Lebanon. The definition of clan (i.e. settled tribe) cannot be applied to all the groups which constitute the Lebanese society for three major specifications are needed without which a group cannot be called a clan: ‘In the first place, it must be based explicitly on a unilineal rule of descent. In the second place, to constitute a clan, a group must have a residential unity. In the third place, the group must exhibit actual social integration.’(i)12

Although in Lebanon some people can trace their unilineal rule of descent, the majority of the Lebanese are unable to do so and cannot therefore be fitted into a clan system. Moreover, one basic and general rule of clans is that the man and the wife belong to different clans13 due to the rule of clan exogamy, a fact which does not apply to the so-called clans in Lebanon, for the groups constituting the Lebanese society are essentially and strictly endogamous. Finally, clans are independent and homogeneous systems; they are self-sufficient units and are in no need of the daily services of another clan. In addition, clans are not hierarchically ranked into higher and lower. This does not mean that clans do not exist in Lebanon, but that these clans have been integrated into the caste system. 1 A

(ii) The social structure o f Lebanon as a sectarian system. The most prevalent and widely used approach is to label the Lebanese system, a sectarian system. As a matter of fact the word ial-ta’ifiyya>was wrongly translated as meaning sectarianism. It literally means ‘caste’.15 In addition, the definition of ‘sect’ no longer applies to the current Lebanese situation. A ‘sect’ according to H. Niebuhr ‘has come to denote a religious conflict society which arises in opposition to an institutional church’. Although sects in Lebanon may have originated as groups opposing an institutional church such as the Jacobites and the Nestorians against the Byzantine institutional church, or the Shi‘ites, Isma‘ilis, Druzes, and Carmatians against the Sunni institutionalized state, the case is no longer so since the establishment of the state of Lebanon in 1943. In addition, a sect is not endogamous; it includes rather a voluntary membership by conversion,16 any one can choose to adhere to a specific religious sect. Again, this is not the case in Lebanon where sects have become closed units. 65

SOFIA SAADEH

(iii) The social structure o f Lebanon as made up o f communities. A third approach, used mainly by sociologists has been to look at Lebanon as being made up of different communities, whether these communities are homoge­ neous or heterogeneous.17 In a community, the main principle of social organization is that of residence or territory. The village is an example of this type of union where your place of residence decides to which community you belong. However, communities have never been stratified on a higher-lower scale, and are similar to clans in that they are unranked. Moreover, communities are not, theoretically, closed entities, and an individual is free to move from one village to another or own property in one area or another. Again, this is not the case in Lebanon. (iv) The social structure o f Lebanon as a feudal system. Finally, we come to the Marxist approach where the Lebanese conflict is viewed as class struggle. Many researchers gave up using the Marxist analysis as they discovered that different groups belonged to different historical stages as presented by Mar^Some groups in Lebanon exhibit tribal characteristics, others could be included in the feudal system, yet a third group looks typically sectarian, and a fourth ‘bourgeois’, etc. But those who stubbornly persisted could not give satisfactory answers to the conflict;18 and many facets of the Lebanese situation that could not be fitted into the Marxist analysis were obliterated or twisted to conform to a rigorous class conflict theory.19 Caste versus class system. There are two ways of stratifying society: either through a caste system or through a class system, and both of these forms are to be found mainly in advanced civilizations. The difference between those two types of stratifi­ cation is enormous, and once we outline the major characteristics of each type of stratification, it will become easier to identify the type the Lebanese structure has. Although both systems are systems of ranking into higher or lower, the elements which constitute a rank hierarchy differ. The first major and outstanding difference is that in castes communities are ranked, while in class, it is individuals who are ranked.21 Thus, we cannot define castes as frozen classes, as class is not based on a hierarchical ranking of whole communities, but rather, classes are ranked categories of individuals.23 A second feature of caste which differentiates it from class is that castes 66

THE FORMATION OF A CASTE SYSTEM?

are formed of endogamous24 groups where marriage is restricted within the caste and intermarriage among castes is strictly forbidden, while marriage is not restricted to a specific class within the class system. A third distinguishing feature is that membership in a caste is determined by birth. One is bom into a caste and dies in the same caste. An individual cannot change his status since he cannot change his caste.25 The position of an individual in a caste system is immutable as neither wealth nor achievement can lead to a change of his caste.26 A fourth feature is that caste stratification is rigid, static and not elastic because membership of a ^specific caste is inherited and ascribed, and because castes form endogamous groups. Unlike the class structure, there is no possibility whatsoever of overlapping between one caste and the other. The fifth feature that distinguishes a caste from a class is that in the latter, the hierarchy takes the shape of a pyramid with only an elite or a small group at the top, due to the increased competition among individuals as one moves upward. In the case of the caste structure this is not so. The caste at the top may be the largest numerically, for it all depends on the birth rate within each caste.27 Moreover, it is possible to have two or more castes on the same ranking level. Finally, concerning mobility, though an individual cannot move from a lower caste to an upper caste, yet he can move up within his own caste, for each caste has a class system within it. Also, mobility can be achieved by the whole caste moving up. This is why the caste system is marked by bitter and endless rivalries among castes competing against each other to take precedence in their hierarchical ranking. P art Two: The Social Structure of Lebanon since 1943

1. The French presence in Syria The end of the First World War marked the downfall and disintegration of the Ottoman Empire. Geographical Syria was divided between the French and the British in accordance with the Sykes-Picot Agreement (1916). The state of Greater Lebanon was proclaimed in 1920 by General Henri Gouraud,28 the first High Commissioner of the French mandate over Syria and Lebanon. Greater Lebanon was to include in addition to Mount Lebanon, the coastal cities of Beirut, Sidon, Tyre, Tripoli, and Marj‘yun, and in the interior the regions of Hasbayyà, Râshayya, Ba‘albek, and al-Mu‘allaqa.29 The creation of Greater Lebanon came mainly into being as the result 67

SOFIA SAADEH

of the efforts of France to establish a stronghold in the Middle East, and the efforts of the Maronite religious order in particular, to have an independent Christian state under the protection of France. To that end, the Maronites claimed to speak in the name of all Christians living in geographical Syria. The ascendancy of the Christians came about in the eighteenth century, for under the ‘capitulations’ system, European trade in the Middle East was carried exclusively by Christians, both European and Levantine, and by Jews. The Moslem traders did not profit from it.30 Moreover, the French missionary schools played their part in boosting the Maronite religious order by providing a modern type of education31 and teaching their students a foreign language, basically French, so essential for trade and communication. In addition, the Maronite order was transformed into a powerful economic machinery as the monasteries in Lebanon became the largest producers of silk, fruits and wine as well as cattle breeders. By aggrandizing their economic power, they came to rival the Maronite feudal lords. The middle of the nineteenth century witnessed a clash between the religiös .order backed by its peasantry on the one hand, and the feudal lords on the other hand, with the ultimate triumph of the Maronite order as a result.33 From then on, the religious leaders came to command and mould the identity of this group on purely religious grounds with far-reaching consequences as to the development of a caste system in Lebanon,34 for no sooner had the Maronite order asserted itself than it waged war against the Druze, hoping to gain ascendancy in the hierarchical order of Mount Lebanon. Whereas previously, feudal lords of both communities sympathised and even helped each other, as testified by the Khäzin-Junbläf entente,35 the picture was completely altered by having the Maronite feudal lords fighting under the Maronite flag the Druze feudal lords. From its inception on 31 August 1920, Greater Lebanon was created on the basis of a caste system to be headed by the Maronites as the highest caste in the social hierarchy. Gouraud was to be assisted by a Repre­ sentative Council. The members of the Council were selected from among the various castes in Lebanon. Moreover, it was during this period that the Lebanese electoral law was introduced again on the principle of caste representation. Finally, in the Franco-Lebanese treaty of 1936 and in an exchange of letters between President Eddé and the High Commissioner de Martel, it was decided that all castes should be represented fairly in the government and administration. This correspondence known as ‘6-6 bis’ came to form the fundamental principle upon which the Lebanese society was to be 68

THE FORMATION OF A CASTE SYSTEM?

structured, for nothing was to change even after the departure of the French. 2. The National Pact Upon independence, two men, Bishara al-Khoury, a Maronite and first president of the Republic of Lebanon, and Riyad al-Solh, a Sunni and Prime Minister of Lebanon, came to a verbal agreement whereby the Moslems residing in Greater Lebanon would stop their endeavours to re-unite with Syria, and in. return, the Christians would give up their demand for French protection.38 Why should such an agreement between a President and his Prime Minister take place following the independence of Lebanon? And why should such an agreement be considered the cornerstone of Lebanese existence without which Lebanon cannot survive? We know that the Moslems in Lebanon and many of the Christians favoured unity with Syria and opposed the French policy of establishing an independent Lebanon. However, the reasons given by Riyad al-Solh as to why the Moslems demanded unity with Syria are reasons pertaining to the interests of the Moslem caste rather than reasons based on the principles of national identity or even national ideology. He tells Bishara al-Khoury, in his famous encounter: ‘If the Moslems are treated in the same manner as Christians in an independent Lebanon, then the Moslems will no longer demand unity’!39 This is why I believe that the National Pact is no more than an agreement between the two major castes at the time: the Maronite and the Sunni. That the Maronites sought the help of France was merely because France was willing to further their interests, and that the Moslems sought Arab help was again to further the interests of their caste as the explanation of Riyad al-Solh shows. It is in accordance with this principle of interest of caste that Riyad al-Solh was able to convince other Moslems to accept Lebanon as an independent entity. This line of logic has been so widely accepted that a historian such as Hassan Halläq is prompted to assert that ‘Moslems are obligated to proclaim Lebanon as a final, independent state only if they are treated on an equal footing with the Christians; otherwise, they are free of this commitment.’40 In other words, and in view of such a perspective, the Moslem claim for unity as well as the Christian claim for protection, both emanate from caste interests. If those interests are met, then the claims will be dropped as meaningless and insignificant. Most historians agree that the period stretching between 1920 and 1943 69

SOFIA SAADEH

witnessed a refusal of most Moslems to share in the public functions of the government,41 so that there was basically one caste, the Maronite Christians, leading the country along with the French authorities. It was only upon independence that the Moslems saw the benefits of having a share in the governmental offices, but in order to do so, they had to identify themselves as Moslems and organize themselves as a Moslem caste. Riyad al-Solh was quick to grasp this occasion and to place himself as champion of the Moslem caste. Whether the two castes were to take the same position on the hierarchical ladder is immaterial from the structural point of view; what is crucial is that the caste system was now evolving along its patterned course: Greater Lebanon started with one caste in 1920; by 1943 there were two castes soon to be followed by yet two other castes: the Druze and the Shi‘is. Both Riyad al-Solh and Bishara al-Khoury oversimplified the sectarian divisions of Lebanon. On the one hand, Bishara al-Khoury spoke in the name, not of the Maronites, but of the Christians, includ­ ing the Greek Orthodox, the Greek Catholics, the Catholics, and the Protestants. On the other hand, Riyad al-Solh appointed himself as spokesman, not otdy .of the Sunnis, but of the Druzes and the Shi‘is as well. The National Pact was possible as a national pact only because at that particular moment (i.e. 1943) the Sunnis could speak in the name of Moslems and the Maronites could speak in the name of Christians. Does this picture hold true today?42 3. Repercussions o f the National Pact on the political scene Although Riyad al-Solh agreed on what came to be known as the National Pact on the basis that independent Lebanon now harboured two main castes (the Moslem and the Christian), and that they should be treated equally, the reality lay elsewhere. It is a fact that when the French decided to establish a country independent of Syria, this was done in collaboration with the Maronite order and with the view that the latter would rule the country with the help of the other castes. By 1920, the Maronites were in the lead and in no mood to share their privileges with any other caste. Following independence in 1943, the acknowledgement that the Maronite caste was to head the structural hierarchy of Lebanon, even though on a temporary basis, was given a twofold explanation. The first explanation was based on Article 95 of the Lebanese Constitu­ tion which stipulated that ‘Temporarily, and for the purpose of equity and friendly understanding, the Communities shall be represented in an equitable manner in public offices and in the formation of the Cabinet, provided that this will not cause prejudice to the interests of the State.’43 70

THE FORMATION OF A CASTE SYSTEM?

The second explanation as expressed by Riyad al-Solh ran as follows: ‘The Christians are worried about Lebanon’s destiny. They fear that in the future Moslems might become numerically superior and manage con­ stitutionally, via a majority vote in the Parliament, to unite Syria and Lebanon, for uniting the two countries has always been their obsession.’44 As to the first explanation, ‘fair representation’ came to mean that the numerically superior caste was to head the government and was entitled to a majority vote in the Parliament.45 The census of 1932 showed the Maronites to be numerically superior, to be followed by the Sunnis and Shi‘is respectively, and it was on this basis that the political hierarchy of castes was based. Since then no official census has ever been taken! The implications of such a move are clear: any demographic change necessarily means a change in the ranking of castes as Article 95 of the Constitution has been interpreted. In order to keep the number of Christians growing, citizenship was given to the Armenians residing in Lebanon and to the Christian Palestinians, but it was denied to the Kurds and Moslem Palestinians. However, Solh’s explanation gave the Maronites priority in the govern­ ment regardless of numbers. The implication being that the Maronites were the leading caste because they guaranteed the non-unification of Syria and Lebanon. Needless to say that these two, interpretations have been taken up by the different castes each in accordance with its own interests, so that the Shi‘is who seemed to be numerically superior by 1980, were clamouring for more representation in the governmental offices, basing themselves on Article 95, while the Maronites are now adopting the second interpretation and see their status as an intrinsic part of the existence of Greater Lebanon as a state. 46 The two interpretations were not at odds with each other in 1943; rather, they complemented each other. Thus, the ranking of castes in the political system took the following pattern: The Maronite caste is entitled to the Presidency of the Republic. The Sunni caste is entitled to the Prime Ministry. The Shi‘i caste is entitled to a Speaker of the House. The Greek Orthodox have the Vice-Presidency of the Council of Ministers and of the Chamber of Deputies. The Druze and the Catholics each have at least one ministerial post. Since 1943, no change has taken place in the so-called ‘three presi­ dencies’. The three positions not only reflect the ranking of castes in a 71

SOFIA SAADEH

hierarchical fashion, but also make those positions hereditary and exclusive to the three castes in such a way that no individual belonging to any other caste, no matter how capable or qualified he is, has the right to be even a potential candidate.47 Naturally, the caste at the head of the hierarchy turned out to be the staunchest supporter and defender of the caste system. The Maronite literature abounds in essays defending the National Pact. Bishara alKhoury, for example, stated that it would be extremely dangerous to abolish ‘al-tä’ifiyya’ system and that the Lebanese would have to wait until ‘their national feelings reach perfection’ before eradicating this system!48 Two prominent Maronite thinkers rose to the defence of the National Pact, namely, Kamâl al-Hajj and Michel Shïhâ. To the former, Lebanon was the National Pact, and without it, Lebanon did not exist legally or in actuality.49 To the latter, Lebanon was made up of a delicate and unique balance among the castes.50 A delicate balance indeed. So delicate that the Parliament became, par excellence, the arena of caste struggle.51 The House of Representatives was representative ofvfiastes as candidates were solely allowed to nominate themselves on behalf of their castes. No political party could nominate a candidate on a secular basis, but was rather forced to present the candidate on the basis of his religious caste52 as seats in the Parliament were carefully apportioned among the various castes. (See Table One) Although not forming part of the Constitution, the National Pact came to be a binding convention in Lebanon. The Lebanon of the Pact is a federation of castes. %

Conclusion Castes, like all other social systems, do not originate suddenly, but evolve over time.53 The formation of a caste system in Greater Lebanon, though officially recognized through the National Pact of 1943, did not become a well-entrenched system till much later. As time passed, the whole of Lebanese life organized itself along the structural patterns of caste, not only on the political level, but in the economic sphere and social domain as well.54 The following developments can be detected in Greater Lebanon:1 1. The first caste to be formed was the Maronite. It was, and still is, to this very day, at the head of the social hierarchy despite the internal upheavals throughout the Lebanese civil war. 72

THE FORMATION OF A CASTE SYSTEM?

2. Once the Maronite caste was established, the whole of society re­ structured itself along similar lines of caste formation.55 3. Under these conditions, the establishment of a central government becomes an impossible task56 as the notion of equal citizens runs contrary to, and even undermines the whole structure of caste 57 4. Due to the development of religious castes, we encounter the phenomena of both atomization and fragmentation58 Integration within a national unity would mean by necessity the abolition of this structural form: castes cannot merge, they can only subdivide. 5. The motion towards segregation is accelerated as castes endeavour to mark their differences rather than their similarities. Each caste has its own personal status laws, its own schools, its own places of worship, its own religious festivities and celebrations. 6. The civil war (1975-1990) has strengthened the caste system and weakened all aspects of secular life. No mobility was allowed as each caste tried to delimit its own geographical area, barring members of other castes to inhabit it, or even pass through it. In this aspect, the Lebanese caste system came to surpass its original model, the Indian caste.59

Table One: Distribution of Parliam entary Seats Before 1975

M aron ite

Beirut Mt. Lebanon North Lebanon South Lebanon Bekaa Total

1 7 3 1 1 13

C ath olic

Sunni

ShVa

2 1 4 1 1

i

l l

i i 2 1 1

5 2

3

6

9

8

—

l —

O rth o d o x

D ru ze

A rm en ia n s

i i

-

3 —

M in orities

i —

—

—

—

—

3

2

i

Six

Laissez-Faire, Outward-Orientation, and Regional Economic Disintegration A Case Study o f the D issolution o f the Syro-Lebanese Customs U nion

Carolyn L. Gates

1. Introduction Some of the most hotly debated issues in development theory are related to commercial and financial policies of developing countries: namely, the issues of laissez-faire vs state interventionism; outward- vs inward-looking development strategies; regional or South-South economic integration vs integration within the international division of labour and world economy. This debate which focuses on two very different approaches to develop­ ment—broadly identified as between the idealised concepts of ‘free trade’ and ‘protectionism’—has continued since the early 1950s. Moreover, the theoretical and ideological ‘balance of power’ in this debate has shifted during the past forty years, with the protectionists dominating in the 1950s and 1960s and the free traders dominating in the 1970s and 1980s. An enormous amount of theoretical and empirical work has been conducted about these issues in relation to East Asia—notably South Korea, Taiwan, Singapore and Hong Kong. Unfortunately, far less exists on the countries in the Middle East. One striking case of an ‘open economy’ development strategy which has received little attention in the literature is Lebanon, and which is in sharp contrast with Syria’s more protectionist approach. Laissez-faire and free trade policies were established in the very earliest years of Lebanese independence and modified temporarily only after the 1958 civil war. In this paper, I will concentrate on one dimension of Lebanon’s economic policies—the role of Lebanese laissez-faire and outward-oriented policies in the dissolution of Syro-Lebanese economic integration. 74

DISSOLUTION OF THE SYRO-LEBANESE CUSTOMS UNION

2. Foundations o f Lebanon's Merchant Republic Soon after the withdrawal of Freiich and British troops in 1946, Lebanon’s power-bloc began to establish the economic and political foundations of a Merchant Republic, based on free trade, laissez-faire and external orienta­ tion. President Bishara al-Khoury’s administration and the governments of that period clearly tilted towards the implementation of an outward looking liberalized economy. The disposition towards economic liberalism was promoted by the power-bloc by the implementation of deliberate policies and decisions1 and by its inaction, showing its ambivalence or hostility to most aspects of state intervention, including economic planning and badly-needed fiscal reforms. While many reformers called on the government to enact higher protectionist tariffs as well as direct, higher and more equitable taxation, forced savings and devaluation of the Lebanese Lira (LL) to reduce imports, virtually nothing along these lines was ever introduced. Instead, the power-bloc consciously chose to establish an environment conducive to the development of trade, international finance and services, which did not require a strong state or state economic interventionism. Hence, in contrast with its Syrian neighbour, which was promoting—at least rhetorically—‘protectionist’ or ‘import substitution industrialisation’ strategies (e.g. economic dirigisme, state investment, and internally-oriented production), Lebanon’s elite looked towards a new prosperity based on ‘outward-looking’ strategies, particularly, triangular relations in which Europe and the US supplied a Lebanon which, in turn, sold goods and services to the rest of the Middle East. The Merchant Republic also constituted an ideal for Lebanon’s prophets of political liberalism. While other countries in the region were moving towards Arab Nationalism and state interventionism, Lebanon was travelling in the opposite direction against Arab or Syrian unity and towards laissez-faire and close relations with France, Britain and the United States.3 Moreover, the power-bloc’s pursuit of laissez-faire policies was buttressed by a politico-confessional milieu that was inauspicious to state power and intervention. The Maronite political establishment and the Lebanese bourgeoisie feared the use of a strong state apparatus by enemies or unknowns, something which led them to conclude that it was better not to develop such an apparatus. 3. Divergence in Syro-Lebanese relations Numerous politico-economic disagreements were only a prelude to the growing Syro-Lebanese battles over economic policies about the customs 75

CAROLYN L. GATES

union and related issues between 1945 and 1950 when the union was finally dissolved. The ‘New Phoenicians’,4 Viewing with great concern any efforts to regulate Lebanon’s economy, were preoccupied with Syro-Lebanese economic relations. A 1946 memo prepared by the Société Libanaise d’Economie Politique (SLEP)—the institutional mouthpiece of the New Phoenicians—bluntly stated that Syria should not interfere with the creation or implementation of Lebanese economic policy.5 A little over a year later, SLEP ideologist, Gabriel Menassa, argued in his Le plan de réconstruction de l’économie libanaise et de réforme de l’état that Lebanon should dissolve the customs union and that that relationship should be replaced by what the SLEP advocated for Lebanon’s relation­ ship with other Arab countries, namely, free trade zones for Lebanese products.6 Antagonism grew between the Syrian and Lebanese governments as their economic interests and policies diverged. The Lebanese commercialfinancial elite promoted Lebanese-style laissez-faire and free trade; in­ fluential Syrian industrialists and farmers (and nationalistic politicians and military officers) favoured protectionist and state interventionist measures. Most of Lebanon’sprominent economic liberals preferred to break with Syria rather than to accept Syrian economic nationalism, protectionism, and ‘political haughtiness’. Much of the elite feared Syria’s nationalistic economic philosophy and military intervention in politics, both of which had moved the Syrian government towards greater control over the movement of its people, capital and goods. Moreover, Lebanon’s in­ dustrialists, who had great interest in maintaining good relations with Syria, were from time to time at odds with the Syrian industrial bourgeoisie because of growing competition between the two states’ industries.7 Moreover, the economic conflict was reinforced by the political attitudes of the Lebanese nationalist-separatists. The bifurcating paths of the two states had been facilitated after independence from France8 and the end of the de facto economic union in 1944. The conflict between the two attitudes was compounded by the existence of the customs union which inherently prevented each govern­ ment from implementing separate tariff and commercial policies. Neverthe­ less, the Lebanese government hoped to avoid direct confrontation with Syria because many within the power-bloc realised that, objectively, Lebanon was the larger beneficiary of the relationship with Syria. Nor did Syria want to force the issue as it hoped to persuade the Lebanese to accept economic union. Leaders in both governments, therefore, attempted to work out their differences. In March 1947, Minister of National Economy Kamâl Junblât sent an open letter to L ’Orient, advocating closer economic 76

DISSOLUTION OF THE SYRO-LEBANESE CUSTOMS UNION

relations with Syria;4*10 later that year, Lebanon reinstituted trade controls (due to an internal economic crisis) and agreed informally to follow joint Syro-Lebanese economic policies.11 But by 1948, relations between the two countries were deteriorating as growing economic differences exacerbated other problems: conflicts over Syrian wheat and Lebanese oil prices, differentials between the Syrian and Lebanese currencies, Syria’s balance of payments problems (worsened by Lebanese re-exports to Syria), and the flight of Syrian capital to Beirut. The Lebanese were also suspicious of the Syrian government’s encourage­ ment of its own merchants to assert control over Syria’s import trade, thus cutting into the Lebanese middlemen’s quasi-monopoly. Furthermore, Lebanese merchants denounced the proposed development of Latakia Port, which with Jordan’s ‘Aqaba Port, threatened to rival Beirut. Syria countered that it had been forced to take these measures because its economy was being destroyed by increasing foreign competition. In 1949, many Syrian textile workshops were forced to close while others, such as those in the sugar and glass industries, established only in 1947, had to restrict production.12 Similarly, as Beirut merchants had cornered the international trade market, many Syrian commercial houses were forced to transfer offices from Damascus or Aleppo to Beirut to take advantage of Beirut’s location and infrastructure. Although the acrimonious dispute over economic policy escalated, the two governments were able to agree on an interim economic understanding in July 1949. Under this accord, specific manufactured goods were sub­ jected to import restrictions, and tariffs were increased on textiles. It also provided for ad valorem duties on wheat and rice and for the protection of national industry in which specified industries (notably textiles) were given higher tariff protection while duties were lowered or eliminated on essential raw materials and specified animal products; finally, Syria and Lebanon agreed to continue joint control over the railroads and the Régie de Tabac, to eliminate the agio between the currencies of the two countries, but not to unify internal taxation of the two states.14 4. Dissolution o f the Syro-Lebanese customs union The July 1949 agreement did not resolve the problems between the two countries, and each side accused the other of failing to live up to its obligations. Vitriolic exchanges, issued from both Damascus and Beirut, escalated and by early 1950, the situation had become explosive. On 7 March 1950, Syrian Prime Minister, Khâlid al-‘Azm, presented the Lebanese government with a virtual ultimatum that called for complete 77

CAROLYN L. GATES

economic union between the two countries. The Syrian proposal included demands for the unification of the commercial and financial systems and the pursuit of identical economic policies. Many Lebanese were shocked, and some did not believe that Syria actually would rupture relations. Yet, the reaction seemed a bit disingenuous as Syria had shown throughout the 1947-1950 period its determination to implement its economic nationalist policies. In actual fact, the Lebanese government had anticipated the dissolution of the union for at least a year.15 Even though the economic consequences of a rupture in relations—resulting in the loss of the important Syrian market less than two years after the loss of the Palestine market—would be expected to be more costly to Lebanon, the Lebanese government adamantly refused to submit to what it called economic blackmail. Furthermore, it opined that Syro-Lebanese economic unity would prejudice Lebanon’s political sovereignty. Opposition within the Lebanese power-bloc to Syro-Lebanese unity centred around the interests of the mercantile-financial bourgeoisie and the Lebanese nationalists-separatists. The Lebanese mercantile-financial bourgeoisie fearad Syria’s version of economic nationalism and opposed Syro-Lebanese economic integration, fearing it would lead to restrictions on Lebanese commercial-financial operations, to protectionism, and to the weakening of the Lebanese currency. Consequently, it encouraged the dissolution of the customs union, claiming that the pursuit of laissez-faire and free trade policies was in the national interest. The merchants and financiers also feared that economic protectionism and state interven­ tionism could lead to the domination of Lebanon’s economy by industry, which had interests in Syria (e.g. access to raw materials and consumer markets, etc.), and that Lebanese industrial owners and workers might force Lebanon to unify economically with Syria.16 Moreover, they worried that once state economic intervention had been accepted in commercial policy, interference in other areas of the economy was more likely, and that eventually, economic unity would lead to political unity with Syria.17 For their part, Lebanese nationalist-separatist forces promoted the percep­ tion of the great threat of Syro-Lebanese economic unity to Lebanon’s sovereignty. They adamantly supported separation to preserve Lebanon’s non-Arab, non-Islamic identity and its links with the West. Supporters of separation maintained that the encouragement of industry, curbs on commerce, and the creation of a national economy based on production would lead progressively to weakened relations with the West and strengthened ties with the Arab world.18 Gabriel Menessa claimed that the only viable solution to the situation at that time was an official status quo which was a better option than total economic union with Syria and the 78

DISSOLUTION OF THE SYRO-LEBANESE CUSTOMS UNION

institution of dirigiste economic controls in Lebanon or to a total break with Syria. In contrast, a number of Lebanese industrialists, farmers and techno­ cratic reformers, and most pro-Syrian or pro-Islamic factions believed that Syria and Lebanon should be united economically. This opinion was strengthened by reports commissioned by the Lebanese government on the country’s economic future by the foreign advisors, Alexander Gibb and Paul Van Zeeland.19 In a note on 10 March 1950, the Lebanese government replied to the Syrian ultimatum, stating it had tried to be conciliatory and continued to leave the door open for further consultation, but it completely rejected the Syrian proposal. With Lebanon’s rejection of the ultimatum, Radio Damascus announced on 13 March that because Lebanon had rejected total economic and financial union, Syria was obliged to end the present arrangement. Syrian Prime Minister al-‘Azm announced temporary mea­ sures to restrict the movement of capital, goods and people between the two states. On 15 March 1950, the Syrian and Lebanese governments announced the end of the Customs Union and soon after trade between the two countries was greatly restricted. 5. Lebanese economic costs o f the abolition o f the customs union Although Lebanon was now able to pursue laissez-faire and free trade policies without restraint, its economy was severely disrupted from the severed relations. It lost the right to re-export or to facilitate transit trade for the Syrian market. Smaller Lebanese merchants, particularly those in Tripoli, suffered greatly from this loss, while the large Lebanese merchants were able to evade the new restrictions. Lebanese producers were hit even harder. Some 60 per cent of Lebanon’s manufactured goods was marketed in Syria before the dissolution of the customs union.20 And such Lebanese items as cotton yam, beer and matches were largely dependent on the 91 Syrian market. With the closure of the Syrian market, many industries were forced to lower their production by 35-75 per cent, thus, damaging the utilisation of economies of scales, raising the unit cost of goods, 99 reducing profits, and hampering future industrial development. Lebanese industry was also impeded by the loss of Syrian raw materials which had to be replaced by higher-priced foreign goods. With the separation, an official at the Ministry of Social Affairs, Joseph Donato, claimed that the government was obliged to protect Lebanon’s industry, which was operat­ ing at an average of 50 per cent capacity, by establishing a customs defence policy.23 But no such policy was ever implemented. Lebanon’s agricultural 79

CAROLYN L. GATES

sector was also hit by the loss of the Syrian market. As fruit producers could not obtain other markets to absorb excess production, they were forced to flood the local Lebanese market, thereby reducing prices drastically. In addition, the ban on Syrian wheat exports (which had supplied about 60 per cent of Lebanon’s wheat requirements) to Lebanon forced the Lebanese government to buy wheat at higher prices on the international market.24 Nor did the service and financial sectors totally escape the consequences of separation. Previously, Lebanon had benefltted from capital flight from Syria and the establishment of joint administrative headquarters—Common Interests, concessionary companies and other foreign companies—in Beirut. It also stood to lose revenues from Syrian tourists, students, medical patients and individual consumers. In contrast to the difficult position of Lebanese agricultural and industrial producers was that of the big merchants.25 Although the merchants were concerned about the re-doubling of efforts by the Syrian government to develop Latakia port and the restrictions placed on Syrian businessmen who were not permitted to visit Beirut without a special permit, a large proportion of Syria’s 1950 and 1951 imports continued to travel via Beirut commercial hous£&.^6 Similarly, at the end of 1951, Lebanon and Syria remained principal trading partners: Lebanon ranked as the number two supplier of Syria, while Syria ranked as the most important supplier of Lebanon.27 The short-term impact on large Lebanese commercial interests was limited: the large Beirut merchants and commercial houses were able to evade Syrian restrictions by establishing offices in Damascus or Aleppo, by smuggling, and by utilising various transit trade mechanisms. According to an American report, Lebanese merchants paid a smuggling fee of 10 per cent of the merchandise value to deliver goods to Damascus.28 Hence, these interests could continue to operate in Syria, and at the same time, put pressure on the Lebanese government to pursue free trade and laissez-faire economic policies. Moreover, Lebanese merchants were in­ strumental in promoting commercial policies that expanded Beirut as a centre of transit and re-export trade. Triangular and re-export trade was increasingly important as Beirut merchants secured markets in Iraq, Jordan, Saudi Arabia and elsewhere. International bankers also benefitted from separation as it removed threats of Syrian restrictive pressures. The interests of the international financiers were best served by a totally unregulated economy, a strong lira and a stable macro-economic and political environment, all of which drew capital into Lebanon as a safe haven. Closer economic relations with Syria would have impeded laissez-faire policies in Lebanon. The mercantilefinancial bourgeoisie also had large interests in real estate, tourism and 80

DISSOLUTION OF THE SYRO-LEBANESE CUSTOMS UNION

estivage and wanted to develop Lebanon as a foreign playground. Thus, they pressed for the free movement of goods, people and capital to encourage such development. Separation, however, was unpopular with a large proportion of the Lebanese population because it exacerbated the problems of a recessionary economy and growing unemployment by further weakening national production; others viewed close relations with Syria as politically necessary and desirable. Criticism of the government over its handling of the customs union issue came from all segments of society. Al-Hayât condemned the separation: We believe that the separation experiment will be detrimental to both countries . . . We hope that a national economic policy would conquer selfish interests of rulers, and thus Syria and Lebanon would march 9Q together again along the path of partnership and union.

Conclusion Much of the debate over laissez-faire and an open economy, on the one hand, and economic nationalism and regional economic integration, on the other, has been centred around (1) neo-classical economic concepts of ‘neutral’, ‘objective’ economic and physical factors (e.g. specialisation, comparative advantage, economic growth and gains from trade, free markets and efficient resource allocation and utilisation, minimal state interventionism, size and location of countries, etc.) and (2) structuralist or neo-Marxist critiques of capitalism—especially of neo-classical theory —in terms of the world capitalist political economy (e.g. North-South relations, the ‘development of underdevelopment’, unequal exchange, international dependency). Both sides have neglected or underplayed the role of class interests and local socio-economic and political conditions and developmenta n (especially the interaction between the state and economic institutions). However, the case study of the role of the dissolution of the Syro-Lebanese customs union in the establishment of laissez-faire and free trade strategies in Lebanon shows that contrary to both these theoretical perspectives, the Lebanese policies emanated directly from the politicoeconomic interests of the Lebanese power-bloc. These decisions had very little to do with ‘objective’ economic factors (although they were often justified in such terms), nor with Lebanon’s position within the inter­ national or regional political economies. From the power-bloc’s point of view, its interests in developing Lebanon as a liberal, independent and outwardly-oriented state depended upon (1) 81

CAROLYN L. GATES

cultivating close, but not entangling, economic and financial relations Witt the Arab states, (2) maintaining strong relations with France, Britain anc the United States, and (3) distancing Lebanon from challenging economic ideological, and political interests in Syria (and later Egypt and Iraq). Ir addition to the economic impact, the political and social import of the establishment or preservation of these alliances was great because the) reinforced the internal status quo. On the economic plane, these international and regional arrangements helped the Lebanese power-bloc establish a political economy based or laissez-faire, free trade, and outward-orientation which supported anc furthered their interests as merchants, bankers, power brokers and middle men.31 Indeed, the potential advantages of economic and financial unior with Syria—which were very much appreciated by Lebanon’s industrialists and agriculturalists—had little importance to the major interests of the merchants, bankers and intermediaries. After the dissolution of the customs union, the Lebanese mercantile-financial bourgeoisie was nc longer restrained in its pursuit of laissez-faire, policies that promoted free trade, and international finance and services which supported their goal oi making Lebanchi'a ‘Switzerland of the Middle East’. This is not to say thaï the government was able to pursue well-defined, transparent and in tegrated policies of economic liberalism; this was impossible in a societ) divided over economic issues as well as other questions of internal politics confessionalism and foreign relations. Nevertheless, after this significan) act of breaking with Syria economically, the Lebanese power-bloc facec fewer obstacles in adopting policies supporting the Merchant Republic ideal until the 1958 crisis. In the end, the intractable Syrian demands for greater protectionism anc for the pursuit of uniform economic policies (e.g. economic nationalism dirigisme, protectionism, inward-orientation), made a Syro-Lebanese customs union far too expensive for Lebanon’s elite—something which would have nullified the very existence of Lebanon’s development as conceived by the power-bloc. Moreover, the spectre of Syro-Lebanese unity and Syria’s increasing slant towards state political and militar) interventionism reinforced the Lebanese elite’s view of the Syro-Lebanese economic integration. This notion that Syro-Lebanese economic unity was extremely dangerous to the integrity of the Lebanese nation-state was greatly expounded upon by the Lebanese nationalists-separatists. Thus while the Lebanese power-bloc did not actively seek to dissolve the Syro-Lebanese customs union, it accepted a second-best politico-economic policy of dissolving the customs union with Syria to continue its project ol building a Lebanon constructed on its version of laissez-faire, free trade 82

DISSOLUTION OF THE SYRO-LEBANESE CUSTOMS UNION

outward-orientation and on a separate national political identity that confronted the bases of development in Syria and other emerging étatist regimes in the Middle East. This case study of the dissolution of the customs union between Syria and Lebanon and related issues may have more than a little relevance for future Lebanese, Syrian and regional economic (and political) policies. Three issues are particularly important for current Lebanese policy-makers and analysts to consider. Firstly, did Lebanon’s ‘Merchant Republic’ economic policies serve the long-term interests of the majority of Lebanese? Would similar policies now serve Lebanon better? Secondly, what is the impact of regional interests on the development of Lebanon’s civil society and socio-economy? Finally, should Lebanon and Syria consider re-establishing a customs union or some variation of regional economic integration? These questions should be addressed in the whole re-evaluation and reform process that is under way in Lebanon today.

83

Seven

Linkages and Constraints of the Syrian Economy Huda Hawwa

Syria’s development was seen by many scholars to be intermittently linked with its regional environment. This ‘linkage politics’ was mostly referred to in analysing pre-1970 political instability, and was given less attention in understanding later developments, presumably because of the political stability of the post-1970 period. The aim of this chapter is to highlight one important elementwithin this linkage, that of the economy. The economic linkage generated by the flow of Arab aid since 1973 affected in many ways the post-1970 economic and political development in Syria. It enabled a high level of growth in the 1970s, helped consolidate domestic power and enhanced Syria’s regional status. However, this was not met with­ out important constraints. Economic imbalances and aid dependencies developed that were acutely revealed in the crisis in the 1980s. This chapter will try to address elements of linkage and constraint in the Syrian economy with emphasis on the present. 1. The economy in retrospect Before the greater influx of external resources in mid-1970s, the weak Syrian economy knew a fairly steady self-contained growth which con­ trasted with the political instability of that period. The under-exploitation of the country’s resources during the mandate period allowed after independence an economic expansion in both agriculture and industry. The area under cultivation increased one-and-a-half times between 1945 and 1953, an expansion which was pioneered by an agro-business sector and stimulated by the profits generated from export-oriented cotton production.1 The output of modem factory production in the manu­ facturing of basic light consumer goods, already established during the war period, was also doubled in nearly a decade under the protective measures 84

LINKAGES AND CONSTRAINTS OF THE SYRIAN ECONOMY

provided by the post-independence state. Despite this important growth^ the country’s development was still lagging behind. Inequality of income] distribution and poverty were appalling, while the new techniques intro^j duced in agriculture (the introduction of modem farming and machinery^ were limited phenomena in overwhelmingly backward forms and con­ ditions of production, particularly in agriculture^These problems, and more specifically the poor infrastructure, stood as major obstacles towards further growth from the mid-1950s.2 To overcome this impasse, the gradual fulfilment of some development needs and the exploitation of the country’s other resources necessitated a greater reliance on the public sector. Public investment was given momentum in 1955, featuring the construction of the Homs oil refinery with the assistance of Czechoslovakia, but it was introduced on a large scale only after union with Egypt in 1958. Crucial social transformations, made possible by land reform, were soon to follow. Irrigation projects were accelerated and the incentive given to industry expanded the industrial base in the two main traditional sectors of textiles and food processing. But the public sector capacity in the weak Syrian economy was limited, and the few large projects contemplated and considered essential for developmental needs were not started until the 1965 nationalizations. •yHowever, Syria’s weak investment capacity and the underdeveloped state of the economy yielded an investment policy in the second half of the 1960s fihat was absorbed almost completely by a few large projects, whose construction was assisted by the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. Two-thirds of public investment in industry (whose share was about 70 per cent of total industrial investment in the 1966-70 plan), was committed to oil production and electricity. The remaining investment maintained good growth in the traditional sectors of textiles and food processing, in the production of some durable goods, and in introducing new production lines such as an azoute fertilizer plant, a steel mill and the development of phosphate deposits. But the introduction of new modern lines of industry remained negligible.3 (Similarly in agriculture, (three-fourths of public investment went to the construction of the Euphrates dam and very little to short-term investments^ the early 1970s the economy was reaping the benefits of these investments. The construction of the dam was completed in 1973, enabling the generation of electric power from 1974, that of the fertilizer plant in 1973, and that of a tractor assembly by 1974. The output of oil production and refining increased. The main difference was the impact of post-1970 economic liberalisation provisions on the activities of the private sector in real estate, in increasing imports which induced a higher deficit, and in the 85

HUDA HA WWA

rise of the trade share of Western countries. Noticeable, however, was the increase in agricultural output, where land distribution (in 1969) and the completion of some reclamation projects helped to break the impasse in production, handicapped earlier by the reluctance to implement agrarian reform and the shortages of loans and supplies. Before the advent of financial aid, basic problems of development were not resolved, nor was the country rich enough to generate large amounts of capital for wide-scale investments. There were important advances in the development of mineral resources such as oil and phosphate, in social development, especially the rural social transformations, and in irrigation and electricity schemes, particularly the large dam project of the Euphrates. But the economy remained in many respects dependent on agriculture as the main contributor to industry and to GDP, and as the main absorber of manpower, despite the fact that its relative share of GDP had declined to the advantage of industry and public services. The economy was also dependent on the activities of the traditional non-modem sectors, where only 25 per cent of the working force were salary earners.2*5 On the other hand, Syria’s investment capacity, considering her weak trade and meagre external financiafl^sources, limited to revenues from the Iraqi oil pipeline, was weak. It took half the industrial expenditure of seven years (1961-68) for Syria to start production of oil in 1968. But oil was equally rewarding, as the 5.6 million barrels of heavy quality oil per year produced in 1972 generated one-third of industrial production. 2. Aid and the economy: growth with imbalances Since 1974 the Syrian economy and society cannot be studied without reference to financial aid given by Arab governments in response to Summit pledges to support Syria’s war efforts6 or through bilateral transactions. Aid disbursements had been politically motivated, fluctuating in a rather erratic way according to the prevailing political situation, and almost coming to an end in the late 1980s. Other external resources had increased since 1974, such as workers’ remittances (estimated to be $750 million in the late 1970s) and credit facilities from the western hemisphere and others from Arab agencies. Syria was also still receiving assistance from the Eastern bloc, including military aid.7 The amount of external financial resources made available for the economy from the mid-1970s until the early 1980s was substantial. But the way it was used and misused made it both a blessing and a burden. The growth generated was fluctuating, unbalanced, and limited in time with diminishing returns. In assessing aid impact, addressing allocation of 86

LINKAGES AND CONSTRAINTS OF THE SYRIAN ECONOMY

resources and their outcome is a primary task. General indices are not sufficient and an sector-by-sector examination is necessary. INVESTM ENT A N D OUTCOM E BY SECTOR

During the second half of the 1970s, external aid became the major source of capital for development, followed by military purchases and to a lesser extent, consumption.8 In the early 1980s the bulk of available aid went to military purchases and then to sustaining the inflated current expenditures before the economy slumped to an acute recession. Therefore, the effect of aid on inducing the productive sectors was more important during the second half of the 1970s than at any other time. Industry had the lion’s share in overall investment during the 1970s. It absorbed 45 per cent of total fixed capital formation for the period between 1974-79. This share dropped to 28 per cent between 1980 and 1985 (with the value remaining nearly constant). Because of the availability of aid, emphasis was on a few large costly projects agreed upon in the mid-1970s outside the five-year plan (ten cement projects, a triple phosphate fertilizer factory, a new petroleum refinery at Banias, an ammonia and urea fertilizer factory, four sugar factories, one paper factory, and one tyre factory). These were non-coordinated but they fitted in the overall industrial policy of utilizing available resources and responding to demand. Oil refining and cement-making were the most productive investments. The fertilizer factories experienced very costly problems before starting production, which by the mid-1980s was much below the anticipated capacity. Paper and tyre factories were a wasted cost, and some of the sugar factories had to be closed because of the shift in agricultural policy. Apart from these large schemes, not much was done during the 1970s.11 Output in the textile industry hardly increased during the second half of the 1970s, but knew a better growth in the first half of the 1980s.12 Although food processing was given special attention within an import substitution orientation, its main target, sugar processing, was scaled down because of cost effectiveness. The substantial increase in the output of smaller industries, such as paints, pharmaceuticals and glass, and the private sector production of household equipment and light electrical equipment were not the result of direct aid but were a response to the increase in demand within a more or less expanded economy. In general, some industrial growth was achieved at an extraordinary cost, not only the one-off cost of construction but the more persistent low level of productivity13 The indices for value added decreased from 103 to 100 between 1973-80 when production output increased from 57 to 100 due to the cost of construction of the new plants; but when the 87

HUDA HA WWA

new large projects were put on stream, value added rose only from 124 to 183.14 However, the emphasis given to chemical industries increased their contribution in the total industrial output (but not employment), over­ taking the traditional sectors of textiles and food processing. In mining, the outcome of previous investments, not much related to aid, was rewarding until 1983. Oil production contributed 10.7 per cent of GDP in 1975, and 70 and 63 per cent of exports in 1979 and 1980 respectively, and more than 50 per cent to value added in industry during the same period. But with the decrease in production after the 10 million barrels-per-year peak in 1976 together with the increase in consumption, and the need to import light quality oil for refining the domestic heavy crude, Syria by 1983 had become a net importer of oil. Oil exports decreased in quantity and in value after the slump in oil prices. This trend was reversed after 1987 with the commencement of new production lines of light quality oil. Much less important was the phosphate production, which began in 1971 at a rate of 20,000 tonnes per year and increased to 857,000 in 1975 and 1,461,000 in 1981 and reached the limit of 1,985,000 tonnes in 1987. contribution to exports remained marginal (3 per cent in the mid-1980s). Syria’s potential for gas production, with an estimated 500 billion cubic metres of reserves, was unused until the mid-1970s, and only 405 million, that is 11 per cent of the total available, was produced until the mid-1980s. Production increased to 2,853 million cubic metres in 1986, and schemes are currently under way to make use of the flared gas for electricity generation. Only in agriculture did investment remain constant during most of the 1970s.15 This neglect was revised after 1980, but the share of agriculture in gross capital formation was only about 8.8 per cent between 1980-86. However, growth in agriculture depended on the under-utilization of the previous period, when mechanization was weak, loans were scarce, and land distribution was unimplemented. It also relied on the government’s post-1970 encouragement of private ownership, overlooking at times the illegal amalgamation of private landholdings into large units that exceeded the size permitted under the land reform. More purchases of machinery and fertilizers was made possible, and their usage increased substantially.16 But on the other hand, a large parallel economy was developed, which absorbed a great deal of unregistered production (and partly explains the stagnation of reported growth when mechanization was increasing in the 1980s). Progress was made in experimental agricultural stations, centres of research and schools of agriculture for engineers and technicians. But Syria remained behind several third world countries in this domain. However, the state of the parallel economy in Syrian agriculture yielded 88

LINKAGES AND CONSTRAINTS OF THE SYRIAN ECONOMY

a contradictory performance and contradictory figures. In terms of growth, the increase in the 1970s was below that of consumption, and in the 1980s growth stagnated, at least until 1988, despite a substantial increase in mechanization and the use of fertilizers. The problems embedded in the particular type of relations between the private and public sectors and the accompanying problems of coordination and corruption affect the economic performance and lead to questioning the validity of official figures, as no figures for the goods transacted through smuggling can be deduced. Other contradictory results can be seen in irrigation. The capital and effort pooled into irrigation by the public sector had disappointing results, as figures until 1985 did not indicate an expansion in irrigated areas. Reasons could be attributed to the continuation of commercial means of irrigation damaging to soil,17 and problems ranging from technical to managerial in project implementation, especially the Euphrates scheme, Syria’s largest and most costly.18 However, more attention is now being given to diversified schemes of irrigation and land reclamation19 and to rain-fed land, which constitutes 90 per cent of the cultivable area in Syria. Finally, agriculture had to pay for the shift in policy orientation from import substitution (sugar being given priority) to exports encouragement in the 1980s, which was incurred at a high cost (mainly that of the large sugar factories which were not cost-effective), and the problems of cotton replantation due to previous neglect and the emerging scarcity of water. The most dynamic sector in the economic expansion of the 1970s was construction, and particularly dwellings. Investment in dwellings was second to that of industry. It nearly equalled that of industry in the early 1980s, absorbing 28.7 per cent of total public and private investment during 1980-83. Construction grew at a rate of 20 per cent annually during the second half of the 1970s and developed local expertise and successful large companies with private subsidiaries. The other apparent achievement was in transport. By 1976 one-quarter of road length, one-third of railroads, and two-fifths of port capacity had been added since 1970. This pace of growth increased in the 1980s as well, for between 1979 and 1986 two-thirds as many kilometres of roads and one-seventh as many kilometres of railroads were built. This expansion generated its own needs. Most crucial was the increasing consumption of electricity. Although electric power nearly doubled between 1973 and 1977 from 1,154 to 2,152 million kW with the establishment of the Euphrates dam, and further increased to 3,837 million kW in 1980, it was still insufficient. The production of electricity met 85 per cent of needs in 1978 and less than 60 per cent in 1980. The limits of hydraulic power shifted emphasis in the 1980s towards thermo-power generation, and the capacity was doubled to 7,942 kW in 89

HUDA HA WW A

1986. There is still quite a shortage in power generation in Syria, aggravated by the scarcity of water in the Euphrates dam, and consideration of gas use for power generation is already under way. OUTCOME: G ENERA L INDICES

Syria is one of those countries whose official economic figures cannot be taken for granted. There is a huge parallel economy unaccounted for which affects not only trade but productive sectors as well. However, some general indications are possible to deduce, although one has to deal with the figures cautiously. One general indication is that the growth of productive sectors was outweighed by the imbalances created by aid. Only for the years 1974-75 was there an exceptional rate of growth. Between 1976-79 annual growth was 5.5 per cent, which is less than the 6 per cent generated between 1968-73. The rate of growth increased to 9 per cent in 1980/81 (the peak years of aid endorsement), and then declined to reach a critical recession after 1983. On the other hand, the imbalances were phenomenal. Domestic savings covered only 36 per cent of fixed capital formation in 1979, while the ratio was 64.6 per cent in 1975. The budget increased nine times in local current prices between 1970 and 1978, while the deficit increased five times for the same period. Trade deficit in current prices nearly doubled between 1970 and 1973. It increased six times between 1973 and 1977, then increased 1.75 times between 1979 and 1981. However, these figures would have been less alarming if investments were able to generate proportionally more substantial resources to sustain the expanded economy. This was not the case. As figures of the growth in commodity sectors indicate, average annual growth in agriculture was 9.5 per cent for the period 1971-75,14 per cent between 1975-80, and only 1.7 per cent during 1980-83. However, the increase in consumption was higher than the rate of growth in production even in the 1970s, and Syria’s trade deficit in food increased from 364 million Sy in 1971 to 1,697 million in 1980 and 3,000 million in 1983 which was equal to nearly a third of the total trade deficit. As to industry, the rate of growth during 1970-75 was 14 per cent (7.75 per cent in manu­ facturing and 17 per cent in mining), nearly the same as 1968-73. It declined to 4 per cent in 1975-79 (6 per cent in manufacturing and a fall of 1.25 per cent in mining), but rose to 11.5 per cent in 1979-83 when the new projects were put on stream (20 per cent in manufacturing and -2.25 per cent in mining). The increase in manufacturing between 1979 and 1983 was due to the completion of the large industrial projects, while the decline in 90

LINKAGES AND CONSTRAINTS OF THE SYRIAN ECONOMY

mining during the same period was due mainly to the decrease in oil prices and in oil exports. However, in the period between 1983 and 1988 there was a downward slump aggravated by import restrictions. Accordingly, the contribution of commodity sectors (agriculture and industry) decreased to nearly a third of gross domestic product in 1984 and was contrasted by a noticeable increase in the share of trade and services which exceeded 50 per cent, as figure 1 shows. It cannot be dismissed that defence expenditure accounts for a large portion of this non-productive ‘inflation’, but it shares this with other growth in trade and services, and with the less-than-expected growth of commodity sectors. However, the structure of the Syrian economy lacks coordination and compact organisation. The important weight of a primary produce like oil in the economy affects the economic structure with its price or output fluctuations. It is evident that after 1980 the decrease in output and price of oil reduced the relative weight of industry in the GDP. This trend could be reversed with the increase of oil output after 1988. Likewise, agricultural output, being dependent on rain-fed areas and to some extent the government’s pricing policy, can fluctuate significantly . 3. Crisis and problems o f the 1980s The Syrian economy during the 1980s was confronted with three concurrent problems. First was the decrease in availability of aid after the drastic drop in oil prices and the increasing financial demands of Iraq from the Gulf creditors in its war against Iran. At the same time, the mounting political pressures after Camp David and the Israeli invasion of Lebanon in 1982 increased Syria’s military burden. Finally, the economy was developing its own problems. The amount of aid from the Arab oil-exporting countries declined after the 1981 peak, and the pledge of a $1,850 billion grant (never fully met) in the 1978 Baghdad summit expired in November 1988.20 On a limited scale, Syria continued to receive credit loans from different Arab agencies for a few water and irrigation projects.21 Furthermore, workers’ remittances and credit from the West also declined and moreover, Western sanctions were imposed in 1986. With the sharp drop in hard currency availability Syria resorted to barter deals and even loans from the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, which were repayable mostly in produce. Several trade and economic agreements were set up during this period with most of the Eastern Bloc countries.22 Important support came from Iran in compensation for the loss of transit dues resulting from Syria’s closure of the flow of Iraqi petroleum through 91

HUDA HA WW A

the pipelines on its soil in 1982. Syria’s crucial need for oil was un­ questioned. Iran subsequently supplied 1 million tonnes of crude oil per year, free of charge, and an additional 5 million on a generous deferred payment basis including a $2.5 per barrel discount. However, less favour­ able terms were given after 1986 and oil support nearly ended in 1988. The direction of trade was correspondingly affected by the new transac­ tions. The share of the industrial capitalist countries in Syria’s trade dropped from 67 per cent of exports and 52.1 per cent of imports in 1980 to 46 and 40.1 per cent respectively in 1982 and 41.1 and 35.2 per cent respectively in 1986. The Eastern bloc share increased from 18.2 per cent of exports and 12.3 per cent of imports in 1980 to 43.7 and 11.4 per cent respectively in 1983 and 41.7 and 10.8 per cent respectively in 1986. Between 1986 and 1988 the Soviet Union became the largest importing country from Syria, replacing Romania, which had been the largest between 1982 and 1986. However, it is misleading to attribute Syria’s economic crisis after 1983 to the decrease in aid. This was one cause among others. Most notable was the performance of the Syrian economy, which was developing ‘stagflation’ syndromes. Aid was bringing diminishing returns on the rate of growth, as the economy’s capacity to absorb outweighed its capacity to produce. Another factor was the declining production and export of oil, which before being produced in larger quantities from 1988 onward rendered Syria a net importer of oil in 1983. Finally Syria’s military burden increased substantially after 1973, and even more so after 1979 with the escalating national security worries after the Camp David agreement.23 It is worth noticing in this respect that while the larger amount of aid in 1974/75 was pumped into investment, the increase in aid in the period 1979-81 went proportionally more to current and to military expenditures.24 The manifestation of the economic crisis in the 1980s first appeared in the balance of external transactions. Despite the large amount of aid pooled in 1981, a deficit in the balance of payments was registered. As aid decreased to $1.3 billion in 1983 from $1.8 billion in 1981, and Syria became a net importer of oil, a much larger deficit in the balance of payments ($815 million) occurred, subsequently generating a critical downward economic trend accelerated by the further squeeze in external revenues. Syria’s export performance has been in decline since 1981. The value of exports in 1983 was 25 per cent less than 1978 and in 1986 it was 46 per cent less than 1980, mainly affected by the decrease in quantity and value of oil.25 The decline was evident in most sectors of the economy after 1983 (in transport and construction after 1985).26 Already thé 1980-85 plan had no 92

LINKAGES AND CONSTRAINTS OF THE SYRIAN ECONOMY

other objective but the completion of projects in industry, giving more attention to agriculture and, as a general aim, to decrease the dependency on outside sources by cutting imports and reducing public spending. These objectives after 1983 turned into a series of forced measures taken under severe conditions of deteriorating external resources. Thus, imports were reduced, thereby affecting industries already troubled with their own inefficiencies. Further decline in production due to shortages was in­ evitable. There was a near absence of any investment during the second half of the 1980s. Even the very much needed developmental investments in power generation (allocated 12.5 per cent of public investment in 1980-85 plan compared to 13.4 per cent for manufacturing and 5.5 per cent for mining) and water and sewerage schemes were suspended. Moreover, forced reductions affected all government expenditure after 1984, par­ ticularly in public administration but also in defence and education. More drastic adjustments were taken in the years 1986 and 1987. The ongoing high rate of inflation since 1985, nearing 100 per cent in 1986/7, has lowered living standards acutely. 4. Adjustments and prospects The measures of austerity undertaken were not solutions but reactions to the external financial constraint on an inflated economy. They did enable some restoration of economic balances, such as the trade balance and the budget balance. But on the whole they were forced and semi-arbitrary, with high sacrifices on living standards and on the general economic performance. Any sort of recovery necessitated generation of capital for investment, if not for new investment, at least for maintaining the existing ones. After the mid-1980s, the planners in Syria were searching for quick export-oriented solutions, with multinational companies and to lesser extent private investment. Quick export-oriented results did not come from phosphate despite high expectations,27 nor from cotton, where the attempt to increase production faced problems, but from the new discoveries of oil. The origins of the new oil production date back to 1974/5 when oil exploration was permitted to foreign companies on a production-share basis (previously oil extraction was aided by the Soviet Union). Major oil discoveries were made by the US Pecton company in 1984. Commercial production started in late 1986 at a rate of 60,000 barrels per day, which steadily increased to 100,000 in 1988, 200,000 in 1989, 250,000 in 1990 and finally 300,000 in 1991.29 Syria’s oil production was about 500,000 barrels per day in 1991 including the 160,000 barrels of heavy quality oil which had been produced since the 93

HUDA HA WW A

late 1960s. No doubt this is an unexpected bonus for the Syrian economy, particularly in view of optimistic forecasts following the nine concessions made in 1989. Similar agreements on a share-production basis with American companies were extended to gas exploitation in the newly discovered oil fields, mainly for electricity generation. By such agreements the government was spared the high cost of oil and gas exploitation but would take half the output. On the other hand, measures to encourage private sector investment have been gradually taken since 1986. Mixed sector companies in agricul­ ture (25 per cent public share) were allowed in 1986, enjoying various privileges, such as tax holidays, customs exemptions and freedom to hold foreign currency bank accounts. This was an extension of a law already implemented in tourism, where mixed companies were able to monopolize the building of tourist complexes and deluxe hotels. However, the beneficiaries from such projects were very few, and the four existing export-oriented companies were able to claim high profits from their monopoly on the market in a very short time.30 The real breakthrough was the new investment law in May 1991 applicable for both foreign and Syrian subjects providing exemptions, incentives and facilities for mixed and non-mixed sector projects31 and rules for capital transfer. The private sector, which at earlier times extended its activities in agriculture (rise of a ‘kulak’ stratum), in dwellings and real estate (given custom and tax concessions), in trade (almost all internal trade and a small portion of external trade if smuggling is not accounted for), and to a lesser extent in small light-industrial workshops, is now more free and less restricted in its investment policy. But it is the very rich who are going to reap the real benefit of the relaxation of the law on new licensed projects whose fixed assets are set very high. Earlier within the more ‘restricted’ economy, the state acted as an important economic instrument for pooling private sector activities leading to the rapid enrichment of a few within a clientelist network of relations and law evasion on a large scale. This process of quick unlawful enrichment will not fade away with the new law, and it seems that some people have already taken advantage of customs concessions (especially on transport vehicles) to reap excess profits directly from ordinary citizens. Signs of adjustments began to appear after 1988. The burden of oil imports decreased from 30 per cent of total imports in 1985 to 18 per cent in 1986 and even less later on. Oil also increased its contribution to exports. Export of crude oil reached 200,000 barrels per day in 1990, half of which was light crude. A surplus in the balance of payments appeared for the years after 1989, and Syria began clearing some of the external debt service 94

LINKAGES AND CONSTRAINTS OF THE SYRIAN ECONOMY

arrears. Economic growth resumed (estimates for annual rate of growth vary between 5 and 8 per cent for 1990) and the rate of inflation was reduced (estimates for rate of inflation vary between 20 and 40 per cent for 1990). But in 1989 the real value of the gross domestic product was still recovering to its original level.33 The resumption of Arab aid after the Gulf war in 1991 as a reward to Syria’s military and political supportive role against Iraq, as well as some other loans from developed capitalist countries (Japan and to a lesser extent, Germany) permitted work in the suspended water, sewerage, power generation and communication schemes.34 Investment in large industrial projects mirroring that of the mid-1970s in steel, textiles and fertilizers35 is envisaged with the new post-Gulf War aid. Agriculture was given some attention within the limits of the budget, and was allocated 27 per cent of development expenditure in the 1992 budget. These investments and the revival of private sector activities will add to the growth of the economy. However, it seems that low living standards, inflation, unemployment and cuts in public social services will continue to plague the economy (see Table 2 ). 5. Some reflections Syria no doubt entered the oil era in the Middle East after 1973 as a small partner. It shared many of the symptoms of an oil export economy without being itself an exporter in the real sense: the increase in output without much increase in productivity; the increase in production with no pro­ portional increase in value added (especially in manufacturing); the overweight of the nonproductive sectors. One may as well conclude, with some reservations, that the political stability acquired in post-1970 Syria has some resemblance to other oil supported economies, with the state being the major economic benefactor. In the Syrian case this is interwoven with the militarization aspect sustained by the conflict with the Israeli adversary. In other respects, the financial assistance to support Syria’s military efforts was in congruence with its overall regional outlook. It served two aspects in Syria’s regional policy: the establishment of parity with the Israeli war machine, and keeping a minimum frame of reference for Arab ‘solidarity’ and cooperation. At earlier periods this was matched by a reliance on the military assistance and friendship of the Soviet Union. The type of economic relations, based on the role of the public sector and state interference that Syria sustained, was in congruence with its policy of coping with the direct conflict with the Israeli state. Under new world and 95

HUDA HA WWA

regional order, where the Syrian government is increasingly coming to terms with the Western policy in the region and with economic ‘liberalism’ internally, sustaining a strong military profile will remain important for policy makers. But most probably the prospect of a ‘peaceful’ settlement with the Israeli state may ease the burden of military expenditure, which had been fluctating between 35 and 40 per cent of current expenditures and outweighing the expenditures in economic affairs and services through­ out the 1980s (see Table 4). The Syrian economy bearing the burdens and benefits of external financial resources came to terms with its own capacities, thanks to the new oil production, coupled with great sacrifices in living standards (the increase in consumption was not out of proportion in Syria, as more money went into investment and military expenditures). However, the financial dependency that the earlier years had created, where government resources became unable to sustain current, not to mention developmental, ex­ penditures was translated in the late 1980s to reliance on multinational companies for the exploitation of Syria’s main mineral resources (oil and gas) and to relaxing restrictions on the private sector. These are some of the changes that are determining current and future directions in Syria and the region.

Figure 1: Structure of GDP at m arket prices by sector (% )

Agriculture Mining and manufacturing Building and construction Transport and communication Others

1970

1977

1981

1983

19 22 5 9 45

17 20 7 7 49

19 14 7 7 53

18 16 7 7 52

Source: Rapport Economique Syrien 1985-86, Damas. L’office Arabe de Presse et de Documentation, 1986.

96

Table 1: Gross Domestic Product by Type of Economic Activity (£Sy lira at constant 1985 prices) 1975

1979

1980

1981

1982

1983

1984

1985

1986

1987

1988

Agriculture

6670

11741

12835

18071

18617

18074

18021

16461

17463

18590

15981

21156

Mining

2532

5915

5442

5218

5918

5784

6032

6073

5948

6790

9245

11056

Manufacturing

2566

3470

6369

4550

3882

4722

5351

3375

6383

3897

4489

5364

27

66

117

99

116

112

135

156

190

132

174

179

972

1863

4010

4209

4356

4690

4615

5121

5693

5690

3165

2692

Trade, Residential, Hotels

6365

11765

14866

16359

19883

19626

18949

17571

18509

15644

21926

22938

Transport & Communication

2959

4856

5661

5948

6973

6914

7338

7704

8196

8312

8846

9149

Finance

2054

3316

4615

4804

5226

5302

4896

4383

4280

4612

3933

4056

639

854

1826

1724

1822

2181

2279

2132

2195

2005

1496

1297

27965

52145

64365

72078

78931

80606

81758

78429

83225

79444

80684

89797

Electricity, gas, water Construction

Social Services

Total: GDP

Source : UN NATIONAL ACCOUNT STATISTICS 1988.

LINKAGES AND CONSTRAINTS OF THE SYRIAN ECONOMY

1970

Table 2: Expenditures on GDP (£Sy lira) 1982

1984

1986

1989

18707

21385

17788

15219

50000

51021

44526

48366

44551

(68)

(69)

(64)

(56)

(61)

(51)

3816

10201

16648

17549

18851

17606

10994

Exports

7459

9971

8714

8934

8875

12302

51344

Imports

8374

15547

20164

15605

15208

16953

34706

27965

52145

72078

80606

78429

79109

87402

1970

1975

1980

5304

11852

16880

19760

35668

(70)

Gross Capital Formation

Government Final Consumption exp.

/■

Private Final Consumption exp. (%)

Total: GDP

S o u rce :

UN NATIONAL ACCOUNT STATISTICS 1989.

Table 3: Gross Output and Value Added in Industry (£Sy lira at constant 1985 prices) 1980

1983

1982

1985

1987

1989

VA

GOP

VA

GOP

VA

GOP

VA

GOP

VA

GOP

VA

6370

5218

6328

5764

6650

6032

6593

5948

9715

9166

16381

15507

23337

4550

29985

4722

32559

5351

31223

6383

31584

4619

37788

6957

a) Food, beverages, tobacco

5953

1348

6127

557

6861

923

5509

215

5868

-388

6034

-674

b) Textile, leather

5548

1636

4429

1101

5370

1063

5509

1250

5838

1277

8733

1746

c) Wood and products

1288

858

947

618

970

607

1281

540

1775

401

1150

342

191

79

259

107

352

137

503

139

155

46

340

180

e) Chemicals, pis

7303

-704

11066

-880

11164

-1317

12754

1690

14559

1424

16803

2641

f) Non-metal, minerals

1100

360

2069

643

2396

899

2409

1066

2508

1219

2839

1501

235

66

282

62

332

72

458

155

133

32

250

197

1608

815

3829

2334

4133

2531

2383

1199

1727

607

2695

998

Mining Manufacturing

d) Paper and print

g) Basic metal h) Fabric, metal

Source: UN NATIONAL ACCOUNT STATISTICS 1989.

LINKAGES AND CONSTRAINTS OF THE SYRIAN ECONOMY

GOP

Table 4: Government Expenditures (Sy lira at current prices)

Total Expenditures As % of total Current (%) Defence (%) Education (%) Health (%) Social security and welfare (%) Housing (%) Cultural, religious affairs (%) Economic Affairs and Services (%) —Fuel and energy —Agriculture —Mining —Transport & communication —Others Other expenses S ource.

1975

1979

1980

1981

1986

1987

9690

15282

24702

25360

37091

35443

(53.2) 3285 (34) 755 (7.8) 82 (0.8) 491 (5.1) 349 (3.6) 98 (1) 4538 (46.8) 384 610 2070 456 1008

(60.3) 6208 (40.6) 874 (5.7) 158 (1) 646 (4.2) 496 (3.2) 158 (1) 6411 (41.9) 644 1204 1639 909 2015

(62.9) 8844 (35.8) 1359 (5.5) 202 (0.8) 1977 (8) 813 (3.3) 393 (1.6) 10164 (41.1) 1792 1244 2022 1196 3910 1776

(67.7) 9568 (37.7) 1806 (7.1) 275 (1.1) 2086 (8.2) 804 (3.2) 331 (1.3) 7838 (30.9) 1573 1216 1079 1197 2773 3205

(72.3) 14440 (38.9) 3474 (9.4) 517 (1.4) 1747 (4.7) 744 (2) 509 (1.4) 8368 (22.6) 722 2482 815 1448 2901 4184

(65) 14327 (40.4) 3680 (10.4) 549 (1.6) 1396 (3.9) 182 (0.5) 536 (1.5) 8852 (25). 1657 2646 263 1305 2981

—

—

Derived from IMF GOVERNMENT FINANCE STATISTICS 1990.

—

Table 5: Balance of Payments (US $ nuis) 1982

1983

1984

1985

1986

1987

1988

1989

Current Account

-250

-744

794

0958

504

0298

-151

784

Exports

2002

1918

1834

1856

1037

1357

1348

2812

Imports

3636

4024

3687

3946

2363

2226

1986

1821

Trade balance

-1633

-2106

-1853

-2090

-1326

-869

-638

991

Services & income (credit)

509

575

542

685

576

625

689

709

Services «fe income (debit)

-934

-1001 -10033

-1114

-836

-1149

-1097

-1477

Private transfers

411

387

321

350

323

334

360

355

Official transfers

1398

1302

1229

1212

759

761

536

206

S o u rce :

IMB BALANCE OF PAYMENTS STATISTICS 1990.

Table 6: Structure of Trade: Some Indicators 1988

1989

1990

100

85

156

206

141

100

35

65

73

812

710

660

330

429

69

100

44

113

286

—

30.1

34.3

29.3

13.6

17.9

17.2

16.7

17.4

23.6

1970

1975

1979

1981

1983

1984

1985

—Agriculture

63.9

16.1

16.7

9.5

12.5

20.8

11.2

—Mining

16.7

70.7

70.9

52.4

56.2

51.0

49.7

—Manufacturing

19.4

13.2

12.4

27.7

31.3

28.3

39.0

(0.6)

(1.5)

(3.8) (18.2) (15.7) (17.3) (18.6)

(10.7)

(7)

(4.8)

(6.7)

(12)

(8.4)

(8.4)

79

214

173

125

132

115

150

113

125

75

117

—Imports

91

295

400

687

—Exports

47

23.8

66

59

—fuel (%)

8

6.4

24.7

—food (%)

27

17.5

12.1

EXPORTS (%)

(chemicals) (textile) EXPORTS (index volume) —Crude petroleum —Cotton FOOD (US$ mns)

IMPORTS

Eight

The Treaty of Brotherhood, Co-operation and Co-ordination A n Assessm ent

Fida Nasrallah

On 22 May 1991 Syria and Lebanon signed a treaty known as the Treaty of Brotherhood, Cooperation and Coordination. Many domestic, regional and international factors led to the conclusion of this treaty at that particular time. This chapter will attempt to sketch a brief background of the political environment which led up to the signing of the Ta’if Accord before coming to an assessment of the Treaty itself. The chapter argues that the Treaty of Brotherhood was the logical extension of a process which began in the latter part of the 1980s and culminated in the signing of the Ta’if Accord. Indeed, the process began with the American legitimisation of the Syrian role in Lebanon in the latter part of the 1980s—as a concession for Syrian co-operation in the Arab-Israeli peace process—and culminated with the signing of the Treaty of Brotherhood and the ‘defence pact’. These two documents, in turn, followed naturally from the manner in which the Accord signed at Ta’if was being implemented. The fact that the agreements went beyond the specifications outlined in the Ta’if Accord is consistent with the previous trend. It is, in fact, a measure of how an agreement which was supposed to be internationally and regionally sponsored at its inception, was left to one party: Syria, alone, had to fill in the gaps and determine the modalities by which the Ta’if Accord would be implemented. The Ta’if Accord, signed in Saudi Arabia in October 1989, was itself the culmination of a series of dramatic events that had hit the country. Its original cause lay in the presidential vacuum in Lebanon following the expiry of President Amin Gemayel’s mandate in September 1988. The appointment of General Aoun as Prime Minister by President Gemayel led to the co-existence of two rival governments in Lebanon—one under 103

FIDA NASRALLAH

the leadership of General Aoun and the other under Prime Minister Salim al-Hoss. Dr al-Hoss had taken over the gouvernement démissionnaire of Prime Minister Rashid Karame, assassinated in 1987. The co-existence of two rival governments in Beirut, each vying for legitimacy, was a matter of concern for the Arab League which set up a six-member state conciliation commission. Arab mediation began in January 1989 when both parties were given the chance to express their views. Stalled efforts led to General Aoun’s decision to ‘rock the boat’ and in March 1989 he launched his war of liberation against the Syrians. This military adventure which went against the domestic, regional and inter­ national consensus led to the discussion of the Lebanese question at the Casablanca summit of 25-26 May 1989. The Arab summit in Casablanca resulted in the creation, by the Arab League, of a Higher Tripartite Committee comprising the leaders of Saudi Arabia, Algeria and Morocco. As stated in the Casablanca resolution, the purpose of this committee was to bring about constitutional reforms in Lebanon and the election of a new President. The committee was to be responsible for contacting all parties in order to lay the ground for a comprehensive and definitive solution. On 31 July 1989 the Committee suddenly suspended its work and blamed Syrian intransigence for the lack of progress on the Lebanese question. The Committee published a communique accusing Syria of having a concept of Lebanese sovereignty inconsistent with the independence of Lebanon. ‘The difference between the High Committee’s and Syria’s views regarding the extension of [Lebanese] sovereignty was the principal obstacle encountered by our committee’, the communique stated. A deadlock arose as a result of this communique and negotiations were suspended until early September at a meeting in Tripoli between Presidents Assad of Syria and Ben Jedid of Algeria where Damascus agreed to have its presence in Lebanon debated. Two weeks later, on 17 September, the Committee issued a communique requesting the Lebanese members of Parliament to meet in Ta’if on 30 September in order to discuss a document drafted by the Higher Committee. This document is what came to be known as the Ta’if Accord or the Charter of National Reconciliation. The major achievement of the Ta’if Accord was that it contributed to ending the armed conflict in Lebanon. Indeed, Syria—the regional power that had perpetuated the conflict, at least since 1983—had by 1990 managed to impose its dominance and therefore no longer had any interest in fomenting conflict. In fact, since April 1983, Syria has been operating under a relentless and unswerving drive tc achieve the goal of bestowing peace and national harmony upon the reluctant Lebanese under a new Pax 104

THE TREATY OF BROTHERHOOD

Syriana. All Lebanese factions and leaders who had chosen an alternative route by seeking the assistance of other regional powers, or of a major Western power, have consistently had their efforts undermined. The Charter of National Reconciliation can be divided into four broad categories. The first relates to domestic reforms, the second to the restoration of Lebanese sovereignty over all of its territory, the third to the liberation of South Lebanon from the Israeli occupation, and the fourth to the creation of privileged relations with Syria. The passages dealing with domestic reforms fall outside the scope of this chapter. The section dealing with the restoration of Lebanese sovereignty was the subject of a prior agreement between the Arab Higher Tripartite Committee and Syria. The Lebanese members of Parliament were for­ bidden from making any changes to this section of the document. Briefly, it stated that the Government of National Unity would disband all the militias one year after the adoption of the constitutional reforms; it also called for strengthening of the armed forces and police. Moreover, this section called on Syria to help the Lebanese Army extend its authority over all of Lebanon for a maximum of two years after which the Syrian forces would be stationed in the Bekaa or in other places if necessary. The length of their stay in the Bekaa and elsewhere would be determined by a common accord between a joint Lebanese-Syrian military commission. Thus, the document made no mention of a Syrian retreat but of a strategic deployment of forces. The issue of a final Syrian military withdrawal was postponed: it would have to be the result of negotiations between Syria and the Lebanese Government of National Unity. In this respect, the Ta’if document resulted in the virtual legalisation of Syria’s military presence in Lebanon—a presence whose legality had been contested ever since 1982. More importantly, however, was the right given to Syria to acquire strategic military positions in the Bekaa. This strategic right raised fears that the future stability and status of the Lebanese territory would be subordinated to the hazards of the Israeli-Syrian confrontation. Since, from a Syrian perspective, Syria’s military presence in Lebanon seemed essential for the maintenance of the regional military status quo, this meant that Syria would not abandon these positions before an Israeli withdrawal. The fears generated by such a situation were that the strategic advantages that were conceded to Damascus might engender identical security and strategic demands from Israel which Lebanon could never honour. The third part of the document refers to the liberation of South Lebanon from the Israeli occupation whereby Lebanon would rely on the 105

FIDA NASRALLAH

international community for the restoration of its independence. Indeed, external assistance would be required for the agreement to be implemented in its totality. This section simply calls for the implementation of UN Security Council Resolution 425. The method of implementation would be UN Security Council Resolution 426. This section generated fears that Lebanon would find itself in a ‘Catch-22’ position. Indeed, by demanding an unconditional Israeli with­ drawal whilst simultaneously signing an accord with Syria for the stationing of Syrian troops, Lebanon would again expose itself to Israeli demands for security guarantees in southern Lebanon which Syria enjoys. The document ends with the fourth and final chapter on the nature of relations between Lebanon and Syria. It recognises the existence of a special relationship between Lebanon and Syria and states that future co-ordination and co-operation between the two countries will be deter­ mined through the conclusion of bilateral agreements in ‘all domains’. It also specifies the security commitments of each state towards the other. In the case of Lebanon, the document makes clear that ‘Lebanon will not permit itself to become a passageway or a base for any power, state or organisation, whose aim is to threaten Syria’. Lebanon also commits itself ‘not to allow its territory to be used to endanger its own security’ - implying that Lebanon was not able to impose its authority over its own national territory. A close reading of the text would also suggest that the result is two different sets of obligations. Whereas Lebanon commits itself to Syria not to allow its own territory to be used to threaten its own security and that of Syria, Syria commits itself to Lebanon not to allow the Lebanese territory to be used to threaten Lebanese security. Under international law, the former is an obligation of non-intervention in the affairs of other states. The latter, however, is based on the right to intervene in the affairs of third states.2 The Ta’if Accords could not, and indeed did not, satisfy everyone. They were rejected outright by General Aoun and criticized by the Hizbollah, Amal, the Progressive Socialist Party and the Palestinians. General Aoun dissolved Parliament on 4 November 1989 to prevent the election of a new President and consequently to torpedo the implementation of Ta’if. In so doing he opened up a debate—still unresolved to this day—as to the legality and constitutionality of the whole process which followed. But the strong international and regional backing which the Ta’if process enjoyed ensured that all efforts would be exerted to get the process going. Two new presidents were elected (Rene Moawad was assassinated only seven­ teen days after assuming office). Elias Hrawi and the Hoss government tried every possible means to implement the Accords. They went as far as «

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to dismiss General Aoun, suspending payments to civil servants in eastern districts, imposing an economic blockade, and appealing to the opponents of Ta’if to support the Lebanese peace process. But the Gulf crisis which began on 2 August with the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait was to have great repercussions on the Lebanese scene. Iraq’s tactical allies in Lebanon—General Aoun and the PLO—hoped that the crisis which challenged American and Saudi power would serve to weaken this axis and subsequently weaken the regional and international consensus which backed the Ta’if Accords. The pro-Ta’if parties in Lebanon were apprehensive about the fate of the agreement in the light of the crisis. They therefore succeeded in convening Parliament on 21 August 1990, amended the Constitution, and incorporated the reforms stipulated in Ta’if. The speed with which Parliament was convened reflected a switch in Syria’s attitude vis-à-vis the process. The renewed Syrian interest in Ta’if, follow­ ing a visit by the American Assistant Secretary of State for Middle Eastern Affairs, John Kelly, reflected American assurances about Syria’s continued dominant position in Lebanon and promises of American support to that end. These assurances culminated in an American green light to have the Syrians oust General Aoun from Baabda Palace on 13 October 1990. The popular Aoun, who had challenged the regional and international con­ sensus on Lebanon, had become a great liability at that critical juncture in Middle Eastern history. Thus, the Syrian Army and Air Force shelled the palace at Baabda—which had for months been protected by a spontaneous human shield. The use of the Syrian Air Force in Lebanon was a clear breach of the ‘Red Lines’ agreement between Syria and Israel which regulates the parameters within which each country can operate in Lebanon. This operation was also the first political shock wave to hit Lebanon from the Gulf crisis, where the price for Syrian participation in the US-led coalition against Iraq was a free hand in Lebanon. In the wake of the Gulf crisis, the Ta’if agreement became completely Syrianised—with American and Saudi blessing. On 24 December, the government of National Unity under the premier­ ship of Omar Karame was formed. The former Prime Minister Salim al-Hoss who had enjoyed the strong backing of the Gulf States was unceremoniously dismissed, only to be replaced by a new Prime Minister who enjoyed exclusive Syrian backing. The new thirty-man cabinet in­ cluded both rival militia and party leaders as well as traditional political figures. Its formation was met with much criticism. Parliamentarians complained at the low level of deputies in the cabinet; press commentators questioned the merits of some ministers; others accused the President of 107

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nepotism and favouritism (he appointed his son-in-law as Foreign Minister and gave three of his friends and associates Cabinet posts). The Lebanese Forces and the Kata‘ib Party complained that the Cabinet lacked ‘national balance’ (a reference that Syria controlled the two-thirds majority); the Druzes were unhappy at the dilution of Druze influence; the Hizbollah, the Lebanese Communist Party and the National Liberal Party were not represented. Neither were any of General Aoun’s supporters. Its critics failed to understand who this Government of National Reconciliation had actually sought to reconcile. On 28 March, the Cabinet, meeting in full session, approved a plan to dissolve all Lebanese and non-Lebanese militias and to appoint forty new deputies to Parliament. This decision represented the second phase of the implementation of the Ta’if agreement. This new momentum was the result of the victory of the Gulf war coalition against Iraq from which the American-Saudi-Egyptian-Syrian alliance—which supports Ta’if—emerged triumphant. The formulation of ‘privileged relations’ between Lebanon and Syria was crystalized with the signing in Damascus of the Treaty of Brotherhood, Cooperation and Coordination between the Lebanese and Syrian govern­ ments. The date which the Syrians decided to have the treaty signed was quite symbolic—22 May 1991 marked the first anniversary of the reunification of the Yemens. This treaty was the natural outcome of the manner in which the Ta’if Accords had hitherto been interpreted and implemented. The treaty establishes a formal structure for setting and implementing policies on a wide range of issues between the two countries and creates linkages between Lebanon and Syria on the political, military, internal security and economic levels. All Lebanon’s policies, therefore, will henceforth be conducted in harmony with Syria. Syria, a one-party socialist state, is obligated in the pact to respect Lebanon’s liberal political system and capitalist economy. The treaty, in effect, formalises the situation which exists on the ground thereby resulting in the de jure satellisation of Lebanon by Syria. The treaty establishes joint councils which meet regularly to set and oversee execution of policies affecting the country—the most important of which is the Supreme Council made up of the Presidents of the two countries as well as their prime ministers, deputy prime ministers and speakers of Parliament. The Supreme Council is vested with executive powers contrary to what is called for in the Constitution. Moreover, the Lebanese members of this Council, an institution which makes binding decisions, albeit within the constitutional and legal framework of both 108

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countries, have no decision-making status, neither singly nor collectively. These joint councils represent a violation of Lebanese sovereignty and raise the spectre that Lebanon will henceforth be governed from Damascus. Moreover, the joint councils threaten the country’s political structure. The Lebanese Parliament is not entitled to change the political structure of the country. On the contrary, Parliament operates within its structures and is supposed to safeguard them. Parliament cannot assume the right to change the country’s political structure without a referendum. The Members of Parliament, elected under a different political structure (or in Lebanon’s case, not even elected at all but appointed), cannot decide for the public in this matter. Moreover, the balance of power is not in Lebanon’s favour, which renders the possibility of an infringement of its sovereignty that much greater. All this results in a reduction in Lebanon’s sovereignty and in­ dependence. Coordination in the foreign policies of the two states can only mean expropriating Lebanon’s foreign policy. Repeating that foreign policy will be coordinated within the constitutional frameworks of both countries does not negate the fact that the stronger party can dictate its desires on the weaker one. The reason why this treaty has elicited such fears on the part of some Lebanese is because there can be no equality in such a treaty when the powerful party dictates its demands to the weaker one. Syria’s great military preponderance will render the treaty unbalanced, with grave consequences for Lebanon’s sovereignty. Lebanon is still a country under occupation with foreign armies restricting the Lebanese national decision-making process. Moreover, no treaty can reflect the popular will when it is signed under the pressure of 40,000 troops. Nor can it succeed if either of the two signatories signs it under duress. Coordination in matters of security, crystallized in September with the signing of a ‘defence pact’ between the two countries, automatically engenders tight control over the activities of all those who reside in Lebanon—particularly opponents of the Syrian regime. Damascus, which has always reproached Lebanon for agreeing to grant asylum to Syrian and other political exiles—one of the very raisons d ’être of the existence of the Lebanese state—has managed to achieve, by this new pact, what it has always called ‘political security’. The treaty sanctions the perpetuation of the present Syrian forces in Lebanon—forces that are not subject to the orders of the Lebanese military leaders, and in which the ministers and deputies have no say as to the limitations of their spread, their composition, or size. This treaty in reality constitutes an infringement of the country’s sovereignty. Much more 109

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importantly, however, it arms Israel with additional ammunition to claim that it contravenes the Armistice agreement with Lebanon—an inter­ national agreement which guarantees the security of Lebanon’s southern borders. Indeed, the treaty introduces a party to Lebanon’s national forces which is not bound by the Armistice agreement. Such treaties and agreements restrain the Lebanese negotiator and constrain his/her chances of ridding Lebanon of the Israeli occupation. The chances would have been greater for a negotiator who is free and independent and not bound by a treaty which contravenes Lebanon’s prior international commitments. Although Syrian diplomacy has been portraying the treaty in terms of being the first time that Syria has recognised the independent existence of Lebanon, Syria still refuses to formalise this recognition by establishing diplomatic relations with Lebanon. Indeed, well aware of the sensitivities of many Lebanese in this matter, President Hrawi has sought to assure them with the following statement: ‘To the sceptics I say: be reassured. Lebanon is greater than your fears. By common accord, it is the definitive nation of all the Lebanese. It is too strong to be dissolved, too bright to be eclipsed.’ Indeed, this is really the crux of the matter—the fear that Lebanon will be eclipsed. For that fear to be dissipated, both the Lebanese and the Syrians have to make mutual accommodations. The Lebanese have to recognise that they have been remiss in their practice of democracy; and the Syrians have to recognise the importance which free political life has for Lebanon. The principle of privileged relations based on mutual respect, democracy, human rights and political pluralism is the ultimate guarantor that these relations will be strong and lasting. Friendly and special relations between Lebanon and Syria are a necessity for the survival of both states. They should, however, be based on a deep and mutual understanding between the two societies and states; but primarily they should be based on equality. More importantly, they should be forged out of conviction: only then can they be everlasting. Most of the countries of the Middle East, as those of Eastern Europe, have not yet outlived the age of nationalism. The Arab states are finally coming to grips with the present state system and are beginning to accept what they once considered to be artificial creations. These states are subsequently becoming more attached to their own national identity and to their sovereignty. But this fierce nationalism will one day run its course and the nature of most Arab governments will, some day, mutate. This is when the Arab world will finally be able to realise its potential—when it becomes a voluntary coalition of liberal democracies, brought about through common conviction. 110

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Ignoring mutual needs will inevitably lead to failure. On the other hand, an equal relationship based on free decisions, with a high degree of mutual trust, for a common good, will inevitably lead to success. It is upon such bases that the privileged relations between Lebanon and Syria should ultimately rest.

Nine

Syrian Foreign Policy at the Crossroads Continuity and Change in the Post-G ulf War Era

Ghayth N. Armanazi

In terms of the likelihood of producing a lasting impact on the Middle Eastern geopolitical landscape, one of the most significant developments to emerge out of the Gulf War is the substantially more enhanced position that Syria now enjoys on the regional and international stage. This represents a remarkable transformation in the political, economic and strategic fortunes of Damascus, which just over a year ago was reeling under the pressure of diplomatic isolation, economic strangulation and the threat of increasing military vulnerability as its erstwhile patron, the Soviet Union, was no longer willing to underwrite its quest for strategic parity with Israel. From that bleak and unpromising backdrop Syria suddenly sprang forth, to be acknowledged today as an indispensable and major actor as moves gather pace to convene a peace conference. Indeed, the long-awaited response to the American peace initiative, delivered by President Assad in July 1991, was hailed as a master stroke by a broad range of observers; never before has Syria’s leader enjoyed more glittering publicity or received more positive appraisal by politicians and media alike. The commanding role that Syria now possessed was underlined by an article written in the Saudi-owned Arabic daily Al-Hayat by the former Egyptian Foreign Minister and Secretary-General of the Arab League, Mahmoud Riyad. Tt is clear,’ he stated, ‘that the principal role in any future negotiations lies on the shoulders of Syria. Without her the conference will not convene, and without the recovery of her territory in the Golan no peace can be realised . . . the management of negotiations is not unlike directing a military battle, indeed it is more daunting, and the state best qualified to direct the negotiating battle is Syria.’1 112

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Yet, by contrast, in the early summer of 1990, matters looked very different. Syria seemed the odd man out as far as the Arab consensus stood. On the issues of both ‘peace’ and ‘war’, Damascus was over­ shadowed and out of step. In the ‘peace’ stakes the Palestine Liberation Organization was still doing all the running despite the virtual grinding to a halt by late spring of the Egyptian-American proposals for the launching of an Israeli-Palestiriian dialogue. In spite of Syria’s objections (and the suspension of the US-PLO dialogue) the PLO stuck adamantly to the line adopted by its ‘peace offensive’ of November 1988, effectively recognizing the State of Israel and renouncing its claims to Palestinian sovereignty beyond the confines of the West Bank and Gaza. In the ‘war’ stakes, or the militant alternative (where Damascus is traditionally in its element) the Syrian leadership was being outshone by the bombast emanating from Baghdad threatening to rain destruction on the Israeli enemy. The negative circumstances surrounding the Syrian position were further aggravated by the convening in Baghdad, in late May 1990, of the Extraordinary Arab League Summit from which both the Iraqis and the PLO—Syria’s bitterest rivals—emerged triumphant mobilising behind their positions a measure of Arab (vocal) support. The conference (which Syria refused to attend) came down strongly on the side of Iraq in its stand against what were described as hostile threats from Israel and the West based on accusations that Iraq was accumulating weapons of mass destruc­ tion and obtaining advanced militáry technology. Inter alia the Arab states ‘affirmed Iraq’s right to take all measures necessary to preserve and protect its national security and provide for its development, including the right to acquire advanced technology’.2 On Palestine, the summit endorsed the PLO’s peace initiative and called for the participation of the PLO in an international conference.3 The gathering strength of the Baghdad-PLO axis, with Amman in close alliance, was certainly a cause of worry to Syria. It had already, the year before, witnessed the inception of the Arab Cooperation Council, inspired and driven by Iraq, which took in Egypt and Yemen in addition to Iraq and Jordan but almost deliberately and conspicuously excluded the Syrians —Damascus felt truly hemmed in. The Syrians did not, however, withdraw from the fray. They fought back energetically: (a) in Lebanon, by pushing forward with the implementation of the Ta’if Accord despite General Aoun’s ferocious opposition which was given full backing by Iraq, and (b) by mending its fences with Cairo and entering into open rivalry with Baghdad for Egypt’s favours. Damascus was helped in no small measure by the strains that began to appear in the relationship between Egypt and Iraq due, firstly, to the row over the 113

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treatment of Egyptian workers in Iraq and, secondly, to President Mubarak’s growing apprehension at the increasing vitriol being directed at the Americans by President Saddam Hussein. Nevertheless, as seen from Damascus, the picture must have looked grim in the summer of 1990, especially against the background of the relentless depletion of the Soviet strategic reservoir upon which Syria depended, and the deterioration in the economic conditions of the country as its foreign exchange reserves were eroded, factories turned idle because of shortages of raw materials, and inflation and scarcities of essential products blighted the Syrian consumer. Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait on 2nd August 1990 was the moment, historically, when the narrow comer into which Syria was being pushed suddenly widened into a theatre of opportunities for the Syrian leadership to explore and exploit. Nothing could have been better suited to justify the tenets of past Syrian policy vis-à-vis Iraq, or to project Damascus into the forefront of Arab policy-making. Overnight, the whole edifice of the regional status quo crumbled and Syria seized the occasion to establish for itself a new position of power and influence within the nascent system. For the Gulf Arabs, reeling from the shock-waves produced by a rampant Iraq, and alarmed by the vision of Saddam’s forces pushing further forward, the need to secure the support of Syria was of paramount importance. Only with Syria—its nationalist credentials and its strained relations with the West affording it a special ‘credibility’—could an Arab coalition be formed that was not wholly tainted with subservience to Washington. Quickly forgotten were Syria’s hitherto objectionable stand on the Iraq-Iran war; its suppression of the PLO in Lebanon; its connections with radical elements that could not be anything but anathema to the deeply con­ servative regimes of the Gulf. Damascus, however, was cautious and calculating in its response to the crisis. Given that his arch-enemy had committed a blunder of rare enormity, one would have expected President Assad immediately to exploit the moment to the full. However, he did not and, in contrast to the scathing and abusive tone of the language that characterised the propaganda exchanges between Damascus and Baghdad over many previous years, the official Syrian criticism of Iraq’s action was a model of statesmanship and restraint. The same line was adopted by President Assad himself at the Cairo Summit Conference on 9th August in a speech which received com­ mendation from those present for its moderation and thoughtfulness: ‘It is difficult for me to imagine’ he stated, ‘that any leader in this hall arrived with the intention of leaning towards this Arab party or that. We are all 114

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brothers. Iraq is a brother; Kuwait is a brother ... we all cherish Iraq, I have no doubt, and we all cherish Kuwait.’4 The Syrian leader defended forthrightly his country’s stand on the issue of the summoning of foreign troops to the Arabian Peninsula (the issue which split the Summit), a stand that, in effect, condoned the decisions already adopted by Saudi Arabia and other Gulf states to request military assistance. But he insisted that his country did so reluctantly, driven by what it saw as force majeure created by the invasion, and he reminded his audience that there was little love lost between Syria and the West especially in relation to the vexed issue of terrorism.5 In another passage Assad says: ‘. .. we desire to avert the danger that some of our brothers spoke of. We are all in danger and with sister Iraq in the forefront. . . and when I say that Iraq is in the forefront we cannot separate ourselves from any harm that befalls Iraq, and therefore when we conceive a great danger striking Iraq we must act to avert it. In my opinion it would be useless, as we attempt to achieve this to say the solution lies in saying “You Westerners who have arrived get out”. I said to one of my colleagues today: you want me to persuade Bush to withdraw his forces at the time when we are unable to convince a brother Arab to do so?’6

Concluding his speech Assad said that ‘it is the event [the invasion of Kuwait] that brought in the foreigners and not the foreigners that brought forth the event . . . Therefore let us deal with the cau se. . . and if we want the foreigners to leave quickly, then let us quickly resolve the problem so as to remove any pretext for their stay, especially if there are hidden motives for their presence.’7

Throughout the months of the crisis prior to the war, it was generally noted that Syria remained somewhat aloof from the campaign of insults and recriminations that were hurled at Baghdad from Cairo, Riyadh and elsewhere. Also, Iraq spared Assad some of the more offensive vitupera­ tion it directed at President Mubarak, King Fahd and other Arab leaders who joined the coalition. Right to the very last minute, the Syrian president continued to conduct in public a policy that sought to rise above the bitter rancour and draw the Iraqi leader back from the precipice. Three days before the beginning of the war he addressed, over the radio, a last ditch appeal to Saddam Hussein which mixed cordiality towards Iraq’s President with dire warnings 115

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of the cataclysm that lay ahead should Iraq not withdraw from Kuwait. ‘It is the duty of every brother,’ he said, ‘to get his message across to his brother and for that brother to listen to that message from the depth of his senses and with an open mind .. .’8 Continuing in the same vein the Syrian leader spoke of ‘the serious threat faced by the whole nation especially Iraq which behoves us to deny the enemy his opportunity. I am not concerned with discussing the rights and wrongs of the overrunning by Iraq of Kuwait, that is another matter and this is neither the time nor the place to discuss it. What is important in the present circumstances is the grave and dangerous situation facing us and threatening Iraq’.9 Appealing finally for an Iraqi withdrawal from Kuwait that would pave the way to re-establishing a common front against the dangers that beset the nation, the Syrian leader then addressed the question of a possible attack on Iraq even after it withdrew. ‘I would like to underline,’ he said, ‘a brotherly indisputable pledge: should such an event occur subsequent to your departure from Kuwait, then Syria with all its material and moral resources will stand side by side with Iraq in the same trench, fighting forcefully and resolutely until victory is achieved.’10

Nevertheless, the Syrian leadership could have had few illusions about Saddam Hussein heeding such an appeal. His reply, broadcast on 13 January, refused to address the issue of withdrawal and spoke in solemn religious terms of the ‘nineteenth province of Iraq [Kuwait]’ being the battleground for an epic struggle between the forces of good and evil, of the faithful versus the infidels. He reminded Hafez Assad of his past stand on the Iraq-Iran war, inviting him nevertheless to atone for past misdeeds by joining him in the impending conflict and crowning his political career in a blaze of glory.11 The decision by Syria to throw in its lot with the coalition could not have been taken lightly. Yet it is difficult to imagine, given the set of circumstances surrounding Iraq’s invasion, and the record of Syrian policy since 1970, that Damascus could have opted for a different position. The assumption, widely accepted, that Syria’s decision represented a volte-face that owed its origins to the fundamental shift in the global—and hence regional—power balance to the detriment of Syria’s patron, the Soviet Union,is an oversimplification that takes little account of the elements of continuity and consistency that have governed Syria’s regional strategy over the last two decades. In fact, any profound analysis of Syria’s policy over this period in its 116

SYRIAN FOREIGN POLICY AT THE CROSSROADS

history can lead to one conclusion: the stand adopted by Syria over the Gulf crisis is very much in line with Syrian imperatives regardless of the shift in the global relationship between Moscow and Washington (and leaving to one side the bitter personal animosity between Hafez Assad and Saddam Hussein). These Syrian imperatives can be summarised as follows: 1. The chief adversary is Israel and the main Arab cause is the con­ frontation with the Israeli state. Any other issue, however pressing, involving the commitment of Arab resources outside the principal ‘battlefield’ is at best a distraction, and at worst a deeply debilitating scourge that renders the struggle against the real enemy that much more uneven. 2. The Arab ‘front-line’, given the effective neutralisation of Egypt, is by definition that which Syria, the only credible military power, has under its direct control as in the Golan Heights or, indirectly, in Lebanon through a Palestinian movement strongly influenced by Damascus. The rest of the Arabs are duty bound to act as a rearguard to this extend­ ed Syrian-controlled ‘front-line’ politically and economically if not militarily. It also goes without saying that the more that the front-line is stabilized and integrated, the more it can be effective and serve as a solid backbone to the Arab side of the great divide with Israel. 3. With such a ‘backbone’ firmly in place, a credible Arab position can be structured in such a way as to allow the Arabs to enter into negotiations (or even a future ‘trial of strength’) without them being hopelessly exposed to Israel’s diktat. 4. While a ‘strategic balance’ with Israel, in military terms, is admittedly far-fetched, a broadly defined balance to include the ‘weight’ of international legitimacy, coupled with the input of a newly ‘enlightened’ policy adopted by Washington and the role of an invigorated EEC, becomes an attainable goal. It is, therefore, incumbent upon the Arabs to apply their energies and mobilise their diplomatic and economic resources to bring about such a balance, taking into account the dynamics and exigencies of a rapidly changing political environment. Certainly from the Syrian point of view it would have been that much more helpful to the Arab cause if the Soviet Union were to remain a champion of Arab and Palestinian rights. But long ago and even before 117

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taking over the reins of power in Damascus, Assad was of the view that Syria’s policy of dependence on Moscow was not likely to achieve the aim of counter-balancing the U.S.-Israeli alliance, and in the year when he was locked in a struggle with the extreme left-wing of the Baath Party, he was not averse to occasionally airing anti-Soviet and anti-Communist opinion.12 Later on, and with Syria even more heavily reliant on Soviet support and arms supplies, the Syrian leader showed little hesitation in embarking on policies directly contrary to Soviet wishes once he had come round to the belief that his government’s vital interests required a certain course of action. The most celebrated illustration of this independent—even defiant— attitude to his patron came in 1976 when Assad ordered his troops into Lebanon to confront the Palestine/Muslim/Progressive forces that were poised to overrun the Maronite homeland. Leonid Brezhnev, the Soviet leader, sent a strongly worded personal letter to Assad in which he stated that ‘we understand neither your line of conduct nor the aims which you are pursuing in Lebanon . . . if Syria persists in the course which it has taken it will give the imperialists and their collaborators the opportunity to gain control of the Arab nations and progressive movements . . .

Brezhnev then went on to demand that Syria contribute to ending the operation against the resistance and the Lebanese National Movement by withdrawing its forces from Lebanon. The rift with Moscow lasted several months and the Syrian leader refused to back down. Indeed it was the Soviets in the end who relented and began to acknowledge by late 1976 ‘the legitimacy of Syria’s role in Lebanon’.14 The strains and stresses in Syria’s relationship with the Soviet Union, often caused by Asaad looking for opportunities to ‘do business’ with the West and the Americans, provide a remarkable case study in international politics of the dialectics of ‘patron-client’ relationships between a great power and a small state. As often as the dog wagged the tail, it was the tail that wagged the dog.15 It was therefore only to be anticipated that, especially with the dog’s fortunes being at a low ebb, Hafez Assad would take the stand he took over Kuwait. It is difficult to conceive of a Syrian policy, rationally drawn, that could have been any different, although the sheer intricacies of fine-tuning the timing and the presentation of what appeared to be a dramatic ‘change of heart’ in Damascus owed much to Assad’s political artistry and was played to maximum regional and international effect. 118

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Syria and the peace process: playing along for time? Again, Syria ‘surprised’ the pundits when in July it was announced that President Assad had responded positively to the American peace initiative. Well timed to achieve the best possible impact (coinciding as it did with the holding of G7 summit in London), the announcement stirred the international media as never before in terms of focusing on Syria and its leader and the ‘winds of change’ blowing in Damascus. Israel, it seems, was caught on the hop, its leadership divided in its ‘assessment’ of the Syrian move and opinion split between those who suspected a Syrian trap and those who, euphorically, began to entertain visions of a Syrian-Israeli entente cordiale that would completely transform the region’s political ethos. Israeli spokesmen, who only a few weeks before were berating Syria’s ‘intransigence’ and openly calling for a peace conference without Damascus, now, through Prime Minister Shamir, extolled (albeit mis­ chievously) President Assad’s willingness to follow in the path of the late Egyptian President Anwar Sadat. Again, it is clear, the reality was far less dramatic; and again Syria made a virtue out of necessity since it would have made little sense for it not to go along with a further instalment in a process of realignment that welded it to the new power structure in the Middle East. Yet, it is also clear that Assad is in no sense a Sadat. He will give the Americans the benefit of the doubt and his ministers and officials speak fulsomely of what they perceive as a new serious mood in Washington. Assad himself publicly stated that ’the current administration is seriously orientated towards pushing the peace process forward. This seriousness has never been felt by us before, so we can make efforts without feeling these efforts will be futile.’16 This is, however, essentially an opening towards Washington and not Tel Aviv. All the evidence suggests that Assad is not interested in a deal that delivers the Golan and ensures Syria’s Lebanese interests, but excludes Palestine. It would run counter to his nature and philosophy and his own deeply valued sense of his historical destiny. Even more important, given his sharp grasp of political reality, he will realise that a ‘peace’ structured not on resolving the Palestinian issue but on keeping a tight lid on it simply perpetuates the presence of a ‘time bomb’ with incalculable consequences for all the region’s states and regimes, including his own. Better even in terms of the strictest and narrowest Syrian interests, that ‘peace’ remains a distant ‘hope’ rather than a current reality fashioned to the requisites of an immoveable and impracticable Israeli agenda. 119

Ten

Concepts of Nation and State with Special Reference to the Sunnis in Lebanon Al-Fadl Shalaq

1. The concept o f nation At this juncture of the twentieth century, the world witnesses two opposed nationalist trends. The first is characterized by separatist movements which result in the establishment of nation-states replacing old super states, such as in the cases of the Soviet Union, India and Yugoslavia, while the second is characterized by the establishment of superpowers consisting of a number of nation-states, such as is currently taking place in Western Europe. In the Arab world, there is a unionist trend which calls for the establishment of a super-state in the form of a nation-state, i.e. a state encompassing the whole Arab national corpus. This trend combines the features of both the above-mentioned international trends, but is faced with considerable difficulties. The first of these difficulties is the existence of territorial states whose interests do not agree with Arab national aspirations.1 These states while rejected by their own peoples are recognized by international law. International law will not in fact recognize any form of union unless achieved in accordance with its own dictates. Arab unity therefore is no longer an internal matter that the Arabs can decide for themselves, but one of international concern whose realization is dependent on inter­ national recognition.2 It is because of this fact that the unification of the two Yemens survived, whereas the annexation of Kuwait by Iraq met with international opposition to the extent of a major war. The manner in which the victorious Western alliance has been treating Iraq since the Gulf war shows the readiness of the West (when dealing with the Arabs) to overlook the lessons it had previously learnt through its two world wars against Germany. At the end of World War II, Western 120

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states showed an awareness of the errors of their policies towards the defeated Germany of the Great War and eschewed them. By contrast, the current vengeful attitude towards Iraq displays not only a policy of double standards, but also a total disability to understand how the Arabs conceive of themselves, their historic evolution and ambitions for the future. Some Western researchers as well as some elitist Arab thinkers maintain the view that the Arabs’ basic problem is their traditionalism; their inability to absorb modem technology and adopt the methods of the times. It is because of this that most contemporary studies whether dealing with the Arab conditions, Arabic thought or character, revolve around a basic concept centred on the duality of traditionalism and modernism. While some researchers regard this duality as a transient one, solvable once the social, economic and political conditions have changed, others see it as a chronic one stemming from the very nature of the Arab mind, revealing thereby an essentially racist attitude. Contemporary studies of Arab affairs tend to be rather repetitive in that they treat the existence of individual Arab countries as a foregone con­ clusion. They thus try to diagnose problems and prescribe solutions based on the assumption that such countries are there to stay.3 Indeed they countenance any endeavour on the path of unification as an irrational, unrealistic one which ignores the status quo. The trouble, however, is that what the West takes for granted is not seen as such by the Arabs. The Arabs give priority to the question of their unification in a state which reflects their oneness as a nation. The West on the other hand views this as a matter of no consequence and requires compliance with international law which only recognises the Arabs as individual sovereign states. There are two questions which every society is expected to answer. The first is concerned with its existence in the form of a state, this question being the essence of nationalism, while the second question is concerned with the manner of its existence, i.e. its operative methods in the political, social and economic spheres. Now, the Arabs consider that solving the second question is not possible without answering the first. Conversely, the West sees the first question as an insubstantial one. It thus shows no sensitivity in dealing with the Arabs with regard to this matter, essential as it is for them. This lack of understanding lies at the root of the relation between the Arabs and the West. The way the West has dealt with Iraq since its invasion of Kuwait is different from the way it deals with Israel whose transgressions against international law have been no less horrendous than those of Iraq, and who is in possession of weapons of total destruction far in excess of 121

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anything Iraq ever possessed. Furthermore, Israel refuses to comply with international law or allow inspection of her total destruction weapons industry. All this leads to the further widening of the gap between the West and the Arabs and strengthens the Arabs’ conviction of the West’s double standards resulting from its insensitivity towards their essential causes, not to mention its perennial enmity. 2. The concept o f unity Nation-states apart, the Arabs have always seen in unity a high ideal and have regarded dissension and partition as the greatest evil. That is why ijma‘ or consensus constitutes one of the four comers of Islamic juris­ prudence; the concept of jama ‘â or community, both in religion and politics, is dependent on that of ijmâ‘. Although total and complete unity did not materialize in the whole of the Arab-Muslim history except for a short period, it has nevertheless remained a high ideal to which the Arabs have aspired throughout their history and occasionally achieved in one measure or another. Likewise we cannot be sure that ijmá‘ was ever achieved at any moment in history, but it remains the indispensable mechanism for juridical conclusions. Indeed the interpretation of Qur’anic texts, the authentification of Prophetic traditions and the use of precedence are all areas where jurists’ pronounce­ ments do not acquire validity except through ijmä‘. This ijma‘ is a process which evolves gradually and cumulatively. It may not be observable, but it is real. Now, the question of Arab unity is not unlike that of ijmä‘; research and debate may disprove it, but it remains a reality in the conscience of most Arabs. A good proof of this is the support of the Arab masses for the annexation of Kuwait by Iraq, despite their distrust of Saddam Hussein.6 This support was not in fact any different from that accorded Nasser in the past despite his many failures—it was his call for Arab unity that brought him that support. For the Arabs, unity is not merely a national question, it is something that concerns the mutual relation between them and the rest of the world. It is something to do with their mission in the world, the mission which began with the Prophet and put an end to a long history previous to him. To them pre-Islamic history has no meaning except in so far as it was a prelude to Islam. But there is a contradiction here: Islam is a universal faith entrusted to the Arab nation, the contradiction being between the universal and the national. On this assumption, it can be argued that the concept of nationhood for the Arabs is a non-national one, and that the Arab nation is a non-national nation, since it transcends the concept of n

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nationhood to something more universal, i.e. Islam’s message to the world borne by the Arabs. Arab intellectuals still appear attached to a particular stage of their history, namely that of the orthodox caliphs and the Muslim conquests; an attachment which is an expression of their continued adherence to the universal call of Islam. The words of al-Mughira Ibn Shu‘ba to Rustum, the Persian General on the eve of the battle of Qadisiyya, when he proclaimed that the Arabs were no longer the poor nomads of the deserts but the bearers of a calling, still hold true to modern Arabs. It was this which Ibn Khaldun meant when he argued that Arab states were not founded on ‘asabiyya alone, but also on a message.9 This line of argument may seem ridiculous at a time when the Arabs are so divided and involved in various conflicts and civil wars. I may appear to be a gambler awaiting a great and sudden leap to unity—but does not science teach today that the world came into being through a sudden ‘big bang’? The immense significance of the question of unity for the Arabs is the one concept able to explain the relationship which existed between Nasser and the Arab masses. In their eyes Nasser at the Bandung Conference (April 1955) appeared to have transported the Arabs from regionality to universality; thereafter they forgave him because he gave meaning to their existence. Nasser’s theory of ‘the three circles’, of which the Arab nation was but one, was translated into his policy of ‘positive neutrality’ through which he and the nation related to the world. From that point onwards, his more mundane shortcomings ceased to matter for the masses. In the West the concept of nationhood is associated with territory and a state which occupies a certain area of land, whereas to the Arabs this concept is associated with belonging to a religious ideology. The citizenship of an Arab is not confined to a geographic framework occupied by an individual state, and not of his own making. Nor can the Arab citizen understand why a Moroccan needs a visa to enter Tunisia, Lebanon or Saudi Arabia, for in the old days, before the emergence of the current individual states, there were no barriers of citizenship among Arab and Islamic countries. Indeed a slave could be bought in a far off country only to become an emir or sultan after being taught Islam and trained militarily —such was the force of ideological belonging. It may be that this difference between the two concepts goes back to the fact that the Western concept of the nation-state emerged in the lap of an expansionist, feudal system based on the appropriation of land. Conversely, the concept of the ‘modem’ Arab state occurs at a time when the nation is receding before the external world and is plagued with an oriental variety 123

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of feudalism capable only of internal repression and the plunder of its own subjects.10 The expression ‘nation’ (umma) still stands apart from that of ‘national­ ism’ (qawmiyya) despite the existence of an Arab identity predating Islam. This is because the concept of umma transcends that of ‘Arab nationalism’ in the Western sense of the term. Another reason is that individual states were no expression of qawmiyya in the eye of the individual Arab. Indeed the very term ‘Arab nationalism’ continued to lack a specific definition among Arab nationalists themselves. The confusion arises from the term’s transcendence of the Western definition based on the concept of a state confined by a particular area of land; in other words, from its encompassing of Islam’s universality. There may be something healthy about this, namely that Islam may act as a guard against lapsing into chauvinism and Fascism; those movements which plagued Western forms of nationalism, and which still influence the way the West treats the Arabs. 3. The concept o f state \

The formation of a constitutional Islamic state in Madina was the cornerstone in spreading the call for Islam. From the beginning the state had an obvious hierarchic structure. Otherwise it would not have been possible for the state to administer from one centre all those conquests, organize the collection of tax and relations with the conquered peoples.11 The Islamic state dealt with contemporary problems throughout the stages of its development. The conflict between the Yamanis and the Qaysis was one about the methods of conquest and treating the population of conquered domains—it was a conflict between two political parties rather than one between tribal alliances.12 Then came the ‘Abbasid state and with it the conflict between Arabs and Mawâlïs (clients) and the beginning of a great melting process opening up political and social vistas for all the peoples within the borders of the Islamic state. Then again came the weakening of the Arab caliphate and the rise of non-Arab army generals, sultans and mamelukes at the expense of the caliphate, which was reduced to a religious symbol, devoid of any political content but endowed with a religious and cultural one which indirectly affected politics. This very weakness of the caliphate had a tremendous influence on the melting process.13 The structure of the state developed throughout those stages until it took its highest form in the Mameluke period. The Mameluke state was free from local associations because it consisted of slaves imported to perform certain functions once they had received the appropriate training.14 If it 124

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were not for those functions, those slaves would not have become emirs and sultans in control of society.15 The intricate administrative divisions in the days of the Mamelukes, the various ritualistic codes of practice associated with official occasions, the mannerisms of correspondence etc— all this indicates the existence of a meticulous hierarchic structure for the state. How was it that the Mamelukes were able to achieve that? How was it that they managed to stay on as local governors even after their defeat by the Ottomans at the beginning of the sixteenth century? It was only possible through their undertaking of the foremost function of any Arab-Islamic state, namely fending off external enemies (it is well known that the Mameluke state emerged during the wars against the crusaders and the Mongols). Even today in the twentieth century, we still see Arab govern­ ments justifying their repressive internal policies by the necessities of the conflict against external enemies (Israel and her backers in the first place). Similarly, in the 1950s and 1960s we saw the Arab masses gloat over the fall of liberal regimes which were unwilling to fight external enemies.16 It was out of a profound realization of the supremacy of jihad, that jurists such as al-Mâwardi, Abu Ya‘lâ, Ibn Jamâ‘a and Ibn Taymiyya founded a theory of the concept and structure of the Islamic state. This theory is based on two prime factors. The first consists in obedience from subjects to ruler however unjust he may be, while the second names the duties of the ruler which are centred on different aspects of jihad}1 Jurists did not call for obedience to the imam, whether he were just or unjust, simply because they were in the sultan’s pay, but out of a realization of historical necessities and objective circumstances. Al-Mâwardi, for instance, wanted to restore the caliphate and was engaged in negotiations in the name of sunnites with the Saljukid Sultan designated for Baghdad to oust the Shïite Buwayhids. Abu Ya‘lià, to take another example, was a Hanbalite who stood for the commonalty against emirs and sultans. Again, Ibn Jama‘a is known to have renounced his Shafi‘ite judicial post several times in protest against the practices of the Sultan al-Nâsir Muhammad b. Qaläwün. Ibn Taymiyya, on the other hand, died in the Sultan’s prison. The jurists’ theories of imama (government) and the structure of the state fit into the framework of the notion of the existence of the umma or nation; that notion which stipulates the unification of the umma before entering into a debate as to what form its unified existence should take. The jurists thought little of the form of the state, as long as the state as such existed. For without the state, there would be fitna or internal dissention and fighting. And fitna was ‘worse than murder’ for no reason save that it exposed the umma to defeat from her external enemies. This 125

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dilemma still confronts the Arabs in the twentieth century, especially in this decade where they find themselves at loggerheads with painful international laws which force them to give in to regional fragmentations which annul their existence as an umma. While it is true to argue that the unified Arab state existed for only a short while during the Arab-Islamic history, it is equally true to argue that the Arabs have always had a focal state occupying a central place in their consciousness and seen as an embodiment of their aspiration for unity, regardless of how small that state might be in geographic terms. Such was the Hamdanid state despite its smallness, and such too were the states of the Ayyubids, the Mamelukes, the Saljukids, and the Ottomans. A glance at the correspondence between the Mameluke state and other Islamic states cited by Qalqashandi in his Subh al-A‘shä will show the Mameluke state to have been the focal one for the Arabs and Muslims generally. What really inspires the Arabs and expresses their historical tendency is the concept of umma. This lives in their imagination whether they lived in a unified state or not. They know that unity is a necessity and that without it, the umma remains a mere cultural concept. They also know that the state is a necessity because it extends the existence of the umma from the cultural to the political level, and from the narrow national level to the boundless international, nay universal one. The umma will lead to unity, and unity will lead to statehood. The existence of the umma, however, does not depend on the realization of either unity or statehood; it is the umma which is the indispensable condition for all else. The Arabs realize that the achievement of unity and a state can only happen when the necessary conditions materialize. They know that and they bide their time. They may no longer live in the desert, but they have not forgotten its roughness and dangers. The desert still lives in their hearts and from it they have learnt patience and how to deal with mirages. 4. The concepts o f umma, unity and state with reference to Lebanese Sunnis The concepts discussed above play an essential role in determining the attitudes of the Lebanese towards themselves, other Arabs and the whole world. Ideologies can sometimes lead to stances which contradict the interests of their holders—a fact explained by the civil war in Lebanon. Lebanon’s lack of historic leadership at present forces the Lebanese to adopt political attitudes based on principles drawn from inherited ideology, when they ought to adopt futuristic visions formulated by those endowed 126

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with an unusual ability to plan and foresee. If one may say so, the rule adopted by all sects in Lebanon, including the Sunnis, is that of ‘ideological instinct’, rather than that of visionary, rationalistic analysis. Since the creation of Lebanon in the twentieth century, it has been subjected to two conflicting national currents. The first hoists the banner of Arab nationalism and regards unity as a historical demand. The second, by contrast, views Lebanon as a definitive homeland, whose independence should at once be maintained against Western imperialism as well as the danger of being swallowed up by Arab nationalism, the fear of which escalates when there is an upsurge in the call for Arab nationalism at the hands of such leaders as Nasser. Most Lebanese sects extend into other Arab countries, especially in Syria. An exception however is the Maronites, who are confined in Lebanon, apart from a small minority in Syria. There is no doubt that Lebanese sectarian attitudes are influenced in some measure by their Arab extensions, in the sense that the more extended they are, the less isolationist is their attitude. Thus the Maronites are the most isolationist because they are the least extended. Indeed ‘isolationism’ appears to be just another term for ‘political Maronism’. If the non-Sunni sects of Lebanon consider themselves Lebanese sects with Arab extensions, the fact is that the Sunnis see themselves as an Arab sect with a Lebanese extension. Indeed the Sunnis in Lebanon are moved more by Arab than by Lebanese events. This explains both Nasser’s popularity among them at the time and their support for Palestinian resistance from the beginning of the civil war until the Israeli invasion in 1982. However, the progress of the civil war took a new turn after the Israeli invasion. In the beginning the Palestinian question played an important role in the civil war. Thereafter the conflict centred on issues purely Lebanese, such as political reform and effecting a balanced participation by all sects in government. During the last phase of the civil war, the Sunnis lost their interest in it and were no longer a party to it. This is so much the case that many people, especially Sunnites, appear to have now forgotten that they had had a very active role during the first stage of the civil war. The important thing however is that in the last stage of the civil war, the Sunnis became a conciliatory force. In fact they played a major role at the Ta’if agreement.18 It is uncertain whether they would have taken the same attitude had there been another Arab issue, such as that of unity on the Palestinian question, open to debate in Lebanon. During the second stage of the civil war when the conflict erupted 127

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between the Syrian regime and the majority Palestinian faction led by Yasser Arafat, the Lebanese Sunnis were at a loss as to who to support. They saw in the fight between the two parties a conflict between two modes of operation for the Palestinian cause. Thus they desisted from participa­ tion in the conflict, thereby giving sanction to the old precept of ‘staying aloof at times of dissension’, or Vtizäl fi al-fitna às it is said in Arabic. It was an unusual stance by the Lebanese Sunnis, who were quite used to being involved in Arab issues. Their bewilderment may be at the root of the temporary spread of Islamic fundamentalism among them. As is well known, the Tawhid Group came to control Tripoli after the fight between the Syrians and supporters of Arafat which had occurred there and after which Arafat vacated the city. Fundamentalism again only proliferated in Beirut during and following the siege of Palestinian camps by the Sixth Brigade and the Amal Movement, both of which were supported by Syria. Considering all this, it may be argued that for the Lebanese Sunnis, Islamic fundamentalism is not a political inclination as such but rather a manifesta­ tion of political non-involvement. It can therefore be dismissed as a superficial and transient trend. The Sunni masses used to move with vitality during the Nasserite era and after. The issues debated at the time were big ones: Arab unity and Palestine. And the masses always need big issues to move them. Lebanon however had further reasons which made it respond energetically to every just cause, both in the Arab world and in the world at large. Most important among those reasons is the fact that the Sunnis are urban people: they represent the majority of the population in most of the large cities. Needless to say, political issues, big or small, take root usually in cities, especially capital cities. Issues used to arrive on the Sunni scene in Lebanon from other Arab countries, where sudden changes forced many to move to Lebanon, where they were able to voice their views thanks to the liberal atmosphere prevailing in the country. In addition to this, children of the various Lebanese sects in the rural areas often had to come to the city to learn new ideas different from their traditional inheritance. The Sunnis found no difficulty in accepting all that, as well as showing tolerance towards what they did not accept. For instance, they fortuitously accepted Nasser’s ideas but not his leftist ideas. Nowadays after the many disappointments experienced by the Arabs, now that they have been forced to embark on an American peace with Israel, the current situation appears to dictate that they should refrain from debating their big issues and accept living within the framework of international law and the United Nations, both of which are but façades 128

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for the American will. The penalties imposed by the Americans on any Arab who permits himself to express freely the sentiments of the nation, appear to be the only means they believe fit to force the Arabs into line as and when the need arises. As a result, Lebanon and its Sunni community are bound to lose an important source of their vitality and distinctness— that cosmopolitan quality which has always been the trademark of Beirut. The Lebanese will probably continue to exercise their freedom, but without the big issues; it will be freedom devoid of its serious content, assuming the strictures of the new world order will leave any margin of freedom. In such circumstances, the Sunnis’ role will not be any different from that played by any other sect, namely exercising pressure for a larger slice of the cake of government. This is now the hub of Lebanese politics. Big political issues, Arab or international, are left to the Foreign Ministry and the higher echelons of government—they no longer form part of local politics in Lebanon. Even in the media the division has taken place between local policy and foreign policy. At the outset of the Lebanese civil war, the urban Sunni scene pulsated with the activities of different political parties, movements and sects at all levels. Big issues brought them together in spite of their differences. Now that big issues are no longer debatable, sects can only get more sectarian and more isolationist, and while they have to co-exist, it is with great distrust that they deal with each other despite the show of civility. In the present circumstances Lébanon as a whole has lost its function as an arena for debating Arab issues, that function which has traditionally given it its distinct political and cultural role. More particularly, the Sunnis too will lose their historical role, one characterized by interaction with the big Arab issues and with the ability to draw others out of their local shells to look more openly on both the Arab and international situation. It now appears that the role of the Sunnis within the political system is going to recede. This is so because the conditions which gave them this non-sectarian role—a role which complemented that of Lebanon—no longer prevail. The new conditions, on the other hand, require the Sunnis to live in rivalry with the other sects within a narrow parochial framework opposed to their traditional ideology. The Sunnis are probably aware of this when they say that their assigned share of power in the three-sided sectarian power structure in Lebanon19 is the only genuine one. If it is a bit shaky, it is because it is not tied to a prescribed period of time, unlike the other two.

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Notes Notes to Introduction 1. From Richard Wood to Husayn Pasa, Beyrout, 22 February 1841, in T h e E a r ly C o r r e s p o n d e n c e o f R ic h a r d W o o d 1 8 3 1 -1 8 4 1 , edited by A.B. Cunningham, (London - Offices of the Royal Historical Society, 1966), pp. 218-222. 2. From Richard Wood to Lord Ponsonby, Constantinople, 12 May 1941, ibid., p. 237. 3. House of Commons, A c c o u n ts a n d P a p e r s , vol. LXVIII, 1861, Inclosure 4 in no. 276, Lord Dufferin to Major Fraser, Beyrout, 16 January 1861, p. 359. 4. Ibid., pp. 368-71, no. 285, Aali Pasha to M. Musurus (communicated to Lord J. Russell by M. Musurus, 6 February), 20 January 1861. 5. Ibid. 6. D o c u m e n ts o n B ritish F o reig n P o lic y 1 9 1 9 -1 9 3 9 , edited by Rohan Butler and J.P.T. Bury, First Series, Vol. XIII, Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1972, no. 221, Earl Curzon to the Earl of Derby, 13 March, 1920, pp. 226-9. 7. Ibid., no. 223, Field Marshal Viscount Allenby to Earl Curzon, Cairo, 18 March 1920, p. 231. However, this recognition of FaysaPs sovereignty was conditional on his acceptance of French protection in Syria and British administration in Palestine and Mesopotamia. 8. Originally, the Muslims wanted this formula to read as follows: ‘Lebanon is an Arab country with a Christian face’. The Maronites, however, suggested a different version designed to underline their separateness: ‘Lebanon is an independent country with an Arab face’.

Notes to Chapter 1 1. Halil Inalcik, ‘Arab-Turkish relations in historical perspective’, S tu d ie s o n T u r k is h -A r a b R e la tio n s , Annual, 1986, Istanbul, pp. 149-157. 2. Roland C. Jennings, ‘Loan and credit in early seventeenth century Ottoman records’. J o u r n a l o f th e E c o n o m ic a n d S o c ia l H is to r y o f th e O rie n t, XVI (1975), pp. 183-187. 3. Aleppo Law Court Records (LCR), vol. 6, p. 107, case dated 2 M u h a rr a m 994 (24 December 1585). 4. ‘Abd al-Ghani al-Nâbulsi, H a d h â k itä b a l-q a w l a l- s a d ld f t ja w ä z k h u lf a l- w a ‘l d w a ’l- r a d d ‘a lä a l-R ü m i a l-jä h il a l - ‘a n ïd , Ms. Berlin National Library, Mq. 1581.

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5. Yûsuf al-Hakim, S ü r iy y a w a ’l - ‘a h d a l-F a y sa lï „ 3rd printing, Beirut, Dâr al-Nahâr, 1986, pp. 35-6, 38-9. 6. Ibid., pp. 30, 59, 114, 119,123. 7. LCR, Damascus, D e r k a n ä r , vol. 96, p. 38. 8. LCR, Damascus, a l-M a h k a m a a l-T ijâ r iy y a , vol. 149. 9. Ibid., vol. 149, pp. 145, 156. 10. For the text of the speech, see a l - A s i m a , no. 24, 9 May 1919. For a translation of the speech, see Sati‘ al-Husri, T h e D a y o f M a y sa lü n , translated by Sidney Glazer, Washington, 1966, pp. 106-112. There are differences in the text given by a l - A s i m a and the text by al-Husri. 11. a l- ‘Ä s im a , no. 25,12 May 1919, no. 26,17 May 1919. 12. English translation, T h e D a y o f M a y sa lü n , p. 107. 13. For the text of the treaty in French, see F.O. 371, 6228 E 4182, pp. 373-374, Director of Military Intelligence, London, 16 August 1919, E 4233, Traité Secret entre les Gouvernements Turc et Arabe Signé par Emir Fayçal et Moustafa Kémal, le 16 Juin 1919 á alep échangé á Kerek par l’entremise du Préfet (Mutessarif) Essad Bay. 14. For the text of the speech, see T h e D a y o f M a y s a lü n , pp. 102-5, Y. al-Hakim, p. 74. 15. For the text of the June 1919 speech, see ibid., pp. 112-14. 16. National Archives, Washington (NAW ), Records of the Department of State, M 722, roll 8, Aleppo, 27 February, 28 February, 1 May, 1920. 17. For a translation of the proclamation, see F.0.371, 4237 E 6778. 18. F.O .371,4186 E 6749, Damascus, 15 October 1919; NAW , M 722, r.8, Aleppo, 1 May 1920. 19. Ahmad al-al-Jundi, T a ’r ïk h a l-th a w rà t a l-S ü r iy y a f i ‘a h d a l-in tid ä b a l-F a ra n si, Damascus, 1960, pp. 71, 74; M u d h a k k ir ä t I b r a h im a l-S h u g h ü ri ‘a n th a w r a t H a n ä n ü , Directorate of Historical Documents, Damascus, a l-q is m a l-k h ä ss, doc. 22, typed copy, 52 pages, see 10-11. 20. For details about Haydar’s mission, see Khayriyya Qâsimiyya, a l- H u k u m a a l - A r a b i y y a f i D im a s h q , b a y n 1 9 1 8 -1 9 2 0 , Cairo, 1971, p. 154; Zeine N. Zeine, T h e S tr u g g le f o r A r a b I n d e p e n d e n c e , Beirut, 1960, pp. 147, n. 2,148. 21. F.O.371, 5036 E 7277/2/44, Cairo, 23 June 1920. 22. NAW, M 722, r.8, Aleppo, 14 June 1920, Constantinople, 30 June 1920. 23. NAW, M 722, r.8, Aleppo, 17 June 1920. 24. T h e D a y o f M a y sa lü n , pp. 103-7, 161-2; Y. al-Hakim, pp. 178-180. 25. Säti‘ al-Husri, Y a w m M a y sa lü n , Beirut, 1947, pp. 161-4; Y. al-Hakim, pp. 179-80. 26. For the jubilation of the Syrian people, see my ‘al-‘Alâqât al-Süriyya alTurkiyya, 1918-1926’, M a ja lla t D ir ä s ä t T a ’r ik h iy y a , Damascus, nos. 19, 20, (April-July, 1985), pp. 56-105, see pp. 81-3. 27. For details, see ibid., pp. 94-7. 28. See, for example, Damascus, a l-M a h ä k im a l-M u k h ta la ta , vol. 6. 29. Ibid., vol. 6, cases 23,35,56. 30. See, for example, a l- ‘Ä s im a , no. 62, 29 September 1919.

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31. Damascus, a l-M a h ä k im a l-M u k h ta la ta , vol. 5, p. 95. 32. For the appointment of qualified people in the Department of Justice see the issues of a l- Ä s im a . 33. Y. al-Hakim, pp. 11, 76-7. 34. Ibid., pp. 56-8; Hasan al-Hakim, K h u b u r â tî f t ’l-H u k m , Amman, 1978, pp. 46-7. 35. Y. al-Hakim, p. 104. 36. Ibid., p. 91. For details of Congress proceedings, see pp. 90-8. 37. Ibid., p. 115. 38. Ibid., p. 123. 39. Ibid., p. 74; Qâsimiyya, pp. 64-5. 40. Y. al-Hakim, p. 104. 41. Ibid., pp. 87-8. 42. Ibid., p. 104. 43. Ibid., p. 37. 44. Ibid., p. 39. 45. See, for example, ibid., pp. 73-4. 46. See, for example, Damascus, a l-M a h ä k im a l-M u k h ta la ta , vol. 10. 47. D a y o f M a y sa lü n , p. 113. 48. See, for example, LCR, Damascus, vol. 1533, p. 89, vol. 1544, p. 99, vol. 1548, p. 109, Aleppo, vol. 615, p. 82. 49. Y. al-Hakim, p. 61; a l- ‘Ä s im a , no. 14, 3 April 1919; cf. Damascus, a l-M a h ä k im a l-M u k h ta la ta , vol. 5, case 69,13 May 1920. 50. a l- Ä s im a , no. 4, 10 March 1919, see also no. 26, 17 May 1919. 51. For information on the volunteers, see a l- ‘Ä s im a , nos. 56, 58, 69, 71, 72, 75, 76. 52. a l- A s im a , no. 87, 25 December 1919, no. 126, 20 May 1920; Y. al-Hakim, p. 151. 53. Damascus, a l-M a h ä k im a l-M u k h ta la ta , vol. 4, p. 25. 54. For these institutions, see a l - Ä s i m a , nos. 11, 12, 21, 58, 66, 68, 75. 55. a l- ‘Ä s im a , no. 54, 28 August 1919. 56. Ibid., no. 72, 4 November 1919. 57. Ibid., no. 54, 28 August 1919, no. 55,1 September 1919. 58. Ibid., no. 72, 4 November 1919. 59. Ibid., no. 55,1 September 1919. 60. Ibid., no. 56, 4 September 1919. 61. Ibid., no. 57,11 September 1919, no. 59, 18 September 1919. 62. Ibid., no. 65, 9 October 1919. 63. Ibid., no. 86, 22 December 1919. 64. On the Bedouin role in transporting the Pilgrimage, see my ‘New light on the transportation of the Damascene Pilgrimage during the Ottoman Period’, Robert Olson (ed.), I s la m ic a n d M id d le E a ste rn S o c ie tie s, Amana Books, USA, 1987, pp. 127-36. 65. Y. al-Hakim, p. 169. 66. D a y o f M a y sa lü n , p. 115.

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67. 68. 69. 70. 71.

72.

73. 74. 75. 76. 77. 78. 79. 80. 81. 82. 83. 84. 85. 86. 87. 88. 89. 90. 91. 92. 93.

94. 95.

Ibid., p. 151; a l - ‘Ä s im a , no. 80, 1 December 1919. D a y o f M a y s a lü n , p. 109; a l- ‘Ä s im a , no. 24, 9 May 1919. a l- À s im a , no. 67,16 October 1919. Damascus, a l-M a h â k im a l-M u k h ta la ta , vol. 4, case 83. For an excellent discussion of the Bedouin tribes’ position in Syria under French rule, see Philip S. Khoury, ‘The Tribal Shaykh, French Tribal Policy and the Nationalist Movement in Syria between the Two World Wars’, M id d le E a ste rn S tu d ie s, vol. 18, 2 (April 1982), pp. 180-93. For a detailed discussion of these revolts, their leadership, membership, organization, finance, operations, juridic institutions, slogans, and aims, see my ‘Gesellschaft, Wirtschaft und Politische Macht in Syrien 1918-1925’, Linda Schatkowski Schilcher und Claus Scharf (eds.), D e r N a h e O ste n in d e r Z w is c h e n k r ie g s z e it 1 9 1 9 - 1 9 3 9 , Franz Steiner Verlag Stuttgart, 1989, pp. 440-81 (German translation). For other details, see ibid; see also my ‘al-‘Alaqât’. F.0371, 6454 E 5799/117/89, Damascus, 3 May 1921. Damascus, D e r k a n â r , vol. 96, p. 38, no. 10/3. See, for example, vol. 4, p. 4, vol. 7, pp. 174-7. See, for example, Damascus, a l-M a h â k im a l-M u k h ta la ta , vol. 10, vol. 7, pp. 150,162,170,174,176. Damascus, a l-M a h â k im a l-M u k h ta la ta , vol. 4. Ibid. A l - ‘A s im a , no. 120, 26 April 1920; Qâsimiyya, p. 219. Ibid., no. 125,17 May 1920; Qâsimiyya, pp. 223-4. Ibid., no. 25,12 May 1920. Ibid., no. 68, 5 October 1919. Ibid., no. 59,18 September 1919, no. 69, 6 October 1919. Ibid., no. 133,17 June 1920. For details, see Qâsimiyya, pp. 224-7. A l - ‘A s im a , no. 54, 28 August 1919. Ibid., no. 66,13 October 1919. Ibid., no. 63, 2 October. Ibid., no. 69, 23 October 1919. For details, see Qâsimiyya, pp. 228-30. A l- 'À s im a , no. 72, 4 November 1919. See my ’The impact of Europe on a traditional economy: the case of Damascus, 1840-1870’, Jean-Louis Bacqué-Grammont et Paul Dumont (eds.), E c o n o m ie e t s o c ié té s d a n s l ’E m p ir e O tto m a n (fin d u X V I I I e - d é b u t d u X X e siè c le ), CNRS, Paris, 1983, pp. 419-32; ’Al-Iqtisâd al-Dimashqi fi muwâjahat al-iqtisâd alAwrûbbi fî’l-qam al-tâsi‘ ‘ashar’, D ir â s a t t a ’r ik h iy y a , vol. 4, nos. 17-18 (AugustNovember 1984), pp. 115-59; ’Craft organization, work ethics, and the strains of change in Ottoman Syria’, forthcoming October 1993, J A O S . A l - ‘Ä $ im a , no. 72, 4 November 1919. Ibid., no. 70, 27 October 1919.

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Notes to Chapter 2 1. Interview with the late Muhibb al-Dïn al-Khatíb. 2. H.S. Longrigg, S y r ia a n d L e b a n o n u n d e r F ren ch M a n d a te , Oxford, 1958, p. 105. 3. A s‘ad Dagher, M u d h a k k ir ä tl ‘a lä h ä m ish a l- q a d iy y a a l- a r a b iy y a , Cairo, 1959, p. 19. From a speech delivered by Faysal in Damascus on 5 May 1919: ‘Let it be known to everybody that I would never be biased to anybody for his family, but for his personal ability . . . ’ Säti‘ al-Husri, Y a w m M a y s a lü n , Beirut, 1964, p. 228. 4. A l-M a n ä r , no. 4, vol. 23, April 1992, pp. 313-4. 5. Dagher, pp. 125-9. •

•

6. Al-Husri, p. 16. 7. Interview with the late ‘Awni ‘Abd al-Hàdï. 8. R. Lansing, T h e B ig F o u r a n d o th e rs o f th e P e a c e C o n fe re n c e , London, 1922, p. 163. 9. ‘Abd al-Rahmân al-Shahbandar, ‘Faysal the son of al-Husayn’ (in Arabic), al-Muqtataf, no. 3, vol. 83, October 1933, p. 264. 10. Ibid. See also Muhammad Kurd ‘Ali, a l-M u d h a k k ir ä t, vol.I, Damascus, 1948, pp. 135-6. 11. Al-Husri, p. 217. 12. Ibid., p. 253. 13. Quoted by Zeine N. Zeine , T h e S tru g g le f o r A r a b In d e p e n d e n c e , Beirut, 1960, p. 188. 14. Loc. cit. 15. ‘Izzat Darwazah, H a w la a l-h a ra k a al- ‘a r a b iy y a a l-h a d lth a ( T h e A r a b M o v e m e n t in M o d e m T im e s), Saida, 1950, pp. 136-7. 16. Longrigg, p. 108, tried to deny the responsibility of Europe in this field ‘. . . if the facts of 1919 are to be faced objectively, it must appear that no Arab authority existed . . . which could be capable of holding together the various . . . Arab territories as a single state. There did not exist the sense of political . . . cohesion, local and regional loyalties were infinitely stronger than those of generalized Arabism . . . no vestige existed of a ruler or a governing class capable, with general acceptability, of setting up tolerable regional admini­ stration . . .’

Notes to Chapter 3 1. Cette situation envers le Gens du Livre n’est pas nouvelle: ce qui l’est, c’est sa mise en place à l’échelle de l’Etat et l’affirmation du prestige du Patriarcat qui constituent un évènement important pour le sort des Orthodoxes en territoire ottoman jusqu’en 1918. 2. Ces derniers fuyaient la pauvreté liée au problème d’héritage et de saturation

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3.

4.

5. 6.

démographique dans la montagne. Plus tard, la crise de la sériciculture sera un autre'moteur pour l’exode. Série de réformes ottomanes qui amènent essentiellement l’égalité civile entre les sujets du Sultan et la marginalisation du rôle du clergé dans les affaires quotidiennes de la communauté. Les écoles communautaires orthodoxes enseignaient le français au même titre que l’arabe depuis le début du XIXème siècle. Pas le turc, le grec ou le russe. A.E. Kremski, L e ttr e s d u L ib a n (1 8 6 8 - 8 9 8 ) . Trad, en Arabe du russe sous le titre B a y r o û t w a J a b a l L u b n â n [Beyrouth et le Liban] (Beyrouth: Dar al Mada, 1985), p. 312. La cession du Sandjak d’Alexandrette à la Turquie en 1936 diversera encore la communauté entre trois pays. Les recensements de 1921 sont d’ailleurs erronés. 10,000 Grecs-Orthodoxes sont comptés parmi les Syriaques. M. Davie, H is to ir e d é m o g r a p h iq u e d e s G r e c s -O r th o d o x e s d e B e y r o u th (1 8 7 0 - 1 9 3 9 ) , Mémoire de Maîtrise, Université Saint-Joseph (Beyrouth, 1987), p. 104.

Notes to Chapter 4 s

1. M.A.E.R., Levant Syrie-Liban, vol. 20, télégramme 1709, le 29 décembre 1919, f. 227. 2. Ibid., f. 230. 3. Ibid., f. 231. 4. Ibid., f. 233. 5. M.A.E.F., Levant: Syrie-Liban, Rapport vol. 29, f. 27-9. 6. Ibid., f. 27. 7. Ibid., f. 27. 8. Ibid., f. 29. 9. Ibid., f. 29. 10. M.A.E.F., Série Levant: Syrie-Liban, vol. 125, f. 193-233. 11. Ibid., f. 193-4. 12. Ibid., f. 194; à noter que ce départ favorisé par Millerand ne tarda guère. Pour se consacrer à l’affaire de la Syrie et liquider le gouvernement arabe de Damas, le Général Gouraud se mît d’accord avec les troupes kémalistes pour le retrait des troupes françaises de la Cilicie. C’était pour Gouraud une condition nécessaire pour assurer l’occupation de Damas et accomplir ce que la diplomatie française a appelé ‘pacification de la Syrie’. 13. Pour plus de détails sur l’intérêt qu’a apporté la France sur l’élevage des moutons en Syrie, voir: R a p p o r t, C. Achard (ed.), Notes sur l’élevage des moutons en Syrie, Beyrouth, 1921. 14. M.A.E.F., Télégramme du Président Millerand, vol. 125, f. 195-6. 15. Ibid., f. 196. 16. Ibid., f. 196-7. 17. Ibid., f. 197.

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NOTES : WAJIH KAWTHARANI/SOFIA SAADEH

18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26.

27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33. 34. 35. 36. 37. 38. 39. 40. 41. 42. 43. 44. 45. 46. 47. 48. 49. 50. 51. 52. 53.

Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., f. 198. Ibid. Ibid., f. 199. Ibid. Ibid., voir aussi, J. Weulersse, L e p a y s d e s A la o u ite s , Tours, 1940, pp.119-20. Ibid., f. 199. Un rapport écrit par le Service des ‘Renseignements, répond en détail, à la question de Millerand sur le Problème druse’. M.A.E.F., Levant: Syrie, vol. 127, Aley 18 octobre 1921, f.39-40. M.A.E.F., Télégramme de Millerand, op.cit., f. 200-1. Ibid., f. 201. Ibid. Ibid. Ibid., f. 203-4. M.A.E.F., Levant, Syrie, vol. 125, f. 207-220. Ibid., télégramme no. 1578, f. 208. Ibid. Ibid., f. 209. Ibid., f. 210. Ibid. Ibid., f. 211. Ibid. Ibid., télégramme no. 1582, f. 212. Ibid., télégramme no. 1583, f. 213. Ibid., f. 213. Ibid., télégramme no. 1624, f. 220. Ibid. Ibid., télégramme no. 1632, f. 221. Ibid. Ibid., télégramme no. 862-70, le 23 août, f. 230. Ibid., f. 230. Ibid. Ibid., f. 232. Ibid. Ibid., f. 233. Ibid.

Notes to Chapter 5 1. This paper is part of a book that will appear shortly on ‘The Social Structure of Lebanon’. As to some of the books that were published in the decade of the 1980s, see, for example, Jonathan Randal, G o in g A l l T h e W a y , (New York,

137

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2.

3. 4. 5.

6.

7. 8. 9.

10.

11. 12. 13. 14.

1983); Robert Fisk, P ity th e N a tio n : L e b a n o n a t W a r, (London, A. Deutsch, 1990); Thomas Freedman, F r o m B e ir u t to J e ru sa le m , (London, Collins, 1990); Karim Baqradüni, L a ’n a t W a ta n , (Beirut, 1991), also published in French under the title L e P ie g e , Salim Hoss, N ä fid h a ‘a la a l-M u s ta q b a l, (Beirut, 1981); Ghassan Tueni, G h a ss a n T u e n i Y a ta d h a k k a r , (Beirut, 1990); Yusuf Ashkar, A l- S ilm a l-I s r â ’ilï w a a l- H a r b a l-L u b n ä n iy y a , (Beirut, 1990); Kamal Salibi, A H o u s e w ith m a n y M a n s io n s , (London, 1988); Masud Daher, A l-J u d h ü r a lT â r ïk h iy y a (Beirut, 1981); Wajih Kawtharäni, A l-I ttija h ä t a l- I jtim a ‘iy y a , (Beirut, 1986); Hassan Hallâq, A l- T â r ïk h a l-I jtim â ’ï w a l-I q tis â d i w a l-S iy â s l f i B e iru t, (Beirut, 1987); Ahmad Baydoun, A l - S l r ä ‘ ‘âla T ä rlk h L u b n ä n , (Beirut, 1989); Munir Khoury, W h a t’s W r o n g w ith L e b a n o n , (Beirut, 1990); Paul Starr, C r u c ia l B o n d s , (New York, Caravan Books, 1980). C.A.O. Van Niewenhuijze, ‘On social stratification and societal articulation’, in C o m m o n e r s , C lim b e r s a n d N o ta b le s , (Leiden, 1977), pp. 80-81. Niewenhuijze sharply criticizes the idea of borrowing Marxist analysis in order to apply its patterns to Middle Eastern societies. Peter Blau, In e q u a lity a n d H e te r o g e n e ity , (New York, 1977), p. 2. Lewis Coser, ‘Structure and conflict’ in Peter Blau (ed.), A p p r o a c h e s to th e S tu d y o f S o c ia l S tru c tu re , (New York, 1975), p. 210f. An outstanding figure of this approach used mainly by functionalist theorists is Parsons. See Talcott Parsons, T h e S o c ia l S y s te m , (New York, Free Press, 1951), p. 11. Joseph Szyliowicz, ‘The Ottoman Empire’, in Niewenhuijze (ed.), C o m m o n e r s , C lim b e r s a n d N o ta b le s , p. 102. See also E.J. Hobsbawm, ‘From social history to the history of society’, D a e d a lu s (Winter 1971), p. 41. See Peter Blau, ‘Parameters of social structure’, in A p p r o a c h e s to th e S tu d y o f S o c ia l S tru c tu re , pp. 220-53. This point will be discussed in depth in Part Two. George Theodorson, A M o d e r n D ic tio n a r y o f S o c io lo g y , (New York, Crowell Co., 1969), p. 38. See also, K.C. Rosser, ‘Caste’, in Julius Gould (ed.), A D ic tio n a r y o f th e S o c ia l S cien ce s, (Glencoe, U.N. Free Press, 1964), pp. 75-7; Gerald D. Berreman, ‘Structure and function of caste systems’, in George De Vos, J a p a n ’s I n v is ib le R a c e , (Berkeley, University of California Press, 1967), p. 279; also, Peter Blau, ‘Parameters of social structure’, p. 226. The latest work concerning this theory is Kamal Salibi’s book A H o u s e w ith m a n y M a n sio n s: T h e H is to r y o f L e b a n o n R e c o n s id e r e d , (London, Tauris, 1988). G.P. Murdock, S o c ia l S tru c tu re , (New York, Macmillan, 1949), p. 68. Victor Bamouw, A n I n tr o d u c tio n to A n th r o p o lo g y : V o l.II: E th n o lo g y , (Homewood, Illinois, The Dorsey Press, 1971), pp. 140-1. For example, the Dandashi clan is integrated within the Shi‘i caste and so is the Ja‘far clan, the Hamiyye clan, etc. Zaki Badawi, (ed.) A D ic tio n a r y o f th e S o c ia l S cien ces, (Beirut, Librairie du Liban, 1986). ‘Caste’ is translated as A l - T a ’ifa h a l-M u g h la q a h .

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NOTES : SOFIA SAADEH

15. H. Niebuhr, ‘Sect’ in E n c y c lo p e d ia o f S o c ia l S cien ces (New York, Macmillan, 1957) vol. 13-14, p. 625. 16. G. Theodorson, A M o d e r n D ic tio n a r y o f S o c io lo g y , p. 372. 17. See W. Kawtharani, A l-I tijä h ä t al-Ijtirru T iyya w a l-S iy ä s iy y a f i J a b a l L u b n ä n w a a l-M a s h r iq a l - A r a b i , (Beirut, Bahsoun, 1986), pp. 11-19. 18. For example, Mas‘üd Dâhir’s work: A l-J u d h ü r a l-T â r ik h iy y a lil-M a s ’a la alT a ’ifiy y a a l-L u b n à n iy y a , 1 6 9 7 - 1 8 6 1 , (Beirut, Ma‘had al-Inma’ al-‘Arabi, 1981). 19. See C.A.O. Niewenhuijze, ‘On social stratification and societal articulation’ in C o m m o n e r s , C lim b e rs, a n d N o ta b le s , p. 80. 20. Max Weber, T h e R e lig io n o f In d ia , (New York, Free Press, 1958), p. 30: ‘Caste is and remains essentially social rank’. 21. Weber, op. cit., pp. 39-40. 22. V. Bamouw, vol. II: E th n o g r a p h y , p. 180. 23. G. Berreman, ‘Structure and function of caste systems’, in D e Vos, J a p a n ’s I n v is ib le R a c e , pp. 305 f. 24. M. Weber, T h e R e lig io n o f I n d ia , p. 30: ‘Rules of endogamy always form the essential basis of caste’. 25. R. Nisbet and R. Perrin, T h e S o c ia l B o n d , (New York, Alfred Knopf, 2nd ed., 1977), p. 180. 26. G. D e Vos, J a p a n ’s I n v is ib le R a c e , p. 283. 27. Oliver Cox, C aste, C la ss a n d R a c e , (New York, Modem Reader Paperback, 1948), p. 301. 28. George Grassmuck and Kamal Salibi, A M a n u a l o f L e b a n e s e A d m in is tr a tio n , (Beirut, 1960), p. 4. 29. Edmond Rabbath, L a f o r m a tio n h is to r iq u e d u L ib a n p o litiq u e e t c o n stitu tio n n e l, (Beirut, 1973), p. 347 f. 30. H.A.R. Gibb, I s la m ic S o c ie ty a n d th e W est, (London, Oxford University Press, 2nd edition, 1951), vol.I, part one, 303 f. 31. George Antonius, T h e A r a b A w a k e n in g , ch.III: ‘First missionaries in Syria’, pp. 35 ff. 32. Mas‘ud Daher, A l-J u d h ü r a l- T â r îk h iy y a , p. 130. See also, Georges Corm, C o n tr ib u tio n à l ’é tu d e d e s so c ié té s m u lti-c o n fe s s io n n e lle s , (Paris, Pichón, 1971), p. 280: ‘Il est clair que depuis 1840 le régime libanais évolue rapidement vers une confessionalisation sans cesse accrue de ses institutions, qui était autrefois mise en échec par la structure féodalotribale du pays.’ 33. This development is similar to that of Indian history where the struggle between the Indian nobility ( K s h a tr iy a s ) and the Brahmin priests led to the triumph of the latter around 200 BC. See Oliver Cox, C a ste , p. 109 and Chakravarti, ‘Some aspects of inequality in rural India: a sociological perspective’, in A. Béteille, E q u a lity a n d I n e q u a lity , (Delhi, Oxford University Press, 1983), p. 138. 34. Hassân Halläq, D i r ä s ä t f l T â rlk h L u b n â n a l-M u 'â sir, 1 9 1 3 -1 9 4 3 , (Beirut, 1985), pp. 48-9.

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NOTES : SOFIA SAADEH

35. Kamal Salibi, T h e M o d e r n H is to r y o f L e b a n o n , (London, Weidenfeld, 3rd edn., 1968), p. 11. 36. My forthcoming book S o c ia l S tru c tu re o f L e b a n o n includes a chapter on the historical legacy of Lebanon concerning the establishment of caste, for I believe that the m ille t system constituted one of the factors that led to caste formation. See also, Sofia Saadeh, ‘Nizâm al-Millah fi al-Saltana al-‘Uthmäniyya’, F ik r, October 1984, pp. 159-72. 37. Kamal Salibi, M o d e m H is to r y o f L e b a n o n , p. 119. 38. Sâ’ib Salâm, ‘Hal fashila al-Istiqlâl?’, A l-M a q ä s id , no. 1, January 1981, p. 165 f. 39. Joseph Mughayzel, L u b n ä n w a a l- Q a d d iy y a a l- A r a b iy y a , (Beirut, 1959), pp. 84-5. 40. Hassân Hallaq, D ir a s ä t f i T ä rik h L u b n ä n , p. 230. 41. Op. cit, p. 121 f. 42. This question will be dealt with at length in my book on Lebanon. 43. George Grassmuck, A M a n u a l o f L e b a n e s e A d m in is tr a tio n , p. 3. See also, Yusuf Khoury, A l - T ä ’ifiy y a h f i L u b n ä n , p. 13. 44. Nasib Barbir, ‘Dhikrayât’, a l-H a w ä d ith , no. 995, 5 December 1975. 45. Official estimates (not census) came up in 1958 with the following proportions for each caste: :30 per cent Maronites :20 per cent Sunnis :17 per cent Shi‘is :11 per cent Greek Orthodox Greek Catholic :7 per cent :6 per cent Druze :6 per cent Armenian :3 per cent Others See Paul Starr, ‘Lebanon’ in C.A.O. Nieuwenhuijze (ed.), C o m m o n e r s , C lim b e rs, a n d N o ta b le s , (Leiden, Brill, 1977), p. 205. 46. Hilal Khashan, ‘The political values of Lebanese Maronite college students’, J o u r n a l o f C o n flic t R e s o lu tio n , vol. 34, no. 4, December 1990, pp. 723-44. Khashan states (p. 742): ‘It is quite natural that in any future solution to the Lebanese crisis, the role of the Maronite community will be of prime importance. Without the Maronites, the Lebanon that we know cannot possibly exist.’ 47. Needless to say that in a caste system, women cannot accede to political positions except as heirs of their fathers or husbands. 48. Bishara Khoury, H a q ä ’iq L u b n ä n iy y a h , (Beirut, Awrâq Lubnâniyyah, 1961), 3 vols., vol. Ill, p. 68. 49. Kamal al-Hajj, A l - T ä ’ifiy y a h a l-B a n n ä ’a h a w F a lsa fa t a l-M ïth â q a l-W a ta n i (Beirut, 1961), p. 196; see also pp. 12, 40. 50. G. Corm, C o n tr ib u tio n , p. 278: ‘Michel Chiha créera le mythe du “Liban équilibre”, “Liban refuge”, “Liban pluralisme” . . . cette idéologie interdit de

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NOTES : SOFIA SAADEH/CAROLYN L. GATES

51. 52.

53.

54.

55.

56. 57.

58. 59.

toucher aux structures confessionnelles qui sont considérées comme l’essence même de l’existence libanaise.’ Yusuf Khoury, A l - T â ’ifiy y a h F i L u b n ä n M in K h ilä l M u n ä q a s h ä t M a jlis a l-N u w w ä b , 1 9 2 3 - 1 9 8 7 , (Beirut, Dar al-Hamrâ, 1989). While visiting Prime Minister Salim al-Hoss (October, 1990), he told me that while in office, he had asked President Elias Sarkis to allow him to introduce a single seat for one secular candidate; the plea was rejected. See Salim Hoss, N ä fid h a h ‘A la a l-M u s ta q b a l, (Beirut, 1981), p. 172. G. Berreman, ‘Structure and function of caste systems’, in De Voss, J a p a n ’s I n v is ib le R a c e , p. 325: ‘A comparative approach demonstrates that caste is a reappearing form of social phenomenon that periodically reveals itself institutionally in highly disparate times and places.’ Another example of a recent development of a caste system worthy of studying is in Israel where society is now divided in two unequal parts: the Jewish caste versus the Palestinian caste. Prior to the Lebanese civil war in 1975, the Shi‘is for example, were active members in national and leftist parties, but realizing that they could not get ahead in this fashion, they reorganized themselves along the same structural pattern as the Maronite caste and established a Shi‘i caste with religious leaders at its head. More recently, the Greek Orthodox who had been champions of secularism, are moving along caste lines (the creation of a university for the Greek Orthodox: the Balamand, the Patriarch is taking active part in politics and speaking in the name of Greek Orthodox interest. . . ) ‘Abd al-‘Aziz Qabbàni, in I s h k ä liy y ä t a l-S a lä m F i L u b n ä n w a Ä fä q u h (Beirut, Al-Maqäsid, 1988), pp. 404-5. Even an enlightened person like ex-Prime Minister Salim al-Hoss sees the issue as a Moslem majority versus a Christian minority not realizing that the majority of votes in democratic countries have nothing to do with religious affiliation. See S. al-Hoss, N ä fid h a ‘A l ä a l-M u s ta q b a l, p. 75. Max Weber, T h e R e lig io n o f In d ia , p. 102: ‘Apart from the reception of tribes, caste formation could be modified only by caste schism’. Each of these points will be discussed at length in my forthcoming book S o c ia l S tru c tu re o f L e b a n o n .

Notes to Chapter 6 1. Yüsuf Sayigh and Muhammad ‘Atallah, N a i r ah th ä n iy a h li a l-iq tis ä d a l-lu b n ä n l, (Beirut, 1966), p. 102. 2. Albert Badre, ‘Economic development of Lebanon’, in Charles Cooper and Sidney Alexander (eds.), E c o n o m ic D e v e lo p m e n t a n d P o p u la tio n G r o w th in th e M id d le E a s t, (New York, 1972), p. 174. 3. The American Minister to Lebanon had only praise for those establishing Lebanon’s path of post-1945 development: ‘. .. Here are vigorous exponents

141

NOTES : CAROLYN L. GATES

4.

5.

6. 7.

8.

9.

of the capitalist system who now look only to the United States for ideas and encouragem ent. . (United States National Archives [USNA], 890e.50/8-1947 (Pinkerton/Beirut to DS, 19 August 1947), A-385. The New Phoenicians were a powerful circle drawn mainly from Beirut’s mercantile-financial bourgeoisie. Included in this group were powerful politi­ cians, economic notables, and opinion-makers such as Michel Chiha, Henri Pharaon, Alfred Kettaneh, Gabriel Menassa. Ideologically, they promoted laissez-faire and a viable structure of confessionalism in Lebanon; politically, they supported the national integrity of Lebanon; economically, they pushed for Lebanon’s role as an intermediary between the West and the Middle East. Memo: Recommendations for Syro-Lebanese Relations, prepared by SLEP; enclosure, Syro-Lebanese Parity by Judd Polk. But SLEP’s definition of non-interference and ‘brotherly friendship’ of the two countries included its recommendations by which Lebanon received a higher proportion of customs revenues and Syria lowered its price of wheat sold to Lebanon; then the memo went on to condemn Syrian economic nationalism, industrial protectionism and, ultimately, the continuation of the customs union. USNA, RG84, Damascus, box 680, file 801, (Cairo, August 1948). Gabriel Menassa, P la n d e ré c o n stru c tio n d e l ’é c o n o m ie lib a n a ise e t d e r é fo rm e d e l ’é ta t , (Beirut, 1948), p. 355. The Lebanese industrialists complained not only of the competition with Syrian industry, but also about Syria’s role in Lebanon’s high cost of living (allegedly due to the cost of Syrian grains) and about the customs union, which they claimed unfairly protected many of Syria’s raw materials, such as cotton and sugar cane. Menassa, P la n d e r é c o n s tr u c tio n , p. 344. Menassa argues that under the mandate, the French had acted as arbitrators between competing Syrian and Lebanese interests by encouraging com­ plementary companies. He claims that Lebanon frequently sacrificed for the protection of Syria’s industry and agriculture, but that Lebanon was com­ pensated by commercial benefits from a virtual monopoly over the Syrian market. In actuality, the two economies had been complementary for many years before mandatory rule. After independence, Syria provided Lebanon with cereals and meat, while Lebanon exported fruits to Syria. Lebanon specialized in cotton spinning and Syria in ginning and weaving; 85 per cent of Lebanon’s cotton yarn was sold to Syria for weaving in 1947. Menassa, pp. 347-8; 356. Until the late 1940s, Lebanon specialized in highly finished goods and Syria in less expensive items. Joseph Donato, ‘Lebanon and its labour legislation’, I n te r n a tio n a l L a b o u r R e v ie w , vol. 55, January 1952, p. 67. Because of the fiscal importance of customs revenues and because of French political pressure, both states had been anxious to maintain the customs union in 1944. They did not deal, however, with other aspects of the former economic union, which allowed them more easily to go their separate ways after the war.

142

NOTES : CAROLYN L. GATES

10.

11.

12. 13. 14.

15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21.

22. 23. 24.

Elias Saba, ‘The Syro-Lebanese customs union: causes of failure and attempts at reorganisation’, M id d le E a s t E c o n o m ic P a p e r s , (1960), p. 92. On 13 March 1947, Junblât sent an open letter to L ’O rie n t, attacking its editorial of 4 March entitled ‘Supreme Council of common interests or a common government’, which had denounced joint Lebanese-Syrian economic policies. Junbiât’s open letter was answered on 18 March by an economist (probably Gabriel Menassa), who claimed that Lebanon received few advantages from common economic activity with Syria. USNA, RG84, (Damascus, 1947), box 26, file 850, Pinkerton/Beirut to DS, 25 March 1947, no. 21. See also L ’O rie n t, 4 ,1 3 ,1 8 March 1947. USNA, RG84, (Beirut 1947), box 230, file 850, enclosure no. 2. Memo from Minister of National Economy, General Naufal, to Prime Minister transmitted via Pinkerton/Beirut to DS, 6 August 1947, no. 138. General Naufal was instrumental in working out proposals acceptable to both governments in order to establish the Joint Economic Council, the mechanism by which the two governments were to develop united economic policies. Nominally, these policies included the goals of (1) restricting imports to essentials (notably producers’ goods); (2) lowering the trade deficit; (3) regulating and en­ couraging specified exports and establishing the means to encourage quality control of exports; (4) reducing local consumer prices; (5) restricting the black exchange market; (6) distributing hard exchange equitably between Syria and Lebanon; (7) encouraging transit and re-export trade, and (8) encouraging local production. Mohammed Amine El-Hafez, L a stru c tu re e t la p o litiq u e é c o n o m iq u e en S y r ie e t a u L ib a n , (Beirut, 1953), p. 203. Ibid. USNA, 690d. 90e. 31/7-1549, Pinkerton/Beirut to DS, 15 July 1949, A-288. The Minister of National Economy also claimed that an agreement over the LL45 million of frozen Syrian assets had been reached, but he refused to disclose its provisions. However, this dispute was not actually settled until the dissolution of the Customs Union. USNA, 711. 90e/5-1049, Memo of conversation between State Department officials Satterthwaite and Clark and Frances Kettaneh, 10 May 1949. El-Hafez, p. 212. Ibid. Ibid., p. 213. USNA, 283A. 002/4-1150 Pinkerton/Beirut to DS, 11 April 1950. F o reig n C o m m e r c e W e e k ly , 4 September 1950. United Nations, Department of Economic Affairs, R e v ie w o f E c o n o m ic C o n ­ d itio n s in th e M id d le E a st, 1950-51, p. 74. Syria’s large purchases of cotton yarn greatly helped offset Lebanon’s large imports of Syrian grains. El-Hafez, p. 209. Donato, p. 68. USNA, 783A.00 (w)/l-551, Military Attaché/Beirut to DS, 5 January 1951.

143

NOTES : CAROLYN L. GATES/HUDA HAWWA

25. This was not true of the smaller retail merchants who suffered greatly from the break. They lost a large portion of the Syrian visitors who made purchases in Beirut and Tripoli. 26. UN, R e v ie w , 1950-51, p. 74. 27. Lebanon, Ministère du Plan et Mission IRFED, 1960-61, B e s o in s e t p o s s ib ilité s d e d é v e lo p p e m e n t d u L ib a n , (Beirut, n.d.), vol. I, p. 237. 28. USNA, 883A. 00/3-1753, E c o n o m ie a n d F in a n c ia l R e p o r t, 1952, Lebanon. 29. A l- H a y ä t, 27 March 1950. See also USNA, 783A. 00 (w)/10-2750, Military Attaché/Beirut to DS, 27 October 1950. 30. For an excellent overview of this debate, see Diana Hunt, E c o n o m ic th e o rie s o f d e v e lo p m e n t, a n a n a ly s is o f c o m p e tin g p a r a d ig m s , (England, 1989). 31. As with all constructs, the reality in Lebanon often diverged from the ideal. Lebanese economic liberalism was in fact very different from Adam Smith’s ‘invisible hand’ concept. A s Chehabist Charles Rizk has observed, Lebanon’s laissez-faire was based on the development of Lebanon as an economic, commercial and financial intermediary between the West and the Middle East and on the preservation of the political and confessional status quo in Lebanon.

Notes to Chapter 7 1. Cultivated area increased from 1.76 million hectares in pre-war period to 2.29 and 3.67 million in 1945 and 1953 respectively. The area irrigated (by pumping) mostly for the production of cotton increased from 19,335 to 247,778 hectares between 1947-55. 2. For the developmental needs of Syria, see World Bank Mission, T h e E c o n o m ic D e v e lo p m e n t o f S y ria (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press, 1955). 3. Figures introduced by Hilan show that investment allocated for Damascus airport modernization and for buying two airplanes in 1966-70 plan was 4.3 times the total investment allocated for métallurgie, mechanical and chemical industries. Rizqallah Hilan, A l- T h a q a f a w a a l-T a n m iy a a l-I q tis a d iy y a f i S u r iy a w a a l-B u ld ä n a l-M u ta k h a lifa (Damascus: Maisaloun, 1980), p. 163. 4. The share of industry in GDP increased from 17 to 20 per cent between 1959-70, while that of agriculture dropped from 37 to 23 per cent between 1953-72. 5. For the structure of the working force during the period, see Richard F. Nyrop (ed.), S yria : A C o u n tr y S tu d y (Washington: American University Foreign Area Studies, 3rd ed., 1979), p. 275. 6. Officially Arab aid to Syria allocated by the Arab summits of Khartoum (September 1967), Rabat (November 1974) and Baghdad (October 1978) increased from $170 millions to $550 and $1,850 millions respectively. 7. Transit royalties from Iraqi petroleum remained an important source of income until 1976. After 1976, Iraq made an arrangement with Turkey for the transit of its oil, a fact which deprived Syria of substantial royalties.

144

NOTES : HUDA HAWWA

8. See for allocation of aid in the 1970s, David Carr, ‘Capital flows and development in Syria’, T h e M id d le E a s t J o u rn a l, October 1980. 9. The new Banias refinery increased production to 10 million tonnes in 1981, and the cement factories added production to about 4.5 million tonnes in 1986 from one million in 1970. 10. The ammonia and urea fertilizer factory (600,000 tonnes) had to shift to gas treatment in 1982 at an additional cost of $144 million, where as the triple phosphate fertilizer factory completed in early 1981 was producing 191,000 tonnes per year in 1984 out of a 450,000 tonnes anticipated capacity. 11. Metallurgie industry was still dependent on the steel mill at Hama (600 workers) constructed in late 1960s, and few smaller plants for aluminium (150 workers), metal pipeline (100 workers), and iron rod (390 workers). See, Elizabeth Longuenesse, ‘L’industrialisation et sa signification sociale’, in A. M. Bianquis (ed.) L a S y r ie d ’a u jo u r d ’h u i, (Paris: CNRS, 1980). 12. At current prices the index number increased from 97 to 100 between 1975-80 and then up to 156 in 1986. UN statistics. 13. Figures introduced by al-Hamash for the year 1981 show that food processing worked on 60 per cent of capacity, porcelain 40 per cent, shoe industry 35 per cent, textile 65 per cent, azotic fertilizers 66 per cent, and paints 80 per cent. Munir al-Hamash, T a ta w w ü r a l-I q tis ä d a l-S o û r ï a l- H a d ith (Damascus: Dar al-Jalil, 1983), p. 318. 14. United Nations Economic Commission for Western Asia (ECWA) estimates. 15. Average annual investment in agriculture at 1975 constant prices was 410 million Syrian pounds for the period 1974-80, as compared with 2,755 million for industry and mining, 913 million for transport and communication, and 1,241 million for dwelling. 16. The number of tractors increased from 9,606 in 1971, to 12,864 in 1974, 27,544 in 1980, 37,216 in 1983, and 47,573 in 1986. 17. Metral points to irrigation by pumping which increased from 255,000 ha in 1967 to 431,000 ha in 1976, equivalent to 4/5 of irrigated land. Its social base being the emerging Kulak stratum. See, Francois Metral, ‘Le m o n d ru ra l s y r ie n à l ’è re d e s re fo rm e s, 1 9 6 8 -7 8 ’, in A. M. Bianquis (ed.), L a S y r ie d ’a u jo u r d ’h u i.

18. Setting an objective of irrigating 640,000 ha at the end of the century, only 52,000 ha were reclaimed in 1983 after sixteen years of work. Technical problems were encountered at the beginning, as gypsum in the soil resulted in canal erosion. Hannoyer refers to more important managerial problems. See, Jean Hannoyer, ‘G r a n d p r o je ts h y d r a u liq u e s en S y r ie ’, M a g h re b -M a c h r e k , no. 109, (1979), p. 27. Other problems appeared with the scarcity of water resources after the construction of Ataturk dam in Turkey. 19. Several irrigation and land reclamation schemes are under way. The largest is the construction of two dams in Hama region that will irrigate 17,400 ha, the Midmaki dam (will impound 220 million cubic metres). The others are planned on the Orontes, one of which has started being constructed.

145

NOTES : HUDA HAWWA

20. According to official reports, external aid declined from $1.8 billion in 1981 to $1.3 billion in 1983 to $1.06 billion in 1986 terminating in 1988. 21. Mainly from the Saudi Fund for Development, the Jeddah based Islamic Development Fund, and more important, the Kuwait-based Arab Fund for Economic and Social Development (more than $300 million from 1985 to 1990). 22. With Rumania one year trade protocol and three year economic protocol (February 1981), and three-year industrial protocol (January 1986 and August 1988); with Bulgaria five-year friendship and cooperation treaty (19 April 1985); with the Soviet Union five-year economic and technical cooperation as well as trade agreements (May 1985); with Czechoslovakia cooperation agreement (1985) followed by several economic and trade agreements (January 1988). 23. Military expenditure increased from $176 million in 1970 to $460 million in 1974, $1,070 million in 1977, and $2,390 million in 1981. Rough estimates taken from M ilita r y B a la n c e (London: IISS), various issues. 24. Development expenditures at current prices in 1981 were 25 per cent higher than 1978, while current expenditures more than doubled. 25. Oil exports dropped from 5.2 billion to 1.3 billion Syrian pounds between 1980 and 1986. 26. Taking 1980 as a base year, agriculture and mining and manufacturing declined from 100 per cent in 1980 to 92 and 97 per cent, and to 91 and 96 per cent in 1984 and 1985 respectively. Construction and transport declined 30 per cent between 1985-7. This downward trend continued until 1988. 27. Planners were anticipating in the mid-1980s an increase in production to five million tonnes by the year 2000 for export to the Soviet market. 28. Area sown with cotton dropped from 250,000 hectares in 1970/71 to 160,000 in 1979/80 and 128,000 in 1987/88; it was only 155,000 in 1989/90, less than the anticipated 174,000 ha. Reasons cited are the scarcity of water and the delay in some reclamation projects. 29. Most of the new oil is produced by al-Furat Petroleum Company owned by the Syrian Petroleum Company and three foreign partners, Pecton (US), Royal Dutch/Shell and Deminex (West Germany). 30. After two years of establishment some could claim profits exceeding $1.5 million per year. The results had fulfilled the quick needs of both the government (the increase in exports) and the beneficiaries. 31. Imports are subject to no restrictions and are exempted from taxes, dues and customs if used for the purpose of the licensed project. There are exemptions from corporate, income and property taxes for a period of five to seven years. M id d le E a s t E c o n o m ic D ig e s t, 24 May 1991. 32. Until 1989 the estimated external debt was $5,202 million. The World Bank revised its figures for 1991 and estimated Syria’s debt to be around $16,000 million for 1991 (which nearly equals the value of its GDP), gradually increasing from $3,548 million at the beginning of the 1980s. It is understood that the new estimates of the World Bank include debt to the Soviet Union

146

NOTES : HUDA HAWWA/FIDA NASRALLAH/GHAYTH N. ARMANAZI

and Eastern Europe and possibly Iran. M id d le E a s t E c o n o m ic D ig e s t, 27 December 1991. 33. The more pessimistic estimates consider that the price index increased 579 per cent between 1980-89, while GDP in current prices rose only by 392 per cent over the same period. For different estimates see the tables at the end. 34. Sewerage treatment plans in Homs, Damascus (abandoned by the World Bank) and Hama were revived with the help of Kuwaiti and Saudi funds for development. The construction of Jandar power station near Homs commenced with a loan of $466 million from Japan. The construction of another power station in Damascus (600-MW) with financial support from Abu Dhabi is under consideration. A Kuwaiti loan also made possible the beginning of the communication scheme ($250m) to install 600,000 new telephone lines. See M id d le E a s t E c o n o m ic D ig e s t 1990-1992. 35. An iron and steel complex near Hama ($750m), cotton yarn ($90m), and textile ($61m) factories, a phosphate fertilizer plant ($500m) and an extension of a cement factory.

Notes to Chapter 8 1. In the Fez summit of 1982 the Lebanese government requested that the mission of the Arab Deterrent Force be ended and proceeded, in March 1983, to dissolve the command of that force. On 1 September 1983 President Amin Gemayel requested the withdrawal of the Syrian troops from Lebanon in a letter addressed to the Syrian President. 2. For a comprehensive and detailed analysis of the Ta’if Accord see Joseph Maila, ‘Le ’document d’entente nationale’: un commentaire’ in L e s C a h ie rs d e l ’O rie n t, nos. 16-17, Autumn 1989-Winter 1990, pp. 135-217. 3. This is no longer the case, as new parliamentary elections were held in Lebanon last summer (1992). [Ed.]

Notes to Chapter 9 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11.

6 August 1991. A r a b A ffa ir s , August 1990, p. 142. Ibid., p. 141. Speech by Hafez Assad at the Cairo Summit of 9 August (restricted circulation) Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Broadcast by Radio Damascus, 12 January 1991. Ibid. Radio Baghdad, 13 January 1991. The wording used by President Assad in his interview with Newsweek, 5 August 1991. A l- H a y a t,

147

NOTES : GHAYTH N. ARMANAZI/AL-FADL SHALAQ

12. See interview with Lt.General Assad, D a ily T e le g ra p h , London, 17 March 1969. 13. Ephraim Karsh, S o v ie t P o lic y to w a r d s S y ria sin c e 1 9 7 0 , (London: Macmillan, 1991), p. 26. 14. Ibid., p. 27. 15. See ibid., pp. 11-12. 16. Interview in N e w s w e e k , 5 August 1991.

Notes to Chapter 10 1. The Arab masses’ rejection of the partition of the Arab nation into separate countries is the very reason behind their rejection of the ruling regimes in those countries, whether liberal or dictatorial. In turn, these regimes tend to repress the masses in order to solidify and perpetuate their own control over them. The non-democratic quality of Arab regimes thus has nothing to do with the Arabs’ temperament or the Islamic culture. The crux of the matter is the very existence of separate Arab countries, and not the form of government adopted in them. 2. In this sense it can be argued that international law is one factor which stands in the way of the Arabs’ exercise of their right to self-determination. 3. In his brilliant study of the history of modern Iraq, Hanna Batätü arrives at the conclusion that Iraq’s basic problem in the 1970s was the inflation of the public sector and its inability to absorb and use the huge oil revenues. See H. Batatu, T h e O ld S o c ia l C la sse s a n d R e v o lu tio n a r y M o v e m e n ts o f I r a q (Princeton, 1978). 4. These studies are so self-repetitive that one can only endorse Edward Said’s submissions in his book O r ie n ta lis m (London, 1978). 5. Most Arabs supported the annexation of Kuwait by Iraq, and those who did not were only objecting to the crude manner in which it was effected, or perhaps realized that in the circumstances it would bring more harm than benefit to the Arabs. 6. The West’s contempt for the sentiments of the Arab masses and its insistence on regarding the Iraq-Kuwait question in terms of an unlawful action per­ petuated by a half-mad despot is something which renders the W est’s stance even more suspicious; all the more so since it was the West which repeatedly saved Saddam Hussein from defeat at the hands of its enemies. 7. Reading the long Arab historical sources by al-Tabari, Ibn al-Athir and Ibn Khaldun, all of which begin with lengthy chapters dealing with history from the creation of the world onwards, leads to this conclusion. 8. Al-Tabari, T à rïk h a l-R u su l, vol.3, Leyden, 1881-2, cites several accounts of this story. 9. See Ibn Khaldun’s M u q a d d im a (Beirut, 1909). 10. Al-Jabarti’s book ‘A j ä ’ib a l- Ä th ä r f l a l-T a r ä jim w a a l- A k h b ä r (Bulaq, 1879-80) gives a clear account of the transgressions of Mameluke feudalism against the populace at a time when those feudal lords had forsaken their prime duty, i.e.

148

NOTES : AL-FADL SHALAQ

11.

12.

13. 14.

15. 16.

17. 18.

19.

the jih a d against external enemies (Napoleon then the English). Interestingly, Jabarti’s book is still adequate for the description of the current Arab condition. Muhammad ‘Àbid al-Jâbiri’s important book about the structure of the Arab intellect ends with an anticlimax in the third part, which revolves round the Arab political mind. There he sees nothing but religion, tribes and booty. Jâbiri cannot see that an expansive state with a fixed centre is bound to be different from a tribal state with a peripatetic centre and no resources other than war booty. See Muhammad A. al-Jâbiri, N a q d a l- ‘a q l a l- ‘a r a b i, 3 vols (Beirut, 1986). This is attested to by M.A. Shaban in his books on the Umayyads and the Abbasids: I s la m ic H is to r y 6 0 0 - 7 5 0 , vol. 1, and I s la m ic H is to r y 7 5 0 -1 0 5 5 , vol. 2, Cambridge University Press, 1977 and 1978. In his book, I s la m a n d In te g ra tio n in S o c ie ty , Montgomery Watt describes this melting process in the spheres of religion and culture. The structure of the Mameluke state is described at length by al-Qalqashandi in his S u b h a l - A ‘sh â , 14 vols., Cairo, 1919-22, while al-Maqrizi deals with its historical development in his K itä b a l-S u lü k , ed. M.M. Ziada, Cairo, 1958-61. Both authors were jurists. The word m a w lä means at once a follower and a master, which goes to show the influence of historic developments on the language. The Arabs continue to be faced with the stark choice between the jih a d against external danger accompanied by internal repression, or democratic government entailing the abandonment of the ideals of jih a d and national unity. In his treatment of both the Mamelukes and Muhammad ‘All Pasha, both of whom he detested, Jabarti presents this dilemma in bitter terms. The contemporary Arab intellectual still maintains the same bitterness (and in similar terms) towards his own rulers. In their treatments of the Islamic state, jurists reiterate a d n a u se u m ten duties. See Ibn Jamâ‘a, T a h rir a l- A h k ä m , ed. H. Kofler, Islá m ic a , vi (1934), vii (1935). This is not to say that the Sunnis were the only conciliatory force at Ta’if - the agreement would simply have not been possible without its acceptance by the other sects. The Ta’if agreement was signed in the Saudi town of Ta’if—hence its name—in October 1989. The three principal sects of Lebanon are the Shi‘ites, the Maronites and the Sunnites.

149

Index ‘Abbasids 124 ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, Ottoman Sultan 1 ‘Abd al-Hamid II, Ottoman Sultan xiv Abu Ya’lä, Muhammad ibn al-Husayn 125 administration Greater Syria ix-xiv, 34-40, 46-61 Lebanon xiv-xv, 42-3, 49-59 Mount Lebanon xi-xiii Ottoman Empire ix-xiv, 34, 39-40, 47-8 Syria 4, 13-15, 21-2, 27-30, 48-61 Agricultural Company of Aleppo 22, 24 agriculture 22-5, 79-80, 84, 86, 89-91, 93-4 aid 84, 86-7, 90-2 air forces 107 ‘Ajlun 23 Akkar 55-6 A l Sa’Ud family x ‘Alawis 46, 51-2, 56-7, 59 Aleppo 14 agriculture 22, 24-5 bedouin 17 Christians 14, 24 Faysal 8-11 industry 25 Jews 24 Muslims 24 relations with France 49, 51-9 riots 24 societies 16 trade 20, 77, 80 se e a ls o Syria Alexandretta 11, 20, 44n.5, 51-2, 55 Algeria 18,104 al-‘Ali, Salih 10,19 ‘A li Pasha, Ottoman Grand Vezir •♦ ••• Xll-XUl

Allenby, Edmund Henry, Viscount xiv, 4 Amal Movement 106,128 Ansariyah se e ’Alawis Aoun, General Michel 103-4,106-8, 113 ‘Aqaba 77 Arab Clubs (Syria) 12,14-17 Arab Cooperation Council 113 Arab-Israeli peace process xvii, 103, 112-13,117-19,128 Arab League xiv, 104-5,113 Arabia ix-x, 5, 8 ,1 1 5 ,1 2 4 Arabs 117 independence movements xvi-xvii, 2-3, 7, 27, 30-1 nationalism xvi-xvii, 2-3, 7, 27, 30-1, 75,110,120-8 unification xvi-xvii, 12-13, 27, 75, 121-2,126-8 ‘Arafat, Yasser 128 archbishopric (Orthodox) 37, 42, 44 archives 24, 33-7, 42 Armenians 15, 52, 71 Armistice Agreement (Israel/Lebanon) 110 armies x-xvi, 15,105-9 army officers 12 ‘a s a b iy y a 123 a l- ‘A s im a 6, 8, 22, 25 al-Atâsî, Hâshim 10,13 Assad, Hafiz 104,114-19 Atatürk, Kemal se e Mustafa Kamâl Austria x-xii Al-Ayyûbi, Shukrï Pasha 4 Ayyubids 126 ‘Azm family 3 al-‘Azm, ’Abd al-Rahmân 13 al-‘Azm, Haqqi 14 al-‘A?m, Khalid 13,15, 77, 79 #

150

7

•

INDEX

al-‘Azm, Muhammad Fawzi 13 al-‘Azmeh, Yüsuf 10, 48 ‘Azouri, Najib 3 Ba‘albek 67 Baath Party 118 Baghdad 125 Baghdad Summit (1978) 91 Baghdad Summit (1990) 113 balance of payments 77, 92, 94,101 Bandung Conference (1955) 123 banking xv, 80 Barazi, family 12 al’Barâzï, Husni 14 Baryeton, M. 47 bedouin 17-18, 49 Beirut 129 archives 33-7 Christians 14, 32-45 classes 41-3, 45 economic conditions 36-8 education 37, 39 elections 37 Faysal 4 immigration 35-6, 38, 40, 43 law-courts 53 marriage 39-40 missionaries 38, 40 relations with France 41-4, 50-1, 53, 55, 57, 67 social welfare 35, 39 town planning 35, 38-9 trade 38, 77, 80 se e a ls o Lebanon Bekaa Valley 105 Bed Jedid, Chedli 104 Blau, Peter 64 bolshevism 11, 25 se e a ls o marxism Breik, Mikha‘il 2-3 Brezhnev, Leonid 118 British Oil Company 22 budgets 90, 93, 100 Bush, George 115 Buwayhids 125 cabinet (government) 107-8 Cairo Conference (1921) 30

Cairo Summit (1990) 114 caliphate 124 Camp David Accords (1979) 91-2 Casablanca Summit (1989) 104 caste xv, 62-73 censuses 71 Central Bank (Lebanon) xv chambers of commerce 23, 25 Charter of National Reconciliation se e Ta‘if Accords chauvinism 124 Christians Aleppo 14, 24 Beirut 14, 32-45 Damascus 14, 24, 32-7, 40-1, 44-5 Greater Syria xi, 3, 32, 68 Lebanan xvi, 4, 31-45, 68-73, 75,127 Syria 14, 23-5, 32-7, 40-1, 44-5 Churchill, Winston 30 Circassians 52 civil wars xi-xii, xv, xvii, xviii, 38, 62-3, 72-3, 75,104,126- 9 classes 12-13, 26, 41-3, 45, 65-6 communism se e bolshevism a n d marxism communities 66 conquests 123-4 conscription xi, xiii, 15 consensus se e i ’j m a ’ constitutions xiv, 70-2,104,107-8 construction industry 89 Consultative Council (Syria) 4,14, 20-1 contracts 21 crime 11-12 courts se e law-courts Crusaders 125 currencies 20-2, 75, 77, 81, 91 Curzon, George Nathaniel, Marquis xiv customs exemptions 94 customs unions xvi, 74-83 Czechoslovakia 85 Dabbas, Charles 43 Dagher family 36 Damascus Arab Clubs 16-17

151

INDEX

archives 24 bedouin 17 Christians 14, 24, 32-7, 40-1, 44-5 debt 24 econimic conditions ix-x, 36, 40 education 40, 54 emigration 35-6, 40, 48 Faysal 4, 8-9,17 immigration 44 industry 23 law-courts 24 marriage 39 missionaries 40 Muslims 24 relations with France 41, 49, 51-9 revolts 19 riots 24 societies 16 town planning 35 trade 77, 80 universities 54 se e a ls o Syria Dayr al-Zûr 17, 23 D e Jouvenel, Henri xiv D e Martel, Damien, Comte 68 debts 21, 24, 94 democracy 110 development strategies 74 d h im m is 2,124 Donato, Joseph 79 Druze xii, 19, 46, 51-2, 56, 68, 70, 108 Dufferinin and Ava, Frederick, Marquis xii-xiii East Asia 74 Eastern Europe 85-6, 91-2,110 economic conditions Beirut 36-8 Damascus ix-x, 36, 40 Greater Syria ix-xi, xiii Lebanon xvi-xvii, 68 Mount Lebanon ix, 37-8 Syria xvi, 20-6, 84-102,114 economic growth 84-90, 95 economic integration 74, 81 economic policies 74-83, 85-96 Eddeh, Emile 43, 68

education xi, xv, 16, 22, 37, 39-40, 54,

68 Egypt x-xi, 1,18, 82, 85,108,113-15, 117 elections 37, 51, 61, 68,109 electricity industry 85, 89-90, 94 emigration 35-8, 40, 43 endogamy s e e marriage equality xi, xv, 110 Erzerum 9 Euphrates Dam 85-6, 89-90 European Economic Community (EEC) 117 exports 78-80, 88-9, 92-4 Fadl tribe 17-18 Fahd, King of Saudi Arabia 115 fascism 124 al-Fatât (secret society) 10 al-Fâ’ûr, Mahmud 17-18 Faysal, King of Syria xiv, 4-15,17-26, 2830, 41, 48, 54-5 feudalism 62, 66,123-4 First World War xiv, 7,121 fitn a 125 foreign policies 75, 82,109,112-19 France relations with Aleppo 49, 51-9 Beirut 41-4, 50-1, 53, 55, 57, 67 Damascus 41, 49, 51-9 Greater Syria xii-xiii, 29-31, 46-61 Lebanon xiv, 4, 49-59, 67-9, 75, 82 Syria xiv-xvi, 4, 10-12,19-20, 2930, 46-61 Turkey 10-11,19-20 trade 61 Franco-Lebanese Treaty (1936) 68 free trade 74-83 French Revolution (1789) ix-x fundamentalism 128 se e a lso Islam G7 Summit (1992) 119 gas industry 88, 90, 94, 96 Gaza Strip 113 se e a ls o Palestine Gemayel, Amin 103

152

INDEX

Germany 95,120-1 al-Ghazzï, Najm al-Dîn 2 Gibb, Alexander 79 Golan Heights 112,117,119 Gouraud, General Henri 10,18, 46-8, 53-8, 67-8 Government of National Unity (Lebanon) 105,108 Great Britain xi-xiv, 4 ,1 2 , 29-31, 75, 82 Greater Lebanon se e Lebanon Greater Syria administration ix-xiv, 34-40, 46-61 army xiii Christians xi, 3, 32, 68 economic conditions ix-xi, xiii education xi, 68 Jews 14, 32-3 mining 22 missionaries 68 Muslims 68 notables x, xiii oil industry 22 relations with Egypt x-xi France xii-xiii, 29-31, 46-61 Great Britain xi-xiv, 29-31 taxation xiii, 2 tolerance 3 trade ix-xi, xiii, 68 transport xiii unification xi-xiv, xvi, 5 se e a ls o Lebanon, Mount Lebanon a n d Syria Greek Orthodox se e Orthodox Church Gross Domestic Product (GDP) 86, 88, 91, 95-8 guilds 23-4 Gulf States 107,114-15 Gulf War (1990-91) xvii, 95,107-8, 112,114-18,120 Haifa 16, 23 h a jj se e pilgrimage al-Hajj, Kamâl 72 Halläq, Hassan 69 Hamah 16-17, 22, 49, 51-2 Hamdanids 126

Hanânü, Ibrâhîm 10,19 al-Hanbalï, Shâkir 6, 25 Hannoun family 36 Häsbayyä 17, 67 Hauran 17, 51-2, 56, 59 se e a lso Druze Haydar, Sa’id 10 Hebron se e al-Khalil High Commission (Syria) 49-50, 53-5, 58-61 Higher Tripartite Committee (Arab League) 104-5 Hijaz ix-x, 5-6, 9 ,17, 24 Hizbollah Movement, 106,108 holy war 7 ,1 9 ,1 2 5 Homs 17, 49, 51-2, 55, 85 al-Hoss, Salim 104,106-7 Hrawi, Elias 106,110 Husayn, Sharif of Mecca 3-4, 9 al-Husri, Sati‘ 11 Hussein, Saddam 114-17,122 Ibn al-Farrâ’, Abu Ya’lä se e Abu Ya’lä, Muhammad ibn al-Husayn Ibn Jamä‘a, Muhammad ibn Ibrâhîm 125 ibn Khaldun, ‘Abd al-Rahmân ibn Muhammad 123 Ibn Taymiyya, Ahmad ibn ’Abd al-Halim 125 Ibrâhîm, ruler of Egypt x-xi ijn ü t 122 im ä m a ‘ 125 immigration 35-6, 38, 40, 43-4 imports 77-80, 85, 92-4 income distribution 85 independence movements xvi-xvii, 2-20, 27-31 India 68n.33,120 industry Aleppo 25 Damascus 24 Lebanon 37-8, 68, 76, 79-80 Syria 23-5, 76, 84-8, 91, 93-5, 99, 102,114 inflation 91-3,114 intellectuals 12,123

153

INDEX

International Commission of the Five Powers xii-xiii international law 106,120-2,126 investment 85-9, 92-5 Iran 91,114,116 Iran-Iraq War (1980-8) 114,116 Iraq 5-6,18, 80, 82, 95,107,113-18, 120-2 irrigation 85, 89, 91 Islam 63,122-6,128 se e a ls o fundamentalism, Muslims Islamic law 2,122,125-6 se e a ls o law-courts Israel 121-2,125 relations with Lebanon 91,105-6,110,127 Syria 95-6,105,107,112,117-19 United States 118,128 Isfafän, Yusuf 15 Istiwänl family 12 \

Jabal al-Durûz 19 se e a ls o Druze al-Jabarti, ’Abd al-Rahmân ibn Hasan 124n.l0,125n.l6 j a m ä ’a 122 Janissaries x Japan 95 Jaulan 17 al-Jaza’iri, ’Abd al-Qadir 3 al-Jazâ’iri, Sa’id 3 Jerusalem 16 Jews xi, 14, 23-4, 32-3, 68 jih a d se e holy war joint councils (Syria/Lebanon) 108-9 Joint Economic Council (Syria/Lebanon) 7 7 n .ll Jordan 80,113 Junblât family 68 Junblât, Kamäl 76 Karame, Omar 107 Karame, Rashid 104 Kata’ib Party (Lebanon) 108 Kaylâni family 12 Kelly, John 107 Kemal Atatürk se e Mustafà Kamäl al-Khalïl 22

Khäzin family 68 Khomeini, Ayatollah Rouhallah 63 al-Khûrï, Bishárá xv, 69-70, 72, 75 King Crane Commission (1919) 9, 43 Kurds 16, 49, 52, 71 Kuwait 107,114-16,118,120-2 Land Law (1858) xiii land reclamation 86, 89 land reform xvi, 85-6, 88 Latakia 52, 77, 80 law se e Islamic law a n d law-courts law-courts 2, 4-5,11-12, 21, 24, 53 se e a b o Islamic law League of Nations 11 Lebanese Communist Party 108 Lebanese Constituent Assembly xiv Lebanon administration xiv-xv, 42-3, 49-59 agriculture 79-80 army xv, 105,108-9 banking xv, 80 cabinet 107-8 caste xv, 62-73 census 71 Christians xv, 14, 23-5, 31-45, 68-73, 75,127 civil war xi-xii, xv, xvii-xviii, 38, 62-3, 72-3, 75,104,126-9 constitution xiv, 70-2,104,107-8 currency 75, 77, 81 customs union xvi, 74-83 democracy 110 economic conditions xvi-xvii, 68 economic policy 74-83 education xv, 37, 39 elections 68,109 equality xv, 110 exports 78-80 foreign policy 75, 82,109 industry 37-8, 68, 76, 79-80 joint councils 108-9 marriage xv, 64-5 militias 105, 108 Muslims xv, 44-5, 52, 65, 69-72, 127-9 National Pact xv, 69-72 notables 42-3, 57

154

INDEX

parliament xiv, 71-3, 106-7,109 political parties 106,108, 128-9 poverty 38n.2 presidency xv, 104,106,108 railways 77 relations with France xiv, 4, 49-59, 67-9, 75, 82 Great Britain 75, 82 Israel 91,105-6, 110,127 Syria xvi-xvii, 69, 71, 74-83, 103-11,113-14,117-19 United States 75, 82 Representative Council 68 social structure xv, 62-7 taxation 75, 77 textile industry 25, 37-8, 68 tourism 80 trade xvi, 75-83 unification 71, 78 visas 123 Libya 18 living standards 93, 95-6 Mahmud II, Ottoman Sultan x, 34 M a jlis a l-M illa t 37-9, 42-3 Mamluks 1,124-6 mandate system 28-9 manpower 86 Mardam, Jamil 14 Maij ‘UyUn 17, 56, 67 Maronites xii, xv, 40, 42-4, 68-73, 75, 127 marriage xv, 39-40, 64-5 marxism 62, 66, 81,108, 118 se e a ls o bolshevism al-Mâwardï, ‘All ibn Muhammad 125 Maysalun 28, 41, 48, 54 Mecca x Medina x, 124 Menassa, Gabriel 76, 78 Middle East se e Arabs military expenditure 86-7, 91-2, 95-6 militias 105,108 Millerand, Etienne-Alexandre 48-54, 56-8 m ille t system 15, 34, 36-40, 42-5, 68n.36 mining 22, 88, 90

missionaries 38, 40, 43, 68 Moawad, Rene 106 Mongols 125 Morocco 18,104,123 Mosul xiv, 11, 23 Mount Lebanon ix, xi-xiii, 37-8, 43, 68 se e a lso Lebanon al-Mu‘allaqa (region) 67 Mubarak, Husni 114-15 Mudros Armistice (1918) 11 al-Mughira ibn Shu‘ba 123 Muhammad, the Prophet 122 Muhammad ‘All, ruler of Egypt x-xi, 1 5 ,125n.l6 multinational companies 93, 96 Muslims xv, 23-4, 44-5, 51-2, 65, 68-72,127-9 s e e a ls o Islam, Shi‘ites a n d Sunnis Mustafa Kamâl 7-11, 25 Mutawâlïs se e Shi-ites •

•

7

al-Nâbulsï, ‘Abd al-Ghani 2 Najd 5 Napoléon Bonaparte x al-Nâsir Muhammad ibn Qaläwün, Mamluk Sultan 125 Nasser, Gamal Abdul 122-3,127-8 National Liberal Party (Lebanon) 108 National Pact (1943) xv, 69-72 nationalism Arabs xvi-xvii, 2-3, 7, 27, 30-1, 75, 110 120-8 Ottoman Empire xiii, 3 Syria xvi-xvii, 3-20, 27-31 nationalization 85 New Phoenicians 76 Niebuhr, Helmut Richard 65 notables x, xiii, xvi, 13-14, 42-3, 46, 61

,

s e e a ls o ‘u la m ä ’

oil industry 22, 85-8, 92-4, 96 Orthodox Church (Greek) 31-45, 70, 73n.55 Ottoman Empire ix, xiv, 1-3, 7-8, 27-8, 34, 39-40, 47-8,125-6 se e a ls o Turkey ottomanism xiii, 3

155

INDEX

Palestine ix, xiv, 3-4 ,1 1 ,1 8 , 51, 78, 113, 119,127-8 se e a ls o Palestinians Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) 107,113-14 Palestinians 71,106,114,117,127-8 se e a ls o Palestine parallel economies 88-90 Paris Peace Conference (1919) xiv, 4-6, 29-30 parliament xiv, 71-3,106-7,109 partnerships 21, 24 patriarchate (Greek Orthodox) 37, 41 Patriotic Syrian Party 12 peasants 18 se e a ls o rural conditions Pecton Company 93 pilgrimage ix-x, 1,17 pipelines 86, 92 political exiles 109 political parties 12, 28-9, 61,106,108, 118,128-9 poverty 38n.2, 85 presidency xv, 104,106,108 private sector 85, 87, 89, 94-6 productivity 87, 95 Progressive Party (Syria) 12 Progressive Socialist Party (Lebanon) 106 protectionism 74-83 Prussia xii public sector 85, 89, 95 Qâdisiyya 123 al-Qalqashandi, Ahmad ibn ’A ll 126 al-Qasafli, Nu‘man 3 al-Qassâb, Kâmil 29 q a w m iy y a 124 Qunaytra 17 railways xiii, 10,17, 23, 55, 77 Raqqa 17 Râshâyya 17 Rashid Ridä, Muhammad 13 rebellions 10-11, Í8-20 religion 65 remittances 86, 91 Representative Council (Lebanon) 68

al-Rikâbï, Rida Pasha 4 ,1 3 riots 24 Riyad, Mahmoud 112 Romania 92 rural conditions 17-20 Russia x-xii se e a b o Soviet Union Rustum, Persian general 123 Rwala tribe 17-18 Sadat, Anwar 119 S a la fiy y a 3 Salamiyya 22 Salim III, Ottoman Sultan x Saljukids 125-6 Samsun 9 sanctions 91 Saudi Arabia 80,103-4,107-8,115,123 savings 90 Second World War xvi, 120 sectarianism 65,127 Security Council (United Nations) 106 Shaiân, Nürï 17-18 Shamir, Yitzhak 119 sh a rV a h se e Islamic law Shihâ, Michel 72 Shi‘ites xv, 51, 70-1, 73n.55 se e a b o Muslims Sidon ix, 50-1, 56, 67 silk industry 25, 37-8, 68 Sivas 9 slaves 123-5 social classes se e classes social structures xv, 62-7 social welfare 35, 39 Société Libanaise d’Economic Politique (SLEP) 76 societies (cultural) 16 South Lebanon 105-6,110 Soviet Union 85, 91-3, 95,112,114, 116-18,120 se e a b o Russia state (concept) 47-8,123-6 strikes 25-6 al-Sulh, Riyâd xv, 69-71 Sunnis xv, 68-71,127-9 se e a b o Muslims Supreme Council (Syria/Lebanon) 108

156

INDEX

Sursoq family 43 Sykes-Picot Agreement (1916) 67 Syria administration 4,13-15, 21-2, 27-30, 48-61 agriculture 22-3, 84, 86, 89-91, 93-4 aid 84, 86-7, 90-2 air force 107 Arab Clubs 12,14-17 army xvi, 15,105-7,109 army officers 12 balance of payments 77, 92, 94,101 bedouin 17-18, 49 budget 90, 93,100 chambers of commerce 23, 25 Christians 14, 23-5, 32-7, 40-1, 44-5 civil war xvii-xviii, 38 classes 12-13, 26 construction industry 89 Consultative Council 4 ,1 4 , 20-1 contracts 21 crime 11-12 currency 20-2, 91 customs exemptions 94 customs union xvi, 74-83 debt 21, 94 economic conditions xvi, 20-6, 84-102,114 economic growth 84-90, 95 economic policy 74-83, 85-96 education 16, 22, 54 elections 61 electricity industry 85, 89-90, 94 exports 80, 88-9, 92-4 foreign policy 109,112-19 gas industry 88, 90, 94, 96 Gross Domestic Product (GDP) 86, 88, 91,. 95-8 guilds 23-4 High Commission 49-50, 53-5, 58-61 imports 77-80, 85, 92-4 income distribution 85 independence movement 3-20, 27-31 industry 23-5, 76, 84-8, 91, 93-5, 99, 102,114 inflation 91-3, 95,114 intellectuals 12 investment 85-9, 92-5

irrigation 85, 89, 91 Jews 14, 23-4 joint councils 108-9 land reclamation 86, 89 land reform xvi, 85-6, 88 law-courts, 2, 4-5,11-12, 21, 24 living standards 93, 95-6 manpower 86 military expenditure 86-7, 91-2, 95-6 mining 88, 90 multinational companies 93, 96 Muslims 44-5, 51-2 nationalism xvi-xvii, 3-20, 27-31 nationalization 85 notables xvi, 13-14, 46, 61 oil industry 84-8, 92-4, 96 parallel economy 88-90 peasants 18 pipelines 86, 92 political parties 12, 28-9, 61,118 poverty 85 private sector 85, 87, 89, 94-6 productivity 87, 95 public sector 85, 89, 95 railways xiii, 10, 23, 55, 77 rebellions 10-11, 18-20 relations with Egypt 85 France xiv-xvi, 4,10-12,19-20, 29-30, 46-61 Great Britain 4 ,1 2 , 29-30 Iraq 114-16,118 Israel 95-6,105, 107,112,117-19 Lebanon xvi-xvii, 69, 71, 74-83, 103-111,113-14,117-19 Soviet Union 85, 91-3, 95,112, 114,116-18 Turkey 7-11, 19-20 United States 93,103 remittances 86, 91 rural conditions 17-20 sanctions 91 savings 90 societies 16 strikes 25-6 taxation 22, 49, 77, 94 textile industry 24-5, 77, 85, 87-8, 95 tolerance 14, 23-5

157

INDEX

tourism 94 trade 20, 75-83, 86, 90-4 transport 23, 89 'u la m iï 2-3, 12, 14 unemployment 95 unifications xvi, 5, 9, 78, 85 water 89-91 women 17 Syrian Conference (1920) 29 Syrian Congress (1919-20) xiv, 13-14, 19, 27 Syro-Lebanese Cooperation Treaty se e Treaty of Brotherhood, Cooperation and Coordination Ta’if Accords (1989) 103-7,113,127 Tawhid Group (Lebanon) 128 taxation xiii, 2, 22, 49, 75, 77, 94, 124 terrorism 115 textile industry 24-5, 37-8, 68, 77, 85, 87-8, 95 tolerance 3,14, 23-5 tourism 80, 94 town planning 35, 38-9 Trabzon 9 trade ix-xi, xiii, xvi, 20, 38, 68, 75-83, 86, 90-4 traditionalism 121 transport xiii, 23, 89 Treaty of Brotherhood, Cooperation and Coordination (1991) xvii, 103-111 tribalism 65 tribes se e bedouin Tripoli (Lebanon) ix, 13, 51-2, 54-5, 57, 67, 78, 128 Tripoli (Libya) 104 Tunisia 18,123 Turkey 7-11,19-20 se e a ls o Ottoman Empire Turks 49, 52 Tyre 51, 56, 67

1-3, 5,124-6 unemployment 95 unification Arabs xvi-xvii, 12-13, 27, 75,121-2, 126-8 Egypt 85 Greater Syria xi-xiv, xvi, 5 Lebanon 71, 78 Ottoman Empire 3 Syria xvi, 5, 9, 78, 85 United Nations xiv, 106,128 United States of America 30, 117,129 Arab-Israeli peace process 103, 112-13,117-19,128 Gulf War 107-8,114 relations with Israel 118,128 Lebanon 75, 82 Syria 93, 103 universities 54 urbanisation se e town planning um m a

Van Zeeland, Paul 79 visas 123 Wâdï al-Yarmdk 23 w a q f 33, 35, 37 water 89-91 weapons of mass destruction 113,

121-2 West Bank 113 se e a lso Palestine women 17 Wood, Richard xi-xii Yemen 108,113,120 Young Turks 3 Yugoslavia 120 Zayd ibn al-Husayn, Hâshimi Amir 13, 29 Zionism 3 ,11, 51

‘illa m a ’ 2 -3 ,1 2 ,1 4 se e a ls o notables

158