Late for Tea at the Deer Palace: The Lost Dreams of My Iraqi Family

by Tamara Chalabi

  The violence only subsided when the Mayor finally asked the Regent to intercede on the second day. Abdul Ilah mobilized those army divisions that remained loyal to him, and some semblance of order was restored. All in all, between 135 and 180 people had been killed, hundreds injured and many hundreds of Jewish households ransacked. These days’ terrible events became known as the Farhud, the Great Loot. A government investigation placed the responsibility for failing to prevent it squarely at the feet of the army and the police.

  It was clear that many people continued to nurse strong anti-monarchy and anti-British sentiments. Now this hostility had been channelled into acts of violence directed at the most obvious pro-British minority, the Jews, in a shameful act of impotent revenge. Horrified by what had happened to her Jewish friends, Bibi wondered if her own family would be next to experience the rage of the mob.

  Against the advice of the Cabinet, the Prince Regent insisted that the officers of the Golden Square should be publicly hanged for their part in the failed coup, thereby widening the divide between pro-Axis nationalist sympathizers and the monarchy.

  A new government was formed under the old patrician politician Jamil Madfa’i, and for a few months great care was taken to boost the Jewish community’s confidence. Many pro-Nazis and extreme nationalists were arrested, and their non-Iraqi sympathizers were expelled from the country. The Jewish population also received financial support, allowing it to recover somewhat from the horrors of June 1941.

  Nevertheless, many Jewish families decided to move elsewhere after the attacks, although older members of the community, who were attached to their homes and their traditional way of life, were not tempted by immigration. Many in the younger generation gravitated towards Communist or Zionist organizations, whose activities had recently seen a marked increase.

  The British de facto occupation of Iraq continued to aggravate the already hostile population, but censorship and strong security were put in place to ensure that the chaos of June 1941 could not be repeated. Freya Stark, the British traveller who was working for British intelligence during the war, concocted a plan to promote British ideals and principles among the educated classes of the region by bringing the ‘fans of democracy’ together. Supported by the Ministry of Information in London, she began her project in Cairo by setting up a group she called Ikhwan al-Hurriya, the Brotherhood of Freedom. It quickly earned the nickname Ikhwan Freya, Freya’s Brothers, when she introduced it to Iraq in 1941. In Baghdad she had the support of the British Institute, which organized cultural events and published a newspaper.

  Nevertheless, the success of Nazi propaganda and the bitterness of many Iraqis at the army’s defeat meant that only twelve people attended the first few meetings of the Brotherhood that Freya held at her house in Alwiyah. She was vocal about not wanting the organization to become a mere British mouthpiece, and believed in following up local initiatives rather than taking instruction from the British. Although many continued to believe that the British authorities were really in charge of the operation, gradually the circle began to expand. Freya travelled across the country to spread the word. Tribal sheikhs were cajoled, lawyers, doctors and engineers were approached, in the name of promoting democracy. She even went to the holy cities to promote her project among the turbaned men of the shrines.

  Although by the end of the war the membership of Freya’s society numbered in the thousands, and even included some officers from the army – that bastion of anti-Britishness – it is doubtful whether the Brotherhood created any change in public opinion. For the ambitious it was a useful means to gain access to people of influence, and many saw it simply as a social club where like-minded secular individuals could meet and enjoy a drink, ignoring Islam’s prohibition of drinking. It was said that one of the Brotherhood’s most notable successes was to introduce young Iraqis to whisky.

  In Baghdad, Rushdi was among those to join the Ikhwan al-Hurriya, having been introduced to Freya by his progressive cousin Abdul Jabbar. Rushdi had recently completed his degree at the American University of Beirut, and was beginning to dabble in politics. He believed that an Allied victory would present the best outcome for Iraq, and was soon hosting ’azimahs – meetings – at the Chalabi house. Freya attended some of these meetings, but not all, as the aim was to make them as autonomous as possible. However, Rushdi welcomed a British presence. For him and for many others of his generation, the gatherings represented their first opportunity to interact directly with the British. Rushdi was convinced that if Iraq was to become one of the great nations of the world, much still had to be learned from its seeming rulers.

  Bibi was less impressed by Freya Stark than she had been by Gertrude Bell. When she met her briefly, Bibi felt that Freya lacked Miss Bell’s charisma and focus. She was also not amused when Rushdi told her that Freya had started holding meetings among women in Baghdad to encourage friendly relations between the British and the Iraqis.

  ‘Bah,’ she snapped when Rushdi invited her to attend one of these meetings. ‘You want me to drink horrible tea and sit with people who want to tell me how to think? You must be mad. Who are they anyway? She’s not the Khatun, this Freya.’ Despite Bibi’s support of the status quo, she didn’t want to spend time with British women, who were notorious for their condescending attitude to the locals.

  The trauma of war had superficially removed many of the barriers between the British and their former subjects, but deep divisions remained. Before the war, the British had treated Baghdad much like any other colonial outpost. There was a degree of interaction between the British and Iraqis in government circles, in the professions and in the sphere of business, but otherwise there had been little contact between the communities. With notable exceptions such as Gertrude Bell, the Iraqis and the British had lived in separate worlds.

  Bibi may not have been willing to waste her time in the company of Freya Stark and her ilk, but she was delighted to receive an invitation from the Queen Mother, Queen Alia, to a lunch party for the ladies of the political and social elite who had been steadfast in their support of the royal family during the coup.

  At the party, Bibi was amused to be served lukewarm Coca-Cola. Clutching her glass, she whispered to her daughters: ‘You’d think they’d know it should be served chilled, wouldn’t you?’

  Najla laughed. ‘Why don’t you chill it with that?’ She nodded at Bibi’s large diamond ring, which glittered like ice. Bibi chose to ignore the remark; she loved her jewels and was grateful for any opportunity to show them off, however disapproving Najla might be.

  The party was to be the first visit of many monthly visits that Bibi and her daughters made to the royal household, where they also met King Faisal II’s maternal grandmother, Queen Nafissa, and her daughters, Princesses Abdiya and Badiya. Thamina struck up a friendship with Princess Badiya that would last a lifetime, and would put her own life in danger.

  21

  An Education Overseas

  Mixed Fortunes

  (1941–1945)

  Hassan.

  HASSAN WAS ADMITTED to Baghdad’s College of Law in 1940, just before his eighteenth birthday. His single-minded drive for academic success meant that he had already overcome many obstacles; unable to write his own papers because of his blindness, he had persuaded schools and educational establishments to find alternative ways of examining him. In order to get into college he sat an oral exam, at which he impressed the Dean and a committee of professors with his sharp intellect.

  He quickly settled into his courses, enjoying the intellectual life of the college immensely. He particularly enjoyed taking part in debates, during which he would address each point in an orderly and eloquent fashion, listening intently and memorizing what he heard, then reflecting carefully before offering his opinion.

  The war did not change the routine of college life, but outside the classroom it dominated every conversation, with the student body being equally divided between support for the Allies and for Hitler. Hassan was veh
emently anti-Hitler. Like his mother, he believed that Hitler’s politics were steeped in violence, and that the Führer was a disruptive influence on Iraqi society, heightening the tensions that already existed between the different communities.

  The majority of Hassan’s professors had trained in Egypt or were Egyptian, and Hassan listened intently as they spoke of Egypt’s many decades of interaction with the West. Particularly influenced by the French, they regarded the Enlightenment as the key to progress, and Hassan began to dream of visiting Cairo, and even of experiencing the West for himself, where he felt he would be judged on his own merits.

  One day Hassan’s oud instructor Jamil Bashir arrived at the house with some particularly interesting information. He had found a study-assistant who could read Hassan his lessons, help him prepare for his classes and write his thoughts down on paper. The study-assistant’s family came from Mosul, like his own; they were Catholic, and in need of money as the father had recently died. The only difficulty was that the study-assistant was a young woman, and she and her mother were very concerned that her work should not transgress propriety in any way. If she were to accept the post it would be an unconventional situation, and they wanted to ensure that her reputation would remain above reproach. Hassan brushed aside the issue of the study-assistant’s gender: if this arrangement worked, he thought, it could offer him the freedom to pursue his studies he had always yearned for.

  Jamil brought the prospective study-assistant to meet Hassan. She kept her abaya on even when she had entered the house, and she was clearly uncomfortable. To put her more at ease, Hassan interviewed her through Jamil; but still she had a nervous tic, swallowing her tongue before every sentence she spoke, which made a sound a little like a glugging waterpipe to Hassan’s ears. When he learned that she shared the same name – Jamila – as his late grandmother, of whom he had been very fond, he asked about her family.

  Jamila gave a little gulp, then said, ‘We are three girls and my mother. My father died four months ago.’ In spite of her nerves, her voice was low and gentle, like a soothing breeze on a hot day; she still had a Mosul accent: ‘a’ became ‘i’. She explained that she had finished secondary school and hoped to take a teaching diploma. She was currently employed as a teaching assistant, but the children’s school where she worked was a two-hour bus journey from Baghdad, and the idea of helping Hassan with his studies interested her. She had visited his house once before, when she had been collecting money for the wounded with the Red Cross. Hassan’s mother had donated generously.

  ‘Thank God she did, or you would think very badly of us!’ Hassan laughed.

  Jamila gave a small smile. Hassan could tell that she felt very unsure of herself, and that everything about this situation must be alien to her. He quickly sketched out her duties for her, explaining that she would have to accompany him to his lectures to take notes so that he wouldn’t have to borrow them from his friends.

  When Jamila politely told him that she couldn’t accompany him anywhere in public, Hassan realized that she didn’t want to invite slander by accepting his requests too quickly. He continued cautiously, ‘Your salary will be paid monthly, and our driver can pick you up and drop you at home, so you won’t have to worry about transport.’ Jamila told him she would have to think the matter over and discuss it with her family. Before she left, Jamil assured her that she had nothing to fear from Hassan or his family, and that in his opinion she should begin working straight away.

  It did not take long for Jamila to make up her mind. After weighing the disadvantages of tongues wagging against the advantages of a well-paid and – more importantly for her – a humanitarian job, she sent word that she would accept the position. Hassan went to his father to discuss her salary, and Hadi suggested that he give her a month’s money in advance to encourage her.

  Hassan’s passion for the intellectual life was addictive, and he had a wonderful wry sense of humour. After a few weeks as his study-assistant, Jamila confided to Jamil that, more importantly than anything else, in working for him she knew she was truly needed, and the realization gave her drive and energy. She was happy to become Hassan’s eyes.

  Hadi was pleased that his son had found someone to help him, and Bibi was also delighted with the arrangement. Rushdi too was supportive. He described Jamila to his brother, telling him that she was much darker-skinned than Hassan himself, with long bony hands, short, curly dark hair and a full mouth. He did not add that she also had an unfortunate mole on her nose, drawing attention to the least attractive part of her face, and that she was really rather plain.

  On paper, Jamila’s duties seemed simple, but they became far more complicated as Hassan’s dependency upon her grew and she became more involved in his life. Although everyone was pleased with her, her position was always that of a paid secretary, and not a social equal or a family member. Unused to seeing women working outside a domestic context, Habib Chaigahwa christened her Jamila Effendi, effendi being the respectful title for a man. When she arrived at the house, he would announce: ‘Jamila Effendi is here’.

  Jamila started by merely reading to Hassan during afternoons at the house, but it soon became clear that he needed more assistance. She gradually overcame her reservations and started to accompany him to college, taking notes for him under the curious gaze of the other students. It was an uncomfortable experience at first, but her stern face and dedication to the task in hand soon quietened the gossip-mongers. A year into their arrangement, Hassan encouraged Jamila to enrol at the college and study for a law degree herself. He thought it would be a wasted opportunity if she didn’t, given how much time she spent on the subject anyway.

  Hassan’s dream was to obtain a doctorate in law, and the obvious place to go to study was Cairo. His Egyptian professors encouraged him and recommended him to their colleagues at the King Fouad University, a Western-style institution built in 1908.

  Hassan realized that the only way he could hope to study for a doctorate was if Jamila were to come with him, but he wasn’t sure how to convince her. He was very sensitive to her conservative nature, and knew of her strong attachment to her family. He decided not to put the question to her until just before his final exams. Then she would have the entire summer to think about it and make up her mind.

  In the autumn of 1942, Hassan set out for Cairo. He did not travel alone: Jamila again put her devotion to him and his education above her personal concerns. The reason was simple: she had fallen in love with him. She knew that by travelling with him she was compromising her chances of getting married in a society that placed a great value on marriage and was scornful of old maids. Yet accompanying Hassan also represented an opportunity for her to see the world and continue her own education.

  To begin with, Jamila and Hassan found accommodation in separate boarding houses in Cairo. However, it soon became apparent that for practical reasons this arrangement could not be sustained for long, so Jamila broke yet another taboo by agreeing to find a flat to rent for both of them. After some searching they settled on a furnished apartment on Murad Street in Giza, near the river and not far from the university, which was housed in a grand neo-classical building, without any Islamic or ancient Egyptian references in its architecture.

  Hassan found that he adored Egypt, though Iraq was never far from his mind; indeed, Cairo constantly reminded him of Baghdad. This went beyond the obvious fact that a river cut through both cities, and had more to do with the countries’ standing in the region. Both Iraq and Egypt were competing for dominance, and their similarities were obvious to Hassan.

  Like Iraq, where King Faisal had struggled against successive factions, in Egypt King Farouk had to contend with political dissension. Although it had been a sovereign state since 1922, Egypt had – like Iraq – been under the British yoke, and both countries were seen by Britain as strategic territories.

  Nationalism had existed as a political force in Egypt for longer than in Iraq, but the war had brought the same sorts of tension
s to the fore in both countries, with both Communists and pro-Nazi groups gaining ground. King Farouk’s lavish lifestyle was a source of great contention, and his position was precarious. Egypt may have set out on the path of modernization and institution-building long before Iraq, but in both countries the growth of a native middle class – who could act as the backbone of a democratic society – was still under way. For many Egyptians the pace of change was too slow, even though the state had only existed for a couple of decades.

  Yet for Hassan, Cairo was everything he had been searching for. He was captivated by its intellectual energy, its vibrancy despite the war, and the humour of the Egyptians. Life here was intense – the hotels, restaurants and cafés were packed, and music, champagne, bordellos and drama were in liberal supply. Larger-than-life Westerners such as Patrick Leigh Fermor, Max Mallowan and Evelyn Waugh made themselves at home in its high society.

  Although Hassan was aware of these flamboyant figures, he did not mingle in their circles, but was content to enjoy a quieter existence. The one thing he did long for was a chance to meet his hero, Taha Hussein. A giant of Arabic literature, Taha Hussein had made a remarkable journey from humble beginnings as a blind boy in a small village in Egypt to the Sorbonne in Paris, stamping his homeland, philosophy and the Arabic language with his intellectual mark along the way. Hassan had been a schoolboy when Taha Hussein’s autobiography al-Ayyam was published. The book’s impact on him was tremendous, and it would guide his way through life, inspiring and motivating him whenever he lost courage. If Taha Hussein could overcome his blindness, Hassan could do the same.

  Hassan’s extracurricular activities in Cairo focused on the famous Groppi coffee house, and concerts held in the Azbakiya Gardens or at the concert hall of the American University. His favourite outing by far was to Tea Island at the Cairo Zoo, where he enjoyed sitting under the trees listening to the birdsong as he and his friends discussed politics. For the first time he felt he was the master of his own destiny, away from his overbearing family among whom his handicap set him apart.