Lion of Jordan

by Avi Shlaim

  The British pursued a clear and consistent policy of supporting Hussein in the early 1960s. They had invested a great deal in him, and did all they could to help him overcome the internal and external threats to his regime.13 They sided with Hussein against Nasser following the break-up of the UAR. The effects of the crisis were aptly summarized in the annual review of the new British ambassador to Jordan, John Henniker-Major. First, the standing threat of invasion from the north had been removed. ‘Less tangibly, the Syrian defection has given a big psychological boost to King Hussein and his supporters. It was Nasser who chose by his attacks on “the dwarf King” to personalize his quarrel with Jordan. Goliath is still on his feet; but he is distinctly groggy, and David is correspondingly confident. Jordanians are able to breathe more freely and to look more closely at their internal problems.’14

  The fading away of the threat from the north also provided Hussein with a respite to enjoy his recent marriage to an English girl: Antoinette (‘Toni’) Gardiner. After the collapse of his marriage to Dina in 1957, Hussein enhanced his reputation as a playboy with a zest for life, a passionate nature and a penchant for dangerous sports such as aerial acrobatics, car-racing and water-skiing. He was frequently pictured in the press in the company of glamorous women, including models and actresses, both in the Middle East and on holiday in Europe. In his memoirs, however. Hussein painted a much less glamorous picture of life in the fast lane during those years:

  Before my marriage, my personal life, if not empty, was made up of endless devices to distract myself. My duties and responsibilities occupied me for the greater part of each day, but once the day’s work was ended I knew as much as any man alive the dullness, even the misery, of loneliness. Mine has not, after all, been the life of an ordinary young man. The crises that have threatened my life and country, the constant attacks of my enemies, our lone stand in the Arab Middle East against Communism, the frequent betrayals by people I had great hopes for – all these conspired to turn me into what I did not want to be: a man apart. I was becoming nervous, irritable and bad tempered… I was far too young at twenty-five to become a recluse… I needed friends more than acquaintances, but it is difficult for a reigning monarch in the Middle East to have close friends. It is even more difficult if one has come to power as early in life as I did. I did have a few personal friends, but I had to be chary about seeing them too frequently. I could not attach myself to any group of people, for fear of causing complications, suspicion and intrigue. In the end I reached the stage where I did not wish to mix with anybody, and even avoided offers of genuine friendship. I was the friend of every Jordanian, but the true, personal friend of scarcely anyone.15

  All this was changed by the encounter with Toni Gardiner. She was a nineteen-year-old English girl, very short in stature and pretty, though not strikingly beautiful. Her father was Lieutenant-Colonel Walker Gardiner, the number three in the British military mission to Jordan. She was a delightful, good-natured and straightforward young woman with no airs and graces, no social ambitions and no intellectual pretensions. She was very much an outdoor girl who enjoyed swimming, water-skiing, horse-riding and go-karting. She also enjoyed dancing, especially Scottish dancing, which was all the craze at that time. Hussein met Toni at a fancy-dress party that he gave at his palace at Shuneh in the Jordan Valley. Hussein was dressed as a pirate and when he was introduced to her, she said, ‘You look pretty scruffy, Your Majesty!’ Hussein was smitten.

  It was not love at first sight, but it was the beginning of a very happy, relaxed and uncomplicated relationship. In the months that followed, Toni became a regular member of Hussein’s Friday evening Scottish dancing group, and a frequent visitor to the Amman Go-Kart Club, of which he was the president. They also spent a great deal of time together on outdoor sports, and in the palace, listening to pop music and watching films. While respectful of Hussein’s rank, Toni obviously liked Hussein as a person and treated him as an ordinary man. Companionship was what he had been yearning for and in Toni he found for the first time in his life someone who took an interest in him as a human being rather than as a king. At impromptu teas with her parents they made no fuss over him, and he felt relaxed and happy. He liked the simplicity of the family and the unaffected way they lived. It was a great relief when Hussein’s mother, by whose wisdom he set great store, gave her blessing to the union. When Hussein asked Toni to marry him, she quietly accepted and agreed to convert to Islam. Her Arabic name was to be Muna al-Hussein, which means ‘Hussein’s Delight’, and she modestly settled for the title of ‘Princess’ in preference to that of ‘queen’.16 The wedding was announced and the date set for 25 May 1961.

  The announcement of Hussein’s intention to marry an English girl gave cause for concern among both his own advisers and the British. Although his relations with the British improved dramatically following their intervention to save his throne, they were afraid that the marriage would expose Hussein to attack from his Arab opponents and that it might be tantamount to political suicide. The new British ambassador, Henniker-Major, went to see Hussein to advise him that marrying an English girl was not a good idea. Hussein politely pointed out that he knew the woman he wanted to marry and that he had been on the throne for eight years, whereas the ambassador had just arrived. Thrown on the defensive, Henniker-Major said that he merely wanted to ensure that His Majesty had considered all the possible repercussions. Hussein assured him that he had considered the matter quite thoroughly. Back at the embassy there was a minor insurrection. The novice was told that the marriage could not be allowed to take place and that it would not have happened in the days of Glubb Pasha. Henniker-Major then went to see the prime minister, Bahjat Talhouni, who had with him the chief of staff, Habis Majali. They both looked depressed and sat stroking their beards. Talhouni said, ‘We can’t stand for this. We can’t stand for the King’s marriage to a Westerner. You must do something about it, Ambassador.’ Henniker-Major told them he had already tried but promised to see whether he could do anything worth while.

  Henniker-Major thought that Hussein’s action was caused by his desire to show who was in charge in Jordan. So he went back to see the king and, taking a deep breath, said, ‘Your Majesty, I speak with the utmost reluctance, and feel it is really awful of me to raise this matter again, but I feel I must, as your intended wife is a British subject… Our one aim is to ensure your majesty’s happiness on the throne, and that there is no trouble of any kind. We all know the type of man Nasser is.’ The king looked up and said, ‘Well, I’ve listened to what you’ve said, and if you had said it in any other way I’d have asked you to leave. But I won’t. I take what you have said in good part. You have been expressing your opinion, and I have to tell you that I am going to disregard it. I’ve told you already that I need this girl. She’s the only one who can make me happy. We shall be married. It is difficult for me and awfully difficult for her, but I feel we must go ahead.’ Henniker-Major said that he fully accepted his majesty’s view, thanked him for being so forbearing and kind, and withdrew.17

  This conversation is equally revealing of Hussein’s firmness in keeping his private life private and of the lingering tendency of the British ruling class to continue to treat Jordan as a colony. If Hussein took the unsolicited advice in good part, the imperial proconsul continued to harbour ill feelings. In his annual review on Jordan for 1961, Henniker-Major gave an exceedingly sour gloss on the whole episode of the royal wedding. Hussein, he wrote,

  could hardly, in Arab and Moslem eyes, have made a more unsuitable marriage. He appeared to have placed his personal interests above any consideration of his people’s wishes, of his own standing in the Arab world, and of the future of his dynasty. He had revealed a self-indulgent and irresponsible side to his character which his people had hoped did not exist… He had been impervious to the advice of his family, his most loyal advisers, and his Western friends. At least he managed, by his adroit handling of the affair, and by agreeing that Muna should not be Queen
, to palliate his people’s bitterness, and to avoid any disturbances internally or any external attacks. His marriage passed off without incident, and indeed amid some popular rejoicing, on the 25th of May. Arab emotions are short-lived, and by the end of the year his marriage seemed to have passed quietly into history. But the King’s choice of wife had impaired his public image and was at hand for his enemies to use when a suitable occasion arose. No one will, I think, have quite the same confidence in him again.18

  These grim predictions were not borne out. The marriage went ahead without ill effects. Hussein’s popularity at home did not suffer as a result of his marriage to the woman he loved. The fact that she was foreign was grist to the propaganda mill of Radio Cairo, but the damage was minimal. In fact, as one Israeli historian has suggested, the marriage strengthened rather than weakened Hussein’s position in the long run because it vindicated his own instincts against those of his would-be guardians.19 Princess Muna endeared herself to the public by her kindness, humility and pleasant manners. Learning Arabic also counted in her favour. Unlike Queen Dina, she was not a great intellectual, and she did not try to involve herself in the affairs of state. What she did do was to provide her husband with a domestic anchor that helped him cope with the strains and stresses of his stormy political life.

  The royal couple settled down comfortably and happily in Hussein’s little farmhouse at Al-Hummar, about ten miles from Amman. It was a low, two storeyed building of white stone with four bedrooms and two reception rooms. The house was in line with Hussein’s simple tastes, and provided a real home and a retreat from the pressures of public life. The house stood on the crest of a hill in open countryside where Hussein and Muna could ride on horseback. In the garden there was a helicopter pad that enabled Hussein to commute in five minutes to his office in the Basman Palace in Amman and occasionally to go home for lunch. Hussein also had a house at Shuneh in the Jordan Valley and a villa on the Red Sea at Aqaba, and he travelled around at great speed by car or helicopter. Muna established close and friendly relations with her formidable mother-in-law. Queen Zain particularly valued Muna for her loyalty and for the effort she made to preserve family bonds and to sustain family life.20 On 30 January 1962 Muna gave birth to their first son; he was named Abdullah, after his great-grandfather. Hussein already had a daughter from his first marriage, Alia; Muna brought her into the family and arranged for her mother, Dina, to visit her whenever she wanted. Now Hussein had a son and an heir to the Hashemite throne. Abdullah was followed by Faisal, named after his assassinated relative, and twin girls, Zain, named after her grandmother, and Aisha.

  Abdullah was appointed crown prince, but it took Hussein another three years to arrange the succession to the Hashemite throne to his satisfaction. Ever since Hussein had ascended the throne, the crown prince, in accordance with the constitution, had been Prince Muhammad. Muhammad was born in 1940, went to boarding school in England and attended the military academy in Baghdad. On his return in 1958, he joined the Jordan Arab Army and became ADC to his elder brother. There were always doubts, however, about Muhammad’s suitability for high office. He was said to be mentally unstable, and his behaviour could be erratic and unpredictable. The appointment of Abdullah as crown prince did not solve the problem of the succession because he was an infant, not to mention half English. Hussein may have wanted to protect his son from the dangers involved in being crown prince. He decided to prepare someone else to hold together the house of Hashem if anything happened to him, and the choice fell on his younger brother Hassan. On 1 April 1965, as soon as Hassan came of age, he was appointed crown prince, after the constitution had been changed to make this possible. The amendment to the constitution laid down that the King’s eldest son or any of the king’s brothers could become crown prince, a change that was to become highly significant during the crisis of the succession in 1999.

  The collapse of the UAR gave Jordan a chance to turn its attention to internal affairs – to the problems of insolvency, poverty and unemployment, and the pressing needs of economic development. Hussein seized his chance and came up with his first slogan: Fal nabni hatha al-balad li nakhdem hathihi al-umma (‘Let us build this country to serve this nation’). This was the theme of a series of speeches and radio broadcasts he made. But lip service was one thing and leadership was another. Rhetoric was not matched by a sustained effort to come to grips with the dismal domestic situation. Hussein had no interest in economic affairs, in contrast to his intense interest in the army and foreign policy. He was temperamentally unsuited to the task of planning because of his deep dislike of any kind of paperwork. Hussein’s chief contribution to the cause of economic and political reform lay in his moving round of political elites – and, more specifically, in replacing Bahjat Talhouni with Wasfi al-Tall as prime minister in January 1962. Talhouni was a time-server and a notoriously corrupt politician who used his high office to enrich himself and his friends. Tall represented a new generation of politicians: young, well educated, efficient and dedicated to the public good.

  Wasfi Tall was an outstanding statesman and a towering figure in Jordanian politics in the 1960s. He represented not only a new generation but also a new attempt to find a third way between Arab socialism and old-fashioned Arab reaction. His first government has been labelled by one scholar as ‘another milestone in the history of modern Jordan; indeed, in some respects it was the birth of modern Jordan’.21 Wasfi Tall came from a well-established family in nothern Jordan, the son of a famous poet; he was educated at the American University of Beirut; he served with distinction as a battalion commander in the First Arab–Israeli War; and he had an impressive record as an administrator and diplomat. Yet Tall remains a controversial figure among his own countrymen, partly because of his authoritarian personality, partly because of the complexity of his political views. In the words of one historian of Jordan: ‘A volcanic and seemingly contradictory amalgam, Tall was an Arab nationalist and Jordanian nationalist, a fighter for Palestinian rights and a suppressor of Palestinian activists, a patriot but someone who acquired a reputation as a British agent, a former journalist and reformer but a man whose first political appointment was as a government censor, a man who served three times as prime minister but was never a team player.’22

  Tall, aged forty-one, began as he intended to continue: with a frontal attack on vested interests and on Jordan’s corrupt political culture. He was committed to radical internal reform and gathered about him a cabinet of youngish intellectuals and well-educated technocrats, none of whom had served as a minister before and none of whom was tainted by corruption. This was the best cabinet that Jordan ever had. It represented the rise of the meritocracy. There was much talk of ‘a new frontier’. Under this slogan the government launched an ambitious Seven-year Plan to raise the gross national product by 70 per cent in ten years through a system of ‘welfare capitalism’. The purpose of the plan was to expand domestic sources of revenue, to reduce expenditure on the army and to make the state economically viable. An energetic drive was launched to reorganize and streamline the bureaucracy, and to root out corruption. Seven hundred civil servants were removed from their posts, and nepotism was replaced by a system of competitive examinations. An attempt was made to bring the army under civilian control, though this met with serious resistance. Elections were held in November 1962, and they had the distinction of being the freest in Jordan’s history. Fairer elections produced a more representative, reformist parliament, which was treated as a partner of the government rather than as a talking shop. Political prisoners were released, and the press was allowed a much greater measure of freedom. Taken together, these measures represented the beginning of a peaceful revolution in Jordanian public affairs.

  Tall was one of a tiny group of Jordanian prime ministers who were capable of standing up to the king, in matters of foreign relations as well as domestic policy. He believed, and tried to persuade the king, that foreign policy should be based on the Jordanian national interest and no
t on purely dynastic interests. Relations with Iraq were a case in point. Hussein’s attitude towards republican Iraq continued to be influenced by the bitterness he felt at the murder of his cousin in 1958. Tall, who became the first Jordanian ambassador to Baghdad after the murder of Faisal II, was more influenced by cold calculations of realpolitik. He saw Iraq as a rich and powerful state, and wanted to ally with it in building a broader regional coalition to balance the power of the radical group headed by Nasser.23