Bell of the Desert

by Alan Gold

  “Then, Miss Bell, they will find a welcome in this land which will be a million times worse than any persecution they faced in their ghettos. Let them leave Russia and Poland if they want, but let them go to America or Africa or Patagonia. Let them not come here if they want to live, because they will be pushed into the Mediterranean by the iron fist and righteous zeal of Islam.”

  As his tirade ended, his followers applauded and shouted encouragement. Timothy Haldane was shocked by the sudden increase of noise and tension in the room, and became even more concerned for their safety, looking around the room for an escape plan. His hand slipped towards the sidearm in his belt. He didn’t know what was being said, but he knew Gertrude was getting the worst of it, and they were alone and nobody knew they were there.

  “But Excellency,” she said when the hubbub had quietened down. “Surely it is against the tenets of Islam to separate a worshipper from his place of worship. For there are places of great significance in Palestine for all people, and especially to the worship of the Jewish and Christian faiths. This was recognized by that greatest of all Islamic warriors, Saladin. It was he who allowed the Jews and the Christians their worship, despite the havoc wreaked by the Crusaders. It was he who allowed all religions their right to their holy places. Jerusalem is the home of the three great religions which worship the one true God. For the Jews, there is the Temple of Solomon with its Western Wall. And for Christians, there is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre and many other churches of the faith. And for Islam, there are the two mosques on the Holy Mount. There is room for all. Can Islam be happy to separate the faithful from their worship?”

  “Indeed it can, if that worship excludes the truth of the Koran. But Miss Bell, you didn’t come here to discuss Islam with me, did you? For what purpose did you seek this interview?”

  “To see what type of leader you will make, Excellency, so I can report back to my prime minister and advise him on the future of this land.”

  “And why should I concern myself with the views of your prime minister, when the tenure of the British will be so short they will not even be noticed. Like the Crusaders, you will be driven from this land.”

  “And are you Saladin?”

  “If that is God’s will.”

  “But Saladin wasn’t an Arab, Excellency, he was a Kurd. And isn’t it also the Kurds you want to expel from Palestine?”

  For the first time, Husseini frowned, feeling that he was losing the conversation. He looked anxiously at his followers, listening carefully to the extraordinary spectacle of a woman dealing with their leader.

  He was now worried this woman had scored an important debating point. “Miss Bell, please give my compliments to your prime minister, Mr. Lloyd George. I think our conversation is at an end.”

  He picked up a document, and began to read it. But Gertrude didn’t move. Surprised, he looked up. She was staring at him directly, challenging him, her mouth a thin grimace.

  “You wish to say more?” he asked.

  “I wish to say this, Haj Husseini. Many British soldiers fought and died in this land to release you from the yoke of the Turks. In a few months, a high commissioner will be appointed by the British government. He will rule this land. He will be supported by a host of British soldiers, not the mere handful which you see today in the streets of Palestine, but reinforcements which will be as grains of sand in the desert. This could become a great nation for Arabs and Jews and Christians alike. There is space, provided there is good will. But be assured, Excellency, any hostility towards the British, or the Jews under their protection, or the Christians, or the Kurds, will bring forth a mighty response, and many of your followers will die. Is that your desire, Haj Husseini? To turn Palestine into a graveyard?”

  “Insh’allah, Miss Bell. But be you also assured, that if the British reinforcements come to Palestine with their rifles and artillery, then I shall declare jihad, and every man, woman and child will consider it their holy duty to kill a soldier. Can your army, no matter how many grains of sand it numbers, fight an army which numbers all the stars in heaven? I think not. Please convey that message to your superiors.”

  Gertrude sighed, and rose from the stool. She shook her head at Timothy, and felt desperately sad for the Jews who were flocking to the Holy Land with hope in their hearts for a secure future.

  ~

  Damascus, October, 1919

  He held out his arms and embraced her, to the surprise of the entire court and especially his younger brother Zeid. Normally, those who entered his court bowed and abased themselves, but this tall, middle-aged English woman had walked ramrod straight towards Faisal’s throne and stood there beaming a smile. And Faisal, ignoring the protocols he had introduced when he became King of Syria a year earlier, had left his throne, walked down the three steps of the plinth, and hugged her as though she was his closest male friend.

  The court, composed of his friends from the Kingdom of Hejaz, khaki-clad army officers, as well as black Abyssinian eunuch slaves sent as a gift from his father, had not seen anything like this level of familiarity with a woman.

  “My dearest Gertrude Bell. How delightful and unexpected a pleasure this is. Why didn’t you tell me you were coming to Syria? I would have organised a banquet in your honor.”

  “The British Foreign Office informed our people here, but there was nobody to greet me when I arrived, and I had to find a hotel room on my own. That’s why, Highness, you didn’t know of my coming. I shall have words with Great Britain’s Charge d’Affair in Syria.”

  The king took her hand, and led her away from the audience chamber into an ante-room, where they sat at a long table. They were joined by Prince Zeid, Jafar Pasha and Nuri al-Sa’id, the king’s closest advisors. She knew of Jafar’s and Nuri’s standing in the king’s eyes, and was interested that they were both of Mesopotamian origin. She also knew they were both zealous nationalists who resented both the British and the French, but also that they were men of the highest intelligence and both realized there had to be a transition period of many years before the process of self-government could take place without disaster resulting.

  As they sat, a servant immediately brought in glasses of apple tea and licorice water. Faisal introduced Gertrude to the three men, and explained their close relationship. In his remarks, he tended to overstate her wisdom and her importance to foreign policy, telling his advisors were it not for Gertrude, Britain would undoubtedly have lost the war in the Middle East.

  She wanted to object to his flattery, but before she could do so, he turned to her and asked, “What do you hear of my friend Lawrence?”

  “After we left Paris, he returned to England to work on his manuscript, The Seven Pillars of Wisdom. As far as I know, Your Highness, he’s only just beginning the process of re-writing it. He fears he’s going to be interrupted in his literary endeavours because of circumstances beyond his control. He sent me some correspondence a few weeks ago, telling me Mr. Lowell Thomas is, to quote the American journalist, ‘playing him up big time’ in the United States, and there is a lecture tour mooted of New York, Washington, and Chicago. God help us all if it goes to Lawrence’s head, which I’m sure it will. Knowing the dear boy, he’ll blow the whole thing out of proportion, and then he’ll have to justify his actions to history.”

  “And why are you here, Gertrude? I would hope you’re here on a personal visit to your friend Faisal to continue the joyous nights we spent together in Paris, but knowing you, you’re here as a secret agent and a spy, covertly gathering information for the British government, or some such dastardly act. Are you here to report to the government on how well Syria is doing as the world’s first totally independent Arab nation in a thousand years?”

  She laughed. “As I’m sure you already know, Majesty, I’ve been asked to visit all the countries of the Middle East in which Great Britain has an interest in order to report back on the mood of the Arab street. The question of self-rule is uppermost in the minds of His Majesty’s gov
ernment.”

  “Then your visit to Syria is wasted, I’m afraid, my dear. For tomorrow, I am off to England myself in order to report that after a year of independence, we’re running well, if not altogether efficiently. I also need to gather British support for my kingdom. The French are particularly unhappy about our independence, and believe they have an inalienable right to Syria and all the land to the north of Palestine. It is my hope to persuade Lloyd George to force them to look elsewhere for a colony.”

  She nodded. “And how are the French behaving? Are they rattling their sabers?”

  “They’re very angry that the Americans, King and Crane have come down firmly in favor of a mandate over this land which should be operated by this new League of Nations their President Wilson is setting up. M. Clemenceau is beside himself with fury. They see this as their land, and are unhappy about sharing the rule with me. But no matter how many French soldiers there are, or how many reinforcements will be sent from Paris, there are many more Syrians than French, and they cannot hope to colonise an unwilling people.”

  She shook her head in sadness. “A few days ago, sire, I interviewed a man who will be a future spiritual leader of the Palestinian people when the present mufti dies. He said the same thing. He is preaching an intifada to his people.”

  “You speak of Haj Amin al-Husseini. Yes, he is an ambitious young man.”

  “Ambition which will inevitably lead to danger and distress for his people if he continues with his present militancy,” Gertrude said.

  “Or danger and distress for the British?” said Nuri al-Sa’id.

  Gertrude turned and looked closely at him. “Indeed, Excellency, it could be a disaster for all concerned. This war has caused millions and millions of deaths. Many countries have lost an entire generation, the flower of their youth. Surely we’ve learned enough about the futility of war to understand nothing is gained by fighting. Surely it’s time to compromise, to appreciate each other’s point of view, to accommodate the needs of the needy and eschew the greed of the greedy.”

  “And who are the greedy, Miss Bell?” asked Prince Zeid. “The French who hardly fought in this theater of war, and yet who are shouting out that this is their country by rights because of some agreement made by two men called Sykes and Picot who didn’t bother to ask the inhabitants of the land for their opinion? Or the British who want to administer Mesopotamia and Persia and everywhere else because we Arabs are rich in oil and you need oil to drive your cars and ships and machinery? Are we greedy, Miss Bell, for wanting ownership of land which we’ve lived on since the time of Adam and Eve?”

  She began to answer, but he cut across her, “And who are the needy? The Jews who live in Europe and who now are immigrating to lands in which Jews haven’t set foot since the time of the Romans? Yes, they’re needy, but why should they benefit at the expense of the Arab?”

  “Prince Zeid, your brother, King Faisal, reached an agreement with Dr. Weizmann, the head of the Zionist movement, in which he clearly expressed his approval of a Jewish migration to develop the land of Palestine. He had the foresight to understand the need for sharing the country. I think we could all learn from his wisdom,” said Gertrude.

  “Is that another reason you’ve come here?” asked King Faisal. “To speak on behalf of the Jews?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’m here on behalf of my government to try to find a pathway through the morass of promises and undertakings and expectations. But I can see both sides of the problem when it comes to Jewish immigration into Palestine. I have great sympathy for their plight, as I have great sympathy for the expectations of the Palestinian peoples. And that, sir, is why I’m asking whether you will intercede with Haj Husseini. I believe he’ll listen to you. You are the most respected Arab leader of an Arab nation. You have great status in the eyes of your people. If you intercede on the part of the Jews with Husseini, he might soften his stance.”

  Faisal looked at her in surprise. Before he could say anything, she said softly, “Majesty, when I was a young girl, I harboured a dream that I could assist all the Arab tribes into uniting to become a single nation called Arabia. But to unite, they have to coalesce under one leader, as the Arabs united under Saladin in ancient times. Many said it was a girlish dream, that the Arabs will always remain a disunited tribal people. But I believed then, as I believe now, that it is possible. After such a terrible war, with such hideous losses, I don’t believe the Arabs will look towards a tribal leader. A man such as Abd al-Aziz ibn Sa’ud. Men such as he cannot see beyond their tribes and their own needs. But I believe the Arabs will unite under a fearless warrior—one who was victorious in leading his army against the Turks—a man of wisdom and one who rules wisely and leads his people for their benefit. You are such a leader, Excellency. Under your guidance I believe Arabia, under the benign insight of Islam, can become one of this new world’s great nations and take its place as a united nation of many different peoples with different approaches to the same God.”

  Faisal shook his head sadly, reached over and held her hand. “My poor Gertrude. The differences between the Arab peoples are as nothing compared to the differences between the Europeans. France is currently planning to topple me from my throne, against the demands of England and America. My dear, I’m flattered by your confidence in me, but I am a puppet controlled by those who pull my strings.”

  “Perhaps if you were to go to Jerusalem, and negotiate with Haj Amin al-Husseini, the British and the French would view your rule here differently. Then—”

  “But Gertrude, surely Palestine is a British problem.”

  FIFTEEN

  Baghdad, November, 1919

  The question uppermost in her mind was whether to sign the report Gertrude Bell, or Gertrude Lowthian Bell CBE. The latter, which included her imperial honor, and which trumped any that her boss had been granted, would send the senior political man in Mesopotamia into an apoplectic rage. It was mischievous of her and she’d love to see A. T. Wilson in a state of fury. But whilst the latter would possibly cause her to be considered ostentatious in London, the former was more politic. Then, of course, she could simply call herself G.L. Bell, but that was equally problematic, for some might fail to recognise the report had been written by a woman. In the end, she settled for simply adding the initials GLB to the last page, which would pacify Wilson, mollify London, and act as an enigma for the bright young things in the Foreign Office to work out.

  The report had taken her weeks to write from a thousand pages of notes which she’d been carefully keeping since she’d left Paris months earlier. Nor was it a simple question of transcribing the notes, for what the government in London needed was interpretation, analysis, and objectivity. They were receiving facts from their intelligence services and high commissions throughout the region, but only someone of vast experience like Gertrude was capable of reading between the lines and construing meaning from seemingly random events.

  Her concerns about the growth of Arab nationalism on the streets were justified by the events which were beginning to become the norm rather than the exception. British political officials were being held by armed groups, not for ransom, but to extract promises of freedom or to relinquish land and territory. Tribes which had once fought the Turks were now turning their gun sights on the British forces, and towns which had once flown the British flag were becoming hotbeds of dissent and resistance.

  Gertrude was deeply worried for the future of Britain in Arabia, and also for the Arabic nations themselves. The emotional desire for Arabic homelands to be free of imperial Europe was impelling the march towards self-government and nationhood at a pace which would eventually lead to disaster. She knew the Arab people weren’t ready for self-government. There were no Arabic-run organs of government in place, no civil service bodies which they could easily take over without years of training, and worst of all, there was no experience of governance among the leaders. A free press, free judicial system, a police force distanced from government, unive
rsal education for both boys and girls, equality between the sexes, a fair taxation system, a way of promotion which didn’t involve nepotism or bribery . . . all these were unknown in Arabia. The doctrine of the separation of powers was an idea which had never entered an Arab’s head.

  So any pre-emptive move towards nationhood, let alone pan-Arabism, would result in anarchy, in internecine battles, in death and bloodshed. Eventually the strongest, the most violent, and not necessarily the best, would become ruler, and with the potential of a fortune of oil which lay beneath the sands, that could spell disaster for everyone. Her dreams of a united Arabia were slipping further and further away. Even she now saw them as utopian.

  But neither could Britain, or France or Russia or Italy or any of the Great Powers, hope to replicate the sort of hold which the Ottoman Empire had over the Arabic nations before the war. Gertrude knew, and had written, that Britain must accept the idea of partnerships with the Arabs in order for both to benefit. And she stressed that Zionism and the Palestine question must be worked upon as a matter of great priority, or the area would erupt into a new battlefront. She informed the government in her report that King Faisal, who ruled Syria between Damascus and Aleppo, was doing better than expected, despite the obstacles which had been placed in his path by the French, and must be considered as a future leader of all the Arab peoples.

  She sealed her report, toasted her monumental effort with a glass of champagne drunk alone late at night in her office, and sent it by urgent diplomatic courier to Lord Balfour, David Lloyd George and a handful of others in the British government. And she pointedly refused to give a copy, or even inform A. T. Wilson, her boss and Percy Cox’s replacement, of the contents of her report. Something mischievous within her wanted to irritate the nasty and officious little man who had been given the job which clearly would have been hers, had she not been a woman. He was the embodiment of all that was wrong with Britain’s imperial system of patronage and its chauvinistic attitude towards ability. All her life, she’d fought and struggled against the oppression of those who saw her as a woman, not as a diplomat or an explorer or a linguist or one of the most skilled political brains in the nation. And people like Arnold Talbot Wilson, an army man of little education and minimal ability, who treated those around him with contempt and condescension, was the epitome of what she was fighting against. His superciliousness towards his staff, and his arrogance towards Arabs, Jews, Kurds and others, caused him to be known in headquarters as “the despot from mess-pot”