Al-Ahram Weekly Online 12 - 18 July 2001 Issue No.542
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Al-Ahram:

A Diwan of contemporary life (398)

As an MP, the writer Fikri Abaza was well placed to see what went on in parliament, especially behind the scenes. Putting his famed wit to paper, his series of articles published in Al-Ahram on the 1926 session gave readers a unique look at the speaker of the house, Saad Zaghlul, Prime Minister Adli Yakan and all his men, as well as the writer's constituents, some of whom turned to Abaza for help while others conversely turned on him. In the 100-day session, few things or individuals, writes Dr Yunan Labib Rizk*, escaped Abaza's attention and subsequent satirical quips.

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Tongue-in-cheek sketches

Saad Zaghlul Fikri Abaza Ismail Sidqi Abdel-Khaleq Tharwat

Barely a week into the first session of Egypt's third parliamentary term, which lasted from 10 June to 20 September 1926, Al-Ahram published a series of articles documenting the parliament's day-to-day activities. The writer was Fikri Abaza, who not only had acquired considerable fame as "the prince of wit," as he was dubbed, but Abaza also happened to be serving as an MP that term. His first-hand account of life under the parliamentary dome is an invaluable record of the history of the Egyptian Chamber of Deputies and modern Egyptian annals in general.

This was Abaza's first term as a people's representative; not that he had not tried before. In 1924, he ran as deputy for the Bilbeis constituency in Al- Sharqiya but failed to get elected. Now he was the deputy for Senhua in the same province. Perhaps he was fortunate to have succeeded because he had fielded himself as a candidate for the National Party which won only five out of the chamber's 214 seats, coming in even behind the pro-palace Ittihad Party which had won seven seats.

In an overwhelmingly Wafd- dominated parliament, Abaza must have sensed a new-found status. At least that is what readers were led to believe when he opened his series with a solemn pledge to forego sarcasm and adhere to sobriety and decorum. Happily, however, he proved unable to totally suppress his celebrated levity.

In his first article he praised parliament for the efficiency and diligence with which it pursued day-to-day business. "From 10.00am to 2.00pm there were committee meetings," he wrote. "And when I talk of committees and committee work, let me tell you that it is a job for titans. Discussions, deliberations, flaring tempers, exasperation. Then, no sooner is that business over than 6.00pm arrives, the beginning of the evening session, which lasts until 10.30pm." The strain of the working day was coupled with the poor ventilation inside the building. Obviously the structure was built "to spread illness and disease," he writes, adding: "The design of the structure must have been a British plot to ensure that members of parliament take frequent sick leaves, thereby disrupting work."

Following this background sketch, the prince who had vowed to swear off wit proceeds to depict the protagonists. Well in the foreground, of course, was Speaker of the House Saad Zaghlul. It was well-known that Zaghlul was suffering from ill-health but Abaza observed that his health was, in fact, improving, not because of his personal physician's treatment but rather as a result of his running parliamentary activities. In fact, Abaza was certain that the Wafd leader had thrown away the doctor's prescription and drew up his own: "50,000 grammes of discussion and squabbles; 30,000 grammes of debating and cajoling; 20,000 grammes of ultimatums and directives; three kilogrammes of criticisms, brow-beating and derision; and one packet of speeches." Abaza concludes, "This was the remedy that helped Saad's health improve, rendering him a vigorous youth compared to us decrepit old men."

That the speaker dominated parliamentary sessions was beyond question, to the extent that Abaza drew the conclusion that the Chamber of Deputies actually consisted of two bodies: all the members -- and Saad Zaghlul. He challenged his readers to put this to the test by counting the number of words uttered by each body. The number of words spoken by Zaghlul would equal, if not exceed, those of the entire body of parliamentary members.

In addition to quantity there was quality, for Zaghlul was undoubtedly a very powerful speaker. "What is truly amazing is that when he growls you feel as though you have been caught up in a tempest," Abaza wrote. "Then, when the storm subsides he showers you with a cascade of expertly crafted jokes. How often have I been so impressed by his levity that I could have leaped up to the podium to kiss him."

But the speaker also deeply revered the dignity of the house. Should Zaghlul perceive that this was in any way abused, he would unleash such an outburst "as to sweep away everything in its path, regardless of the consequences and the circumstances, and perhaps sweeping supporters and aides with it." Whenever this happened the remedy was a brief recess during which "the raging storm will turn into a refreshing breeze."

Abaza's final touch to this sketch of Saad Zaghlul took the form of a warning to his fellow deputies never to address the assembly from the podium even if invited up there by the speaker. This, he confessed in one article, was a lesson he learnt from bitter experience. "Should one of us happen to say something not to his [Zaghlul's] liking, he will lure you by saying ever so politely, 'Please step up to the podium. I can't hear you.' Thus trapped, his victim makes his way up to the podium, turns to stand with his back to the speaker and begins, 'Honourable colleagues...' But no sooner do you open your mouth than the speaker interrupts and you are forced to twist your neck to look back. How painful that is. Then he starts to take issue with you. He goes on and on, as House members wink at one another, until the dressing down is over. How dreadful is that process of returning to one's seat. It can seem so far away when wisecracks and guffaws assail you from all sides."

Abaza's portrait of Saad Zaghlul is consistent with much of what was written in the British high commissioner's report on the 1926 session. A section of the report spoke of "the complete domination by Saad Zaghlul Pasha." It said that despite his health problems the Egyptian leader rarely missed a session and that through his complete domination of his followers he was able to steer discussions in the House in whatever direction he chose.

Since the workings of parliament were inextricably linked to the government, Abaza turns to the cabinet, then headed by Adli Yakan. And how different was the prime minister from Zaghlul, at least in Abaza's mind. He clearly admired Yakan and was particularly impressed by his "aristocratic" personality and bearing "to the degree that I had a gray suit tailored like his, though with disastrous results." He was also astounded to discover that this government leader of Turkish aristocratic origins possessed "an extraordinary knowledge of classical Arabic."

But what struck Abaza most was Yakan's unassuming character. He writes: "When standing on the podium to deliver a statement and to answer the questions of deputies, you notice a smile that blends modesty and kindness with entreaty. Then you follow his steps with an element of compassion as he makes his way to Abdin Palace, then down to the British high commissioner's residence, and from there up to the top floor of the House of the Nation (Saad Zaghlul's home). You watch him as he receives deputy after deputy every day, complaining to him about the appointment of a village sheikh or the dismissal of a village mayor."

Occasionally there was nervousness behind Yakan's composure, Abaza suggested. It was a trait that surfaced only rarely, and then with good cause, such as on those occasions when parliament attempted to undermine his authority in the pursuit of "his arduous task -- unparalleled in any other country -- to mediate between the throne, the (British) occupation and the people."

Abaza then proceeds to depict the members of the Yakan cabinet. Not only was Abdel-Khaleq Tharwat the foreign minister under Yakan but he was also a former prime minister himself. He was the one who conducted the negotiations with the British that resulted in the promulgation of the Declaration of 28 February 1922 which recognised the end the British protectorate and Egyptian independence. It is little wonder, therefore, that he merited unreserved praise. Abaza describes Tharwat as "one of those truly great men we rarely find in Egypt." He continues: "They made him minister of foreign affairs because this is the ministry of 28 February and he was the minister of 28 February."

Minister of Agriculture Fathallah Barakat, too, had unique qualities such as "an instinctive perspicacity and a way of making those he speaks with feel they are close to his heart." His flaw, however, was that he raised the hopes of the parliamentary deputies, as though he had forgotten that "the problems of his ministry are dependent upon nature." Abaza then asks pointedly, "Or does he think he can stand up to nature?"

Murqus Hanna had "the scowl of a minister," according to Abaza, but then he was, after all, the minister of finance. Curiously, his was one of the few ministries to have been spared parliamentary assault even though budgetary concerns should have made it prone to attack. Perhaps this was because Hanna took the initiative "to stand up on behalf of his ministry, even though he was not responsible for its past record, thereby upholding its dignity, indeed a noble trait."

The "minister of the independent kingdoms" was Mohamed Mahmoud, minister of transport. Explaining the title he gave him, Abaza said the railway, port and lighthouse authorities were kingdoms unto themselves and that Mahmoud's formidable mission was to assert his ministry's control over them. Abaza's epithet correctly reflected the situation for, historically, these authorities were centres of foreign -- particularly British -- influence and control. In fact, even after the Declaration of 28 February, Britain reserved the right to safeguard British imperial communications in Egypt.

Abaza hailed Minister of Justice Zaki Abul-Saoud whom he compared to "an earnest, diligent student who learns all his lessons by heart, stays away from the other students, remains fully attentive in class and returns directly home." But why was Abul-Saoud always so gloomy? Looking back on the three months parliament was in session, Abaza could not recall a single moment when Abul-Saoud smiled. Such a shortcoming must have been intolerable in the mind of a writer whose stock-in-trade was his sense of humour.

Osman Muharram, minister of public works and a technocrat, was not one to be put off by tradition or other such considerations. This was clearly a virtue for "in his ministry his path is riddled with barriers, blockades and boulders. Our only hope is that he proves capable of razing and levelling these obstacles to allow the stream to flow smoothly and without obstruction."

The minister who most deserved compassion, Abaza said, was Ali El-Shamsi. He was the minister of education which meant the "minister of students," and this position required an iron will. Apparently this was a trait that El-Shamsi possessed for Abaza adds, "And we have already seen the minister's will at work!"

Last on Abaza's list of cabinet members was Ahmed Khashaba Bek, minister of war. Evidently, he came at the tail-end because he was "a man of the sword, but where is the sword?"

Back in parliament, Abaza focused on three men he considered to be the most important: Wisa Wassef, Mustafa El- Nahhas and Ismail Sidqi. A prominent leader of the nationalist movement, Wassef represented "the modern social- minded spirit" in Egyptian society. "He opposes government employment and favours the call to engage in the liberal professions. He makes inquiries every day, studies in the office, talks to people on the street and goes to seminars and anywhere else in order to propagate his call." Wassef's overriding flaw was that he was overzealous in his reverence for the parliament's by-laws and traditions and in the causes he advocated. He would advise new graduates "to pick up dishtowels and work as waiters!" Of course, had Abaza lived long enough, he would have discovered that such employment was no longer an option but a necessity.

At one time, El-Nahhas had been a well-known figure in the judiciary. Abaza felt he could ascertain he was a man of integrity though "nervous, very nervous. Were it not for this trait, one would have nothing against him."

Abaza goes on to write, "If my information is correct, El- Nahhas is regarded by his fellow party members as mild- tempered, in whom selflessness blends with a sense of honour. He follows his convictions -- a great virtue." Abaza was wrong. The self-effacing gentleman took over as head of the Wafd Party following the death of Zaghlul in 1927 and over a 25-year-period became prime minister five times.

"The tiger of Egyptian politics," Ismail Sidqi, rounds up the parliamentary troika. Sidqi's most striking characteristic appeared to be his fast-talk. "It reaches your mind with the speed of lightning so that were you to say it was perfect classical Arabic you would be right and were you to say it was colloquial Egyptian you would be right as well. That is what eloquence is about."

Sidqi was head of the parliament's financial committee and was a relentless force. "For almost three months, there he was at the podium, lecturing, explaining, answering questions and debating the art of finance."

In spite of the well-known rivalry between Zaghlul and Sidqi, Abaza observed that the two had reached a certain entente. "Saad was eager to be a fair speaker and he, therefore, was keen to demonstrate his respect for Sidqi's superhuman efforts," Abaza said. Sidqi, for his part, decided to reconcile himself with Saad when the latter declared that rule by constitution with all its flaws was preferable to rule without a constitution with all its flaws. Abaza was reluctant to delve further into the relationship between the two men whom he felt were becoming such close bedfellows that he might appear jealous.

Completing the parliamentary tableau were the rest of the MPs who graced the institution with their speeches, research and deliberations. In view of his gift for the terse comment, it is not surprising that Abaza expressed an abhorrence for long-winded speeches, "complete with overture and finale." He felt certain, however, that this shortcoming would disappear in the parliament's next session, now that the members had three months of practice.

One of the most positive features of this parliament, according to Abaza, was the members' criticisms of the performance of government functionaries. "With the horrifying spectre of inquiry looming, each and every functionary approaches his work with full attention and meticulous precision." Abaza hoped that the MPs' criticisms, however justified, did not escalate into a persecution.

If the enthusiasm of the parliamentary deputies merited praise, they should, nevertheless, exercise some restraint in the number and scale of projects they proposed to the government. "Constructing centres, train stations, schools and hospitals to implement all these would require the budgets of the world's nations put together. But our representatives are to be forgiven, for if people were aware of the pressure they were under from voters they would not be surprised by these amazing proposals, most of which could never be implemented anyway."

As a National Party representative, Abaza was in the opposition but was under no illusions since the opposition posed no threat. The parliament was dominated by the Wafd, with the Liberal Constitutionalist Party a distant second. The cabinet was comprised of members of both parties which saw eye-to-eye on most issues. In addition, the opposition had no newspapers to support and propound its views among the public.

On 3 October 1926, Al-Ahram readers must have imagined that they had read the last instalment of Abaza's memoirs in which he added some final points to his gallery of parliamentary personages. But two weeks later they opened their newspapers to find his byline once again, under the headline, "Appeal," discovering that the satirist had returned unrepentantly to his old ways. "Appeal" was directed to constituents, some of whom he felt he owed an apology. There was Haj Mohamed Abu Mutawae, who "believed I didn't offer him my condolences but I swear I was sick and in bed." Then there was that family who now glower at him because "I didn't greet them while they were having coffee in the village coffeehouse, but I swear I didn't even see them." Hassuna Effendi was also very angry because "he called on me at 2.30pm to discuss an important matter but my servant told him I was asleep." Abaza claimed he had done his best to make amends. "I fired the servant, confiscated his clothes and have sworn off sleep from now on."

Then there was the man who urged Abaza to ask the authorities in the Ministry of Education whether he could get his son into first-year secondary school free of charge. Abaza did all he could. "I spoke to the minister three times." It turned out that the boy was 25 years old, was 2,250 on the list and was the son of a merchant with capital assets worth LE6,000. "The minister said, 'Impossible!' So from that day forward I severed my relationship with His Excellency."

This was not the only minister Abaza cut off relations with on behalf of his constituents. The people of Kafr Al-Shirbini asked him to intercede with the minister of public works to get their village hooked up to the water mains. "The minister summoned the inspector of irrigation, the hydraulics engineer and the planning engineer and they showed me the charts and explained the problem with water levels and told me that they could not fulfil my request without cutting off the water from 20 other villages. So I severed my relationship with the minister."

Then there was the case of Hanafi El-Haddar, charged with forging a contract with his mother-in-law. "The family asked me to talk to the judge, which I did, in spite of the risks. The judge scolded me and notified the public prosecutor. Were it not for the intercession of a few kind friends I would have been doomed."

Abaza also had to deal with the case of the brother of Sheikh Tantawi who was fired from the Ministry of Awqaf (Muslim religious endowments). When Abaza tried to intercede, the minister had the man's file brought in. "We discovered he had been charged with forging official documents and was found guilty. The only action the ministry took was to fire him." After all that, Abaza asks pleadingly, "How can I be expected to get his job back and, on top of that, a raise?"

Abaza ended his "Appeal" article with the pledge that if his constituents were still angry with him, they could cut up his body into little pieces and feed it to every ministry and government authority -- although he feared there would not be enough to go round.

* The author is a professor of history and head of Al-Ahram History Studies Centre.

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