Al-Ahram: A Diwan of contemporary life (524)
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Despite the Great Depression, there were still things to buy and there were still newspaper advertisements urging those who had the money -- and in many cases those who didn't -- to go out and spend. Financially-strapped Egyptians were wary of the adverts but curious all the same. Professor Yunan Labib Rizk* sees what sold
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SELLING STUFF: Al-Ahram adverts, from left -- cloth from Nahhas Co, Al-Chark Insurance, Chicorel clothes and accessories and a grocery list of prices nowhere near what they are now
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The Great Depression (1929-1933) held Egypt in as tight a stranglehold as it did other nations around the world. Here, however, the crisis acquired an especially Egyptian flavour, to which we have dedicated many instalments of the Chronicle. These readings from the Al-Ahram archives of that period gave considerable insight and immediacy to how industrial and agricultural stagnation, the cotton crisis, rampant unemployment and foreign monopolies played themselves out on the banks of the Nile. Some phenomena, however, require not just a reading but a form of textual exegesis.
I refer here to the changes that took place in the nature of advertisements in the newspaper. Given their obvious economic motives, advertisements would form an accurate mirror of the economic crisis. However, to understand them, we must first set them against the backdrop of a specific society in the grips of stagnation.
Firstly, there was that stratum of society that made up the vast majority of the Egyptian populace: the farmers. The appalling drop in cotton prices swept the bottom out of the rural economy, leaving hired labour with no-one to hire them, and small and medium-size landowners, long accustomed to large profits following the marketing of their "white gold", forced to cut back, not only on their seasonal shopping sprees to the big cities but on their more basic commodities.
Secondly, there was the urban middle class. The backbone of this class consisted of the effendis, the graduates of government schools recruited into the civil service. The previous half-century brought many of these into the liberal professions, such as lawyers, doctors and engineers, as well as into the more prosperous merchant classes, even if these were still dominated by foreigners, notably Italians, Greeks and Jews. This class, too, felt the crunch of economic crisis. Many civil servants were laid off, while for those remaining, the Ismail Sidqi government slashed their salaries -- a measure never adopted by an Egyptian government before or since.
The effect of this rebounded through the rest of the middle class. As no-one but the very well-to-do could afford private medical consultation, doctors found their clinics emptying out, leading some to complain to Al-Ahram of their deteriorating circumstances. Lawyers were similarly affected, to the degree that it has been suggested that the primary stimulus behind the participation of so many lawyers in the anti-Sidqi movement was economic. Naturally, commerce stagnated, even for merchants dealing in those products and manufactures catering to more modern consumer tastes and changing fashions.
Thirdly, there was that class poised at the tip of the social pyramid, consisting of large landowners and major entrepreneurs and financiers, most of whom were foreigners. As fortunate as members of this class may have been, they did not escape the tyranny of the economic crisis. Rural notables were hard hit by the cotton crisis since cotton was still their primary cash crop and prices had sunk so low that they were unable to cover costs. At the same time, tenant farmers, dependent upon the proceeds of their labour, were unable to pay their rents. As for financiers and entrepreneurs, if they were not immediately affected by the cotton crisis, events on Wall Street would affect them one way or another.
Against this hastily sketched backdrop of Egyptian society in the grips of economic depression, we can better perceive how advertising was affected. One common advertising ploy was to suggest that your business could help alleviate economic strains. The Manifatoura stores, for example, billed themselves as the "solution to the economic crisis", because they sold "solid, high-quality merchandise at reasonable prices". Similarly, Farag Mina and Partners, on Moski and Fouad I streets, announced "abundant quantities of the best silks, wools, cottons, flannels, bedroom linen, plus handbags, hats, stockings, perfumes and other ladies accessories at the lowest prices imaginable". The ad concludes, "We invite the honourable Egyptian people to visit our lavish showroom where in a single visit they will know that this opportunity is one of a kind."
Some advertisers thought that a picture was worth a thousand words. This was the case with the Suyufi stores of Ghouriya and Ataba, whose advert displayed a muscle- bound youth wielding a sledgehammer, with which he had just pulverised a boulder labelled, "the crisis". The caption proclaimed, "New prices to fight the crisis! For 10 days only! Amazing reductions on all products, including calico!" That would have driven home the message. Shoppers would have known that that inexpensive popular fabric could not get much cheaper. Certainly, Al-Ahram readers of 6 June 1933, the day on which this advertisement appeared, would have been lured to Suyufi's if only to see how the reductions on the other fabrics compared. In all events, people had good reason to pin their hopes on attractive bargains. Everyone knew that textile stores had been so hard hit by the crisis that they were compelled to offer drastic price cuts merely to stay in business.
Some businesses attempted to capitalise on the prevailing sense of insecurity caused by the economic crisis. Take for example the following advertisement by Al-Chark Insurance, the first Egyptian-owned company to offer life insurance, which declared in large, bold font: "Yesterday, life was easy and signs of prosperity were everywhere apparent. Today, an economic crisis has encircled the entire world in its tentacles. Tomorrow? Who knows what fate will bring?" If this sparked curiosity, the remainder may have caused readers to ponder. "There is no reason why the discerning man should have the slightest anxiety over his future if he insures his life with a respectable firm such as Al-Chark, which has unbeatable easy terms, low rates and superior guarantees."
Luxury stores and exclusive boutiques fared no better than their humbler peers. Shamla Brothers and Chicorel, to take but two examples, were located in what was then that rich and fashionable commercial district, Fouad I Street (present- day 26 July Street), where ordinary Egyptians would have even feared to tread, let alone pass through the doors into the plush interiors of the stores with their elegant displays and beautiful saleswomen who only spoke French and were mainly Jewish.
In 1931, when the crisis was at its height, Shamla held three sales in the space of eight months. The first, in January, was billed as a winter clearance sale. The second, in May was heralded as "a special week during which the latest summer fashions will be on sale at prices unprecedented during the present crisis". The third, taking place at the end of August, was "another clearance sale for the last of the summer stock".
Not only did the famous department store offer "tangible reductions in all departments", it used other devices to lure customers. "For every cash purchase of 100 piastres or more, customers will receive an exquisitely decorated porcelain vase worth 40 piastres, or one of our other prizes," announced one advertisement. Apparently, the strategy worked, for during the May sale the advertisement announced: "For every purchase of 250 piastres or more, customers will receive a silver plated salad service with four glass bowls worth 100 piastres, and for every purchase of 100 piastres or more a stainless steel breadbasket worth 40 piastres." In August customers spending 100 piastres or more were offered a choice between the vase, the breadbasket and three porcelain bowls.
Chicorel was more conservative. In the same period, it held only one sale, to mark the Greater Bairam, or the Feast of the Sacrifice. The promotional announcement in Al-Ahram featured an elegant youth sporting a full three- piece suit, striped tie and pocket kerchief. Suit prices ranged from 140 piastres for the fully-washable gabardine imitation wool model to 250 piastres for the 100 per cent wool available in all the fashionable colours. Also on sale were articles of clothing that were unfamiliar to the average Egyptian such as the "robe de chambre" made of broad-striped woolen flannel for "only" 95 piastres -- in other words, well out of the reach of the average Egyptian.
A similar advertisement, appearing repeatedly during March 1932, blazoned: "Great news for woolen suits! Sale continues, at great sacrifice to Dimitri Farazli and Partners in Opera Square!" Not quite as up-market as Chicorel, Farazli was offering "pure wool" for between 15 and 30 piastres and "remainders sufficient for complete suits" at between 45 and 60 piastres.
Specialty stores catering to the upper and upper middle classes were also suffering, as is apparent in the following advertisement appearing in Al-Ahram of 18 May 1931. Babazian -- "with branches in Cairo and Alexandria" -- dealt in musical instruments, specifically pianos. Its advertisement announced its "great annual sale" but not as readers might have expected on purchases but rather on "pianos under lease, for lease and for exchange". Clearly, demand for what, in less arduous times, was a necessary supplement to a respectable European-style home was falling off, and sharply. Babazian was so desperate to hold on to customers that it was also offering enormous discounts on sales of used pianos, with one marked down from LE140 to LE90 and another from LE220 to LE120. To reassure potential clients, the advertisement adds, "All these pianos are in excellent condition and as good as new."
The same applied to Piano Star Ltd, which announced a "pre-inventory clearance sale on phonographs of up to 50 per cent and on the payment method". It added that "a fantastic collection of quality portable and console phonographs" was available for monthly instalments of between 25 and 50 piastres.
Many companies catering to the more affordable end of the consumer scale began to resort to such promotional strategies as lotteries and contests. Nestlé, for example, urged customers to hold on to the wrapping of their chocolate bars so that they could exchange them for lottery numbers. Winning numbers would receive one of some 200 gifts, worth a total of LE525, among which were Egyptian Real Estate Bank bonds, sewing machines, Columbia phonographs and many others.
Epana toothpaste -- "with regular use, your teeth become white, your gums firm and your mouth permanently fresh" -- announced "a grand competition with attractive prizes". These included an Echo phonograph (walnut finishing, double-spring action, automatic regulator), RCA radio (luxury semi-console, automatic controls, super sensitive microphone, high-quality, high fidelity sound) and a Radio-70 (semi-console, super heterodyne). In order to win these prizes, all you had to do was fill out your name and address, clearly, on the coupon enclosed in every toothpaste box and send it to Florio Solam and Company at the address written on the coupon. Nor did the company forget to add: "Better your chances by sending in as many coupons as you can. The drawing will be public. We invite you to attend."
Many domestic manufactures faced increasingly stiff competition from imports, the prices of which had been significantly reduced due to the economic crisis. To counter this competition, local manufacturers appealed to patriotic sentiments, encouraging people to "buy Egyptian". We read, for example, the following advertisement in Al-Ahram of 12 May 1931: "Promote the advancement of the Egyptian industry. Smoke the finest Egyptian cigarettes hand-rolled by Egyptian workers from quality Turkish tobacco. Manufactured by the largest national-owned luxury cigarette factory."
The promotion for the Nahhas Company was closer to a political manifesto than an advertisement. "Why buy from Nahhas?" it asked. Its answer:
1 -- It is Egyptian, just as you and we;
2 -- It has all the Bank of Egypt companies' products (silks, linens, mother-of-pearl buttons;
3 -- It has all the textiles from Mehalla Al-Kubra, Kom Al-Nur and other Egyptian factories;
4 -- It does not sell foreign textiles under an Egyptian name;
5 -- Nor does it pass off Damietta silk as coming from Japan.
One cannot help but be struck by the contrast between the up-market stores on King Fouad I street, which boasted foreign imports, and the stores in the nearby Moski district, such as Nahhas, which catered to the popular classes and whose strongest selling point was their Egyptian-made products.
Economic straits were such that some businesses, which one would never have imagined needed to advertise, felt compelled to do so. Among these were some of the major grocers which basically sold daily essentials. The following appeared in Al-Ahram of 2 February 1932:
"Numbers talk! New discounts in Hanin Grocers on Abdel-Aziz Street, Ataba." In addition to the most competitive prices, the store boasted, "Our products are the best-known brands and thus of the finest quality. Our principle is not to cheat our customers." One cannot help but notice that prices were listed in the now defunct millime (a thousandth of a pound, or a tenth of a piastre). A kilo of soap cost 25 millimes, a kilo of "extra" Yemeni coffee 60 millimes, a kilo of sugar 27 millimes and "French-style" sugar coated candies 120 millimes a kilo. There was also a special on imported French bacalao, the dried salted fish "that you can barely distinguish from fresh catch". A kilo cost only 70 millimes.
Some businesses struck the early precedent of selling their goods and wares at wholesale prices. One of these was "Suyufi and Company in Al-Ghouriya and Ataba", whose ad in Al-Ahram read: "We have always been first and foremost a wholesaler with clients in every city and village in Egypt and Sudan. One day it occurred to us that we could offer the people of Cairo a noble service with minimal cost to ourselves. This was to sell our retail products at wholesale prices and let the customers reap the profit. When we set aside a section of our store in Al-Ghouriya for this purpose, the response was so enthusiastic that we were forced to expand this section and open another in our branch in Ataba. So do not be surprised to find our prices so cheap!"
In the course of combing Al-Ahram editions of the early 1930s for advertisements mirroring the affects of the Great Depression on Egypt -- and, as can be seen, we had an abundant harvest -- we came across the following advertisement more than once:
"Children of the Poor -- a play with great moral significance and social insight. The precision and superb artistry of this directing manifest the genius of playwright and director Youssef Wahbi."
Although it is difficult to ascertain whether this play was directly inspired by the economic crisis, there is little doubt that economic straits had reduced the vast majority of Egyptians at the time to "children of the poor".
* The author is a professor of history and head of Al-Ahram History Studies Centre.
