Ramdani Rise Egyptian Nationalist Movement

THE LONDON SCHOOL OF ECONOMICS AND POLITICAL SCIENCE (LSE)
The Rise of the Egyptian Nationalist Movement:
The Case of the 1919 Revolution
NABILA RAMDANI
A thesis submitted to the Department of International History of the

London School of Economics and Political Science for the degree of
Master of Philosophy (MPhil), London, October 2016.
Declaration
I certify that the thesis I have presented for examination for the MPhil degree of the London
School of Economics and Political Science is solely my own work other than where I have
clearly indicated that it is the work of others.
The copyright of this thesis rests with the author. Quotation from it is permitted, provided that full
acknowledgement is made. This thesis may not be reproduced without my prior written consent.
I warrant that this authorisation does not, to the best of my belief, infringe the rights of any third
party.
I declare that my thesis consists of <121,963>words.
I can confirm that my thesis was copy edited for conventions of formatting by Sofia Benhra
Alahiane.
2
Thesis Abstract
This thesis aims to explore the rise of anti-colonial nationalism in Egypt on both mass and elite
opinion before, during and after the First World War, with a particular focus on the 1919
Revolution.
The research work covers the evolution of Egypt’s nationalist movement – from the quelling of
the ‘Urabi Revolt by British troops in the late nineteenth century, which resulted in the invasion
and Occupation of Egypt in 1882, until the wartime formulation of the right to self-determination
for all colonised peoples and the post-War settlement by victorious world leaders at the Paris
Peace Conference in January 1919.
The ‘Urabi Revolt initially began as an effort to restore the rights and standing of native
Egyptian servicemen in the Army, but this developed into a wider campaign across the country
that increasingly tackled broader national grievances, including political independence from both
the British and Ottoman Empires. ‘Urabi presented these issues against the background of his
country’s Islamic identity, suggesting it was a vital part of Egypt’s status as a strong and
prosperous nation-state and therefore pledged to protect it. The religious scholars engaged in the
struggle provided the intellectual thinking that underpinned and justified Egypt’s nationalist
movement. The ‘Urabi Revolt of 1879-1882 – during which the phrase “Egypt for the
Egyptians” was coined – ultimately involved ordinary men and women who believed themselves
to be part of a single nation: their aspirations were always framed within both a nationalistic and
an Islamic context.
The Occupation, and the particularly reactionary conduct of British soldiers during the Taba
Crisis and the Dinshawai Incident in the same year of 1906, led to the expression of anti-
Imperialist ire and the rapid politicisation of the country. Egypt’s intellectual elite disseminated
radical ideas among the entire population, triggering a dynamic that would propel the people
towards the 1919 Revolution.
Anti-British resentment intensified under the Protectorate as there was widespread consensus in
Egypt that the country had been plundered by a colonising power during the First World War.
This galvanised the nationalist consciousness as never before as the British presence had evolved
from a “Veiled Protectorate” to direct “Wartime Imperialism”.
3
Thesis Abstract
The wartime and post-War period saw the U.S. President Woodrow Wilson internationalise the
rhetoric of self-determination as attempts were made at moulding a new world order. Wilson’s
words had a great appeal to Egyptian nationalists who viewed these promises as an opportunity
to break away from British colonial rule. It was in fact Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, the Russian
Bolshevik leader, who had spent fourteen years between 1903 and 1917 theorising the concept of
“self-determination”, before Wilson globalised it as a “legitimising” ideal. The ideological
rivalry between the two politicians during the war era certainly helped to create an “international
self-determination moment”– one that would have resounding repercussions for the Egyptian
nationalist movement.
A wide range of disaffected groups coalesced around the call for independence by the nationalist
leader Saʿad Zaghlul during the March 1919 Revolution. Wilson’s Fourteen Points – the
American President’s heady principles – infused unprecedented expectations into downtrodden
Egyptian activist circles. But Zaghlul underlined the paradox between discourse at the Paris
Conference and British actions in the real world. There was a deep irony in the sight of a brutal
British Army subduing nationalist hopes in Egypt, while these same hopes were being put
forward in Paris as the very basis of reformed international arrangements.
The feminist element to this movement was particularly powerful, as women rallied under the
“Egypt for the Egyptians” slogan. But as always, they were used as convenient and efficient
expedient personnel to attain political goals and not gender equality. Bitterness and
disillusionment were nonetheless a drive for Egyptian women determined to pursue their cause
for emancipation.
Intense turmoil generated panic among those upholding British rule, and showed how ill-
prepared they were to deal with the situation. This culminated in the transformation of Anglo-
Egyptian colonial relations, as Egypt achieved nominal independence in 1922.
4
Acknowledgements
This thesis would not have been possible without the incredible support of staff at the London
School of Economics, and particularly my supervisor, Dr Kirsten Schulze. I had just left my
position as a Lectrice at Oxford University, and knew very little about London, let alone the
city’s universities, when I approached Kirsten about joining the LSE’s International History
programme. I have never looked back, enjoying one of the most fulfilling periods of my
academic career. I am indebted to the International History Department as a whole, and indeed to
the Middle East Centre. The LSE is a School of excellence in every way, and I am immensely
proud of my time here.
Special thanks must also go to Professor David Stevenson, the previous Head of Department of
International History at the LSE. David specialises in the First World War – a crucial subject as far
as my own thesis is concerned. His lectures were unmissable, as were his acclaimed books.
Dr Antony Best has also helped me enormously, especially in the organisation of overseas research
trips. Professor Nigel Ashton reviewed my upgrade material and was always available to offer
advice. It was Nigel who contacted the Egyptian National Archives to make sure that I could gain
entry at seemingly impossible hours! I ended up spending so much time with the archivists in Cairo
that many became friends, and this happened in other archives across the world, including London
and Washington D.C.: many thanks to all of them.
I am also grateful to the scholars, politicians, and other influential thinkers who agreed to meet
me and share their ideas. Last, but by no means least, I would like to acknowledge my family
and closest friends for bearing with me during a period of intense study. All know who they are,
and how important they were. Due to my massive enthusiasm for this thesis, and the amount of
time I have spent discussing it with them, some know my work almost as well as I do!
5
Contents
Declaration 2
Thesis Abstract 3
Acknowledgements 5
Contents 6
Introduction: The Arguments of the Thesis and Historiographical Review 8
Structure of the Thesis 39
Chapter One: The Emergence of an Islamic Nationalist Movement in Egypt in

the Nineteenth Century 41
How Nationalism Developed in Egypt during the Nineteenth Century 44
The Nationalist and Islamic Character of the ‘Urabi Revolt, 1879-1882 54
Islam & Modernisation: The Status of the ‘Ulama in Nineteenth Century Egypt 61
The Role of the Reformist ‘Ulama in Defining Egypt as a Modern Islamic Nation 67
Chapter Two: Anti-Imperialist Ire & The Politicisation of Egypt in the Twentieth Century 90
The Taba Crisis of 1906 94
The Dinshawai Incident of 1906 98
Lord Cromer’s Departure in 1907 110
How Private Initiative and the Emergence of a Class of “New Intellectuals” helped
spread Radical Nationalist Ideas 115
Secular Nationalists: Mustafa Kamil and Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid 122
Chapter Three: Prelude to the 1919 Revolution: How Britain’s “Informal Imperialism”
was replaced by the “War Imperialism” of the 1914-18 Conflict 131
From “Veiled Protectorate” to Direct British Rule 133
Wartime Mobilisation of Egyptian Resources 139
The Breakdown of the Anglo-Egyptian Economic System 151
Beyond “Drawing Room” Nationalism 156
Chapter Four: A New World Order: The Emergence of an “International

Self-Determination Moment” and its Impact on Egyptian Nationalists 160
The “Leninist Moment”: Lenin’s Radical Socialist Interpretation of
Self-Determination 163
Lenin’s Discourse on “self-determination”: From Intra-Socialist Party Debate to
Wartime International Revolutionary Rhetoric 175
6
Contents
The “Wilsonian Moment”: Wilson’s Internationalist and Liberal-Conservative

Interpretation of Self-Determination 186
Wilson’s Pragmatic Approach to Self-Determination: “An Imperative Principle of
Action”? 197
Wilson’s Self-Determination in Practice: “A Tragedy of Disappointment”
for Egyptian Nationalists? 213
Chapter Five: The Egyptian Nationalist Revolution of 1919 and the British Response
to the “Egyptian Problem” 224
“Nationalism of the Elite” or Legitimacy Gained at Grass-Root Level? 227
Interdependence between the Elite and the Masses 232
“Revolutionary Nationalism” Crushed by the “Barbarism” of Empire Troops 234
A New Brand of Egyptian Nationalism which took the British by Surprise 246
Allenby’s modus vivendi: Britain’s New Policy towards Egypt 249
Chapter Six: Women in the 1919 Egyptian Revolution: From Political Awakening to
Nationalist Feminism 258
“The Women’s Awakening in Egypt” 260
The Cultural and Social Dimensions of Nationalist Feminism 267
The Contribution of Male Intellectuals to the Feminist Debate 269
The Islamic/Western Split among Egyptian Feminists 274
Nationalist Feminist Political Activism 280
The Aftermath of the 1919 Revolution: How Male Nationalists Disowned Feminist
Nationalists 288
Conclusion 292
Bibliography 296
7
Introduction:
The Arguments of the Thesis and Historiographical Review
Using a few words to encapsulate the importance of a subject which came to dominate his
distinguished career, the British journalist, diplomat and historian Sir Valentine Chirol (1852 –1929)
wrote towards the end of his life: “The Egyptian question is bound up with a large part of the
world’s history for the last hundred years.”1
That this view was held by a passionate Imperialist committed to the protection and indeed
expansion of the British Empire in no way undermines its strength. Anyone looking to understand
and explain world affairs – and particularly Middle Eastern affairs – over the past two centuries
would certainly do well to centre their studies on Egypt. Factors which have prevailed over the
country’s history throughout this period have included the fight between foreign powers for strategic
and economic interests within its borders, and the rise of militant Islam. Such issues are crucial in
the modern world, with an analysis of their effect on Egypt’s recent history providing universal
lessons.
While numerous academic titles have been an inspiration for this research, professional and personal
contact with Khaled Saʿad Zaghlul, the grandson of the national hero of the 1919 Revolution and
former reporter for the French edition of the newspaper Al-Ahram, has also been a source of
motivation. Saʿad Zaghlul was the key figure of the anti-British Revolution. Although much has
been written about Saʿad Zaghlul this thesis proposes different theoretical, diplomatic and political
insights.
A fruitful collaboration with Khaled Saʿad Zaghlul has facilitated access to invaluable, original
documents held in Egypt on the topic. This allowed for a new perspective on the development of the
Egyptian nationalist movement and on the colonial relations between the British and the Egyptians
in an immediate post-war era vastly influenced by America.
1
Valentine Chirol, The Egyptian Problem, London, Macmillan and Co., 1920, p.vii.
The book grew out of a series of articles he contributed to The Times from Egypt between October 1919 and April 1920.
8
Introduction: The Arguments of the Thesis and Historiographical Review
This thesis traces the modern origins of nationalism in Egypt to the ‘Urabi Revolt in the late
nineteenth century. Specifically, it presents a novel historiographical framework that challenges the
view held by most scholars of Egyptian nationalism that regards the revolt to have been a mere
“proto-nationalist” expression of an Egyptian national consciousness in its infancy. Not only do we
highlight the profoundly nationalistic nature of ‘Urabi’s movement – one determined to gain
political freedom from both the British and Ottoman Empires – but we also demonstrate its
distinctly Islamic character. This is done by examining the significant contribution of the religious
scholars to the intellectual articulation of nationalistic thought. Both aspects – nationalistic and
Islamic – have been greatly underplayed by wider academic theories pertaining to the advancement
of particular nationalisms in the Muslim world.
Crucially, this thesis aims at bridging a gap between Western and Oriental history by adding an
Egyptian dimension to a field which has largely been covered through an Anglo-Saxon or purely
Egyptian lens. This work is therefore an attempt to provide a thorough and fresh multi-lateral
approach to this question by uniting and comparing disparate literature from five countries – the
United Kingdom, Egypt, the United States of America, Russia, and France, where the Paris Peace
Conference took place after the First World War in 1919. A paramount angle of this examination –
and a considerable strength – is that it relies on the domestic and diplomatic archives of most of
these countries.
Another major theoretical argument of this thesis discusses at length the political application of
nationalism, which is the principle of self-determination – a concept that seeks to base politics on
the nation-state as a sovereign entity. During the war, diplomatic language came to encompass
Wilson’s notion of “self-determination”. The U.S. President imbued this rhetoric with his very
personal comprehension of morality and what was right for a new world order. Wilson’s
legitimising utterances had, in fact, appropriated Lenin’s views of “self-determination” and had
given them a new orientation. Indeed, the idea of “self-determination” that had such an abiding
influence on the 1919 Egyptian Revolution has its roots in Vladimir Ilyich Lenin’s political
discourse during the period 1903 to 1917. The difference was that the Russian had championed self-
determination as liberty and equality for all, including freedom from colonisation and the right to an
independent state. Lenin conceded that violent revolution could be justified if the ultimate goal was
freedom as equal rights. In turn, Wilson’s reaction to Lenin’s uncompromising ideology was to
project “self-determination” as a stabilising standard that would ensure peace globally. Lenin’s
9
terminology thus provided the trigger to Wilson internationalising the phrase in 1918, as the world
considered the First World War and its aftermath. In this sense, Wilson developed the philosophy of
“self-determination” from a radical doctrine into a liberal-conservative one.
Thus it was the pronouncements of both leaders, made in the context of wartime competing stances,
which contributed to the emergence of an “international self-determination moment”. The much-
vaunted, rhetorical idealism of mainly western statesmen at the post-war Paris Peace Conference in
1919 certainly stirred a nationalist consciousness in Egypt. However, Egyptians were only too well
aware that lofty beliefs about self-determination had done nothing to prevent the British from using
maximum force to crush a popular uprising in their own country. The pragmatic, and far from
utopian, reality was that the Egyptian Revolution grew directly out of the Peace Conference which
took place in the French capital in January 1919.
The immediate post-First World War period was a watershed in the transformation of colonial
relations vis-à-vis countries like Egypt. Not only was it a time when Egyptian nationalism gathered
an unstoppable momentum, but it culminated in a genuinely grass-roots insurgency perceived as the
first modern revolution. This is to say that it saw religious, economic, political, class and even
gender determinants all converging. In equally contemporary fashion, it also demonstrated the
power of both elitist and populist opinion. This was manifested in the views of the highbrow,
intellectual individual Egyptians who eventually made their way to the Paris Peace Conference of
1919, to the comments of the journalists who produced Egypt’s burgeoning popular press at the
time. Mass wartime mobilisation in the countryside led to nationalist resentment spreading out of the
cities and towns, across the whole country, as an entire people began to focus their ire on the British
Empire.
For the first time in history, upper-class Egyptian women participated in rioting: they openly
demonstrated for a political purpose and thus showed their solidarity with the nationalist cause.
Nationalism was an obvious vehicle for feminist demands too. So it was that two dynamic and
overlapping groups – nationalists and feminists – merged to create a formidable campaigning force
which would have a compelling effect on the progress of Egyptian society. Radical calls for change
being made by a pioneering women’s movement strengthened the agenda for self-rule. In turn,
feminists benefitted from their close association with the nationalists, using their connections to
build up their own power base. However, we argue that after Egypt won nominal independence in
10
1922, many of the male nationalists who had assisted those fighting for female equality became less
enthusiastic about the women’s crusade. Feminists learned a crucial lesson from this development –
they could only really succeed if they established their own independent political organisation.
In this section we review a number of frameworks to attempt to explain this sense of disillusionment
experienced by Egyptian feminists in the wake of the 1919 Revolution. We put forward varied
theories to analyse the changes in the roles and status of women, from the Arab world and beyond,
following their contribution to revolutionary moments in their own societies. It is through this
scholarly prism that we assess the Revolution of 1919 as a turning point in the history of Egyptian
feminism. We conclude that the Egyptian feminist movement was a derivative of western feminism;
a by-product of the nationalist struggle; and that it only came into being after the nationalist gains
were achieved.
All of the above mentioned actors played a decisive part in obtaining Egypt’s nominal
independence, and forging a spirit of citizenship that would ultimately allow all sections of society
to engage in the democratic running of their country.
This thesis adopts both a thematic and chronological approach and we will now, in turn, focus on the
salient historiographical themes under study in order to provide theoretical and methodological
guidelines to our research.
The Theoretical Tension between Islam and Nationalism in the specific context of the
‘Urabi Revolt of 1879-1882 in Egypt
The theory and historiography of Islam’s place in the rise of nationalism in the Muslim world has
developed considerably over recent decades, but there is a marked absence of specific case studies
related to this field. Our first chapter is therefore an attempt to redress the balance, by focusing on
empirical evidence displaying the impact the Muslim faith had on nationalist aspirations in Egypt.
We specifically draw on new theoretical perspectives of nation and nationalism while offering key
experiences in the history of the country between the years 1879-1882 as an example of how
important Islam was to the progress of nationalism. Events such as the ‘Urabi Revolt illustrate how
Egyptians became the first large Muslim group to fight for their own nation within the Ottoman
Empire.
11
There was of course opposition to the Ottoman Sultan throughout the nineteenth century, in all parts
of the Empire. But the Egyptian nationalistic revolt came at a time when the Ottoman Empire was
by no means facing collapse, as it was at the end of the First World War in 1918, when nationalism
turned into a commanding tool for change.2
Most of those exploring Egyptian nationalism have analysed Colonel Ahmed ‘Urabi’s dissenting
movement as one composed of indigenous revolutionaries who took on the local elite in Egypt, and
also European colonial forces who were backing those in power, between 1879 and 1882. But
scholars have stopped short of acknowledging such a course of action as out-and-out, advanced
nationalism. Instead, they have portrayed the revolt as being one inspired by a partially formed sense
of nationalist consciousness that was far removed from the kind which would gain real ground in the
decades ahead. It was contended that ‘Urabi and his followers were political players merely
involved in a formative stage of Egyptian nationalism. However, we suggest in Chapter One a more
comprehensive interpretation of the ‘Urabi Revolt of 1879-1882.
There have, over the past half a century, been numerous theories about nationalism put forward.
These can be broken down into the modernist theory, ethno-symbolist theory, primordialist theory,
and perennialist theory. Modernists view nationalism as beginning predominantly in an
industrialised Europe. Primordialism focuses on primordial – or fundamental – factors such as
speaking a specific language, or living in a community based on specific rituals. Ethno-symbolism
concentrates on the distinctive symbols, values and traditions that bond modern nations.
Perennialists, meanwhile, argue that nations have existed for as long as people have lived together in
communities. In spite of an expanding body of theoretical studies about nationalism, there is a
restricted number of research works covering the link between Islam and nationalism, and
particularly the influence religion has had on the emergence of nations across the Muslim world.
This amounts to a notable insufficiency in close probes about nations and nationalism. Chapter One
will therefore contribute towards explaining the way Islam has played a part in the development of a
nationalist consciousness.
As far as definitions of nation and nationalism are concerned, we will use those of sociologist and
historian Anthony Smith, who acknowledges the significance of history to the nation and views it as
2
Jacob M. Landau, Parliaments and Parties in Egypt, Tel Aviv, Israel Publishing House, 1953, p.1.
12
being focused on a pre-existing group sharing common elements, including a culture and economy.
Smith describes a nation as:
… a named human population occupying a historic territory or homeland

and sharing common myths and memories; a mass, public culture; a single
economy; and common rights and duties for all members.3
We will also employ Smith’s definition of nationalism as:
... an ideological movement for the attainment and maintenance of

autonomy, unity and identity on behalf of a population deemed by some of
its members to constitute an actual or potential “nation”.4
Apart from Anthony Smith, Ernest Gellner and John Armstrong, historians have largely neglected
historiographical works on specific nationalisms as they apply to the Muslim Middle East.5 It has
indeed been argued that nationalism is in fact incompatible with Islam because both concepts are
seemingly defined by contrasting characteristics.
In the case of nationalism, theories overwhelmingly highlight how communities harness shared
ground features and prevalent components of identity, while being set within manifest geographical
boundaries. It is maintained that such boundaries are far less relevant as it pertains to Islam. Instead,
Islam is based on the Umma (the international community of Muslims) which transcends
nationhood. The Umma is an historic and universal idea, one that links citizens from potentially very
different backgrounds according to religious faith: the principles and teachings behind the Umma are
the principal bonds of unity between them.6
3
Anthony D. Smith, The Nation in History: Historiographical Debates about Ethnicity and Nationalism, Cambridge,
Polity Press, 2000, p.3. See also Anthony D. Smith, National Identity, London, Penguin Books, 1991, p.14.
4
Ibid., p.3.
5
The historian Paul Lalor highlights this academic deficit in ‘Rethinking Nationalism in the Arab Middle East’, Nations
and Nationalism, vol. 5, no. 2, 1999, p.303.
6
Erwin I.J. Rosenthal, Islam in the Modern National State, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1965, p.3.
The Umma is described by Rosenthal and others as the “universal Islamic community of believers”. This community
traces its roots back to the era of the Prophet Muhammad and the “original Umma of Medina”. Following the Prophet’s
death, the Umma was headed by Caliphs who were viewed as “spiritual as well as temporal rulers”. See also pp.ix-xx
and pp.3-11.
13
As the first chapter of our thesis will demonstrate, however, this notion of Umma does not exclude
the possibility of Muslims supporting nationalism. Since the birth of Islam, the Umma has covered a
huge part of the world. It has encompassed varied groups of people from disparate ethnic, cultural,
and linguistic communities, within separate geographical areas. Islam creates overarching ties based
on religious belief and practice, and expressed in terms such as “brotherhood”.7
Thus the objective of Chapter One is to offer a theoretical analysis of Islam’s impact on nationalism,
using Egypt as a case study. Through investigating the ascendency of nationalism in Egypt in the
late nineteenth century, we will demonstrate the effect the ‘ulama – or religious scholars – had on
defining the foundations of the nation. The widely held scholarly thesis that the power and influence
of the ‘ulama were stifled by modernisation during the reign of Muhammad ‘Ali and rulers that
came after him in Egypt is also challenged.
During the nineteenth century, the ‘ulama experienced huge blows to their prestige, and indeed to
their estates. Reforms led to them losing land and wealth. New educational policies in Egypt,
combined with a move towards the centralisation of power all counted against the religious scholars.
Many ‘ulama were extremely conservative, and opposed to any type of reform, and thus not
obviously approving of such rapid change. Academics noted that the ‘ulama struggled to retain
positions of authority within an increasingly centralised form of government and bureaucracy.
Instead they were relegated to the edges of political and administrative processes.
There are three Egyptian nationalist Muslim scholars of the nineteenth century whose careers and
works will be considered in Chapter One, as we examine how Islam influenced nationalism in Egypt
in the nineteenth century. The views of Rifa’a Badawi Rafi’ al-Tahtawi, Muhammad ‘Abduh, and
Sheikh Husayn al-Marsafi are particularly important to theoretical discussions on Islam’s place in
the transmission of nationalistic thoughts. Analysis shows that many of the distinct attributes of the
nation state are in fact inherent within the Umma too. Elements such as language, history, geography
and culture can be as much of a bond within the Umma as they are within a nation. These three
popular thinkers have also played a crucial part in expanding the debate about nationalism in Egypt
into a wider one, so emphasizing all-encompassing properties that can be applied to other
nationalism case studies. They were among the first group of Islamic scholars to underscore how the
Umma and the nation were not just compatible, but indeed that religious belief and practice were
7
Sami Zubaida, ‘Islam and Nationalism: Continuities and Contradictions’, Nations and Nationalism, vol. 10, no. 4, 2004,
p.407.
14
necessary to those trying to forge a nationalist spirit. They stressed how Egyptians gradually
acquired a powerful sense of nationhood while they were not just part of the Umma, but also
subjects of the Ottoman Empire. When these three scholars tackled the issue of nationalism they
were only too aware that they had to appraise it within the context of the Umma and the Ottoman
Empire, because Egyptians were emotionally and culturally attached to both. These intellectuals saw
few contradictions between religious faith and practice and national pride. In fact, they were
convinced that a greater consciousness of Egyptian nationalism would make the Umma stronger.
In Chapter One we focus on the standing of the Egyptian ‘ulama in the years 1879–1882 and in
particular the above three Islamic writers as we apply their work to the four principal political areas
of thought at the time as they related to Islam. They are: firstly, the ascent of nationalist reasoning
and action during the ‘Urabi Revolt; secondly, dissent aimed at Egypt’s governing Khedive; thirdly,
Egypt’s relationship with the Ottoman Empire; and finally the invasion and subsequent occupation
of Egypt by the British in September 1882. As they considered such critical matters, the ‘ulama
offered ideas that were far from conventional. Contrary to common misconception, there was no
single, uniform ‘ulama view of any of these subjects. Instead, the arguments in Chapter One show
that there were nuanced religious scholars who were not only in favour of nationalism, but indeed
played important roles in the Egyptian nationalist movement. They helped to analyse their country’s
changing status within the Ottoman Empire and the Umma, while also providing new perspectives
about the nature of communities and reform in a modernising Egypt.
We suggest in Chapter One that the religious scholars were not as negatively affected by the
transformation of Egypt as has been made out. Rather, the ‘ulama managed to keep hold of a
significant portion of their power. Our analysis also points to reforms specifically directed at
undermining the ‘ulama not being carried out in full, or even in part. The impression that the ‘ulama
were deeply traditional and had a wholly conservative outlook on society that held back progress
through rigidly implementing teachings laid out centuries before is certainly one that historians are
moving away from. Historiographical research reveals that there were both reformist and
conservative ‘ulama who were prepared to endorse modernisation, and the popular movement
calling for Egypt to be independent. The scholars deemed that such a state of affairs would be
entirely befitting the country’s Islamic heritage.
15
As far as methodology is concerned, records of the productions of religious scholars are of course
key to understanding their relationship with power politics, and particularly Egyptian nationalism.
The ‘ulama were heavily involved in political affairs in Egypt. The rise of an Egyptian nationalist
movement at the end of the nineteenth century, and its clashes with the British and Ottoman
Empires, as well as – locally – with the Khedive and privileged Turco-Circassian Army officers,
were the primary historical events of the era, and the ‘ulama were engaged in all of them.
It must be emphasised that the ‘ulama stretched across the Islamic world, and indeed across Egypt
during the nineteenth century. They had positions within religious institutions, but also in schools
and universities, as well as in the Egyptian legal and bureaucratic systems, and trade groups and
numerous other organisations. Thus we decided to concentrate on ‘ulama who, because of their
intellectual output and reputation, would be regarded as an elite.
The higher ranking ‘ulama were assisted by juniors who would not generally challenge the views of
their seniors. Our approach is to consider discourse among these senior and highly respected
religious scholars as largely reflecting the arguments taking place among all ‘ulama. Scholars who
were not part of the elite took on the role of spreading messages including the rulings of their
seniors to Muslim worshippers across Egypt. This system did not tend to depend on the written word
but instead on devout people committing information to memory, just as they were encouraged to
memorise the Quran, so as to preserve its purity. The belief is that writing extracts of texts down
might lead to mistakes, and thus becomes a corruption of what is meant to be communicated.
However, the elite ‘ulama we focus on also promoted their ideas in books and in newspaper articles,
often collecting all of their fatawa – the Arabic word for opinions – in volumes of literature.
Accounts of material elite ‘ulama may have registered in spoken debates is of course limited, and
much of it is likely to be undiscovered. In these circumstances, particular reliance is placed on the
known published works of the scholars reviewed here. Our analysis of the ‘ulama’s standpoints on
Egyptian nationalism as it specifically related to the ‘Urabi Revolt is thus positioned in a far more
wide- ranging academic conversation about the influence of Islam on nationalism.
16
“War Imperialism” & its Impact on Political Awareness in Egypt
A nationalist movement cannot operate within a vacuum so, naturally, must be investigated within
the social, political and economic developments of the country in which it took form and thrived. It
is, therefore, the purpose of the thesis to examine and discuss the immediate pre- and post-First
World War contexts which boosted the nationalist campaign in Egypt so significantly, stimulating it
to success. In particular, the thesis is preoccupied by two major and correlated themes: the impact of
a global conflict on the political awareness of a colonised people.
As so often, the War was a huge catalyst of change. The Wafd’s novel brand of nationalism, which
so surprised the British, was based upon the legacy of Egypt’s extensive participation in the First
World War – a conflict which exposed the country to a range of previously unheard of hardships,
and indeed, altered the entire social face of the country. It notably transformed the nationalist
movement from one mainly involving an educated urban elite into one supported by an extremely
broad cross-section of socio-economic groups.
Crucially, British military rule during the War had huge implications on the life of the Egyptians.
Their country had been a highly strategic operational station for the Empire, with the garrisons
administering local populations with as much ruthlessness as they fought. Martial law was
implemented on 2 November 1914, meaning censorship was imposed and public assemblies banned.
The Mediterranean Expeditionary Force had, by the early months of 1915, adopted Egypt as a base.
Later on in the same year, an Egyptian Expeditionary Force had been raised to fight in the
Palestinian theatre of war, leading to a vast increase in military logistical demands. Accordingly,
civilians were called upon to supply “labour, transport and animals and fodder”.8 Conscription was
effectively instated under the pretext of recruiting volunteers, with entire villages seeing their male
labour forces disappearing, often almost overnight.9 Light railways in the Sinai were built by an
Egyptian Labour Corps and a Camel Transport Corps which had drafted no less than 500,000 people
in total. Animals and crops had to be handed over by peasant communities to the British soldiers
they were working for. Local cotton and fodder were forcibly purchased at well below market price,
as British and Commonwealth troops flooded major cities and towns.
8
John Marlowe, Anglo-Egyptian Relations: 1800-1956, London, Franck Cass & Co., 1956, p.22.
9
ʿAbd al-Rahman Al-Rafiʿi, Thawrat Sanat 1919: Tarikh Misr al-Qawmi min Sanat 1914 ila Sanat 1921 (The 1919
Revolution: The National History of Egypt, 1914-1921), Cairo, Maktabat al-Nahda al-Misriyya, 1955, p.31.
17
Such mandatory collections, combined with other levies, led to growing discontent, not least of all
in the countryside.
Egypt was by no means a belligerent country at the time, but it could not escape the social and
economic repercussions of the War. National morale was acutely negatively affected by the
presence of British forces on Egyptian soil, with feelings of anger and frustration becoming harder
and harder to placate. This overwhelming sense of dissatisfaction built up as if in a pressure cooker,
with nationalists constantly looking for a time and place to vent their emotions.
An evolution of far-reaching significance following the establishment of the Protectorate was the
end of de jure suzerainty of the Ottoman Empire. Egypt’s new legal status ushered in a considerably
novel phase in its political life, with pan-Islamism no longer an objective. Nationalists could
concentrate on winning freedom for Egypt rather than championing religious affinities with fellow
believers in other countries. In summary, what happened was that Egypt’s nationalists won
numerous supporters from the country’s non-Muslim communities, thus acquiring the necessary
secular basis to gain power. The new nationalist movement was an explicitly secular one, uniting all
indigenous Egyptians including the Coptic Christian minority, alongside the Muslim majority.
There is little doubt that the leaders of the 1919 Revolution perceived no direct connection between
what they were trying to do and what nationalists in other Arab countries were attempting to
achieve. This lack of parallel nationalism was evident in both the ideology and the action of the
Wafdists. As far as their programmatic agenda was concerned, the manifestos and other public
pronouncements of the Wafdists, Watanists, and other political parties in this revolutionary period
simply ignored all links with other Arab nationalist movements in Western Asia. An inspection of
Saʿad Zaghlul’s speeches makes plain that, other than passing references to Egyptians as “the sons
of Pharaonic civilisation and of Arabic civilisation” or to the involvement of Egyptian Bedouin
Arabs in the nationalist movement, the pre-eminent leader of the Egyptian Revolution paid no
attention whatsoever, either to the Arab dimension of Egypt or to a possible tie between Egyptian
and Arab nationalism.10
Another important situation which emerged out of the austere war conditions was a growing interest
in politics. The effendiya (aspirational, middle-class people originally from a modest background) in
particular began to involve themselves in political matters. The ground was prepared for them by the
10
Ibid., p.107.
18
swiftest advancement in education since Muhammad Ali’s reign. Suffering under the British
Occupation gave the activists ideas about how to galvanise and organise people. Repression by the
military authorities further enhanced their consciousness. As a result, the politicisation of the masses
had also become inevitable.11 This widespread phenomenon allowed the Wafd to interact with the
great part of society, and indeed to mobilise them towards action.
Awareness of the British stranglehold on the wartime economy had greatly increased as the war
effort intensified. People could see Imperial influence on almost every sphere of day-to-day life as
society, and especially the economy, was geared towards victory. In this sense British rule became
an obvious focus for popular dissent.12 Professionals who were dissatisfied, chiefly lawyers and civil
servants, were able to transmit Wafdist ideals to towns and villages, as well as to isolated rural
communities. Workers belonging to social clubs and unions like the Manual Trade Workers Union
were particularly targeted by these well-informed elites who were trying to get their message to as
wide an audience as possible.13 Vatikiotis emphasises the importance of the committed educated
elite as they formed a network between both the privileged aristocratic leadership in Cairo (who had
always had problems with communicating with often illiterate countryside dwellers) and other
members of the population.14
After the War, most relinquished the Watani Party (which had concentrated on traditional
nationalism, but was blighted by outmoded methods of political action and poor command) to join
the Wafd Party under the dynamic leadership of Saʿad Zaghlul. There was no possibility of the
Egyptians being left untouched by the effects of the War. Almost all elements of society came to
view the British Protectorate as an alien body interfering with, and indeed exploiting, their social,
economic and cultural life. As the tension built up, the need for a radical response became cardinal,
with wholesale independence as the number one demand.
11
Chirol, op. cit., pp.151-52.
12
Malcolm E. Yapp, The Making of the Modern Near East, 1792-1923, London, Longman, 1987, p.297.
13
Joel Beinin and Zachary Lockman, Workers on the Nile: Nationalism, Communism, Islam and the Egyptian Working-
Class, 1882-1954, London, Tauris, 1988, p.88.
14
Panayiotis J. Vatikiotis, The Egyptian Army in Politics, Indiana, Greenwood Press, 1961, p.23.
19
Additionally, the post-war conditions of the world were distinguished by features which had an
impact on the nationalist movement in Egypt – notably the American attempt to impose its own
version of peace internationally.15
So it was that the grassroots base for a popular revolution was laid down by the strain caused by
martial law, censorship, and the First World War. When combined with President Wilson’s Fourteen
Points, this pressure became unassailable.16 It was now all a matter of coordination between those
political circles and the masses.
An “International Self-Determination Moment”
Diplomacy in the early twentieth century became focused on “self-determination” as a concept that
could be used to justify policy and, in particular, the creation of independent nation-states.
Accordingly, the fourteen years during which Lenin theorised “self-determination” between 1903
and 1917 were hugely significant to getting the principle on to the global agenda and to
comprehending its future international references. While mentions on the subject would not
generally be framed around Lenin’s radical socialist ideology,17 the Russian’s work was still vital as
regards equating the implementation of self-determination with independent nationhood. The notion
of self-determination thus sanctioned the formation of these new states.
Lenin’s “negative” interpretation of liberty was also crucial. His definition of self-determination
meant freedom from a variety of negatives, ranging from colonial domination and inequality to
exploitation. The need to break free from oppression was, for example, part of a legitimising
standard that permitted violence to be used. Thus negatives had positive moral associations. This
iconoclastic approach to self-determination – one tied up in Lenin’s Marxist view of freedom – was
to go head-to-head with Wilson’s more liberal-conservative outlook.
Worldwide debates about “self-determination” were increasingly dominated by Wilson’s liberal-

conservative vision, but Lenin’s more revolutionary stance by no means disappeared. On the
15
Salama Musa, Tarbiyat Salama Musa (The Raising of Salama Musa), Cairo, Dar al-Katib al-Misri, 1958, p.123.
16
Muhammad Husayn Haykal, Mudhakkirat fi al-Siyyasa al-Misriyya, 2 vols. (Memoirs of Egyptian Politics), Cairo, Dar
al-Ma’arif, 1977, p.81 and Al-Rafiʿi, op. cit., p.57-60.
17
For a few later suggestions on how to condition statehood on the basis of “self-determination”, see e.g. Wayne
Norman, Negotiating Nationalism: Nation-building, Federalism, and Secession in the Multinational State, Oxford,
Oxford University Press, 2006, pp.208-212, and Nicolaus Tideman, ‘Secession as a Human Right’, Journal of
Moral Philosophy, vol. 1, no. 1, 2004.
20
contrary, the Russian’s discourse on “self-determination” had prompted Wilson to internationalise

the term in the first place. By 1917, Lenin had been grappling with it for fourteen years, and its
conceptual and political insertion into wartime rivalries on the world stage was down to him. If it
had not been for Lenin’s work in this respect, Wilson may not have reacted to it altogether, as the
U.S. president popularised the expression at the end of the War in 1918.
Wilson’s very personal appreciation of “self-determination” had such influence internationally in

terms of desirable values such as peace, stability and equality that it was difficult to oppose.18
Although loosely defined, the Wilsonian interpretation of “self-determination” was so closely
affiliated with positives that it stood out as a moral norm in itself. Wilson had kept it out of the
League of Nations Covenant, but it would soon be enshrined in literature relating to the League’s
Aaland Islands case of 1920-21. Later still, “self-determination” would be integrated in international
law when it featured in the 1945 UN Charter. With the tenet gaining more traction, it was presented
as Wilson’s own. It was. Wilson’s views were paramount.19
As Wilson came to personify “self-determination” across the world, elements of his statements and
policies that had not even cited it were attached to it. Vague and contentious quotations linked to
“self-determination” also meant it was construed in varying ways – not all of them ones which
Wilson would have approved of. Order and peace were the priority after the rhetoric of “self-
determination” was dropped from the League Covenant, only for the terminology to actually be
applied via the mandate system. Wilson was mainly in favour of stability and mature political
agency, and he managed to put this set of recommendations into the international debate about “self-
determination”. Interchanging “self-determination” and “consent of the governed”, as Wilson did,
allowed him to employ the formula without it translating into the necessity to form new,
independent states. This opened the way for the academic theory of “internal self-determination”,
which implied that “self-determination” could be implemented within existing states, including
colonial ones, for the sake of a safe world.
18
See, for instance, Frank Füredi, Colonial Wars and the Politics of Third World Nationalism, London, I. B.
Tauris, 1994, p.10.
19
For interesting perspectives on Wilson’s legacy in terms of US foreign policy beyond the time frame of this
thesis, see the statement delivered by Carl Gershman, Counsellor of the US Mission to the United Nations,
9 October 1981: ‘Self-determination and the Soviet Empire’, World Affairs; 1981/82, 144(3), pp.229-236, at
pp.230-231; and Anne-Marie Slaughter: ‘Afterword: Making Democracy Safe for the World’, pp.327-335 in John
Milton Cooper (ed.), Reconsidering Woodrow Wilson: Progressivism, Internationalism, War, and Peace, The
Johns Hopkins University Press, Baltimore, MD, 2008, and the whole of Part IV, pp.253-325 in the same book.
21
Wilson’s legitimising discourse had, in fact, appropriated Lenin’s views of “self-determination” and
had given them a new orientation. The difference was that the Russian had championed self-
determination as liberty and equality for all, including freedom from colonisation and the right to an
independent state. Lenin wanted ordinary people to work out their own destinies in specific cases,
rather than leaving their fate to their leaders. Lenin conceded that violent revolution could be
justified if the ultimate goal was freedom as equal rights.
In turn, Wilson’s reaction to Lenin’s theories was to project “self-determination” as a stabilising

standard that would ensure peace in the world. Peace was always a prime consideration, and it
therefore warranted self-determination. Besides, unlike Lenin, Wilson’s perspective on equality was
solely interested in advanced states, within which his controversial conception of self-determination
could flourish. Wilson’s appraisal of “self-determination as consent of the governed” allowed rulers
to act without the consent of those ruled, and indeed in direct opposition to their popular will, as
long as non-interference was the result. Thus Wilson had outlined self-determination as a device that
abled those in charge to clamp down on forces that threatened their power. In this manner, Wilson
had diminished the idea of liberty inherent in “self-determination”.
Beyond the contrasting natures of the Lenin and Wilson stances on “self-determination”, both
evaluations had a built in “let-out clause”20 which fitted in with both men’s backgrounds and
ideological positions. Lenin ultimately wanted to establish international socialism, putting the
emphasis on socialists – and his own leadership, in particular – as to when and where his
conceptualisation might be enacted. President Wilson, in turn, saw international stability as the
primary issue, and everything else had to be focused on that aim. In the meantime, the argument was
that it would be up to moral leaders like Wilson to agree that the right pre-requisites had been
fulfilled before self-determination was granted.
Nowadays President Wilson is considered as the “father” of “self-determination”21 and there is no

doubt that it was him who ensured that the creed was spread around the world. This
internationalisation led to his ideas becoming more established and authoritative in the post-First
World War era and beyond. It is likely that the ultimate victory of liberal-conservative values during
this period meant Wilson’s posture was more widely embraced than Lenin’s in international affairs.
20
It is historian John Breuilly who coined this expression.
21
See, for example, Joshua Castellino, International Law and Self-determination, The Hague, Martinus Nijhoff, 2000,
p.13; Gershman, 1981, op. cit.
22
Both world leaders had instilled their own views into their rhetoric about “self-determination”,
leaving it to the international community and peoples worldwide to work out which they would take
up. While Wilson’s manifestos were more internationally influential, both notions of self-
determination informed future struggles for liberty.
There were marked differences between the direct environment in which Wilson and Lenin
formulated their convictions concerning “self-determination”. Wilson’s were focused on self-
determination petitions during a particularly tumultuous two decades of world history, and they
were made when Wilson was President of the USA. Thus his declarations were expressed in relation
to international diplomacy and realpolitik when he was at the height of his power. America itself
was enjoying increased global prestige, yet Wilson was not constrained by the need to win elections,
or ensure the approval of his colleagues.
In contrast, Lenin articulated his thoughts far more theoretically, setting them within the wider
subject of Marxist revolution. He concentrated on the doctrinal “correctness” of self-determination
as it might apply to reality. At the time, Lenin was fighting for power within his party, and all of his
views were advanced within the framework of Marxist ideology, and the passionate in-house
debates that characterised socialist party politics. Both Lenin and Wilson wanted to succeed in the
propaganda battle during the war, and in the post-war period, so as to enhance their moral
ascendancy and, subsequently, increase their appeal to audiences worldwide. Numerous diplomatic
historians have analysed President Wilson’s Fourteen Points speech in great detail, and it is by no
means our intention to do so in this work, but rather to give prominence to its significance. It is
particularly noteworthy that Wilson spoke a week after being given an English language edition of a
document in which the Bolsheviks asked the Allies to explain their ambitions for the First World
War, in the context of “self-determination”. The Fourteen Points suggested specific cases of land
arrangement agreements for Europe and indeed the Ottoman Empire, including for its Arab subjects,
that would be linked to Wilson’s understanding on self-determination. Such practical plans certainly
emboldened Egyptian nationalists and convinced them that they should strive for complete self-
determination for themselves.
23
“On Revolution”
It would be easy to rely on a solely rational, scientific approach in an enquiry into nationalism in
Egypt in the build up to the country’s 1919 Revolution. Verifiable evidence is readily available to
back up theories about a concerted move towards independence – one supported by Egyptians of all
backgrounds. However, there is no reason why more subjective accounts of this dynamic movement
should be discarded. National history is often written in proud, triumphalist language, and in Egypt,
records of nationalist leader Saʿad Zaghlul’s life are, for example, often given a reverential
treatment which might be considered inappropriate.
In fact, the generally florid and overblown language of the patriotic historian can provide an
interpretation of reality which greatly adds to the history of a defined period. The Revolution of
1919 was first and foremost a nationalistic one, and expressions of nationalist pride provide very
useful experiences about the mood of the time, and indeed the thought processes and circumstances
which brought about such radical change.
Many of the men and women behind the development of Egyptian nationalism in the immediate pre-
and post-First World War period admired western philosophy and culture, but still had to struggle
against its colonial manifestation. Having rejected the West through their revolution, many
historians in countries such as Egypt concentrated on producing narratives which have been written
off as propaganda and polemic.
While politicians invariably use their country’s history as a tool to influence public opinion, and
indeed to win them over to supporting both policy and strategy, scientific methods are expected of
the historian. But this does not preclude considering the patriotic, idealised, and sometimes
politically motivated bias in writing history in tandem with the more thorough, sober inclination.
As an example, our descriptions of the events of the 1919 Revolution in Chapter Five are by no
means over-reliant on a Report drawn up by the Egyptian Delegation which offers a detailed
chronicle of the clashes between demonstrators and Empire troops. In fact, we deliberately quote
extensively from it to give the Egyptians “a say”. That does not suggest a lack of critical distance or
indeed naivety, especially so as the brutal repressions they recount through eye-witness testimonies
are something that the British authorities have also kept archives of.
24
What is crucial, however, is that reflection on the more subjective expositions of Egypt’s recent
history should be viewed against the background of decolonisation and nation-building in the pre-
and post-revolutionary period, and the degree to which Egyptian historians have responded to
official guidelines. Rather than dismissing certain versions, all should be welcomed as contributing
to the historiography of the time.
Following the above discussion about the writing of the national history, this historiographical
review will focus on the varied perspectives on the independence struggle of 1919 held by different
writers. In this respect, the thesis is principally concerned with three aspects which illustrate the
wide range of interpretations on specific developments. A fundamental facet of the thesis is that it
highlights the historiographical division between “Western” and Egyptian sources, as the
terminology used is crucial to placing the actions into a certain historical context. The thesis is also
set to engage in a debate within Arabic literature itself on the Revolution, and on the part played by
Saʿad Zaghlul in particular. Another major dimension of the revolution is that it brought to the fore a
new brand of Egyptian nationalism – that is to say a true combination of the aspirations of an
educated elite and the wishes of the popular classes. In order to understand how the two spheres
came to coalesce, the thesis embarks on a thorough study of both the press and religion and their
role in the dissemination of nationalist ideas.
There is a clear distinction between the Egyptian and Western lexicon pertaining to the radical
events of 1919. Egyptian literature unanimously refers to the forceful protests as a “Revolution”.
Western historiography, however, tends to resort to a whole array of qualifications relating to the
scale of the dissent. Thus, alternative words are often used in Anglo-Saxon writings to describe the
bloody confrontation between British soldiers and the Egyptian population in the spring of 1919.
These include terms such as “unrest”, “trouble”, “crisis”, “events”, “protests”, “riots”, “uprising”,
“insurrection”, “rebellion” or – at the most extreme – “revolt”. Sometimes the clashes do not even
get a mention. The chasm in the usage of vocabulary is far from being just superficial. Instead it
reflects a profound divergence of perceptions. For the Egyptian historiography, what happened in
March 1919 was a key historical moment – hence the widespread reference to “Thawra” –
Revolution – in Egyptian sources.22 Descriptions of the Revolution in Egyptian history books insist
on the sudden and powerful way the Egyptian population as a whole rose up against British rule. In
22
See for example Al-Rafi’i, op. cit. and ‘Abd al-‘Azim Ramadan, Thawrat 1919 fi Daw’ Mudhakkirat Saʿad Zaghlul,
(The 1919 Revolution in Light of Saʿad Zaghlul’s Memoirs), Cairo, Al-Hay’ah al-Misriyya al-‘Amma lil-Kitab, 2002.
25
contrast, the terminology adopted in British history in general depreciates the nature and indeed the
extent of this watershed in modern Egyptian history. The revolution is thus at times reduced to a
mere “agitation”, “disturbance” or “disorder”. At other times, it is perceived as a significant
occurrence, a critical and unstable time, or a localised act of popular defiance to attempt to
overthrow the established authority.
Interestingly enough, John Darwin makes a contradictory analysis of the revolution as he first tries
to minimise it and then recognises its singularity. Darwin begins by depicting the Revolution as a
“classic” colonial revolt.23 He praises Lord Milner for his efforts in attempting to find a peaceful co-
existence (“modus vivendi”) with the nationalists. In this sense, Darwin harks back to the Cromerian
period. But Darwin also concedes that the Wafd represented a genuine and sweeping form of mass
mobilisation, rather than a straightforward form of routine “Pasha politics”. Darwin plays down the
importance of the Revolution, instead concentrating on the impact the First World War had on the
day-to-day running of the British Empire. More generally he looks at the war’s effect on Britain’s
entire Imperial position in the world. Darwin poses the theory that the war may well have been the
catalyst of a worldwide nationalist spirit which ultimately heralded the end of Empire. Inevitably,
Darwin contends, the war did not have such cataclysmic repercussions. He minutely reviews the
policy statements and policy execution of British leaders including Lloyd George, Curzon, Milner,
Churchill and Montagu. Darwin also analyses the domestic and international policies of the
Coalition government. Darwin’s conclusion is that there was “no absolute reduction in British power
and influence” at this time. Instead Darwin suggests that the British retreated from what he calls
“War Imperialism”, returning “to the methods and constraints which had characterised policy before
1914”. Darwin explains that:
It was the gradual and selective casting off of temporary additions to

Imperial power in a world which had grown less dangerous and more
parsimonious, not a nerveless collapse in the face of insurgent nationalism,
which best describes the spirit of the Lloyd George coalition's Imperial
policy after 1918.24
Although there is a consensus in Egyptian historiography on the phrasing of the popular

mobilisation of 1919, perspectives on the revolution and the part played by its leader Saʿad Zaghlul
23
John Darwin, Britain, Egypt and the Middle East: Imperial Policy in the Aftermath of War 1918-1922, London,
Macmillan, 1981, p.74.
24
Darwin, op. cit., p.275.
26
in particular can differ. These differences are clearly revealed if one considers the most prominent
works in Egyptian history. For instance, Lahsin focuses on the figure of Saʿad Zaghlul and his role
in Egyptian politics.25 He makes a number of understatements, most notably in denying Zaghlul his
leadership of the nationalist movement. As for Mohammed Ghorbal, in his book entitled Tarikh al-
Mufawadat al-Misriyya al-Britaniyya,26 he looks at the bilateral relations between Egypt and
Britain. He reproduces the texts of the proposals set out before negotiations and presents them in a
literal fashion. Unfortunately, his book does not explain the documents and the conditions under
which they were put forward in terms of the political developments in Egypt at the time.
The prolific historian ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Rafi’i witnessed the Revolution of 1919 as a young man of
thirty and then chronicled it in his Thawrat 1919,27 in two volumes. His Thawrat 1919 serves as one
of the most detailed accounts of the revolution and draws on archival material, newspaper articles as
well as his personal memories and links with political figures. Together with Fi A’qab al-Thawra al-
Misriyya,28 vol.1, which deals with the aftermath of the revolution, they constitute a compilation of
events arranged in a chronological sequence. Before the War, al-Rafi’i was a member of the Watani
Party and afterwards served as a member of the lower and upper houses of Parliament. In spite of his
political views, al-Rafi’i emphasises Zaghlul’s leadership in the Egyptian revolution. He also
expresses his own nationalist feeling in his books when assessing the revolution and the nationalist
movement.
As for ‘Abd al-‘Azim Ramadan, in Tatawwur al-Haraka al-Wataniyya Fi Misr Sanat 1918 ila Sanat
1936,29 he overstates the role of Zaghlul, and believes the 1919 Revolution to have been an essential
part of his character. This amplification of Zaghlul’s position lessens the importance of the people
throughout these events. The study is written in a journalistic style, and the author only uses
secondary sources. What appears to be certain is that such works do give a strong idea of the
disparity of views in Egyptian literature about this chaotic period.
25
‘Abd al-Khaliq Lashin, Saʿad Zaghlul wa-Dawruhu fi al-Siyasa al-Misriyya (Saʿad Zaghlul and His Role in the
Politics of Egypt), Cairo, Maktabat Madbuli, 1975.
26
Mohammed S. Ghorbal, Histoire des négociations égypto-britanniques 1882-1936, vol. 1 (History of Anglo-Egyptian
Negotiations, vol. 1), Cairo, Maktabat al-Nahda, 1952.
27
Al-Rafi’i, op. cit.
28
‘Abd al-Rahman al-Rafi’i, Fi A’qab al-Thawra al-Misriyya (The Aftermath of the Egyptian Revolution), Cairo,
Maktabat al-Nahda al-Misriyya, 1959.
29
‘Abd al-‘Azim Ramadan, Tatawwur al-Haraka al-Wataniyya Fi Misr Sanat 1918 ila Sanat 1936 (The Rise of the
Nationalist Movement in Egypt, 1918-1936), Cairo, Maktabat Madbuli, 1983.
27
At the end of the War, the transformation of nationalism from a dynamic but limited movement
driven by an educated elite to a full-scale popular movement was quite incredible.30 Indeed, the ill-
conceived arrest and deportation of the Wafd leaders to Malta prompted strikes and mass
demonstrations by students, government officials, doctors, lawyers and other professionals, transport
workers and women. The truism that economic power invariably lay behind political power and
social advancement was also realised by a majority of the population. There is no doubt that the
Wafd membership had been dominated by senior professionals including lawyers, landowners,
bankers, civil servants and medics. They formed the nucleus of a burgeoning middle-class who had
an economic stake in the desire for political independence. It was this group which was able to
undermine rival Egyptian groups which traditionally supported the British administration, because
they had gained so much from it.31 This politicisation of society meant that the Wafd could
communicate with the great mass of people, and indeed to galvanise them to action. Chirol reaches
the same conclusion when he writes that during the War:
We had done nothing to gain the confidence of the educated classes, whose
impatience at the maintenance of even a veiled Protectorate had been
steadily increasing even before the war, and we had for the first time
profoundly estranged the agricultural masses that form the vast majority of
the population.32
As a result, he notes that the politicisation of the masses had become inevitable:
To the Egyptian masses political theories and arguments had meant nothing
before the war. But in Egypt, as in every other country, all the conditions of
life, and especially the enormous rise in prices, had produced a wave of
social unrest which took many different forms.33
Professionals who were dissatisfied with British rule, especially lawyers and civil servants, were
able to transmit Wafdist ideals to towns and villages, as well as to isolated rural communities.
Workers belonging to social clubs and unions like the Manual Trade Workers Union were
particularly targeted by these well-informed elites who were trying to get their message to as wide
an audience as possible.34 Vatikiotis emphasises the importance of the committed educated elite as
they formed links with both the privileged aristocratic leadership in Cairo (who had always had
30
Albert Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age, 1798-1939, London, Oxford University Press, 1962, p.209.
31
Ibid., p.209.
32
Chirol, op. cit., p.141.
33
34
Beinin & Lockman, op. cit., p.88.
28
problems interacting with often illiterate countryside dwellers) and other members of the
population.35
One fascinating development of the revolution was the appearance of Egyptian women on the
barricades. In correspondence with General Sir Edmund Allenby, the newly appointed High
Commissioner of Egypt, Saʿad Zaghlul comments upon the extraordinary social change, noting how
“the most distinguished women in Egyptian society were not able, on their side, to see their fellow-
country-men treated in this way and keep silent about it”.36 He adds that:
[T]he curtain that ordinarily separates our women of the upper classes from
the outside world did not prevent them from expressing their sentiments. In
fact, nearly three hundred women of the most important families of Cairo
organised on March 20th a simple and dignified manifestation, after they had
read in the morning newspapers that permission had been granted them.37
With the deportation of the Wafd’s figureheads, Egyptian women took over on the political
playground. Thus, Safiyya Zaghlul and Huda Sha’arawi – the wives of the imprisoned Wafd leaders
– led upper-class veiled women and staged a demonstration against British Occupation. In the
countryside, even the fellahat (women farmers) disrupted railway and telegraph lines and damaged
infrastructure.38 It is also important to note that Saʿad Zaghlul’s observations illustrate the
relationship between nationalism, Islam and feminist commitments among Egyptian women from
the upper-classes.
Margot Badran’s Feminists, Islam and Nation,39 also reflects the intricate link between gender
issues, politics and religion in the making of modern Egypt. She has a broader understanding of the
nature of feminism in Egypt at that stage as she points out that it involved not only women from
different classes (essentially upper- and middle-class), but also male intellectuals, nationalists and
Islamic modernists. The writings of Ahmed Lutfi al-Sayyid also give particular importance to the
growing connection between these different groups whose nationalist-feminist activism was best
illustrated during the struggle for independence of 1919-1922. Hourani comments on Lutfi al-
Sayyid’s thoughts in these terms:
35
Vatikiotis, op. cit., p.23.
36
Egyptian Delegation Report, Egyptian Delegation to the Peace Conference: Collection of Official Correspondence
from November 11, 1918 to July 14, 1919, Paris, Published by the Delegation, 1919.
37
Ibid., p.38.
38
James Jankowski, Egypt: A Short History, Oxford, Oneworld Publications, 2000, p.112.
39
Margot Badran, Feminists, Islam and Nation: Gender and the Making of Modern Egypt, Princeton, N.J., Princeton
University Press, 1995.
29
For Lutfi al-Sayyid and his generation, feminism was an essential part of
true nationalism, and it was no coincidence that when, a decade later,
Egyptian women began to throw off the veil and claim the right to take part
in the common life of society, it was as a by-product of the struggle for
independence in the early days of the Wafd.40
Although Beth Baron recognises the significance of the 1919 Revolution in relation to the rise of
Egyptian feminism, she stresses emphatically women’s involvement in political and feminist affairs
in the 19th century, in the context of the birth of the modern state under Mohammed ‘Ali. She thus
writes:
In the case of modern Egypt, historians have highlighted the role of women
in the 1919 revolution. Prior to that, women are generally seen as uninvolved
in the national struggle. [...] The 1919 revolution is also seen as the pivotal
point in the shift from nationalist to feminist activities. Yet this stress has
caused scholars to overlook antecedents for women’s nationalist and
feminist endeavours as well as bypass non-feminist women and groups in the
preceding decades.41
This quick overview of the association between feminism, nationalism, politics and Islam provides a
template for these themes to be discussed in a section of our dissertation.
The educated urban intelligentsia and nationalist elite were not the only ones to have a decisive role
in the mobilisation of the masses. The part played by the popular press is often underestimated.
Chirol insists that with the revival of Egyptian nationalism, it was the more extreme school of
journalism that came to have the strongest influence on popular opinion. Thus he provides the
following comment:
Journalism was not regarded at first as a profession of much account. It

attracted chiefly the failures of the Europeanised schools and colleges,
whose hopes of employment in the public services had been disappointed,
and who were proportionately embittered. The ordinary Egyptian who has a
small difference of opinion with his neighbour at once shrieks at the top of
his voice, cursing his antagonist’s forebears to the third or fourth generation,
whilst the other neighbours gather round to enjoy the ferocious repartees that
are bandied about. The newspapers caught that unfortunate habit, and it
40
Hourani, op. cit., p.182.
41
Beth Baron, ‘Mothers, Morality, and Nationalism in Pre-1919 Egypt’ in Rashid Khalidi et al. (eds.), The Origins of
Arab Nationalism, New York, Columbia Press University, 1991, p.272.
30
evidently was to the taste of their readers, for violence was invariably
rewarded with an increasing circulation.42
It is widely accepted among scholars that the Wafd’s new type of nationalism cast the pan-Islamic
and pro-Ottoman beliefs of its pre-war predecessors as it displayed an ideology rooted in the
philosophy of liberal democracy.43 Chirol, however, argues that there was a close link between
Islamic extremism and nationalism, writing at the time:
Nationalism is deeply tinged with Mahomedan fanaticism. There had always

been reason to suspect, and for months past it had been very noticeable that
almost all the turbulent demonstrations, usually ending in violence,
originated in popular gatherings held inside the mosques, where the most
fiery speeches could be made with impunity.44
Chirol uses the Introduction of his book to describe Egyptian Nationalism as a blend of enlightened
political philosophy and extreme religious zeal:
As elsewhere it [British Occupation and intervention] has set in motion

forces, in part progressive and in part reactionary, which in Egypt, under the
particular impulse given to them by the war, have found expression in a
skilfully organised political campaign against the maintenance of the British
Protectorate as well as in an explosive outburst of emotional patriotism,
never entirely free, in an Oriental and Mahomedan people, from racial and
religious passion.45
He makes the same point in his conclusion when he asks:
Should we really promote the evolution of the Egyptian people towards

nationhood by handing them over to a party which is appealing more and
more openly to the reactionary forces of the Islamic world?46
These are thus three main angles to the 1919 Revolution which will be covered in the thesis. They
are firstly, the importance of phraseology in Western and Egyptian literature in the way it invariably
reveals a different political agenda in both cases; secondly, the widely disparate interpretations
within Egyptian literature itself. And, thirdly, the essential involvement of the elites, the popular
42
43
Nadav Safran, Egypt in Search of Political Community: An Analysis of the Intellectual and Political Evolution of
Egypt, London, Oxford University Press, 1961, p.92.
44
45
Ibid., p.viii.
46
Ibid., p.300.
31
press and religion to gather anti-British support at the grassroots. All three dimensions are crucial as
regards grasping an all-encompassing view of mass mobilisation at the time.
Theories on Egyptian Feminism
Many theories have been published about the feminist movement in Egypt. One popular way of
looking at these ideas is to consider Arab feminist movements as by-products of Western ones.
Feminism as a by-product of the Western model:
Western influence could be found in all fields of Egyptian life: economic, political, and social
change brought about by exposure to European powers had led to a new manner of thinking. Novel
thought processes and perspectives being imported from the West resulted in the role of women
changing significantly.47 These theories are based on the view that female status in any community
is centred on both local outlooks and foreign ones.48
As part of the primary phase of feminism in Egypt, educated groups of women were exposed to
intellectual concepts from abroad, and acted on them. This discourse would have gradually attracted
women from other tiers of society. This was the first stage in the development of feminism in Egypt.
A hindrance to feminist ideals filtering down from the upper-classes to lower ones was the
conservative nature of some sections of society. In certain circles there was a strong suspicion of
western values because people were convinced that they threatened their traditional lifestyles, and
indeed their beliefs.
Feminism as a by-product of nationalism:
Beyond the penetration of Western propositions stimulating feminism in areas such as the Middle
East, political action by women could also be a direct result of nationalism. In the case of Egypt,
women wanted to liberate their country from British rule, and considered their contribution as
women to be essential to the struggle.
47
Gabriel Baer, Population and Society in the Arab East, New York, Greenwood Press, 1964.
48
Judith E. Tucker, ‘Problems in the Historiography of Women in the Middle East: The Case of Nineteenth Century
Egypt’, International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 1983, vol. 15, pp.321-336.
32
This idea stems from the view that nationalism should be to the advantage of all sections of society,
and not just men. Women who were politically active in Egypt between 1919 and 1924 not only
displayed their nationalist credentials, but showed how they could be just as effective as men.
While women from the upper-classes dominated the early Egyptian women’s movement, some came
from other backgrounds. Some of those joining in street demonstrations were killed by British
soldiers, and were thus elevated to the status of national heroes, and indeed martyrs.
The Wafd political party accepted women members, and allowed them to take part in these popular
demonstrations. They were also involved in other activities against the British Empire, including
boycotting British goods. In terms of nationalist success, women certainly contributed to Egypt
nominally achieving independence from Britain in 1922.
However, the fact was that this political activism had no immediate influence on attaining
emancipation for women. Instead, after the revolution, those who had joined the Wafd and
campaigned so effectively were expected to return to their traditional roles in life. There was no
attempt at introducing women’s suffrage in the 1923 Egyptian Constitution. The kind of exclusion
that women had experienced following other monumental revolutions around the world was
replicated. Thus we can highlight the contrast between revolutionary activity among women and
their lack of progress in the post-revolution period, just as we can in places such as Algeria, the
Soviet Union, China, Cuba and America.
Feminism as a derivative of the post-revolutionary period:
It can also be argued that feminist movements become effective in the post-revolutionary period.
Once nationalist movements have gained what they set out to achieve, there is a moment of
settlement when women think about what they have been involved in, and what is possible in the
future.
Women have experienced the limited freedom to participate in political action over a specific time
span, and want this freedom to be permanent. In this sense, even bitterness, resentment, and the
sense of betrayal that directly follows a revolution can be a significant impetus for change, and
especially towards creating a more enduring feminist movement.
33
Egypt’s feminists worked to undermine British rule, but were not formalised as the Egyptian
Feminist Union (EFU) until 1923. Even then, the Union did not start up properly until women
realised they had been excluded from the electoral rules laid out in the new 1923 Constitution. From
1923 onwards, members of the EFU lobbied furiously to be introduced to the electoral process, and
called for numerous other rights. They wanted to see the Personal Status Law changed, and
encouraged all women in society to fight for the right to have a definite political role in their
country.
Riots and other displays of public anger have always been commonplace in Egyptian society. When
there is a widespread perception of injustice, or corruption, or a general need for change, then people
take to the streets. Those who have chronicled such demonstrations over the centuries have reported
that women from all kinds of backgrounds partook.
The years when Muhammad ‘Ali was in power, between 1805 and 1848, were renowned for such
popular protest. As Egypt got into grave economic problems, women were among those who
attacked the forces of law and order to oppose rising prices and taxes. Many were from the rural and
city lower classes. The women may technically have been demanding better conditions and a fairer
economic deal for men at this time, but they were still engaged in political action for their country,
and for all of its citizens.49
The 1919 Revolution in Egypt saw a particularly marked movement towards women dissenting, and
not just those from the working classes who had traditionally campaigned for improved socio-
economic standings. The uprising of 1919 was the first time that women from the upper ranges of
Egyptian society joined in the marches demanding independence from the British.
Such women could be seen in Cairo, following up on at least two decades of discourse about
freedom by participating in direct political action. The women were often in black abayas and were
invariably veiled, and their determination to take a public stance in what they viewed as reactionary,
unjust British rule was extremely efficient. Even when the rioting stopped, and crowds moved off
the streets, such women kept up their opposition for another five years.
There was no question of these women solely taking passive, peaceful roles during their country’s
struggle. They instead wanted to emulate male activists – to present themselves as heroic and well
49
‘Afaf Lutfi Al-Sayyid-Marsot, ‘The Revolutionary Gentlewomen in Egypt’ in Lois Beck and Nikki Keddie (eds.),
Women in the Muslim World, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 1978, pp.261-276.
34
organised figures who could stand up to British rule in a manner that was not just symbolic.50 What
is striking, however, is the manner in which these women were inclined to dispose of traditional
stereotypes during the protests, and then revert to them after the revolutionary moment had passed.
Frantz Fanon recounts in A Dying Colonisation (1967), how women in Algeria took to the streets
during their country’s War of Independence from France between 1954 and 1962. They had a hand
in violent operations in a way that would revolutionise their position within society. It was through
popular dissent, and indeed the use of weapons against a common enemy, that they brought about
emancipation. Fanon describes how men supported the liberation of women in greater numbers, to
the extent that the conflict against the French not only freed the country, but also its female
citizens.51
In fact, Fanon’s view had several problems. He underestimated how Algerian women were given
minor functions in the resistance movement against the French. They were never allowed to take the
initiative during attacks, for example, and never issued orders.52
Instead, as the French became more combative and ruthless, and men started to go into hiding, or
were killed, or invalided, or put in prison, women had to take on male duties. A shortage of males
was the main reason they fought. Women were able to use their veils as a disguise, and their
femininity to get through French check points, and to evade military patrols. Algeria’s National
Liberation Front (Front de Libération Nationale, FLN) were able to send the women to place bombs
in barracks and other targets using these overtly feminine disguises.
Women who were killed or imprisoned and tortured were viewed as national heroes, and indeed as
martyrs, but ultimately they were replacements for men’s roles as a matter of military expediency.
While groups of women were used on the frontline, many others remained in their traditional
positions as wives and mothers, providing for children and other family members, including
menfolk. Their employment as soldiers masqueraded as ordinary women was a temporary,
emergency measure deemed necessary for the FLN to win the war.
50
Carol R. Berkin and Carla M. Lovett (eds.), Women, War, and Revolution, New York and London, Holmes and Meier,
1979.
51
Frantz Fanon, A Dying Colonianism, New Work, Grove Press, 1967.
52
Juliette Mince, ‘Women in Algeria’ in Beck and Keddie (eds.), op. cit., pp.159-179.
35
Similarly, Fanon did not acknowledge that the FLN’s primary and overriding aim was victory, and
not female emancipation. Their plans for the post-war period were unspecified, and they certainly
had no stated objective concerning women’s rights. On the contrary, the FLN was largely interested
in reverting to the customary Islamic way of life that colonisation by the French had challenged. The
kind of liberal approach to feminism from Europe was something the FLN wanted to resist. In short,
ideas about the liberation of women were being imported from France and the FLN was fighting the
French so as to eject them from Algeria.53
In such circumstances, the future for Algerian women, including those taking part in field
operations, was a life in a free country, but also a traditional one. When the war ended, and
independence was gained, all women were expected to go back to the conventional roles that
Algerian society expected of them. There is a great difference between the heroic perception of
women’s actions in revolutions undertaken during the period of conflict, and the reality of post-
revolutionary life for women.
Women were also heavily involved in the French Revolution of 1789. However, as in Algeria,
female participants did not achieve the kind of progress for women that many would have
envisaged. There was no emancipation for women afterwards, with the Napoleonic era instead
mainly concentrating on advancing the stations and professional careers of men from the upper
echelons of society. There is in fact plenty of evidence that women’s rights suffered a setback within
a France regulated by the Napoleonic Code: “old wines were presented in new bottles”.54
The situation was very similar after the American Revolution of 1765 to 1783. After the war, white
women returned to patriarchal lifestyles focused on the kitchen and the nursery.55 There is very little
proof that conditions in the lot of women in the Soviet Union, Cuba and China were improved by
their revolutions either.
Radical events leading to sudden changes in the balance of power do not necessarily cause
revolutions in every sphere. In the three latter nations, the gap between revolutionary beliefs and
53
Sheila Rowbotham, A History of Women and Revolution in the Modern World: Women, Resistance and Revolution,
New York, Vintage Books, 1974.
54
Mary Durham Johnson, ‘Old Wine in New Bottles: The Institutional Changes for Women of the People During the
French Revolution’ in Berkin and Lovett (eds.), op. cit., pp.107-145; and Barbara C. Pope, ‘Revolution and Retreat:
Upper-class French Women after 1789’ in ibid., pp.215-236.
55
Marylynn Salmon, ‘Life, Liberty and Power: The Legal Status of Women After the American Revolution’ in ibid.,
pp.85-107.
36
actually putting such beliefs into practice narrowed during the revolution itself, but widened
considerably afterwards.56
All of the five revolutions mentioned above had different objectives, but beyond this there were
many similarities. They were fought against a single reactionary enemy; they aimed at reorganising
society along nationalistic and egalitarian lines; and they all involved women joining mass
revolutionary movements.57
The revolutions also all tell a story of politically active women being denied emancipation in their
post-revolutionary communities. Instead, their efforts ended up mainly helping the male
revolutionaries they had fought alongside. These men were happy to see patriarchal values
suspended during a time of struggle, but were equally content to see them re-imposed once the
ideology behind their revolution could be applied to their respective societies.
Thus women’s involvement in extraordinary historical developments such as revolutions can be

viewed as exceptional measures.58 They are by no means intended to redefine women’s places in the
societies that emerge after revolution.
Women’s engagement in revolution is also different to men’s because women are supposed to
participate in line with their roles as providers: as wives and mothers whose job it is to look after
their menfolk.59 Essential provisions such as food are in short supply, but women are required to
cope. Then men are in short supply (because of death, and wounding, and imprisonment) and
women have to fill in. Women thus inevitably become politicised, but at the volition of men, who
guide them on the battlefield and in other crisis zones. Women do not lead the revolution, and still
have to continue with their traditional status.
After the crisis has gone, patriarchal roles within society are resumed, but – at the very least –
attitudes have changed, especially among women. They have had an experience of freedom, and see
no reason why they should not have others. Women have learnt how to deal with a struggle, and in
peacetime consider themselves capable of sharing participation in electoral processes with men.
56
Brodsky Farnsworth, ‘Communist Feminism: Its Synthesis and Demise’ in Ibid., pp.145-165; and Joan M. Maloney,
‘Women in the Chinese Communist Revolution: The Question of Political Equality’ in Ibid., pp.165-182; and Lourdes
Casal, ‘Revolution and Conciencia: Women in Cuba’ in Ibid., pp.183-306.
57
Ibid., p.79.
58
Rowbotham, op. cit., p.162.
59
Berkin and Lovett (eds.), op. cit., p.82.
37
All of this illustrates the manner in which the fiercely nationalistic women who took part in the
Egyptian Revolution of 1919 to 1924 operated. At a critical time, they responded to the emergency
within their country, taking on a repressive foe. This historiographical review thus shows how such
women shared a sense of common purpose with all other members of society. Traditional female
tasks, as well as factors such as segregation and enforced seclusion, were ignored along with social
norms that relegated women to secondary posts within society. The national good was the primary
motivation for all political action, and overrode any sense of injustice based on sex.
In light of post-revolutionary developments in Egypt, women felt disillusioned. Chapter Six evokes
this sense of resentment, but concludes that it was galvanised and used to create a nationalistic
female consciousness that was later channelled towards creating Egypt’s first feminist movement.
All the significant themes highlighted above are examined in our thesis. The methodology proposed
here supports the key events and experiences discussed in our core work.
38
Structure of the Thesis
The Rise of the Egyptian

Structure Nationalist
of the Thesis Movement:
The Case of the 1919 Revolution
Chapter One:
The Emergence of an Islamic Nationalist Movement in Egypt in the Nineteenth Century
This chapter explores the theoretical tension between Islam and nationalism in the specific context
of the ‘Urabi Revolt of 1879-1882. We argue that ‘Urabi’s movement was not only the first
manifestation of modern Egyptian nationalism, but that it was also imbued with a distinct Islamic
character. What started as a protest against an elite class of Turco-Circassian officers within the
Army, expanded to take on far greater nationalistic objectives, while preserving the country’s
Islamic identity. The role of the religious scholars – or ‘ulama – is studied at length as they assisted
greatly in that process.
Chapter Two:
Anti-Imperialist Ire & the Politicisation of Egypt in the Twentieth Century
The turn from the nineteenth to the twentieth century saw British Imperial repression on full display
during events that came to be known as the Taba Dispute and the Denshawai Incident of 1906. One
was a border dispute which pitted the British and Ottoman Empires in a strategic regional power
game, while the other saw Britain’s harshest form of summary justice used to maintain its grip on
Egypt. Both outrages consolidated nationalist ambitions and led to the setting up of formal political
parties providing means of expression for the population at large.
Chapter Three:
Prelude to the 1919 Revolution: How Britain’s “Informal Imperialism” was replaced by the
“War Imperialism” of the 1914-18 Conflict
The focus of this chapter is the consensus among all strands of indigenous Egyptians that their
country had been plundered by a colonising power during the First World War. Wartime
mobilisation of Egypt’s resources led to wide-scale resentment of the British occupiers, with many
Egyptian peasants coming into contact with direct British rule for the first time ever. This realisation
galvanised the nationalist consciousness as never before.
39
Structure of the Thesis
Chapter Four:
A New World Order: The Emergence of an “International Self-Determination Moment”
and its Impact on Egyptian Nationalists
The political implementation of nationalism evokes “self-determination”. It was the American
President Woodrow Wilson who internationalised the language of self-determination as attempts
were made at setting up a new world order after the First World War. This emboldened the Egyptian
nationalists to strive for complete independence for themselves. But as will be made clear, it instead
led to a “tragedy of disappointment”.
Chapter Five:
The Egyptian Nationalist Revolution of 1919 and the British Response to the “Egyptian Problem”
Chapter Five assesses the nature of the Egyptian nationalist movement and its radical shift from an
elitist protest to a popular revolution in which all social classes participated. It considers the
methods deployed by Britain to contain the Revolution. It also highlights the serious miscalculation
by Empire troops as they underestimated the extent of the revolutionary movement, and failed to put
an end to the agitation.
Chapter Six:
Women in the 1919 Egyptian Revolution: From Political Awakening to Nationalist Feminism
Chapter Six retraces the evolution of Egyptian feminism, from the formation of a political
consciousness at the start of the 19th century, which ran in parallel with the country’s rapid
development as a modern state, to the powerful role women played in the nationalist Revolution as
they rallied under the “Egypt for the Egyptians” slogan. This chapter also analyses the intricate
connection between feminism, nationalism, and Islam.
Transliteration
For the transliteration of Arabic terms, the author referred to the guidelines suggested by the
International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies (IJMES). Most of the Arabic terms have been
transliterated including most of the names of persons. Terms that have become of common use have
been proposed in their more common form as accepted in English.
40
Chapter One
Chapter One:
The Emergence of an Islamic Nationalist Movement
in Egypt in the Nineteenth Century
41
Chapter One: The Emergence of an Islamic Nationalist Movement in Egypt in the Nineteenth Century
The profound influence of nationalism on the development of the modern world is covered in a vast
body of historiographical literature dealing with peoples’ aspirations to create “nation-states”. The
formation of distinct geographical entities over time has produced increased numbers of historical
and sociological enquiries focusing on dynamic movements forcing change. This empirical evidence
on the emergence of nations and nationalism supports four major theoretical approaches that can be
listed as “ethno-symbolist”, “modernist”, “perennialist” and “primordialist”.
Such theoretical examinations have, however, been noticeably dismissed as regards the rise of
nationalism in the Arab and Muslim World. Paul Lalor points the limited number of empirical case
studies of regional nationalisms in theoretical works, saying “the new writing on nationalism has
largely ignored the Arab Middle East”1 and that “scholars working on Arab nationalism have been
slow to make use of the new [theoretical] material”.2
Furthermore, nineteenth century Egypt stands out in scholarly perspectives which predominantly
investigate the progression of nationalism in the Middle East in the context of the Ottoman Empire
defeat at the end of the First World War. The ‘Urabi Revolt of 1879-1882 thus puts Egypt in a
unique position as far as the timing of the expression of nationalism in the Muslim world is
concerned. Indeed, Egypt was still nominally governed by the Ottoman Sultan, while seeking to
break away from him as the de facto head of the Islamic Umma (the worldwide community of
Muslims) during his rule and not in the aftermath of the fall of his Empire.3
This chapter addresses this situation in Egypt, which is the principle subject of this thesis. In
particular, scholars of Egyptian nationalism have neglected building historiographical and empirical
work on the ‘Urabi Revolt of 1879 to 1882 that goes beyond the “proto-nationalistic” approach,
instead considering it as a mere localised rebellion against the contending political forces of the
Khedive, Turco-Circassian elites, European control, and indeed British Occupation. Not only have
the core nationalistic ambitions of the movement been considerably overlooked by most academics,
but they have mainly regarded it as an embryonic precursor to the “full-blown” nationalism of the
early twentieth century in Egypt.
1
Lalor, op. cit., p.303.
2
Ibid., p.303.
3
Landau, op. cit., p.1.
42
Similarly, although Egypt scholars have highlighted – to varying degrees – the importance of the
Muslim faith, including the influence of Islamic thinkers,4 to Egyptian nationalism in the nineteenth
century and early years of the twentieth century, wider theories of nationalism have not integrated
this work. Instead they have suggested that Islam is at odds with traditional nationalism.
Nationalism as a force for social change emphasises the diverse cultural, ethnic, historical, and
linguistic traditions that bond people to a particular territory, they argue, but Islam seems to override
such distinctions, as common faith and the Umma, become the most prevalent features in the
identity of the entire Muslim community. There are many scholars who agree that Islam and
nationalism cannot be reconciled and they thus set forth divergent conceptions of community. In this
regard, Sami Zubaida notes that to “some western commentators, including Ernest Gellner, the
Islamic idea of the community as the political unit is incompatible with the territorial nation-state”.5
In this chapter, we will present an opposing argument by examining the sense of shared interests that
underpin both Islam and the concept of the nation-state.
Thus, we will primarily draw attention to the gaps in the growing theoretical analysis and empirical
findings on Egyptian nationalism, especially as they relate to the dynamic between Islam and the
desire for nationhood. While there have been attempts by Arab Middle East scholars to set the
‘Urabi Revolt within the context of the emergence of nationalism in both the entire Arab and
Muslim world, and Egypt more specifically, the amount of such historiographical enquiries is
remarkably restricted. Against such a deficient theoretical background, the nationalistic expression
of the ‘Urabi Revolt – albeit a failed one – remains largely disregarded.
Historiographical literature has included the role of Islam on the development of nationalism in
Egypt, but studies tend to begin at the start of the twentieth century, and not with the ‘Urabi Revolt
two decades earlier. The contribution of the Islamic religious scholars – the ‘ulama – to the ‘Urabi
Revolt has been underplayed due to the widely held view amongst academics that the influence of
the ‘ulama in Egypt declined in the nineteenth century because of state reforms. However, we will
argue that in the emerging nationalism of the years 1879 to 1882 – which culminated in the quashing
4
Hourani, op. cit.; Muhammad Rashid Rida, Tarikh al-Ustadh al-Imam al-Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh (History of the
Master and Leader Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh), 3 vols., Cairo, Dar al-Fadilla, 2005; Charles C. Adams, Islam and
Modernism in Egypt: A Study of the Modern Reform Movement Inaugurated by Muhammad ‘Abduh, London,
Routledge, 2000; Malcolm H. Kerr, Islamic Reform: The Political and Legal Theories of Muḥammad ‘Abduh and
Rashīd Riḍā, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 1966; Elie Kedourie, Afghani and ‘Abduh: An Essay on
Religious Unbelief and Political Activism in Modern Islam, London, Frank Cass, 1966.
5
Zubaida, op. cit., p.407.
43
of the ‘Urabi Revolt and the British invasion and subsequent Occupation of Egypt – the ‘ulama in
fact retained much of their social status and played a significant part in the intellectual formulation
of nationalistic thought. Accordingly, they imbued Egyptian nationalism with a distinct Islamic
character.
This chapter therefore aims at challenging the prevailing scholarly consensus by exploring the
theoretical tension between Islam and nationalism in the context of the ‘Urabi Revolt. To this effect,
we will first of all analyse the historiographical literature covering the rise of nationalism in
nineteenth century Egypt and stress its limitations. This chapter will also take into account new
research asserting the nationalism of the ‘Urabi Revolt, as well as establishing its specific Islamic
nature. We will then concentrate on the traditional role of the ‘ulama and consider their status in an
increasingly modernised Egyptian society, while showing that they played a crucial part as agents
embracing change supported by a sense of nationalistic pride. Eventually, we will focus on the
theoretical study of the intellectual contribution of reformist Islamic clerics and thinkers in defining
Egypt as a modern Nation during that time. All of those major protagonists provided convincing
arguments about the way in which Islam was indeed compatible with the clamour for nationalism.
How Nationalism Developed in Egypt during the Nineteenth Century
Academic studies of the Constitutional movement and the ‘Urabi Revolt fall into a number of
categories. These can be summarised as one involving a considerable amount of literature that
concentrates on broad Egyptian history of the nineteenth century, and a narrow one made up of an
output of writings that looks notably at the three year uprising using documents in Arabic, English,
French and Turkish.6 Finally, there are commentaries and memoirs produced by those who
witnessed or contributed to the build up as well as the ‘Urabi revolt itself. Egyptians in this group
include the religious scholar Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh and Colonel Ahmed ‘Urabi himself, the
Egyptian Army officer and nationalist at the head of the uprising. British officials living in Egypt
and others visiting from other parts of Europe at the time of the revolt, and leading up to it, have
6
See Alexander Schölch, Egypt for the Egyptians! The Socio-Political Crisis in Egypt, 1878–1882, London, Ithaca Press,
1981; Juan Cole, Colonialism and Revolution in the Middle East: Social and Cultural Origins of Egypt’s ‘Urabi
Movement, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1993; Jacques Berque, Egypt, Imperialism and Revolution
(translated by Jean Stewart), London, Faber & Faber, 1972; Abd al-Rahman Al-Rafiʿi, Al-Thawra al-ʿUrabiyya wa al-
Ihtilal al-Inglizi (The ‘Urabi Revolt and English Occupation), Cairo, Al-Dar al-Qawmiyya lil- Tibaʿa wa al-Nashr, 1966.
See also Robert L. Tignor, ‘Some Materials for a History of the ʿArabi Revolution’, Middle East Journal, vol. 16, no. 2,
1962, pp.239–248.
44
also provided records, among them a seminal one by W. S. Blunt.7 Research for this chapter has
used material from many of these texts as well as drawn on Egyptian archival sources. The
assessment and limitations of such accounts will be underlined during our examination.
During the 1870s, the reign of Khedive Ismail (r.1863–1879) saw Turco-Circassian statesman
Muhammad Sharif Pasha (1826–1887) lead calls for greater constitutional protection against
Ottoman rule. His movement wanted a written Constitution and elected parliament of Egyptians to
curtail Khedival power, and to allow Egyptians more self-rule. This movement emerged at a time of
great economic instability, when Khedive Ismail was imposing ever higher taxes. The Dual Control
set up by Britain and France in 1876 was meant to manage Egypt’s bankrupt economy and pay off
the country’s debts amassed during a period of modernisation and redevelopment. Muhammad
Sharif Pasha’s movement was dominated by Turco-Circassians. They were seen as nobility who was
foreign and out of touch, so they were never able to appeal to the Egyptian masses. The
Constitutionalists also largely failed to deal adequately with the country’s dire economic problems,
nor to overcome the feeling that the majority of ordinary Egyptians were alienated from the political
process. They did enjoy limited success, however, and – crucially – showed that it was possible to
pursue a system of checks and balances between the ruler and Parliament. In this sense the
Constitutionalists provided an essential step for those seeking an alternative power base to the
Khedive.8
In contrast, the movement led by Egyptian army officer Ahmed ‘Urabi was far more successful.
‘Urabi was first of all opposing the manner in which the Khedive granted privileges to Turco-
Circassian army officers in comparison with their Egyptian counterparts. As the protest intensified,
other more nationalistic objectives were introduced by the ‘Urabi movement.9 Meanwhile, the Dual
Control and increasing European penetration continued to cause economic and social problems.
Egyptians felt put-upon and humiliated, all the while blaming Khedive Isma’il for their subjugation
7
Wilfred Scawen Blunt, Secret History of the English Occupation of Egypt: Being a Personal Narrative of Events,
London, T. Fisher Unwin, 1907. The accuracy and therefore usefulness of this record is reliant on how close the author
was to power brokers of the period. Blunt was certainly well-connected to senior politicians including British premier
William Gladstone and his Foreign Secretary Lord Granville. Blunt was also close to ‘Urabi, and supported the
Nationalists and their calls for independence.
8
Landau, op. cit.
9
Schölch, op. cit., p.153.
45
by foreign powers. After his forced abdication, his successor and son Khedive Tawfiq was quickly
viewed as a puppet of the British and French.10
‘Urabi established himself as a powerful leader between 1879 and 1881, as he was involved in a
series of confrontations with Khedive Tawfiq. ‘Urabi’s movement became wider in scope and more
influential, as it made more social, economic and political demands. The concerns of ordinary
people from different walks of life were articulated. These included workers in the countryside, city
trades people, and others such as “medium and lower-level clerks, middle management in state and
provincial bureaucracies, the graduates of the modern civil schools, the officer corps and cadets,
journalists, and the Muslim and Coptic clergy”.11
Whatever people’s background, there was a unified front against the Turco-Circassian elite, as well
as expansionist European powers such as Britain and France. Nationalists believed that Egypt “was
under Turkish and European domination and not ruled by Egyptians themselves and the country’s
wealth was being disposed in debt payments to Europe”.12 A newly educated class had emerged out
of the heightened modernisation of Egypt. There were burgeoning bureaucracies centrally and
locally, and an equally expanding printed press. People had greater opportunities to interact and take
part in political debates. Social mobility was on the increase thanks to improvements in the
education system, while the Turco-Circassians and Europeans became more unpopular. They were
seen as holding the nation and Egyptians back, and indeed threatening their futures.
There were other groups attracted to ‘Urabi’s nationalist movement who had lost out because of
Egypt’s modernisation. Islamic scholars had, for example, seen much of their wealth taken away,
and their influence was also in decline. Over the course of the nineteenth century, they gradually saw
their land and property confiscated, as well as their role managing the Awqaf (charitable
endowments). Meanwhile, Egyptians in the countryside were heftily taxed so as to pay back debt to
European governments. By the years 1880-81, all of these segments of society were “unified by a
sense of ethnic solidarity involving an (Arabic) linguistic revivalism, Egyptian regional patriotism
and Islamic nationalism”.13
10
Ziad Fahmy, Ordinary Egyptians: Creating the Modern Nation through Popular Culture, 1870–1919, Cairo, American
University Press, 2011, pp.20–25.
11
Cole, op. cit., p.22.
12
13
46
Nationalist demands for greater sovereignty and against the Khedive, the British, and ultimately the
Ottoman Empire, intensified. The Khedive used British support to try and appease ‘Urabi, initially
granting concessions. The ‘Urabists were allowed their own government in September 1881, for
example, but such measures only made ‘Urabi and his followers more popular, while undermining
the Khedive’s authority further. Thus the Ottoman Sultan strengthened his power in Egypt by
bolstering both the Khedive and ‘Urabi, without publicly backing one over the other. The Ottoman
Sultan then disowned ‘Urabi at the behest of the British. When ‘Urabi refused to resign, the British
launched a seaborne invasion, sailing the Royal Navy to Alexandria. The British military then
prepared to invade, so upholding Khedive power, and also protecting the financial debt it was owed,
as well as vital interests around the Suez Canal.14
Beyond the 1860s, an intelligentsia flourished in Egypt thanks to educational reforms. It was
particularly drawn to nationalist thought and action, especially as the Egyptian economy came under
greater strain. Debt was mounting, and there was growing concern about both the European and
Ottoman influence in Egypt. Between 1879 and 1882 the native nationalist movement in Egypt
knew such issues had to be dealt with, along with the increased influence of the Turco-Circassian
nobility. The nationalists wanted to call a halt to British Imperialism, while also ending the
supremacy of the Khedive and curbing the de facto Ottoman control over Egypt.
During this intense period of nationalist expression, local dissent flourished in the movement led by
Colonel Ahmed ‘Urabi. It challenged local rulers, as well as European powers. Regardless of this,
scholars have not recorded this as a period of “full-blown” nationalism. Instead they class it as being
in its infancy.
Israel Gershoni and James Jankowski are among scholars who in fact see Egyptian nationalism as
dating from the start of the twentieth century, underplaying the effect of the ‘Urabi Revolt. Despite
this, both writers concede that “the first significant speculation over the issue of national identity in
modern Egypt occurred in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries.”15 Gershoni and
Jankowski acknowledge the importance of the new intelligentsia, the development of Egypt’s
printing press, and the country’s involvement in the developing world economy as being pivotal.
14
Schölch, op. cit. These events are covered extensively in Schölch’s book and it serves as one of the most authoritative
accounts of the ‘Urabi Revolt and its antecedents. See also Cole, op. cit. and account by Al-Rafiʿi, op. cit., al-Thawra al-
ʿUrabi.
15
47
Changes in the 1860s and 1870s led to far more public discourse on the country’s political affiliation
and religious identity among all segments of society as well.
Nevertheless, Gershoni and Jankowski argue that ‘Urabi’s political movement that developed
between 1879 and 1882 was never able to disassociate itself from the Ottoman Empire and the
Sultan, and was accordingly weakened because of this. They contend that Egypt’s religious ties with
the Ottoman Sultan as part of the Umma, is the reason why the ‘Urabists failed to seek full
independence from the Caliph. They describe how the movement’s leaders “repeatedly expressed
their loyalty to the Ottoman Sultan… and declared their struggle as being one of maintaining Islamic
unity in the face of the threat of European domination.”16 Thus, crucially, Gershoni and Jankowski
view the ‘Urabi Revolt as increasing a sense of national consciousness and generating debates about
Egypt’s national identity, but not as “full-blown” nationalism in pursuit of independence. Instead,
they consider that there was always an underlying expectation for the ‘Urabists that Egypt would
retain political and religious links with the Ottoman Empire, and indeed the Islamic Umma.
Albert Hourani highlights the same perceived conundrum between Islam and nationalism. For
Hourani, Islam did indeed play a role in Egyptian nationalism as it progressed in the nineteenth
century, but, according to him “the idea of the Egyptian nation, entitled to a separate political
existence, involved not only the denial of a single Islamic political community, but also the assertion
that there could be a virtuous community based on something other than a common religion and a
revealed law.”17 Many Muslims undoubtedly saw the very notion of an independent nation state as
being a danger to Egypt’s more important role within the worldwide Muslim community. In spite of
the greater power being granted to Egyptians within the Ottoman Empire during the nineteenth
century,18 Egyptians supported the Ottoman Sultan for the primary reason that he was the head of
the Umma.
However, we will use in this chapter new theoretical studies to show that nationalists succeeded in
keeping Islamic loyalty to the Umma and the Sultan compatible with their desire for political
independence. Specifically, we will emphasise that nationalist Islamic scholars (the ‘ulama) assisted
16
Ibid., p.5.
17
Ibid., p.193.
18
Israel Gershoni and James Jankowski, Egypt, Islam and the Arabs: The Search for Egyptian Nationhood, 1900-1930,
Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1987, p.3. Jankowski and Gershoni also state on this topic that Ottoman rule over the
course of the nineteenth century led “educated Egyptians to reconsider the subject of Egyptian political allegiance and
affiliation”.
48
in this process. Nationalists wanted to remove themselves from Ottoman control, and establish their
own political system. While doing this they also sought to maintain, and indeed solidify religious
ties with the Umma, and with the Ottoman Sultan as its head. The nationalists deemed that this
would ensure that the Sultan back them in their struggle against Khedive Tawfiq (1879-1892), and
remove the popular misconception that religious connections with the Umma would be undermined
by nationalism. The nationalists also considered that close links with the Ottoman Sultan were vital
if the threat of a British invasion was to be overcome.
As Gershoni and Jankowski, another Egypt scholar who overlooked the influence of the ‘Urabi
Revolt of 1879-1882 was P.J. Vatikiotis. In his historical book on Egypt from Muhammad ‘Ali to
Sadat,19 Vatikiotis instead concentrates on other periods such as Muhammad ‘Ali’s political
ascension. In his observations on the social, economic and political changes at the time, Vatikiotis
writes that:
political developments in the period 1866–82 cannot […] be fully

appreciated outside the context of the educational and cultural advances of
the same period, or outside the context of the financial difficulties which
brought European control over the Khedival government.20
Vatikiotis is thus primarily interested in the sudden and profound reforms in Egypt that started when
Muhammad ‘Ali came to power (r.1805–1848). The Ottoman commander was not just the self-
declared Khedive of Egypt and Sudan, but he also ruled Levantine regions outside Egypt’s borders.
The Ottoman Empire’s control over Egypt lessened during the nineteenth century, as the country
was transforming considerably. During the 1860s, Arabic replaced Turkish as the official language
of Egypt, for example.21 This was also a time when Egypt began to gravitate towards European
countries, developing trade and fiscal associations with these countries. The Egyptian state
modernised across numerous other spheres, including education. Characteristically, a civil school
system coordinated from Cairo introduced non-religious subjects. Although Ernest Gellner argues in
his work that industrialisation22 and its consequences on nationalism did not happen in Egypt until
19
See Panayiotis J. Vatikiotis, The History of Modern Egypt: from Muhammad Ali to Mubarak, London, Weidenfeld &
Nicolson, 1991.
20
Ibid., p.127.
21
On the importance of the Arabic language in nationalist aspiration, see Yasir Suleiman, The Arabic Language and
National Identity: A Study in Ideology, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press, 2003. Specifically see the chapter on
Egyptian nationalism.
22
Gabriel Baer, Studies in the Social History of Modern Egypt, Chicago and London, Chicago University Press, 1969,
p.212.
49
well into the mid-20th century, the substantial socio-economic mutations of the nineteenth century
did have a significant effect politically. Vatikiotis describes how these changes “for the first time
produced a local opposition to the Khedive”23 and indeed directly led to the formation of the ‘Urabi
movement between 1879 and 1882.
The account of events during the reign of Khedive Isma’il (r.1863–1879) is virtually the same
contained in various scholarly works. Vatikiotis, in fact outlines, as many historians do, how the
political turbulence was generated by numerous strains, including the European penetration of Egypt
and its fiscal grip over the country, as well as a feeling of anger aimed at the local elitist Turco-
Circassian class. Protesters joined the Constitutional movement, which expressed dissent against the
Khedive via the new Consultative Assembly, the Majlis al-Shura al-Nuwwab in 1866.24
The economic pressures brought about by the debt crisis in Egypt had a deep impact on the people –
fellahin (peasants) and modest city dwellers alike – as they were heftily taxed to pay off the
country’s debts to European nations who had financed Egyptian renewal projects throughout the
1860s and afterwards.25 By the turn of the nineteenth century, such social groups had been through
decades of financial hardship, as they slowly won back autonomy from the Ottoman Empire. Indeed,
as the eighteenth century drew to a close, the taxes they had to pay to the Sublime Porte to retain
Egypt’s degree of independence and as a mark of respect to the Ottoman Sultan, had risen
significantly.26 Vatikiotis claims that the Constitutional movement was mainly made up of the
Turco-Circassian elites, who held the highest positions in Egyptian society. He contends that these
constitutional concessions – namely the new Constitution and Parliament – meant Khedive Isma’il
“opened a Pandora’s Box from which emerged the first Egyptian rebels”.27
Notwithstanding, Egypt’s new Constitutional movement was not particularly successful. Ahmad
Shafiq suggests in his diaries that the Majlis al-Shura al-Nuwwab was in fact a token body created
so Khedive Isma’il might persuade supporters in Europe that he was a “constitutional monarch,
permitting some public participation in power, to avoid the charge of absolutism”.28 Many historians
23
Vatikiotis, op. cit., The History of Modern Egypt, pp.127-28.
24
Landau, op. cit., pp.8-9.
25
John C.B. Richmond, Egypt, 1798–1952: Her Advance Towards a Modern Identity, London, Methuen & Co Ltd, 1977,
pp.118–19; and Al-Waqa‘i’ al-Misriyyah, Egypt, No. 12, 19 January 1880.
26
‘Afaf Lutfi al-Sayyid-Marsot, Egypt in the Reign of Muhammad ‘Ali, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1984;
see also Michael Winter, Egypt Under Ottoman Rule, 1517–1798, London, Routledge, 1992.
27
Vatikiotis, op. cit., The History of Modern Egypt, p.129.
28
Ahmed Shafiq, Mudhakkirati fi nisf qarn (My memoirs over half a century), 2 vols., Cairo, Matba’at Misr, 1–36,
vol. II, p.29. This same quote is also mentioned in Vatikiotis, op. cit., The History of Modern Egypt, p.130. For a more
minute study of Egyptian constitutional politics in the second half of the nineteenth century see Landau, op. cit.
50
specialising in Egypt’s history have indeed cast doubt on the effectiveness of the Constitutional
activists, with some placing a large question mark over the allegedly overwhelming Turco-
Circassian nature of their movement. Ibrahim Abu-Lughod argues that the Constitutional movement
was buoyed by its initial accomplishments, but soon faced up to the reality of where real power lay:
by 1879 they [the constitutionalists] appeared to have achieved a good

measure of success in their endeavour, but the emptiness of their victory
became apparent immediately after their triumph when they were confronted
with the nascent power of the alien European elite.29
An assessment of the Constitutional movement’s record in government also shows its blatant
shortcomings. As Prime Minister, Constitutionalists’ leader Muhammad Sharif Pasha, who was a
Turco-Circassian nobleman, could only hold two administrations together for less than five months
each, prior to Britain’s invading of Egypt in 1882.30
The intrinsic inadequacies of the Constitutionalists were two-fold. One that was noted by most
scholars was the privileged nature of the Turco-Circassian nobility who dominated the movement.
They succeeded in obtaining a range of constitutional changes before Isma’il was forced to abdicate
in 1879, and indeed became the main check on Khedival governance.31 But when Isma’il’s son,
Tawfiq, took the throne, ‘Urabi’s nationalist movement became far more influential than the
Constitutionalists. By the time of Tawfiq’s ascension to power, they were viewed as an elite Turco-
Circassian group solely concerned with strengthening their political power so as to, in turn, bolster
their own economic stake in the country, rather than work for the greater interests of the Egyptian
people. The second inadequacy was the ethnic identity of the Turco-Circassians, who were seen as
having little in common with native Egyptians. Khedive Isma’il’s favouritism towards the Turco-
Circassian class was tacitly supported by Ottoman Empire officials, who agreed to them being
promoted over autochtonous Egyptians within institutions including the civil service and the Army.
Thus the elitism and ethnicity of the Turco-Circassians helped to perpetuate the view that they were
part of the Ottoman and Khedival power nexus. Such an impression prevented the Constitutionalists
from winning mass popular support from the majority of the Egyptian people.
29
Ibrahim Abu-Lughod, ‘The Transformation of the Egyptian Elite: Prelude to the ‘Urabi Revolt’, Middle East Journal,
1967, vol. 21, no. 3, p.326.
30
Muhammad Sharif Pasha’s first term as Prime Minister was from April to August 1879. His second, prompted by
Ahmad ‘Urabi after the ‘Abdin Palace incident, and following ‘Urabi’s demands, was from September 1881 to February
1882. His third lasted from August 1882 to January 1884.
31
Landau, op. cit., pp.16–27.
51
This common perception of Turco-Circassian ethnic elitism is, however, disputed by Abu-Lughod’s
work on the changes in the makeup of Egypt’s power brokers during the nineteenth century. Abu-
Lughod maintains that the fundamental nature of the Turco-Circassians, including their ethnic
character, had changed considerably over the course of the nineteenth century, and that they were in
fact “identical with the indigenous population except in prestige”.32 Abu-Lughod suggests that
Muhammad ‘Ali wanted to use his power to lessen the clout of specific social groups, and
particularly the elite Turco-Circassians who exercised control over social, economic and political
life.33 Muhammad ‘Ali was keen to weaken any group that challenged his own grip on power, and
accordingly wanted the Turco-Circassians to move away from Cairo. He encouraged them to go
back to their estates in the countryside, so as to “renounce their old occupations and begin to build a
new pattern of life”.34 This movement of the Turco-Circassian noblemen led to them assimilating
within rural communities, and indeed having an influence on them. Religious ties overcame ethnic
differences, especially as there were marriages with native Egyptians. As a result of these family
bonds, Turco-Circassians dispensed characteristics unique to their identity. They stopped speaking
Turkish, for example, and communicated in Arabic. This caused, argues Abu-Lughod, the Turco-
Circassian ethnic identity becoming so diluted that, by the 1870s, it “had lost its meaning”.35 While
the idea of Turco-Circassian identity disappearing might be considered hyperbole, it certainly
changed over the course of the nineteenth century. The native Egyptian view of the Turco-
Circassians also altered during that time, to the extent that their noble status as the landed elite was
no longer acceptable by the rest of society.
While there is a consensus among most scholars that ‘Urabi’s nationalists surpassed the
Constitutional movement in popularity from 1879, they have made no suggestion that the mainly
secular nature of the movement was to blame for its weakness. Indeed, Muhammad Sharif Pasha’s
Constitutional organisation had no religious affiliation and although it was “nationalist”, it never
sought to use Islam or other aspects of its Egyptian identity to advance its patriotic rhetoric.
Vatikiotis wrote that he doubted “whether Sharif could have attracted the ‘ulama, landowners and
other elements in the Assembly […] to his camp away from the Orabists”.36 In fact, he did not
attract them and, crucially, there was almost no undertaking to secure such support. The
32
Abu-Lughod, op. cit., p.334.
33
Ibid., p.327.
34
Ibid., p.332.
35
Ibid., p.334.
36
52
Constitutional movement not only never tried to incorporate religious groups, but its extremely
limited “nationalist” ambitions centred in priority on increasing the power of the new Assembly at
the expense of the Khedive’s, and working to repay debts to European lenders.37 Such objectives
resonated with the elites, but not Egypt’s masses. Instead, it was the ‘Urabi movement – one for
Egyptians and led by Egyptians – that captured the imagination of the public at large.
The ‘Urabi movement started as a group protesting against Turco-Circassian army officers receiving
privileges over their Egyptian counterparts.38 While the dissent has been analysed as being caused
by ethnic tensions between Turco-Circassians and Egyptians39 this view does not acknowledge that
‘Urabi himself wanted Muhammad Sharif Pasha – a Turco-Circassian – to become Prime Minister
and lead a new government following the first confrontation between the ‘Urabi nationalist
movement and Khedive Tawfiq in September 1881. ‘Urabi and his fellow officers were in fact from
modest rural backgrounds which many Egyptians could identify with.40 ‘Urabi’s populist appeal
involved not just grass roots national pride, but also a pledge that he wanted a return to Egypt
asserting its Islamic identity and legacy. A long period of interference by European powers had
caused huge economic difficulties for the Egyptian people, along with a feeling that their religious
belief, and indeed entire culture, was being challenged. ‘Urabi, who was a native Egyptian acutely
sensitive to his country’s Islamic identity, undertook to deal with such injustices.41
There has been a tendency to underplay, or indeed bypass completely, the part the religious scholars
played in the ‘Urabi Revolt and in the emergence of nationalism in Egypt in general. It is this
analytical deficiency that this chapter will seek to cover. The Egyptian ‘ulama were the
acknowledged protectors of their faith and the most important authorities in Islam. By paying little
attention to their role in the ‘Urabi Revolt, historians of the uprising have thus overlooked its hugely
significant Islamic character.
37
Schölch, op. cit.
38
Berque, op. cit., p.113; see also Schölch, op. cit., pp.136-37 and p.153.
39
Berque, op. cit.
40
Ahmed ‘Urabi, Mudhakkirat al-Za’im Ahmed ‘Urabi: Kashf al-Setar ‘An Ser al-Asrar fi al-Nahda al-Misriyya
al-Mashhora bil-Thawra al-‘Urabiyya (The Diaries of the Leader Ahmed Urabi: Unveiling the Secret of all Secrets on
the Egyptian Renaissance Known as the Urabi Revolution), studied and edited by Dr ‘Abd al-Mon’im Ibrahim
al-Gami’i, 3 vols., Cairo, Dar al-Kutub, 2005, vol. 1, pp.90–94.
41
Ibid., p.295.
53
The ‘Urabi revolt initially began as an effort to restore the rights and standing of native Egyptian
servicemen in the Army, but this developed into a wider campaign across the country that tackled
broader national grievances. ‘Urabi presented these issues in the context of his country’s Islamic
identity, suggesting it was a vital part of Egypt’s status as a strong and prosperous nation-state and
therefore pledged to protect it.
‘Urabi’s most natural and valuable allies in the promotion and indeed preservation of this Islamic
identity were the religious scholars in Egypt, although at the time there was some disagreement
among the ‘ulama. While some gave their backing to the Khedive, so opposing ‘Urabi and the
increasing challenge he posed to the rule of both the Khedive and the Ottoman Sultan, others did in
fact support his nationalist rebellion and calls for independence. There are scholars who concur with
this account of a split among the ‘ulama,42 but to date no research into the ‘Urabi Revolt examines
the ‘ulama as a group and their intricate positions in relation to the emerging nationalist movement,
and indeed their role in the ‘Urabi Revolt.43 Islam was a central component of Egyptian national
identity in the nineteenth century, and so were the ‘ulama who provided religious and moral
guidance to society at large. Thus the lack of analysis of the part Islam and the ‘ulama played in
radical politics can be viewed as a major academic flaw.
The Nationalist and Islamic Character of the ‘Urabi Revolt, 1879-1882
We will here incorporate new theoretical works demonstrating that Egyptians imbued with a sense
of being part of a nation led the overwhelming nationalist ‘Urabi Revolt between 1879 and 1882.
Their objectives were varied, and included retaining loyalty to the Ottoman Sultan, while achieving
independence from his Empire.44 Beyond this principal aim, the nationalists sought to reduce the
power of the Khedive. As the revolt intensified, they wanted the Khedive removed from power
altogether, arguing that he was too close to the British.45 A third purpose of the nationalists was to
attempt to secure the help of the British in reducing Khedival authority. While they tried to achieve
this, the nationalists guaranteed all European powers, and the Dual Control, that they would pay
42
Cole, op. cit.; Schölch, op. cit.; Al-Rafi’i, op. cit., al-Thawra al-‘Urabi.
43
Recent research by the academic Dr Ahmed Mansoor Mirza is probably the latest work which attempts to look at the
role of the ‘ulama in the ‘Urabi Revolt and in relation to the emergence of nationalism in Egypt in his doctorate thesis
entitled: Between Ummah, Empire and Nation: The Role of the ‘ulama in the ‘Urabi Revolt and the Emergence of
Egyptian Nationalism, PhD thesis, London School of Economics and Political Science, 2014.
44
Al-Rafi’i, op. cit., al-Thawra al-‘Urabi, p.70.
45
Ibid., p.119.
54
back all their debts. When such complicated diplomacy became unstuck, and the British moved to
maintain Khedive Tawfiq’s position, the nationalists chose to resist growing British influence.
We will endeavour to use fresh references to show that all of these three objectives were offered as
ones that would amalgamate Islam and nationalism. We will also demonstrate the limitations of the
existing scholarly literature in that respect. Egyptian nationalism played on a desire to defend the
country from foreign meddling, and from a ruler who was being used by overseas invaders. The
Khedive had abandoned his own people, and Egyptians with a legacy stretching back to ancient
history needed to stand up to him. Egypt was a distinct geographical entity, with its own tongue –
Egyptian Arabic – and a successful past. Beyond the greatness of the Pharaohs, Egypt had played a
key role in Islamic civilisation. As far as Islam was concerned, the nationalists saw the need to
safeguard Egypt’s religious identity, especially when it was coming under the hold of non-Muslim
countries, such as Britain.46 When the Khedive forged an alliance with “infidel” Britain just before
the British invasion in 1882, then the urge to preserve Islamic Egypt became particularly important
and was indeed considered as an Islamic imperative.
Beyond the treatment of the ‘Urabi Revolt in the broad historical literature which covers nineteenth
century Egypt, two highly authoritative books by Juan Cole47 and Alexander Schölch,48 have long
been appraised the most notable published works about the ‘Urabi Revolt. Both investigate the
uprising in more detail, focusing on its nature and principal causes. But there are marked differences
in approach: Schölch’s is a thorough political analysis of the sequence of events between the
specific years 1879 and 1882, while Cole concentrates more on the social and cultural history of the
period and the conditions which gave rise to the rebellion. Cole’s angle is an effort to provide a
sociological enquiry, which also incorporates a more theoretical examination of revolution and
actual circumstances – the kind prevalent in Theda Skocpol’s valuable writings on the French,
Chinese, Russian and Iranian Revolutions.49
46
‘Urabi, op. cit., vol. 2, p.684.
47
Cole, op. cit.
48
Schölch, op. cit.
49
Theda Skocpol, Social Revolutions in the Modern World, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1994; by the same
author, States and Social Revolutions: A Comparative Analysis of France, Russia and China, Cambridge, Cambridge
University Press, 1979; Charles Tilly, From Mobilization to Revolution, Reading, MA, Addison-Wesley, 1978.
55
Other publications on al-Thawra al-‘Urabi (Arabic for the ‘Urabi Revolt) are by writers such as
Latifa Salim50 and the prolific ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Rafi’i.51 These Arabic language contributions are
regarded by some to be overly descriptive, and too concerned with class struggle, 52 but they still
offer researchers considerable background on the subject of the ‘Urabi Revolt prior to negotiating
the Egyptian archives that are notoriously difficult to access and utilise.53
Alexander Schölch’s study is mainly interested in elites. For example, he describes how the pro-
Khedival military and government hierarchy in Egypt were associated with new elites, both within
the revolutionary ‘Urabi movement, and the Constitutionalist camp of Muhammad Sharif Pasha,
which took a more long term view of change. Cole in fact writes that “the social dimensions of the
Revolution escape Schölch”.54 Cole goes on to discard analysis based on elites, looking instead at
the influence of wider social forces, such as peasants, organisations and societies centred on trade,
and thinkers. Cole explores the social make-ups of these groups as they relate to class, and looks at
how they fitted into a rapidly transforming Egyptian society. Cole suggests that “economic and
demographic change and the growth of state power created new interests among the three strata that
most participated later in the Revolution”.55
Although the texts under discussion are examples of greatly different methods of scrutiny, the
authors draw similar conclusions. Cole and Schölch both acknowledge that the ‘Urabi Revolt saw
separate forces with very definite points of contention uniting against the Khedive and his
government. Schölch refers to them as “autochthonous social groups,”56 which included military
personnel, as well as ‘ulama and local journalists who “stood in the forefront of this struggle”.57
Cole concurred on the influence of the groups cited all taking part in the uprising, but he also
highlights the involvement of “the rural population, the urban guilds and the intelligentsia … [who]
were united by reference to a common enemy”.58 Both historians considered that the main fight was
50
Latifa Salim, al-Quwa al-Ijtimaa’iyya fi al-Thawra al-‘Urabiyya (The Social Forces in the ‘Urabi Revolt), Cairo,
al-Hay’ah al-Misriyya, 1981.
51
Al-Rafi’i, op. cit., al-Thawra al-‘Urabi.
52
Cole, op. cit., pp.16–20; see also Ehud R. Toledano, Review of Cole’s book in Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 31, no. 2,
April 1995, pp.379–83.
53
Haim Shaked, ‘The Biographies of ‘ulama in ‘Ali Mubarak’s Khitat as a Source for the History of the ‘ulama in
Nineteenth Century Egypt’, Asian and African Studies, vol. 7, 1971, pp.41–76.
54
55
Ibid., p.21.
56
57
Ibid., p.314.
58
Cole, op. cit., pp.21-22.
56
against the Khedive Isma’il and then, after Isma’il’s abdication in 1879, his successor, Khedive
Tawfiq. Triggers for political action included excessive taxation of the peasantry and guild workers.
Disquiet about the treatment of Egyptian soldiers as second class servicemen in comparison to
Turco-Circassians also caused grievances.
As regards the standing of Islamic religious scholars in Egypt, Schölch suggests that “as a social
group, the ‘ulama had not recovered from Muhammad ‘Ali’s blows economically and politically”.59
In turn, Cole evokes the influence of “economic and social change in the 1860s and 1870s on the
peasants, guilds and intellectuals”.60 The two academics stick to the familiar pattern of argument of
the ‘ulama becoming far less influential while not investigating the validity of such a view.
Consequently, both authors largely fail to grasp the full scope of and the intricacies underlying the
‘ulama’s part in the ‘Urabi Revolt as well as the Islamic nature of the uprising.
Cole and Schölch accept that Islam was a dynamic for social change, but only in a very limited
manner. Schölch sees the ‘ulama as representing the obvious Islamic aspect to the uprising. The
historian said that in the period just before the Revolution, authoritative ‘ulama such as “Sheikh
al-Bakri and Sheikh al-Idwi were won over” to the nationalist cause. He points out that Sheikh
al-Idwi used his sermons to rally against Riyadh Pasha,61 the ethnic Circassian politician who served
as Egypt’s Prime Minister three times between 1879 and 1894, and colonial European powers.62 The
La’iha Wataniyya, or National Declaration by the National Party on 2 April 1879 – which laid out a
set of nationalist demands –63 is emphasised by both Cole and Schölch. The latter argues this was
supported by religious scholars such as Sheikh al-Bakri, Sheikh al-Idwi and Sheikh Khalfawi.64
Cole takes a different view, however, and contends that the “religious and military branches of the
intelligentsia supplied nearly half of the signatures”.65 Cole adds that “many of the Muslim high
clergy or ‘ulama, though ‘ulama did form one branch of the revolutionary intelligentsia”.66 Cole and
Schölch are united in the opinion that the burgeoning nationalist ‘Urabi revolt meant members of the
59
60
61
Dar al-Watha‘iq al-Qawmiyyah: Taqarir ‘An al-Thawrah al-‘Urabiyyah, Vol. 1 Taqrir No. 14 Aqwal Riyadh Pasha;
and Mahafiz Majlis al-Nazar, Mahfazah No. 5/4 ‘Jalasat Majlis al-Nazar’, 3 April 1881; and Mahfazah No. 11 ‘Nadharat
al-Harbiyyah’, ‘Taqrir ila al-Khediwi bi Khusus Muratabat al-Dubat wa al-‘Asakir’, 19 April 1881.
62
63
Ismail had called for the Assembly of Delegates to dissolve, but its members refused, saying they represented Egypt.
They would not give up their governing mandate, especially since the Khedive was being pressured by foreign powers.
64
Schölch, Ibid.
65
66
Ibid., p.17.
57
‘ulama were forced to reflect on their relationship with the Khedive, the Ottoman Sultan and indeed
Egypt itself, as it pertained to its place within the Umma.67 But there is no deep analysis of the
‘ulama’s exact position within this nationalist movement, and indeed among those who opposed it.
Instead, the ‘ulama are merely treated as one of many groups caught up in revolutionary
developments. Cole and Schölch place these Islamic scholars and thinkers in an oversimplified
posture that only depends on the extent of their loyalties to the Ottoman Sultan, through his
representative, the Khedive.68
In fact, as they reacted to the rise of ‘Urabi, and the growing nationalistic spirit in the country
between 1879 and 1882, the ‘ulama had a far more significant and indeed nuanced attitude towards
the unfolding events. Important new research by more contemporary scholars such as Indira Falk
Gesink and Meir Hatina that examines the work of the ‘ulama in Egypt during the nineteenth
century, illustrates that the more conservative Islamic scholars were – in contrast to the established
and predominant theories in ‘ulama studies – pro-nationalist, and indeed were very close and vocal
supporters of ‘Urabi and the revolutionary movement he led.69
The ‘Urabi uprising, Egypt’s first manifestation of nationalism, took place at a time when Egypt
remained part of the Ottoman Empire – a period when the Sultan himself was head of the Islamic
Umma.70 Despite this, there are no specific investigations on the influence of Islam and the ‘ulama
on the ‘Urabi revolution. While Cole and Schölch’s books provide broad and beneficial material on
the relationship between the ‘ulama and the nationalists, they by no means cover it in detail. By
contrast, Meir Hatina offers a clear examination of the ‘Urabi uprising, and the role of the ‘ulama,
but the precise links between Islam and Egyptian nationalism are not the primary subjects of his
work and are similarly played down.
Gesink’s study of the corps of religious scholars is a valuable addition to the existing literature. She
argues that most of the scholarly production on the ‘ulama has put too much emphasis on modernist
Islamic scholars, such as Muhammad ‘Abduh, meaning that the more conservative ‘ulama have
67
Ibid., p.183. See also Schölch, op. cit., p.313.
68
Schölch, op. cit., p.313. Schölch’s contention here is that “not all ‘ulama supported ‘Urabi because they still believed
in supporting Tawfiq who, after all, had been placed there by the Sultan who was God’s Caliph”.
69
Meir Hatina, ‘Ulama’, Politics and the Public Sphere: An Egyptian Perspective, Salt Lake City, UT, University of
Utah Press, 2010; see also, Indira Falk Gesink, Beyond Modernism: Opposition and Negotiation in the Azhar Reform
Movement, 1870-1911, PhD thesis, Washington University, 2000; I.F. Gesink, Islamic Reform and Conservatism:
Al-Azhar and the Evolution of Modern Sunni Islam, I. B. Tauris, London, 2010.
70
58
been viewed as “opponents of reform and enemies of progress”.71 Gesink covers al-Azhar’s reforms
in Egypt and, how the ‘ulama played an essential role in debates about education reform in the
nineteenth century. Gesink also describes how, even on the political front, both traditional and more
reformist ‘ulama remained engaged and expressed complex ideas, relating to the most important
political issues of the day.72
Indeed, the influence of Islamic scholars has been ignored in much of the historiography of the
‘Urabi Revolt. Academic literature has failed to acknowledge that the ‘ulama led discourse on
nationalism, and discussed its implications for Egypt’s place within the Umma, and indeed its
allegiance to the Ottoman Sultan. Many ‘ulama supported nationalism between 1879 and 1882.
They recognised that nationalism and Egypt’s vital position in the Umma could be reconciled. There
were also powerful religious scholars who were vehemently opposed to such views. The ‘ulama had
a key role in the political fray, having an impact on all sides in the struggle. The confrontation
extended to a battle over control of al-Azhar itself: Egypt’s most renowned mosque-seminary.
There were two particularly important confrontations involving al-Azhar, which came to symbolise
Islamic legitimacy.73 One saw ‘Urabi’s movement attempt to get rid of the allegedly anti-nationalist
Sheikh al-Azhar, and then replace him with a supporter. The second incident saw ‘Urabi, endorsed
by pro-nationalist ‘ulama, secure a religious legal ruling, or fatwa, questioning the integrity of the
Khedive in relation to his status as a Muslim. The fatwa portrayed Khedive Tawfiq as a British
pawn, determined to advance the interests of the non-Muslim British Empire in Egypt. ‘Urabi’s
nationalists accused Tawfiq of apostasy, as the fatwa called for his rule to end. Both incidents
clearly highlight the involvement of the ‘ulama in the nationalist struggle.
While concurring with this opinion, Hatina re-analyses the ‘ulama’s stance. In line with this, our
argument challenges the prevailing view of the ‘ulama losing their historic power during the
nineteenth century and re-evaluates their authority during that time. Hatina acknowledges that the
early to mid-decades of the 19th century saw the ‘ulama’s political and economic leverage receding,
but he argues that “Muhammad ‘Ali’s reformist program […] failed to weaken [the ‘ulama’s] status
as the country’s intellectual elite and the attractiveness of al-Azhar as an institution of religious
71
Gesink, op. cit., Islamic Reform, p.6.
72
Ibid., pp.59–89; see also Chapter 4 of that book (Progress, Nationalism and the Negative Construction of Al-Azhar
‘ulama, 1870–1882).
73
John Ninet, Arabi Pacha, Berne, Paris, L’auteur, 1884; ‘Urabi, op. cit., vol. 1, pp.403–05.
59
learning”.74 Hatina’s latter observation is a valid one, but we intend to rely on the writings and
contributions of some of the most prominent religious scholars at the time to later demonstrate that
the ‘ulama not only kept hold of much of their social standing, along with their authority in religious
and moral matters, but they also retained intellectual dominance as well as political clout. This all
enabled the ‘ulama to participate in expressions of Egyptian nationalism. In this sense, the ‘ulama
not only provided spiritual, intellectual and moral legitimacy to the movement, but were a central
political force in its ultimate popularity.
Thus both Hatina and Gesink have put forward an important re-appraisal of the principal and
generally accepted body of work on the ‘ulama, and the way they dealt with state reforms and
modernisation in nineteenth century Egypt. Such works include those by the scholars ‘Afaf Lutfi
al-Sayyid-Marsot and Daniel Crecelius produced in the 1960s and 1970s and in which they stick to
modernisation theory, and do not fully explore secularisation processes, and their repercussions on
Islam and the Muslim world. Hatina remarks that secularisation per se did not take place in Egypt:
in the sense of the separation of religion and state. Rather, it took the form of
the penetration of the state into areas that traditionally had been under the
control of the religious establishment such as the Waqf (charitable
endowment), the educational system and the judiciary.75
As far as such questions are concerned, more research work is certainly required to establish how far
the state did in fact spread its control on spheres of life including education and the judiciary. In line
with Hatina and Gesink’s argument, we will proceed to show how the ‘ulama grappled with Egypt’s
swift modernisation process in the nineteenth century. To that effect, we will offer an alternative
theoretical approach about the manner in which the ‘ulama responded to reforms, while analysing
how such reforms did not in fact present a significant challenge to their traditional roles. The way
the ‘ulama were able to remain popular among huge segments of society, while resisting state
influence will also be considered. It was through preserving their political and moral standing during
the nineteenth century that the ‘ulama were able to have a huge impact on the emergence of
74
Hatina, op. cit., p.31.
75
Ibid., p.29.
60
Islam & Modernisation: The Status of the ‘Ulama in Nineteenth Century Egypt
The modernisation of Egypt during the nineteenth century was inextricably linked to a sense of
national pride and the emergence of nationalism. It was an era when the country modernised in all
areas of public life. The way the economy was organised was altered, along with the political
system, and civil service. More specifically, the military and the education system were subject to
change, as were Egyptian relations with the Ottoman Empire, and indeed other regional and
international partners.76 This period of reform in Egypt was presided over by Muhammad ‘Ali, the
Ottoman General in Egypt. After the French left in 1801, ‘Ali became Egyptian Vali (Governor)
thanks in part to political demands by the country’s religious scholars.
Much of the modernisation process in Egypt can be traced back to burgeoning links with Europe
which started with the invasion of Napoleon Bonaparte at the end of the 18th century. Muhammad
‘Ali’s reign, and those that came afterwards, saw Egypt moving away from the Ottoman Empire, as
Europeans exerted greater influence. The creation of the Suez Canal 77 strengthened bonds with
Europe, as did increased visits by Egyptian students to countries such as Britain and France. Beyond
these educational ties, European professionals arrived to work on prestige projects such as the Suez
Canal, and also in aiding to renew other elements of Egyptian infrastructure. Architects and
technocrats helped improve Egyptian cities, and they were supported by medics, lawyers and a host
of other professionals from Europe.78 Egypt became increasingly reliant on Europe. Financially,
much of Egypt’s modernisation derived from the sale of cotton to Britain.79
76
There are a number of authoritative books on this period of Egyptian history, some of which focus on particular
aspects of Egyptian society while others examine the sweeping changes that took place during the nineteenth century.
See Vatikiotis, op. cit., The History of Modern Egypt; Nadav Safran, Egypt in Search of Political Community: An
Analysis of the Intellectual and Political Evolution of Egypt, 1804–1952, London, Oxford University Press, 1961; ‘Abd
al-Rahman al-Rafi’i, Tarikh al-Haraka al-Qawmiyya wa Tatawwar Nizam al-Hukm fi Misr (The History of the
Nationalist Movement and the Evolution of the Regime in Egypt) 3 vols. Cairo, Maktabat al-Nahda al-Misriyya,
1929–30; and by the same author, ‘Asr Isma’il, (Isma’il’s Era), 3 vols. Cairo, al-Nahda Publishing House, 1932.
77
Dar al-Watha‘iq al-Qawmiyyah, Mahafiz Qanat al-Suways, Mahfazah No. 2 file 184-81-J5, p.6.
78
Fritz Steppat, ‘National Education Projects in Egypt Before British Occupation’ in Peter M. Holt (ed.), Political and
Social Change in Modern Egypt: Historical Studies from the Ottoman Conquest to the United Arab Republic, London,
Oxford University Press, 1968, pp.283–84. See Steppat for figures on the number of foreigners in Egypt: “From 1857 to
1861, an average of 30,000 foreigners came into the country each year; in 1862 they numbered 33,000; in 1863, 43,000;
in 1864, 56,500; in 1865, 80,000.” Steppat’s statistics are drawn from David S. Landes, Bankers and Pashas,
International Finance and Economic Imperialism in Egypt, London, np, 1958, pp.87–88; and Al-Waqa‘i’ al-Misriyyah,
Egypt, No. 781, 13 October 1878.
79
Egypt’s economic development during the nineteenth century is well-documented, including in Richmond, op. cit.
61
Change from the start of the Muhammad ‘Ali’s era continued up until the reign of Isma’il’s (r.1863–
1879). To begin with, the Egyptian military was strengthened, in the hope that it could resist greater
encroachment from Britain or France, or indeed from the Ottoman Empire. Land in Egypt was
handed over to the state to support the growth of all these transformations. In the meantime,
educational reforms saw a technical school system set up. The missions of Egyptian students to
Europe were meant to assist recruitment to the army and the civil service, producing a better quality
of candidates. Reform and modernisation affected every sphere.80
The reign of Khedive Isma’il was also a period of modernisation, following a break under Abbas I
(r.1848–1854) and Said I (r.1854–1863). The latter wanted to slow down reform, or else reject it
altogether.81 Education improved considerably under Isma’il. Efforts were made to assist trade links,
and cities were rebuilt to resemble those in Europe. Meanwhile, political institutions were reformed.
Parliamentary government grew out of Isma’il’s reign, with the foundation of the Majlis Shura
al-Nuwwab in 1866.82
Thus advancements aimed at centralising and modernising key institutions inhibited the influence of
the ‘ulama in the political field, and also curtailed their economic privileges, and indeed
increasingly challenged their overall traditional standing. These specialists in fiqh – Islamic
jurisprudence – were sidelined as they were forced to retreat and exert their knowledge and authority
in areas that were left relatively untouched by the encroaching new state. ‘Afaf Lutfi al-Sayyid-
Marsot and Daniel Crecelius outline the declining power of the ‘ulama in the nineteenth century.83
They follow a popular view among historians that sees the start of Muhammad ‘Ali reign, and
especially the period after 1809, as being detrimental to the fortunes of the religious scholars.
80
Khaled Fahmy, All the Pasha’s Men: Mehmed Ali Pasha, His Army and the Founding of Modern Egypt, Cambridge,
Cambridge University Press, 1997; Al-Sayyid-Marsot, op. cit., Egypt in the Reign of Muhammad Ali; Robert F. Hunter,
Egypt Under the Khedives, 1805-1879: From Household Government to Modern Bureaucracy, Cairo, American
University of Cairo Press, 2000; Safran, op. cit.
81
Toledano, op. cit., vol. 31, no. 2, pp.379–83.
82
Landau, op. cit., p.8.
83
All of this is discussed in ‘Afaf Lutfi al-Sayyid-Marsot, ‘The Role of the “Ulama” in Egypt During the Early
Nineteenth Century’ in Peter M. Holt (ed.), Political and Social Change in Modern Egypt: Historical Studies from the
Ottoman Conquest to the United Arab Republic, London, Oxford University Press, 1968; ‘Afaf Lutfi al-Sayyid-Marsot
‘The ‘ulama of Cairo in the 18th and 19th Centuries’ in Nikki R. Keddie (ed.), Scholars, Saints and Sufis: Muslim
Religious Institutions in the Middle East since 1500, Berkeley and Los Angeles, University of California Press, 1972;
‘Afaf Lutfi al-Sayyid-Marsot ‘The Beginnings of Modernization among the Rectors of al-Azhar, 1789-1879’ in William
R. Polkand and Richard Chambers (eds.), Beginnings of Modernization in the Middle East: The Nineteenth Century,
Chicago and London, University of Chicago Press, 1968; Daniel Crecelius, ‘Non ideological Responses of the Egyptian
Ulama to Modernisation’ in Keddie, op. cit., Scholars, Saints and Sufis; Daniel Crecelius, The ‘ulama and the State in
Modern Egypt, PhD thesis, Princeton University, 1967.
62
Al-Sayyid emphasises how the ‘ulama were stripped of economic strength and other forms of
power, saying all of this was due to “the introduction of westernising influences”, 84 that, it is argued,
were personified by advisors who rearranged “his administration on Western lines, introduce[d] a
Western-style system of education, [and developed] an efficient army modelled on European
lines”.85 Al-Sayyid contends that these brought about so much progress that “the traditional social
pattern of groups having a cohesive force and an internal organisation of their own that was
independent of a central authority”86 was broken down, and new social elites took over.
Crecelius, in contrast, focuses on the manner in which ‘ulama dealt with rapid transformations in
society. He said that the way in which they reacted to modernisation was at first “instinctively
defensive, [and] characterised by a strong desire for self-preservation”.87 Taking an opposing stance
to al-Sayyid, Crecelius said the ‘ulama actively opposed change, and were “able to obstruct, delay
or undermine new programs”.88 It was only later, when such obstructions failed and the state
reforms grew stronger, that the ‘ulama altered their position, effectively withdrawing from the wider
world, and concentrating on the areas where they still had authority. As Crecelius puts it, they
retreated “in an effort to preserve them from contamination through contact with the modernising
elements in society”.89
Crecelius and al-Sayyid accordingly concur on how advances in Egypt undermined the ‘ulama:
modernisation led to them losing economic and political clout. But, in contrast to Crecelius,
al-Sayyid blames a new elite imbued with European values “that was eventually to displace the
‘ulama as the intellectual elite of the land”.90 Crecelius was more inclined to attribute the self-
imposed marginalisation of the religious scholars for their decline. Crecelius argued that
modernisation was not meant “to destroy the institutions of the old order but rather to create a new
order alongside the old”.91 The ‘ulama were unable to prevent reform, let alone influence it, and so
grew increasingly isolated.
84
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, op. cit., ‘The Role of the “ulama” in Egypt’, p.277.
85
Ibid., pp.277-78.
86
Ibid., p.278.
87
Crecelius, op. cit., ‘Non ideological Responses’, p.185.
88
Ibid., p.185.
89
Ibid., p.186.
90
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, op. cit., ‘The Role of the “ulama” in Egypt’, p.278.
91
63
Crecelius suggests that the ‘ulama’s traditional areas of leverage were able to avoid forced change
because Muhammad ‘Ali was “unwilling to offend the religious prejudices of the ‘ulama and the
overwhelming majority of tradition-bound Egyptians or to tamper with a sacred revealed law”.92
Al-Sayyid maintains that a burgeoning modern civil service had replaced the religious scholars as
the “men of the pen”. This altered the nature of Islamic Egypt, but, Al-Sayyid claims that,
Muhammad ‘Ali “could not totally ignore tradition, for after all he was a Muslim ruler”93.
Despite the reforms carried out by Muhammad ‘Ali, and those who ruled after him during the
nineteenth century, Islam remained hugely important to the lives of ordinary Egyptians. Rather than
destroying the power of the ‘ulama, reform actually strengthened their connection to the lives of
devout Muslims. Modernisation increased the authority of the ‘ulama among huge groups of people
seeking moral guidance.94 Fast social change within a society with a long Islamic history meant that
people looked for stability and certainty in religion. It is in this sense that the traditional approach of
a diminished class of ‘ulama has been questioned and there is a view that “the loss of its monopoly
over educational and intellectual life did not result in marginality.”95
Much of Muhammad ‘Ali’s reform led to the ‘ulama’s close relationship with the centre of power in
Egypt being challenged. In the words of Crecelius: “having eliminated the interference of the ‘ulama
in his government, Muhammad ‘Ali left them virtually alone, to teach, think, write, or practice
whatever they wanted so long as they did not undermine his programs within the sphere of
government”.96 Even if the influence of the ‘ulama was indeed limited to basic interaction with the
political realm, there can be no question of the religious scholars losing all standing. On the
contrary, an important role of the ‘ulama had, for centuries, been to offer ethical guidance to people,
and there was no sense of this role disappearing. The religious scholars acted among other things as
teachers, and legal experts, and such positions were as relevant to the mass of the population as ever,
as new research indicates. Muhammad ‘Ali’s reforms ejected the conservative ‘ulama from
government because they were sceptical of change, but this did not prevent the religious scholars
from carrying out their wider work in society. Egyptians revered Islamic practice, and relied upon
the ‘ulama to advise them.
92
Ibid., p.185.
93
Ibid., p.186.
94
Meir Hatina, ‘Historical Legacy and the Challenge of Modernity in the Middle East: The Case of al-Azhar in Egypt’,
The Muslim World, vol. 93, no. 1, January, 2003, p.54.
95
Ibid., p.52.
96
64
By looking at the key effect Islam had on Egypt, and the way religious scholars provided legitimacy
to government, novel theoretical studies suggest that ‘Urabi and his movement had solid ground to
bring the ‘ulama back into the centre of political life. In more recent scholarly work, Hatina notes
that “bending to the authority of the state did not mean the total submission of the religious
establishment”.97 Similar new interpretations to the work of the ‘ulama in the nineteenth century
include that of Indira Falk Gesink who notes that both reactionary religious scholars, as well as
“modernist” ones, backed ‘Urabi. Such work illustrates how important it is to further discuss the
contribution of the religious scholars to Egyptian nationalism in the nineteenth century.
Over time, the state reforms gradually pressed the religious scholars to engage with issues linked to
modernisation and wholesale societal changes in Egypt. This, in turn, left the ‘ulama working out
how they might in fact adapt their work in a variety of spheres to new ideas being imported from
other parts of the world, and especially Europe. Thus, the ‘ulama became increasingly involved in a
wide-ranging debate about the relevance of these new ideas and how they should relate to their
country.
Here, we will therefore examine the impact the religious scholars had on reform, and on the kind of
thinking that underpinned Egypt’s nationalist movement. Islamic reform became a priority for an
initially restricted group of ‘ulama as sectors of the state including education and scientific research
were modernised. These more progressive ‘ulama believed that the development of knowledge was
compatible with their faith. Other more conservative ‘ulama were more inclined to reject the new
ideas, and called for continued emphasis on the core values of Islam they viewed as sacred. We will
specifically concentrate on three highly influential religious scholars from the nineteenth century:
Rifa’a Badawi Rafi’ al-Tahtawi, Muhammad ‘Abduh, and Sheikh Husayn al-Marsafi. We will thus
demonstrate how all three men promoted reform, but also provided an intellectual justification for
Before we consider the writings and roles of those three distinct Islamic thinkers, however, it is
important to first of all define the historical functions of the ‘ulama in Muslim countries and, in
particular, look at their spheres of authority in Egyptian society in the nineteenth century. The word
‘ulama comes from the Arabic verbal root (ain laam meem).98 This root is the three-letter verb “to
97
Hatina, op. cit., ‘Historical Legacy’, p.52.
98
Hans Wehr (ed. J. Milton Cowan), A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, London, Macdonald & Evans Ltd., 1980,
pp.635–37.
65
know”. As a noun, ‘ulama means “the ones possessed with knowledge” or those possessed with
knowledge. Such “possessors of knowledge” have played hugely important parts in Islamic societies
since the 8th century. Beyond teaching, preaching and interpreting texts, they acted as moral guides.
Their ‘ilm (Islamic knowledge) was crucial, to the extent that political leaders in Egypt tried to use
the work of the ‘ulama for political purposes. This was the reason so many leaders traditionally kept
the ‘ulama at the centre of power.
Egypt’s education system, in turn, was kept separate from the political arena, but the ‘ulama were by
definition able to continue with their educative function. Their principal scholarly, legal and moral
duties ensured that the ‘ulama remained extremely well respected. There was a top-to-bottom feel to
this: in the countryside, ‘ulama took on key positions in villages, while in the cities senior ‘ulama
were part of the inner circle of power brokers. They were part of the Caliph’s imperial Court, and
attached to those leading tribes.
Beyond their obvious religious and teaching responsibilities, the ‘ulama’s close links with political
players meant they were relied upon to sanction policy. They offered legal justification for decisions
concerning every sphere of life, from taxation and law to war. This power brokering was weighed in
favour of the rulers, with the ‘ulama by no means remaining independent.99However, by “1500 the
religious scholars had already turned into a highly respected group which could with considerable
sources of personal and corporate wealth and a large influence in the shaping of Muslim
societies”.100
Meir Hatina portrays the traditional ‘ulama as scholars “who acquired their formal religious training
and credentials in established madrasas [schools: sing. madrassa; pl. madaaris] and religious
colleges [and act as] teachers, preachers, judges and administrators in the state religious system”. 101
Meir Hatina said some ‘ulama were affiliated to the state but others “were unaffiliated scholars who
adopted a more critical and activist stance and often clashed with official ‘ulama and the political
authorities over religious and socio-political issues”.102
99
Keddie, op. cit., ‘Introduction’, Scholars, Saints and Sufis, pp.1-3.
100
Ibid., p.2.
101
Meir Hatina, ‘Introduction’ in Meir Hatina (ed.), Guardians of the Faith in Modern Times: ‘Ulama in the Middle
East, Leiden, Brill, 2009, p.1.
102
Ibid., p.2.
66
Meir Hatina’s sketch of the ‘ulama needs expanding. To begin with, it needs to be pointed out that
the religious scholars worked across a variety of professions, and indeed many of them mixed with
the intellectual elite across society. Many ‘ulama, including Muhammad ‘Abduh and Rifa’a Rafi’
al-Tahtawi, whose careers are both considered in this chapter, became influential journalists and
writers, as they took advantage of the power of the new printing presses in Egypt. As we shall
reference later, ‘Abduh and Rifa’a Rafi’ al-Tahtawi spent time as part of the “formal” ‘ulama corps.
Tahtawi, was a brilliant religious scholar who was close to Muhammad ‘Ali, while ‘Abduh became
Grand Mufti, the highest Islamic legal position in the country.
It should also be noted that Meir Hatina stresses the way the ‘ulama were an integral component of
the state religious system. They did not just legitimise political decisions, but actually took part in
making them. Meir Hatina also discusses how all ‘ulama were respected, whether affiliated to the
state or not. This was because of their numerous roles across all sections of society. Thus the ‘ulama
sanctioned decisions taken by rulers, and also acted as informal guides to the masses, thanks to their
diverse and highly influential capacity in society.
The Role of the Reformist ‘Ulama in Defining Egypt as a Modern Islamic Nation
Rifa’a Badawi Rafi’ al-Tahtawi (1801–1873)103 started his academic career at the al-Azhar Mosque-
University in Cairo in 1817. Sheikh Hasan al-Attar (d. 1834),104 the leading Islamic scholar who was
to become the Grand Imam of al-Azhar for four years up until 1834, taught al-Tahtawi. The son of
an apothecary originally from North Africa, al-Attar was first influenced by the conquering French
during the Napoleonic invasion of Egypt but he was forced to leave when they started persecuting
the shuyukh (pl. of sheikh) and ‘ulama. A long period of exiles saw the polymath Hasan al-Attar
travel and teach extensively in Albania, Syria and Turkey between1803 and 1813, all the while
honing his knowledge of subjects such as medicine and history. When he returned home to Cairo he
made it clear that he was a supporter of Muhammad ‘Ali’s radical education policies, earning
himself the position of Rector of al-Azhar University, the then principal global centre of Islamic
learning. Al-Attar lectured at al-Azhar at a time when Egypt’s education system was becoming
103
Details of al-Tahtawi’s life are in Jamal al-Din Amal-Shayyal, Rifa’a Rafi’ al-Tahtawi, Cairo, np, 1958.
104
Peter Gran, Islamic Roots of Capitalism: Egypt, 1760–1840, Austin, University of Texas Press, 1979, pp.76–91. See
also ‘Ali Mubarak, al-Khitat al-Tawfiqiyya al-Jadida li Misr al-Qahira wa Muduniha wa Biladiha al-Shahira (Tawfiq’s
Topography of Victorious Egypt, its Cities and Famous Regions), Cairo, Bulaq Press, 1886–89, vol. 4, pp.38–49.
67
increasingly archaic and limited in scope, and so recommended its transformation. Writing about the
classical work Jam’al-Jawami’,105 a book on the fundamentals of Islamic theology and legal theory,
Hasan al-Attar critiqued what he considered to be the paucity of education at al-Azhar:
We have limited ourselves to the study of narrow, derivative books

composed by recent authors, which we repeat throughout life, and we do not
permit ourselves to study anything else, as if true knowledge is contained
within them. When we receive a question on theology that is not found
within them, we dispose of it [by saying] that it is of the philosophers’
debate […] or a literary point from among the topics that have been
disproved.106
Hasan al-Attar’s reforming spirit was condoned by Muhammad ‘Ali Pasha, the Khedive of Egypt,
but al-Attar still became unpopular with the more reactionary al-Azhar ‘ulama who dominated the
religious corps at the time.107 His close links with Muhammad ‘Ali ensured al-Tahtawi was sent to
France to further his education in 1826. Al-Tahtawi stayed in France between 1826 and 1831. As
well as continuing with his religious duties as an imam as part of the educational mission, he spent a
great deal of time learning about the “French language and reading books on ancient history, Greek
philosophy and most importantly eighteenth century French Enlightenment thought, especially the
works of Voltaire, Rousseau and Montesquieu”.108 Al-Tahtawi’s period of study of the
Enlightenment in France came just nearly four decades after the French Revolution of 1789,
meaning France was awash with new radical ideas. Thus France was, according to Albert Hourani,
of great importance to the young Egyptian’s intellectual development. In turn, as far as nationalism
was concerned, this period of study “left a permanent mark on the Egyptian mind”.109
Beyond the ideas of writers such as Voltaire, al-Tahtawi realised that the implementation of these
philosophical thoughts could have a profound effect on society as a whole. While remaining
sceptical about some aspects of French life, the way France had evolved and was organised
following Revolution and other momentous changes impressed al-Tahtawi greatly: he was taken by
105
Imam Ibn As-Subki, Jam’ al-Jawami’ fi Usul al-Fiqh, published by Dar Al-Kutub Al-‘Ilmiyyah. It is a collection of
seven law books finished in 760 A.H. at Nairab near Damascus. It is the most well-known of Ibn As-Subki’s books, and
remains one of the most important authorities on Shafi’ite law.
106
‘Abd al-Muta‘al al-Sa‘idi, Tarikh al-Islah fi al-Azhar (History of Reform in al-Azhar), Cairo, Matba’at al-Itimad,
1943, p.20. See also Gesink, op. cit., Islamic Reform, p.24.
107
Gran, op. cit., p.88; Al-Sayyid-Marsot, op. cit., ‘The Beginnings of Modernization’, p.274.
108
Hourani, op. cit., p.69; see also Alain Silvera, ‘The First Student Mission to France under Muhammad ‘Ali’ in Elie
Kedourie and Sylvia G. Haim (eds.), Modern Egypt: Studies in Politics and Society, London, Frank Cass, 1980, p.9.
109
68
the emphasis on the “prolonged education of children”,110 and by the French “intellectual curiosity
and above all their social morality”.111 It was through adopting the philosophy and values of the
Enlightenment that France had succeeded in so many spheres, al-Tahtawi believed. What
particularly appealed to al-Tahtawi was Montesquieu’s description of the state as a geographical
entity bound by “national spirit”, with love of country guaranteeing political virtue. 112 It was this
view of France as a nation that al-Tahtawi wanted to extend to Egypt, so he spent increasing
amounts of time studying his own country’s distinctive ancient history and considering the way its
geographical boundaries had practically not altered over time.113 When al-Tahtawi got back to
Egypt, he held a number of positions, including school inspector and head of the new School of
Languages, and as editor of the state-sponsored newspaper, al-Waqa‘i’ al-Misriyya (Egyptian
Events).114 The paper was an overtly pro-establishment one at the time,115 but working there gave al-
Tahtawi great experience in articulating his views to a wider audience.
Al-Tahtawi’s considerable contribution to the field of education was primarily aimed at getting
young people into the growing number of professional schools necessary to provide staff for the
Khedive’s expanding bureaucracy. Also, as a means of stepping up the on-going process of
modernisation of Egyptian industry, and of the country’s military, Muhammad ‘Ali encouraged
subjects which were mainly being taught according to French texts on topics ranging from sociology
and history to military technology. Al-Tahtawi’s most remarkable achievement was his hugely
significant role in translating such French works into Arabic, including the writings of his favoured
French philosophers, while also commissioning and supervising colleagues towards the completion
of the translations of other writers, so allowing Egyptians to read them, and indeed to discuss
them.116 Al-Tahtawi and his pupils translated some two thousand works into Arabic in all.117 This
translation work opened up overseas literature to Egyptians in a manner which was to have a lasting
110
Ibid., p.71.
111
Ibid.
112
Ibid., p.70.
113
Charles Wendell, The Evolution of the Egyptian National Image: From its Origins to Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid,
Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 1972, p.123. Wendell notes that Egypt’s territorial boundaries are
“determinable with unusual ease and little or no dispute”.
114
Hourani, op. cit., p.71. Al-Tahtawi’s biography and political thought is also outlined in Wendell, op. cit.
115
Al-Waqa‘i’ al-Misriyyaa newspaper initially published in both Arabic and Turkish, first appeared in Egypt in 1828.
Ordered by Muhammad ‘Ali, it was the first newspaper of its kind in the Middle East.
116
These works are listed in Hourani, op. cit., p.71.
117
Jamal Muhammad Ahmed, The Intellectual Origins of Egyptian Nationalism, London, Oxford University Press, 1960,
p.10.
69
effect as far as the creation of a new generation of Egyptian intellectuals was concerned.118 It was
al-Tahtawi’s view that Egyptian education had been held back by the orthodoxy of the ‘ulama.
Rather than taking up Enlightenment ideas, and indeed embracing the new technology that was
transforming Europe, Egypt’s outdated education system was failing to cope. Al-Tahtawi thus
counselled that the conservative Islamic institutions should incorporate the “sciences created by
human reason”,119 adding that “if the ‘ulama are to interpret the Shari’a [Islamic Law] in the light of
modern needs, they must know what the modern world is”.120
Al-Tahtawi’s French-Arabic translations were of great historical importance to the development of

Egypt’s nationalist spirit, and so too were his own original writings and political pamphlets which
were widely distributed. Al-Tahtawi was, in Hourani’s opinion, the first Egyptian scholar to
“articulate the idea of the Egyptian nation… [and to] justify it in terms of Islamic thought”.121
Hourani further describes al-Tahtawi’s work as follows:
[His] ideas about society and the state are neither a mere restatement of a
traditional view nor a simple reflection of the ideas he had learnt in Paris.
The way in which his ideas are formulated is on the whole traditional: at
every point he makes appeal to the example of the Prophet and his
Companions, and his conceptions of political authority are within the
tradition of Islamic thought. But at points he gives them a new and
significant development.122
Al-Tahtawi published his first significant piece of writing when he got back to Egypt from France –
an account of his time in Paris full of day-to-day anecdotes and considerations.123 It provided
insights into what it was like to be an Egyptian in the French capital in the mid- nineteenth century,
but also highlighted al-Tahtawi’s developing political thinking. The influence of the Enlightenment
ran throughout his work: al-Tahtawi saw Enlightenment thought as being the dynamic of France’s
successful domestic reform, and indeed its strength and effect on the world stage. Muhammad ‘Ali
himself commissioned a special edition of the diary al-Tahtawi kept in Paris and ordered it to be
118
Hourani, op. cit., p.71. In 1841 Tahtawi took control of a new School of Languages, writes Hourani. Al-Tahtawi
personally translated “twenty works including histories of the ancient world, the Middle Ages, Voltaire’s Lives of Peter
the Great and Charles XII of Sweden, a book on Greek philosophers and Montesquieu’s Considérations sur les causes
de la grandeur des Romains et de leur décadence”.
119
Ibid., p.75.
120
Ibid.
121
Ibid., pp.68-69.
122
Ibid., p.73.
123
Rifa’a Rafi’ Al-Tahtawi, Takhlis al-Ibriz fi Talkhis Baris (Paris Diary), Cairo, Bulaq Press, 1834.
70
distributed to key civil servants in Egypt as part of their compulsory education.124 A subsequent text
concentrated on Egypt,125 and saw al-Tahtawi showing great appreciation about the record of his
countrymen’s forebears, the ancient Egyptians. Accordingly, and in contrast to fellow ‘ulama of the
time, al-Tahtawi advocated in his book that the modern Egyptians should work to emulate the
colossal achievements of their ancestors.
So it was that beyond calls to take up the rational values of the Enlightenment, al-Tahtawi combined
this with the expression of greater pride in Egypt’s distinguished history and Islamic traditions in the
country’s modern political life. Montesquieu’s separation of powers was a principle that al-Tahtawi
wanted to adapt to Egypt’s culture of governance. Al-Tahtawi contended that his country was
organised around four separate “estates”. These were the ruler, the ‘ulama, the military, and those
involved in trade and other industries.126 If each of these “estates” were functioning properly, all
would improve the circumstances of everyone in society, he argued. Al-Tahtawi discarded France’s
model of nationalism based on a secular civil society, which promoted the idea of the people
governing themselves, rather than allowing an autocratic leader to be in charge. This was mainly
because al-Tahtawi was always conscious of the debt he owed to the Khedive. The success of
al-Tahtawi’s ongoing career certainly relied on favours from the Ottoman representative.
Consequently, al-Tahtawi did not advocate the scrapping of the Khedive’s position altogether.
Instead, al-Tahtawi supported the more conventional Islamic form of government, which placed the
‘ulama within a hierarchy of power headed by the Khedive, with the ‘ulama serving the best
interests of Egyptian Muslims. Thus al-Tahtawi did not consider that such a conventional type of
Islamic authority should be changed, but argued that Montesquieu’s separation of “estates” would in
fact act as an effective check on a ruler’s absolute power, while not creating the need to get rid of
such a corrupt ruler.127
124
It was in 1822 that the Bulaq Printing Press had first been created allowing a wide range of books to be published in
Arabic and Turkish and distributed among the kind of numbers which in the past would have been impossible. The
establishment of new prints was to have a huge impact on the spread of ideas, and the number of people formulating
them, and indeed acting upon them.
125
Rifa’a Rafi’ Al-Tahtawi, Manahij al-Albab al-Misriyya fi Mabahij al-Adab al-‘Asriyya (The Roads of Egyptian Hearts
in the Joys of the Contemporary Arts), Cairo, Bulaq Press, 1869.
126
Ibid., p.348.
127
71
Despite backing rule that involved Islamic traditionalists, al-Tahtawi was nonetheless critical of both
the ‘ulama, and indeed the manner in which students were being taught at al-Azhar in Cairo.
Al-Tahtawi (a Shafi’i by legal rite)128 was well schooled in Islamic law but considered that Egypt’s
failure to advance as quickly as many European countries was partly due to the ‘ulama and al-
Azhar’s rejection of an education system that focused on non-Islamic subjects, and accepted
modern, enlightened theories about the rapidly changing world.129 A reluctance to teach the
rationality of science, for example, held back Egypt’s progress, al-Tahtawi argued. Progress was
essential for al-Tahtawi, and especially moves towards two main objectives: the modernisation and
prosperity of Egypt as a nation.
Indeed, al-Tahtawi firstly believed that modern Egyptians needed to emulate the achievements of
their illustrious ancestors. This romantic view of ancient Egypt evoked the distinctive nature of
modern Egyptians, who followed in their esteemed line. Al-Tahtawi argued that “the physical
constitution of the people of these times is exactly that of the peoples of times past, and their
disposition is one and the same”.130 By underlining the unique and highly impressive qualities of the
Egyptian people in this manner, al-Tahtawi was setting the tone for a nationalistic argument.
Al-Tahtawi also saw less romantic, and more pragmatic, social reasons for Egypt’s progress as a
nation. The advancement of Egypt would improve economic conditions for the vast majority of the
Egyptian people, he contended, and engaging with Europe was an essential part of this process.
Modernisation would ensure they understood “European laws of trade, commerce and credit”. 131
Moral rulers were responsible for creating an efficient economic system and social welfare for all
Egyptians, was al-Tahtawi’s position. He saw checks and balances to any government as being
fundamental – a scrutinising role that was most commonly taken on by the ‘ulama. Influential,
upright religious scholars were indeed considered as being paramount to the just and fair functioning
of government – one that would result in a just and fair society that would increase prosperity for the
community as a whole.
128
The Shafi‘i madhhab was founded in the 9th century by the Arab scholar Abu ʿAbdullah Muhammad ibn Idris
al-Shafiʿi (767 — 820 CE) and is one of the four schools of Islamic jurisprudence in Sunni Islam. The others are Hanafi,
Maliki and Hanbali. Further discussion on Sunni Islamic law can be found in Hallaq, Wael B. (2009), An Introduction to
Islamic Law, Cambridge University Press.
129
J. M. Ahmed, op. cit., p.14.
130
Quoted in Hourani, op. cit., p.79. See also Al-Tahtawi, op. cit., Manahij al-Albab, p.187.
131
J.M. Ahmed, op. cit., p.14.
72
In spite of this reasoning, al-Tahtawi was concerned at the ‘ulama’s inability to embrace non-
Islamic education. He said that “teaching must be linked with the nature and problems of society”,132
but the ‘ulama’s traditional teaching, and their rigorous focus on religion, held Egypt back. The
religious scholars’ own influence on Egypt’s rulers was also disadvantaged by their conservatism,
especially in the field of education. Al-Tahtawi appreciated that “the ruler should respect and honour
the ‘ulama [and] treat them as his helpers in the task of government”,133 but he nevertheless
conceded that the ‘ulama’s leverage had declined as their failure to modernise created differences
with the Khedive. Muhammad ‘Ali was among Egyptian rulers who reduced the ‘ulama’s role as
crucial cogs in the process of governance. It was the ‘ulama’s stagnating teaching practices that
were seen as preventing Egypt’s chance to modernise and prosper as a nation.
Al-Tahtawi’s disposition towards European political thought, and especially that of the
Enlightenment, was a principal reason for his criticisms of traditional Islamic education. Al-Tahtawi
invariably championed a specific type of Egyptian patriotism in all his work, which saw him call for
a reformed education system – one that promoted the notion of a community based on Egyptian
identity. Specifically, a main and recurrent topic in al-Tahtawi’s work was the distinction between
communities centred on religious and nationalistic values. The ‘ulama’s emphasis was on nurturing
a community underpinned by religious faith and practice, but al-Tahtawi’s understanding was “a
national brotherhood over and above the brotherhood in religion”.134
The concept of the Egyptian nation was also crucial to al-Tahtawi’s work. For al-Tahtawi, the love
of country (hubb al-watan) was the “main motive, which leads men to try to build up a civilised
community”.135 Such distinctive qualities were separate from the sense of unity which came from
the Islamic Umma, and religion in general. Such an expression of the bond of nationhood
(wataniyya) – and Egyptian nationhood in particular – was unique. Thus a glorious past, the
continuing history of the Egyptian people, and clear geographical boundaries were all factors that
gave Egypt the potential to stand alone as a successful nation.
132
133
Ibid., p.75.
134
Al-Tahtawi, op. cit., Manahij al-Albab, p.99, quoted in Hourani, op. cit., p.77.
135
73
Though the nation was all-important to al-Tahtawi, he saw how vital different types of ties,
including religion, were to the progress of any distinct community. Al-Tahtawi believed modern
Egyptians were part of a legacy stretching back to the heyday of ancient Egypt, but for him the
Revelation and other key dates in the history of Islam from its foundation in the seventh century
were more significant.136 Modernity pervades al-Tahtawi’s writings and was a key component of his
political thought, along with the reform of education, so as to become part of the modern world. All
of this, however, was ultimately grounded in and legitimised by the Islamic tradition, and the deeds
of the Prophet Muhammad and his Companions. With his emphasis on such religious antecedents,
al-Tahtawi was one of the first Islamic scholars to show how Islam could be reconciled with the new
nationalist spirit pervading Egypt, but also modernising trends being popularised in the West, and
increasingly penetrating countries such as Egypt.
Al-Tahtawi’s central role in the development of Egyptian nationalism came at a time when the
influence of the ‘ulama was in relative decline. Al-Tahtawi died in 1873, before the nationalist
‘Urabi Revolt started in 1879, but his life achievements, as an authoritative translator and as a
scholar, signified the start of the emergence of Enlightenment thought in nineteenth century Egypt,
as it transformed the country. His work was greatly assisted by his close links to both the ‘ulama and
to Muhammad ‘Ali and his descendants,137 thus making al-Tahtawi an intellectual lynchpin in the
historic changes which took place in his country. Ultimately, al-Tahtawi wanted to create a modern,
advanced, European-style Egypt, but one that also still held on to a sense of Egypt’s past, and to
Islam.
A study of Muhammad ‘Abduh’s (1849 – 1905) work and his calls for the reform of Islam are
crucial to understanding the developments towards modernisation that went on in Egypt during the
nineteenth century. The future scholar was born in 1849 in the Nile Delta village of Mahallat Nasr,
Lower Egypt, to ‘Abduh ibn Hasan Khayrallah, his Turkish father who was part of the devout Umad
land owning elite. ‘Abduh was born in the year of the death of Muhammad ‘Ali Pasha, also known
by his Albanian name Mehmet ‘Ali. Mehmet ‘Ali was the Albanian soldier who rebelled against the
Ottoman Empire, and caused great harm to Egyptian farmers during the period when he appointed
himself ruler of the Ottoman province of Egypt between 1805 and 1848.‘Abduh ibn Hasan
136
Ibid., p.80.
137
Al-Tahtawi was initially close to Muhammad ‘Ali, but became less popular with the Khedive. When al-Tahtawi was
despatched to Khartoum, he compared the experience to being exiled (Hourani, op. cit., p.73).
74
Khayrallah, benefitted from newly introduced irrigation systems and an improvement in rural
security under Mehmet ‘Ali, but he, like many other farmers of the time, fled their villages to avoid
conscription. The situation was much quieter after Mehmet ‘Ali’s death, and ‘Abduh had a relatively
secure upbringing in Mahallat Nasr. ‘Abduh ibn Hasan Khayrallah could not be classed as
particularly wealthy, but he was well connected enough to hire a private Quran teacher for his son.
Early lessons, up to the age of 12, involved learning religious texts by heart.138
‘Abduh went to a private school in the city of Tanta, north of Cairo, where he showed exceptional
academic abilities from an early age. Then – as a young teenager – ‘Abduh was sent to be educated
at the Ahmadi Mosque. He subsequently joined al-Azhar in 1869 and finished studying there in
1877, when he was twenty-eight.139 Muhammad ‘Abduh’s early career was not entirely spent within
the formal ‘ulama corps, and involved lecturing at al-Azhar and Dar al-‘Ulum, the institution
founded in 1871 to give students both an Islamic and a more modern secondary education. 140
‘Abduh also had a great deal of experience beyond the ivory towers of educational institutions as he
started working as a journalist and writer soon after he graduated. His time at school and then at
al-Azhar University had already convinced him that the scope of the Egyptian education system was
too limited and traditional, with its insistence on religious instruction. ‘Abduh was particularly
unimpressed by the “pre-modern” ideas and practices of Islamic scholars emphasising committing
religious texts to memory. ‘Abduh was thus constantly seeking to expand his academic horizon
outside such rigid systems, to the extent that Sheikh Muhammad ‘Illaish, the eminent conservative
cleric and one of his tutors, once admonished him.141
138
For more biographical details about Muhammad ‘Abduh see Mark Sedgwick, Muhammad Abduh, Oxford, Oneworld
Publications, 2009.
139
Rida, op. cit., vol. 1, part 1, pp.1-24 for background. See also Adams, op. cit.; Kerr, op. cit.; Kedourie, op. cit.;
J.M. Ahmed, op. cit.; Hourani, op. cit.. ‘Abduh became a ‘alim on graduation in 1877, but rather than join the ‘ulama
immediately, worked as a writer and lecturer at al-Azhar. He was regarded as an esteemed and high-ranking Islamic
scholar.
140
For an account of the foundation and influence of Dar al-‘Ulum, see Lois A. Aroian, The Nationalization of Arabic
and Islamic Education in Egypt: Dar al-Ulum and al-Azhar, Cairo Papers in Social Science, vol. 6, monograph 4, Cairo,
American University in Cairo Press, 1983; see also Chris A. Eccel, Egypt, Islam and Social Change: al-Azhar in
Conflict and Accommodation, Berlin, Klaus Schwarz Verlag, 1984.
141
Muhammad ‘Ammara (ed.), Al-A’mal al-Kamila al-Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh (The Complete Works of the Sheikh
Muhammad ‘Abduh), Cairo, Dar al-Sharouk, 1993, A Conversation with Sheikh ‘Illaish, vol. III, p.210. The
disagreement between ‘Abduh and Sheikh ‘Illaish is well documented by a number of authors. We concentrate on
‘Abduh’s own recollections, in which he recounts his study of the Nasafi faith and dares ‘Illaish to “leav[e] everyone’s
tradition [he means theological schools] aside and using his own logic to explain faith”.
75
Later on, ‘Abduh became part of the inner circle of modernising Afghan philosopher, Jamal al-Din
al-Afghani. It was to be the prominent Islamic scholar who had the greatest influence on ‘Abduh’s
political thought.142 Jamal al-Din al-Afghani was one of the fiercest detractors of the European
powers’ domination and interference in the Muslim world.143 Arriving in Egypt in 1871, he first of
all taught at al-Azhar, but then there were arguments with notable ‘ulama, which resulted in
al-Afghani being barred from teaching there. So instead, he tutored informal classes in coffee shops
and at his home in the Khan al-Khalili district of Cairo, neighbouring the al-Azhar mosque.144 After
leaving his lecturing position at al-Azhar, Jamal al-Din al-Afghani remained on good terms with
Khedive Ismail and continued to draw a salary.145 Al-Afghani used his privileged status to shape
many of those who would play such a leading role in the Egyptian nationalist movement between
1879 and 1882. Others who attended al-Afghani’s discussion groups included Khedive Ismail’s son,
Tawfiq, who would himself later become Khedive. Tawfiq was also persuaded by al-Afghani’s
urging for internal Islamic reform.
Jamal al-Din al-Afghani was careful to suggest that reform indeed needed to come from within
Muslim communities, and that it should not be forced from outside. He particularly objected to the
uncritical mimicry of western values, arguing that it would have a devastating effect on all walks of
life – from economic to social – and indeed on Egyptians’ sense of moral worth. Al-Afghani advised
that the way to protect Islam as an ethical force was for Muslims to themselves adapt to a changing
world, abandoning their narrow and highly traditional view of education – one that mainly
concentrated on a rote learning approach to religion which had constrained rational scrutiny and
diligence. A far broader education, which included new subjects, would give Muslims the chance to
not only advance in the modern world, but also to build a new role for their religion within it.146
Islam’s inability to modernise and its failure to keep up with western countries were at the heart of
al-Afghani’s teaching. This, he believed, had resulted in European powers, and particularly Britain
and France, controlling vast swathes of Muslim countries, either directly or indirectly. Thus, as far
142
Nikki R. Keddie, An Islamic Response to Imperialism: Political and Religious Writings of Sayyid Jamal ad-Din
‘al-Afghani’, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press, 1983. See also Rida, op. cit., vol. 1, part 1, p.25; Hourani,
op. cit.
143
Rida, op. cit., vol. 1, part 1, pp.73, 79, 82.
144
Jamal al-Din’s teaching methods saw him being forced out of al-Azhar. He failed to follow the traditional,
conservative curriculum, instead choosing more enlightened topics and scholars for study: see Hourani, op. cit., in
particular the chapter on al-Afghani.
145
See Schölch, op. cit., and Hourani, op. cit.
146
See J. M. Ahmed, op. cit., and Wendell, op. cit.
76
as al-Afghani’s political activism was concerned, he was committed to curbing and indeed
eventually terminating European hegemony over the Muslim world, and Egypt in particular. The
scholar contended that greater authority by European powers would mean a further erosion of rights
to sovereignty, and humiliation for Egyptians. As injustices against ordinary Muslims continued,
al-Afghani argued that, as well as a more comprehensive education reform and a willingness to
embrace changes in the world, direct expressions of political dissent against dominating European
countries were justified. In particular, he advocated the use of Egypt’s new printing press as a
political tool that could be used to bring about change. It would distribute literature about reform,
the need to end occupation, and create the conditions for the liberation of the Egyptian people.
Al-Afghani urged intellectuals, ‘ulama and political groups to all play a part in this nationalist
movement against European control.
‘Abduh and al-Afghani both rehearsed their theories about the way Muslim countries such as Egypt
were no longer progressing and tried to pinpoint particular causes in their writings. However,
Hourani notes that ‘Abduh “was to become a more systematic thinker than his master and have a
more lasting influence on the Muslim mind, not only in Egypt but far beyond”.147 Similarly,
although both men travelled widely, and were to have great clout throughout the Muslim world,
‘Abduh’s more prestigious yet entirely grounded family background suggested he had a stronger
link with traditional Egyptians. This was perhaps also due to his role as both a writer and an
educator. ‘Abduh was indeed very well connected to leading publications, and was affiliated to
al-Azhar and Dar al-‘Ulum. ‘Abduh’s teaching and activities outside the academic sphere – first
offering political and juridical advice (he had served as a judge) within the nationalist movement148
and later as Egypt’s Grand Mufti, the country’s highest legal authority – were all initiatives to help
him bring about change in society, and to reverse years of decline in the Muslim world, while firmly
associating Islam with modernity in all his work.
‘Abduh and al-Afghani shared the view that, by the end of the nineteenth century, the Muslim
world’s subordinate position to the West was complete in every field, from the economy to the
military and technology. As he examined the reasons for this waning, ‘Abduh was convinced
Egyptian Muslims could embrace modernity, and achieve their own success in the world. ‘Abduh
believed there had been a move away from “true” Islam, and that Egyptians had lapsed into a
147
148
After the failure of ‘Urabi’s revolt in 1882, ‘Abduh was exiled by the British to Beirut for having backed the “rebels”.
77
situation not dissimilar to the pre-Islamic jahiliyya, or backwardness/ignorance.149 Writing in

al-Ahram newspaper,150 ‘Abduh suggested that the position was even worse than jahiliyya, and that
“hopes for our people’s development diminish”.151 Significantly, ‘Abduh defined the pre-Islamic era
as one when “intellectual enquiry into faith or indeed into the details of the universe was vetoed [and
when] the principle that reason and religion had nothing in common, but rather religion was the
inveterate enemy of science was promulgated”.152 ‘Abduh considered that the late nineteenth
century Egyptian society in which he lived had also seen Islam pulled away from rationality and was
equally characterised by scholars displaying a distinct lack of intellectual rigour when it came to
both religious matters and knowledge, in general.153
‘Abduh even indicated that Muslim populations, including Muslims in Egypt, had neglected the
reality that rationality and logic were, in fact, essential to the practice of Islam. He asserted the view
that God had given them the ability to speak and think not only to better comprehend the divine
order of things, but also so as to progress through history, and advance the world beyond a primitive
state.154 God’s world was not designed to remain in a fixed state, and could indeed be modernised.
‘Abduh believed that, in contrast to any other religion, Islam in fact freed people from confined
views and opened them up to a wider, more dynamic perspective on the world based on critical
enquiry and deduction, and one that would encourage development .155 The link between Islam and
forward-thinking rationality had been undermined, leading to Muslims withdrawing from “true”
149
Muhammad ‘Abduh, Risalat al-Tawhid (The Theology of Unity), Cairo, Mutba’at Nahdat al Misr, 1956, p.133, is used
by ‘Abduh to consider the pre-Islamic period of jahiliyya and assert that, while pre-Islamic religions had “laid down for
men sacred laws of asceticism and turn[ed] them towards the higher life, men lapsed from its provisions and precepts
with concord, cooperation and peace ousted and schism, contention and strife reign[ing] in their place”.
150
The publication was started in 1875 by two Lebanese brothers, Bashara Taqla and Salim Taqla. See also Latifa Salim,
Sahafat al-Thawra al-‘Urabiyya (The Press of the ‘Urabi Revolt), Chapter 7 in Nabil ‘Abd al-Hamid and Sayyid Ahmed
(eds.), Misr lil Misriyyin: Mi’at ‘Am ‘ala al-Thawra al-‘Urabiyya (Egypt for the Egyptians: Hundred Years on the Urabi
Revolt), Cairo, Markaz al-Dirasat al-Siyasiyah wa-al-Istiratijiyah bi al-Ahram (Al-Ahram Centre for Political and
Strategic Studies), 1981.
151
Muhammad ‘Abduh,‘Al-‘Ulum al-Kalamiya wa al-Da’wa ila al-‘Ulum al-‘Asriya (Linguistic/Literary Sciences and
the Call to Modern Sciences)’, al-Ahram, Issue no. 36, 1877 in ‘Ammara, op. cit., al-A’mal al Kamila al-Sheikh
Muhammad ‘Abduh, vol. 3, pp.15–23.
152
‘Abduh, op. cit., Risalat al-Tawhid, p.133.
153
‘Abduh, op. cit., al-’Ulum al-Kalamiya, pp.15-23.
154
Muhammad ‘Abduh, al-Kitaaba wa al-Qalam (The Art of Writing and the Pen), al-Ahram, Issue no. 8, 1876 in
‘Ammara, op. cit., vol. 3, pp.9-15.
155
‘Abduh, op. cit., Risalat al-Tawhid, p.13. See the introduction by Ishaq Musa’ad and Kenneth Cragg in the English
translation, The Theology of Unity, London, Allen & Unwin, 1966. In the chapter ‘Religions and Human Progress: Their
Culmination in Islam’ the author discusses how human progress required rational thinking. ‘Abduh argues that God calls
for evidence to be tested, so as to confirm universal laws. He quotes examples from the Quran where God calls for truth
based on the testing of evidence: “Say: bring your evidence if you are speaking the truth (Surah 2.111 and 27.64)”,
p.134.
78
Islam, ‘Abduh argued. The first historical manifestation of this was a schism and other power
struggles within Islamic civilisation after the era of the first four Rashidun Caliphs, ‘Abduh
explained. In particular, ‘Abduh suggested there was disunity amongst Muslims during the Abbasid
dynasty, which saw Caliphs “became content to possess the title of ‘Caliph’ and ceased to be
scholars and trained in religious matters, rejecting the exercise of ijtihad (independent reason).”156
The taqlid (imitation) method of learning gained precedence, as pupils simply committed rules and
principles to memory.
‘Abduh identified the Turkish Ottoman’s taking over of the Caliphate from the Arabs as a second
pivotal historical stage that brought the period of ijtihad to an end. ‘Abduh contended that this
transition of power also had profoundly negative repercussions. The Turks encouraged Muslims to
give up striving towards rational truths, and instead instructed them to concentrate on Islamic
orthodoxy and the mere imitation and memorisation of Islam’s teachings. Critical analysis was
deterred, as the Ottoman Islamic Caliphate became less credible than the Caliphate had been when
in Arab hands. According to ‘Abduh, this crisis of legitimacy was exemplified as the core
relationship between Arabs and Islam faded, along with a broader understanding of the Arabic
Quran and the Prophet’s message, despite the fact that the Prophet was an Arab.157 The Ottomans’
position as head of the Umma was also disputed in the process. The Turks alleged inability to grasp
the fundamentals of Islam led to them dissuading free-thinking, because they saw it as a challenge to
their own rule. It was through weakening, and indeed corrupting the ‘ulama, and their authority over
education and society as a whole, that the Turks could strengthen their own power.158
All of ‘Abduh’s work continued to stress how the ‘ulama’s vital function in Islamic communities
had been morally compromised.159 The scholar argued that all components of Muslim society – from
the law and politics to education – were intrinsically linked. Central to ‘Abduh’s thinking was faith,
and particularly the belief that the Prophet Muhammad’s role had been to spread God’s message, but
also to create a moral society centred on the teachings of the Quran and the correct interpretation of
divine law. ‘Abduh’s emphasis was on an Islamic legal system that protected all members of
156
Adams, op. cit., p.59; Rida, op. cit., vol. II, p.282.
157
158
Muhammad ‘Abduh, Al-Islam wa al-Nasraniyya bayna al-‘Ilm wa’l-Madaniyya (Islam and Christianity Between
Science and the Civil), Beirut, Dar al-Hadatha, 1983, p.134.
159
Muhammad ‘Abduh, Al-Islam al-Youm wa’l Ihtijaj bi’l Muslimeen ‘ala ‘l Islam (Islam Today and the Remonstrance
of Muslims Against Islam) in ‘Ammara, op. cit., vol. 3, pp.330-33. Here, ‘Abduh says that “nobody can deny how
scholars and religious scientists have become too loyal to the opinions of their masters”. In this sense, “masters” refer to
both politicians and teachers.
79
society. The rapid modernisation of the world meant religious jurisprudence had to adapt to new
demands, rather than simply relying on legal precedents encompassing outdated work by earlier
Muslim scholars. Instead, rational methods inspired by Enlightenment thinking needed to form the
foundation of Islamic laws that would govern the lives of Muslims in a changing era.
The preponderance of taqlid, which required students to rehearse and indeed memorise early Islamic
texts, showed that Muslims had moved away from authentic interpretations of Islam, ‘Abduh
argued, and the situation needed to be rectified. ‘Abduh considered the ‘ulama to be entirely to
blame for this. Discussions as to whether taqlid was an appropriate manner to implement Islamic
teachings, especially in a modern age where many legal issues and newfound problems had no
historical antecedents to compare them to, necessitated serious thought. In this respect, ‘Abduh
believed that the application of ijtihad would ensure that reason and deduction were used in making
sure that the teaching of the Quran and Hadith was relevant to new laws, and the general
adjudication of ethical problems. Until this was the case, society as a whole would continue to
regress.
Taqlid had not only provided a pedagogical method and Quranic exegesis in Egypt but, in ‘Abduh’s
view, it also affected the development of Egyptian society. Europe’s power over Muslim countries,
and particularly Egypt, was spearheaded by European willingness to reform according to
Enlightenment principles, and to apply rationality, and new technology.160 ‘Abduh insisted that a
retreat into a state of jahiliyya in nineteenth century Egypt was due to the rejection of science and
progress by al-Azhar University and other educational, state-run institutions. A journalistic article
written by ‘Abduh focused on students who wanted to study rational subjects beyond Islamic
sciences, thus provoking the concern and wrath of more traditional family members. ‘Abduh
commented that they were instructed by their relatives to “stop reading these misleading texts in
order that you do not fall into sin and to follow the footsteps and beliefs of [your] fathers and
grandfathers”.161 ‘Abduh said traditional Islamic methods of study, including memorising texts, all
contributed to a backward society which could not hope to compete in the world, least of all with
advancing western societies.
160
Muhammad ‘Abduh, Ma huwa al-Fiqr al-Haqiqi fi al-Balaad (What is the Real Poverty in the Country?), Al-Waqa‘i’
al-Misriyya, Issue no. 1073, 28 March 1881 in ‘Ammara, op. cit., al-A’mal al- Kamila, vol. III, pp.45–52.
161
‘Abduh, op. cit., al-‘Ulum al-Kalamiya, pp.15-23.
80
‘Abduh’s thinking and his positions on Egypt and the wider Muslim world are essential to
comprehend his ties with ‘Urabi and the broad nationalist movement. Before the 1882 revolution,
his opinions about Egypt’s stagnation and the need for modernisation and reform were discussed in
refined academic circles along with al-Afghani and his peers while he was a student at al-Azhar and
during his early career. ‘Abduh and al-Afghani called for change in Egypt, and across the rest of the
Islamic world so as to raise their standing internationally. ‘Abduh used the burgeoning Egyptian
press to put his reformist views across to as vast an audience as possible, even though there was
often fierce opposition to his ideas from more conservative ‘ulama who, at the time, constituted the
overwhelming majority of the corps of Islamic scholars. They were the traditionalists who relied on
taqlid style methods of education that ‘Abduh felt were at the heart of Egypt’s decline and
poverty.162 This did not dissuade ‘Abduh from writing copiously, and in great details, as he
expressed his opinions about the blockage in society that they represented.
It is crucial to note, however, that ‘Abduh did not want to see new western culture imposed on
Egyptians, but instead believed a return to true Islam was necessary – this meant an Islam that
accepted scientific progress and rational thought as a means of improving society. Thus, according
to ‘Abduh, Islam, and the scholars who interpret it, play a fundamental part “in revitalising Egyptian
society”. This reversion to “true” Islam – which included the need for a modernised education
system and the practice of the methods of ijtihad to explain the meaning of sacred texts – would
ensure that society was well managed as a righteous community that adhered to the Prophet
Muhammad’s teachings.163
Nineteenth century Egypt opened up to rapid progress emanating from abroad, so welcoming fresh
political thinking. The Age of the Enlightenment and the spread of popular nationalism after the
1789 French Revolution saw radical new beliefs arriving in Egypt via Europe. The fall of
monarchies, and the championing of the right of the peoples to govern themselves within nation-
states had huge appeal in Europe, as local populations strove towards the most ethical form of
representative government. In turn, such nationalist political thought was seized upon in Egypt,164
where these new political ideas were embraced because of the country’s constitutional change,
combined with its greater connection to Europe.
162
Muhammad ‘Abduh, Ta’thir al-Ta’lim fi al-Din wa al-‘Aqida (The Impact of Education on Religion and Faith),
Al-Waqa‘i’ al-Misriyya, Issue No. 1186, 9 August 1881 in ‘Ammara, op. cit., al-A’mal al- Kamila, vol. III, pp.57–67.
163
Muhammad ‘Abduh, Ta’thir al-Ta’lim fi al-Din wa al-‘Aqida (The Effect of Education on Religion and Faith) in
‘Ammara, op. cit., al-A’mal al-Kamila, pp.57–67.
164
Elie Kedourie (ed.), Nationalism in Asia and Africa, London, Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1971.
81
This was particularly so through the popular press under Khedive Isma’il, when commentary and
debate about political events affecting the lives of ordinary Egyptians became increasingly prevalent
in the proliferating newspapers and journals.165 This was a time when the vocabulary of popular
nationalism was becoming more and more common. The definition of words such as “nation” and
“fatherland” were to be refined by scholars including Sheikh Husayn al-Marsafi. Sheikh Husayn
al-Marsafi (d.1890)166 of al-Azhar University, published his Risalat al-Kalem al-Thaman (Treatise
on the Eight Words) in 1882 – the very year of the ‘Urabi Revolt. This was an attempt to explain the
terms of reference of nationalism to Egyptians.
There are two significant elements to al-Marsafi’s book that encapsulate his thinking on its subject
matter but which also provide a crucial context to his overall contribution to the development of
nationalism in Egypt. Firstly, al-Marsafi’s Risalat was published at a key moment in the ‘Urabi
Revolt – 1882 was the year when the uprising reached its culmination. It was also when the revolt
failed: a British attack on Alexandria, and the invasion of Egypt saw Urabi’s forces defeated at the
Battle of Tel el-Kebir, thus ending ‘Urabi’s nationalist uprising and ensuring that Khedive Tawfiq
remained in control.167 Khedive Tawfiq became a constitutional ruler agreeing to reform based on
the orders of the British. The Khedive was regarded as a British puppet, so any hopes of a successful
nationalist resurgence appeared doomed.
The book was released at the height of a number of events in Egypt that saw the country’s
nationalist consciousness growing, and which al-Marsafi sets to cover in his work. These included
the creation of an Egyptian constitution and a move towards parliamentary politics. 168 Neither of
these significant concessions to popular government posed much of an immediate threat to the
Khedive’s authority, but they at least led to debate about the legitimacy of Khedival power, against
the calls for self-rule by the Egyptian people. Thus al-Marsafi’s writing was at an essential
crossroads in Egyptian history: it was a key period of time when Egyptian nationalism and the desire
for political freedom combined to forge a sense of national unity which was articulated across the
whole society.
165
Works that discuss the history of the popular press in Egypt, include Salim, op. cit., Sahafat al-Thawra, Chapter 7;
Z. Fahmy, op. cit.; Adnan Hussein Rashid, The Press and the Egyptian Nationalist Movement in the Nineteenth Century
with Particular Emphasis on the Role of Al-Nadim, PhD thesis, University of Exeter, 1987.
166
Wendell, op. cit. For al-Marsafi’s date of death see Meir Hatina, op. cit., ‘Ulama’, Politics and the Public Sphere,
p.66. His date of birth is thought to be around 1815, but this has not been verified.
167
Mahafiz al-Thawrah al-‘Urabiyyah, Mahfazah No. 41, Dusiah 6,3; and Mahfazah No. 8, Dusiah 53/D, file 220; and
Mahfazah No. 8, Dusiah 53/D/6, file 220.
168
Landau, op. cit.
82
The Risalat was also important because it was the first time that an eminent ‘alim from al-Azhar had
defined key political terms that had come into common usage in Egypt. ‘Ulama had been kept on
the margins of political institutions, and indeed political debate, for much of the nineteenth century.
In this sense, the Risalat was considered a landmark as a widely respected and influential Islamic
scholar had become a huge asset to the nationalist movement at a time when the ‘ulama were being
sidelined from the nationalist debate. Al-Marsafi’s work thus made it clear that the ‘ulama could be
relevant in terms of real world politics, and could indeed inspire thought and action related to
popular nationalism. Similarly, the sphere of education had been under the control of the ‘ulama but
a large number of non-religious schools were founded in the nineteenth century, so challenging their
authority. In this context, the Risalat proposed clarifications of what education should offer
Egyptians, and helped to restore the credibility of the ‘ulama as far as their effect on modern society
was concerned.
Of great significance, is the interpretation of the two types of community with which al-Marsafi
begins his book – al-Umma (the nation) and al-watan (the homeland). His explanations went against
the idea that Islam cannot be reconciled with popular nationalism. On the contrary, al-Marsafi
advanced the view that Islam can in fact embrace pride in the nation. That a senior and esteemed
member of the al-Azhar ‘ulama was putting this opinion forward, highlights the value of
al-Marsafi’s Risalat. Al-Marsafi actually identified eight key popular words at the time, that he
proceeded to describe explicitly in the Risalat: al-Umma (the nation), al-watan (the homeland),
al-hukuma (the government), al-‘adl (justice), al-zulm (injustice), al-siyasa (politics), al-hurriya
(liberty/freedom) and al-tarbiya (upbringing/education).169 Here, we will concentrate on al-Umma
and al-watan as a means of showing how a religious scholar conceptualised fundamental terms in
the language of nationalism.
To al-Marsafi, “a nation [al-Umma] is a group of people bound by a certain tie”.170 He argued that
ties could include language, place or territory, and religion.171 For al-Marsafi, there were huge
similarities between the notion of al-Umma and a national group. The Umma, according to classical
169
Husayn al-Marsafi, Risalat al-Kalem al-Thaman (Treatise on the Eight Words), Cairo, al-Nahda, 1984. Accepted
translations of the eight Arabic terms are used, with the exception of al-Umma and al-watan, both of which have
prompted widespread arguments about which translation is correct. The words are translated here as, we believe,
al-Marsafi would have intended. Al-Umma is widely considered to mean the “worldwide community of Muslims” and
al-watan to be “nation”.
170
Ibid., p.1.
171
Ibid.
83
Islamic doctrine, had essential defining traits: it bonded a community of Muslims sharing religious
ideals contained in a unique holy text, accepting the Holy Prophet and indeed his teachings. Belief
in Islam was of course central to this view, and other tribal or ethnic links were not considered to be
as important as a common faith and adherence to its traditions. The religious connection was thus
essential in al-Marsafi’s theory of the nation as he defined it as a religious entity in which “people
follow a Prophet and commit themselves to his laws”.172 In this sense, al-Marsafi’s terminology
evokes the traditional religious interpretation of al-Umma. Al-Marsafi’s insistence on religious
affiliations was not just aimed at asserting the great importance of the ‘ulama to Egypt’s historical
development, but was also intended to firmly back the indigenous nationalist movement, and more
specifically ‘Urabi’s action to protect “Muslim” Egypt against an impending “non-Muslim” invader,
in the form of British Imperial forces.
Yet for al-Marsafi the overriding national bond in nationhood is common language. He writes that
the “nation that is bound by language is the most proper one because language comes from within
the people.”173 Thus al-Marsafi’s line of reasoning is that the linguistic nation is also the authentic
nation. Here, the scholar also produces a comparison between the language of a nation and the
growth of a tree, saying that both have solid roots allowing healthy and powerful development. Even
if the tree dies, other trees would grow up around it.174 Such organic analogies illustrate the idea of a
linguistic nationalism that runs throughout al-Marsafi’s work. He insists on the importance of the
popular written press to the formation of the nation. Al-Marsafi conjures up the proto-Andersonian
view of the nation being “imagined” as a result of the expansion of capitalist publishing.175
Al-Marsafi is adamant that the language in print publications should be intelligible to the public in
order to educate and stimulate debate, so allowing people to engage because “when a group of
people share the same language, they live in harmony”.176 Al-Marsafi’s emphasis on language as the
foundation of the nation is in fact evocative of the traditional Islamic conception of the Umma: the
Arabic language was considered a fundamental bond for the religious community of the Umma. This
is exemplified by the significance of the Quran – a holy text in Arabic recited in Arabic by all
Muslims around the world, whether they are Arabic speaking or not. Thus, while there are non-
Arabic speaking Muslims in the Umma, the need to study the Quran, and indeed to render it out loud
172
Ibid., p.2.
173
Ibid., p.3.
174
Ibid., p.6.
175
Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities, London, Verso, 1991.
176
Ibid., p.6.
84
in the authentic language, means Arabic is an essential common factor in the lives of all Muslims
within the Islamic Umma, regardless of their mother tongues.
Al-Marsafi’s third factor that helped define a nation was geographical. In al-Marsafi’s opinion, “a
nation bound by territory means a group of people possessing a piece of land that distinguishes them
from other territorial nations like the Egyptian nation or the Hijazi nation”.177 Thus al-Marsafi’s
championing of the “Egyptian nation” does not seem to tally with the universal characteristic of the
Umma. Through resorting to “Egyptian” or ethnic and national delineations to categorise the
concept of the nation, al-Marsafi’s specific interpretation seemed to be at variance with the Umma’s
elementary principle that it not only transcends tribal, ethnic or national bonds, but wider territorial
boundaries too. Egypt’s place within the Ottoman Empire also appeared at odds with al-Marsafi’s
idea of a single Egyptian nation organised along the lines of territory, language and religion. The
Ottoman Empire offered the unifying tie of religion, but by introducing the limitations of geography
and language al-Marsafi seemingly questioned and indeed challenged the legitimacy of the Ottoman
Islamic Umma. This implicit argument was all the more important when made at a time when the
Ottoman Empire was declining and in the context of the growing influence of a determined
nationalist movement in Egypt.
Despite this apparent conflict between al-Marsafi’s insistence on the geographical boundaries of a
nation and the universalism of the Umma, there was in fact a territorial aspect to traditional Islamic
religious communities. The dar al-Islam (abode of Islam) was a key concept in the classical
definition of the Umma. So too was its antithesis dar al-Harb (abode of war).178 Whether for reasons
of defence or expansion, this divide was manifestly connected to the notion of territory as it opposed
the realm of Muslims (living on Muslim lands) to the realm of non-Muslims. Parallels between
al-Marsafi’s idea of the geographical nation-state and the Umma were strengthened when we
consider that, according to al-Marsafi, “the nation must believe that their land is like one’s home
[and] they should defend it with their lives”.179 Al-Marsafi saw holy war as being justified so as to
defend the virtue of dar al-Islam. Defending Muslim territory was morally right, as would be the
case when Egypt was threatened by a non-Muslim British invading force. In the words of al-Marsafi
177
Al-Marsafi, op. cit., p.7.
178
Marshall G. S. Hodgson, The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in World Civilisation, vol. 1: The Classical
Age of Islam, London, University of Chicago Press, 1974, pp.71-100, 187-30. See also John L. Esposito, The Oxford
Dictionary of Islam, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2003, p.62.
179
Al-Marsafi, op. cit., p.9.
85
“nobody should be allowed in one’s home unless for service, visiting or living but even for these
purposes there are certain limits”.180
Thus the three ties of nationhood advanced by al-Marsafi can be reconciled with the Umma. There
were two other consequential aspects of al-Marsafi’s work that displayed an Umma-style moral
dimension to the conceptualisation of the nation-state. The morality of the nation as a community
was of utmost importance to al-Marsafi. He also put great emphasis on the moral imperative behind
the people’s actions that were paramount to the progress and indeed success of the nation.
Accordingly, for al-Marsafi, tolerance and justice underpinned the strength of a nation, while
intolerance generated its decline, for example.181 Al-Marsafi also believed there should be constant
debate between members of society, with young and old working out the best manner in which to
resolve differences, with the nation-state more generally recognising peoples’ rights as well as their
duties towards it.182
It is in al-Marsafi’s chapter on al-watan that he dealt with the subject of rights and duties more
comprehensively. He employed the term watan in a broad sense to mean “homeland,” while
explaining that there were many different types of homeland, all created for differing circumstances.
He clarified that a public homeland, for example, was a “piece of land that a community would
consider as their place where they would live and work for their land”.183 He also identified a
“private watan” and described it as an individual’s home and indeed the place where an individual’s
soul resides.184 Thus al-watan was distinctly linked by al-Marsafi to residency: “the house, the
district, the village, the country, the world and globe are watan because they are places of
residency”.185
The meaning of al-watan proposed by al-Marsafi exceeded the mere boundaries of the nation.
However, he insisted that the rights of the watan should adhere perfectly to those he saw fit to be
granted to the nation. He emphasised rights and duties that should be enjoyed by all members of the
watan, in all spheres. Anyone, whether operating in private or public life, had a moral imperative to
uphold these principles. As an example of this imperative, al-Marsafi drew a parallel between urban
180
Ibid., p.6. This refers to European colonialists entering Egypt and growing prosperous through the country’s
modernisation.
181
Ibid., p.12.
182
Ibid.
183
Ibid.
184
Ibid., p.14.
185
Ibid., p.15.
86
and rural life, stating that the areas symbolised two kinds of watan. He argued that the populations
of cities had a civic duty to maintain thoroughfares in good order, while the government has a
similar duty to keep citizens and their livestock safe by curbing traffic to manageable limits and
providing walkways for pedestrians.186 Thus a nation’s rights are ultimately drawn from its citizens’
own sense of civic duty and responsibility to the nation, where “everybody should believe that his
country needs his time and effort and when people have this feeling, it will benefit their own
security and they would never hesitate in helping their own country”.187 It was in this way that
al-Marsafi brought to the fore the moral dimensions of the nation (or watan): he encouraged
members of communities to act along ethical principles, while stressing the concept of the nation as
a moral community, preserving the rights of these people.
In his depiction of the nation as an ethical entity, al-Marsafi made Islam, and the religious scholars
who uphold its laws, its focal point. The Risalat lists episodes from the life and teachings of the
Prophet Muhammad to illustrate right conduct and relate them to the characteristics and
requirements of both the Umma and watan. These two types of community clearly had common
features, but for al-Marsafi, the morality of the nation was centred on Islam, and the ‘ulama’s ability
to “call people to do good deeds and dismiss them from doing the wrong ones”.188 The ‘ulama’s role
within the nation was deemed crucial by al-Marsafi, who placed them in a historical continuity: they
represented a direct link between the Prophet Muhammad and his Companions, through to the first
Imams and their methods of legal interpretation, and ultimately the modern ‘ulama whose primary
duty was to explain the Quran and Hadith, and thus provide a moral guide to upright behaviour for
the community as a whole.
Al-Marsafi’s definition of the Umma gave prominence to the function of common faith in society.
He emphasised that the nation’s bonds became stronger through “holding fast to the rope of God”.189
Religion was, for al-Marsafi, not only a unifying factor, but it also ensured that the nation remained
just and equitable. However, al-Marsafi also warned against people steering of the ethical, moral
path as laid out in the original teachings and sacred texts of Islam, writing that “people tend to forget
and get distracted by other things”.190 Thus, al-Marsafi believed that when religion was undermined,
186
Ibid., p.19.
187
Ibid.
188
Ibid., p.19.
189
Ibid., p.10.
190
Ibid., p.19.
87
society as a whole was made more vulnerable: it diminished its sense of common purpose, led to its
gradual decay, and opened it up to foreign menace. ‘Ulama of all kind, reactionary and reformist,
concurred with this view at the time, seeing correctly applied moral lessons as being vital as a
barrier against the influence and intrusions from non-Muslim forces. Al-Marsafi was pointing to
European penetration and the very specific threat of British invasion at the end of the nineteenth
century. He called on “a group of people for the sake of reforming an entire nation”. 191 Although al-
Marsafi did not say exactly who he was referring to, there is no doubt from his writing that the
‘ulama would have been involved.
However, al-Marsafi avoids viewing the entire ‘ulama corps as a single, cohesive unit. Instead, he
concedes that, while the “orators of the pulpit [are] more skilled than the public”192 at interpreting
the holy texts of Islam, some simply tend to “memorising words whose meanings they don’t
understand”.193 Examining the role of the ‘ulama from a historical perspective, al-Marsafi notes how
the early ‘ulama “established the discipline of the fundamentals of religion [and] purified the
authentic pillars of Islam”.194 In time, the religious scholars adopted intellectual and legal methods
to analyse the holy Islamic texts and guarantee that their implementation in everyday life remained
appropriate and relevant to the community. But there were splits between different schools of
interpretation, and some of these divisions descended into confrontations between these groups. It
was in this way that the ‘ulama became politicised, as rulers got involved in their battles and, in
turn, ‘ulama formed alliances with those power brokers. This was how the ‘ulama were corrupted,
al-Marsafi claimed.195
Al-Marsafi thus saw an era of intense internal dissension within the corps of religious scholars as
being the time when these ‘ulama took to politics. As a result, Egyptians started to mistrust the
‘ulama, who instead of acting for the benefit of the community, appeared to be more interested in
currying favour with rulers who had an undue amount of influence over them.196 Religious
affiliations weakened because of this politicisation, and this had a highly negative impact on the
191
Ibid., p.20.
192
Ibid., p.21. Al-Marsafi alludes to both the ‘ulama and the minbar, the place in a mosque from which ‘ulama deliver
sermons.
193
Ibid., Al-Marsafi is describing the way Muslims committed the Quran to memory, believing that such a practice kept
the holy book in the way God intended, and made sure it would not be altered in any way.
194
Ibid., p.23, Al-Marsafi here refers to the foundation of the ‘ulama as a corps following the death of the Prophet
Muhammad and the four Rashidun Caliphs.
195
Ibid., pp.14-16.
196
Ibid.
88
unity of the nation, said al-Marsafi. In effect, the religious ties which held Egypt together were
threatened by the ‘ulama’s politicking. The moral and intellectual vacuum diminished the strength
of the nation, al-Marsafi argued. Such a view presents a disunited ‘ulama as harming the nation,
while a united corps, and the religion they represent, benefit the cohesion of the nation. In this sense,
al-Marsafi placed Islam as the moral cornerstone of the Egyptian nation, with the ‘ulama’s duty to
protect it. Al-Marsafi’s summed the idea up, by writing that the ‘ulama were “like Prophets but
without Revelation [and] are the guardians of the Revelation who explain its content to the people
and educate them through this Revelation”.197
Again, the Risalat needs to be understood in the context of the year in which it was published, 1882.
It was the time when a forceful political movement galvanised vast popular appeal and took part in
the revolt by Egyptian nationalists led by Ahmad ‘Urabi. Al-Marsafi’s work was by no means
available to a majority of Egyptians, and cannot directly claim responsibility for the mass appeal of
‘Urabi’s nationalist movement. However, the Risalat certainly did play an essential part in the
uprising by influencing Egypt’s intellectuals, and especially religious scholars. For the ‘ulama, the
author of the Risalat who came from a family of esteemed scholars, was an eminent ‘alim in his own
right. Al-Marsafi was considered an accomplished writer who had wide experience teaching at
Egypt’s greatest seats of learning – al-Azhar and Dar al-‘Ulum. His peers saw him as an elite
scholar who could be described as one of the most respected and influential ‘ulama of the day.198
Al-Marsafi’s standing as a high-ranking ‘alim and a pro-nationalist was made clear when he joined
other senior ‘ulama in the signing of the fatwa that dethroned Khedive Tawfiq as Egypt’s ruler in
July 1882. Not only was al-Marsafi’s Risalat of great interest to the ‘ulama, but so was his
significant discourse on nationalism, as it applied to Egypt. This inspired extensive discussions on
this issue amidst a large number of them. It did not matter whether other religious scholars agreed
with al-Marsafi’s interpretation of the concepts of nationhood and “fatherland” (the popularity of his
views among the ‘ulama was not accurately recorded).What is certain, however, is that al-Marsafi’s
work shows how elite religious scholars were drawn into contributing to the domestic political
arena, and particularly towards the nationalist movement. It was this political consciousness – one
that was to oppose both Ottoman and British rule – that was to spread across Egypt, with the ‘ulama
playing a key role in this anti-imperialist development.
197
Ibid., p.22.
198
Wendell, op. cit., p.135. See also J. M. Ahmed, op. cit.; Hourani, op. cit.; and Al-Rafi’i, op. cit., ʿAsr Ismaʿil, vol. II.
89
Chapter Two
Chapter Two:
Anti-Imperialist Ire
&
The Politicisation of Egypt in the Twentieth Century
90
Chapter Two: Anti-Imperialist Ire & The Politicisation of Egypt in the Twentieth Century
Egyptian nationalism was often confused with Arab nationalism per se in the late 19th and early 20th
centuries. Nationalism across the Arab World was not an all-encompassing movement, however. In
fact, the kind of nationalism to be found in Egypt at the time was a result of the country’s unique
history and geographical position. The invasion by French forces under Napoleon Bonaparte in 1789
was to start a wholly different type of nationalist movement for Egypt, as it related to others in the
Arab world. Napoleon and his military ensured that Egypt was effectively separated from all the
other countries in the Ottoman Empire. After the French left in 1801, Muhammad ʿAli was
nominally an Ottoman governor when he came to power in1805, but in reality he took charge of an
autonomous state which the Ottomans struggled to influence, let alone control.1
By the time Muhammad ʿAli died in 1849, however, Egyptian sovereignty had been eroded by the
growing economic might of adventurist colonial powers. The ʿUrabi Revolt, an uprising which
started in 1879 against the Khedive and increasing European influence in Egypt, was crushed in
1882,2 heralding a new period of Egyptian history which got underway following the invasion and
Occupation by British forces in the same year.3 The turn from the nineteenth to the twentieth century
once again saw Egypt being used as a place for the Ottoman and British Empires to pursue their
power games; specifically in episodes such as the Taba Crisis in which a border dispute turned into a
battle of wills backed up by military power – one which involved a pan-Islamic front made up of
Egyptians and Ottomans against a Britain determined to ensure the security of strategic assets like
the Suez Canal. Britain’s unwavering reliance on the harshest form of summary justice to maintain
its power was illustrated by the Dinshawai Incident. It cast a dark cloud over the end of colonial
administrator Lord Cromer’s period in Egypt.
It was against this tumultuous background that Egypt was in a singular position to foster a brand of
feeling and behaviour which became arguably the best known (and indeed most effective) of the
differing nationalist movements which swept across the Arab world.4
1
Henry Dodwell, The Founder of Modern Egypt: A Study of Muhammad ‘Ali, 2nd ed., Cambridge, Cambridge University
Press, 2011, and George Antonius, The Arab Awakening, New York, Capricorn Books, 1965, Chapter 4.
2
Robert Tignor, op. cit., pp.239-48.
3
For a narrative on British rule in Egypt see Robert Tignor, Modernization and British Colonial Rule in Egypt 1882-
1914, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1966.
4
Hourani, op. cit., pp.273-79, 362-63.
91
What was clear was that Egypt at the beginning of the 20th century was very different to
neighbouring countries in the Ottoman Empire. As a nation, Egypt was not only seeking
independence from its British imperial masters, but also from the Ottomans. Egypt was the first
overwhelmingly Muslim territory to express a desire to be politically independent from the Ottoman
Empire. What also distinguished Egypt’s hallmark nationalism was that the country was seeking to
break away from an Islamic ruler – the Ottoman Caliph – at a time when the Ottoman Empire had
not collapsed. Thus Egypt developed unique nationalistic policies and strategies. These became
viewed as a benchmark by which to measure the success of nationalist movements in the Arab and
Muslim worlds.
Egyptian nationalism during this period was noted for being underpinned by a strong unity in views,
purpose and action. Throughout the 19th century, Egypt was developing into a country set aside from
so many other surrounding Arab states. As it struggled to replace institutions embedded in the
infrastructure of the Ottoman Empire with more modern ones, it had a state education system which
deliberately championed an Egyptian form of “exceptionalism”.
The distinct nature of Egyptian society and history was advanced at every opportunity, especially
following Occupation by British forces in 1882. The arrival of troops and administrators from the
United Kingdom highlighted, rather than diminished, this sense of a special Egyptian identity. This
period coincided with increased intervention by Ottoman rulers in their territories around Egypt. The
British presence not only stirred up a strong sense of Egyptian nationalism, but also succeeded in
strengthening loyalties among some Egyptians for the Ottoman Empire.
This chapter will analyse the manifestation of anti-Imperialist ire fostered against Britain, focusing
on key moments and incidents which acted as the catalyst for massive social change. As discussed in
our first chapter, the ‘Urabi Revolt, which took place in the build up to the First World War was
arguably the first true revolution in modern Egyptian history, and rallied thousands against western
colonisers. The irregular Egyptian army involved found support from numerous members of
Egyptian society in what turned out to be an indisputably patriotic conflict against invading British
forces. This first expression of Egyptian nationalism assisted greatly in a revolt which was doomed
in the short term, but which ultimately united huge numbers of Egyptians in a manner which would
later carry them forward towards limited independence. Crucially, the Taba Crisis, which almost
started a regional war involving the two dominant Empires operating in Egypt, and the Dinshawai
92
Incident, which revealed the reactionary spirit of the British Empire at its harshest, also ultimately
inspired a strong anti-colonial position in Egyptian society. This chapter will first of all concentrate
on these two spectacular displays of British Imperial might and repression. It will then demonstrate
how the loosening of British control caused by the departure of Lord Cromer in 1907 consolidated
nationalist ambitions. It will eventually be argued that all these elements would lead to a pivotal
moment in the articulation and spread of nationalist ideals, with the setting up of formal political
parties providing mouthpieces for the population at large. As such, all the below aspects will be
taken into account.
Indeed, the experience of being linked to the industrial democracies of Europe, albeit through
Empire, had a huge influence on nationalist aspirations. Ties with Britain not only reduced the
strength of Egypt’s economic relationship with neighbours, but also produced an educated, articulate
and aspirational class who had worked closely with a growing number of European colonists.
Egyptian bureaucrats, land owners/managers and politicians were among the new elite who were
able to rally the rest of the population towards political action.
This “modern” and increasingly secular class of Egyptians gradually replaced the traditional “Arab”
and indeed “Muslim” class who had previously generated public support through regional and local
clubs and societies. Radical ideas articulated by the new classes were combined with nostalgia for
Egyptian ancient history, evoking the glories of the Pharaohs, and a culture which was revered all
over the world. That modern-ancient identity came to lessen the attraction of a traditional religious
identity centred on Islam and what it meant to be an Arab.
Thus, this chapter will emphasise the over-riding European cultural and political forces which
moulded Egyptian nationalism at the turn of the twentieth century. This preponderance of European
doctrines applied as much to the “new intellectuals” as it did to Egyptian scholars influenced by
their state-sponsored trips to countries like Britain and France, where they used the very ideas
learned from their colonial masters to push for their own independence.
Towards the start of the twentieth century, however, the dynamic of modernisation within Egypt
started to come from private organisations and individuals operating within the state, rather than
from the state itself. Private money began to fund a variety of groups, whether in the professional or
social fields. Such innovation promoted the circulation of ideas, not least of all those associated with
political change. In simple terms, nationalism was becoming sponsored privately, rather than by the
93
government – a crucial but often overlooked aspect. People were drawn away from the concept of a
single leader and his administration directing society, towards private individuals spearheading
progress. Change within the “public sphere” in Egyptian society was generated by a class of “new
intellectuals” who were to disseminate ideas about identity and nationalism.
A secular agenda was, in the meantime, expressed by a different group of reformers. All paid great
attention to what was being suggested by Muslim modernisers, but their views were slanted towards
a less religious age. As the great debates of the day concentrated on crucial subjects, such as national
identity, Islamic reform and social issues including gender equality, a form of nationalism uniquely
geared towards Egyptian society began to emerge. The two men who perhaps proved most
influential in shaping this early consensus were Mustafa Kamil and Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid. So it
was that the thinking of Egypt’s intellectual elites came to be propagated among the population as a
whole – a development which would have a huge impact on society in the build up to the 1919
Revolution.
The Taba Crisis of 1906
British Imperial might was, once again, to be the deciding factor in the diplomatic row of early 1906
which became known as the Taba Dispute. It saw Britain and the Ottoman Empire arguing over a
previously undefined line of demarcation in the Sinai Peninsula, west of ʿAqaba. What appeared at
first to be a minor incident in which two sets of military personnel met – one British, one Ottoman –
escalated to such an extent that the Royal Navy steamed towards Istanbul, threatening war.
While the row, and the resulting settlement, serves as a classic case study of how military-backed
diplomacy between Empires worked in the pre-First World War period, it is what the Taba Dispute
said about Egyptian nationalism during this period which is of particular interest. As an Ottoman
Province, Egypt’s relationship with its British occupiers became increasingly strained after the 1882
invasion. The Ottomans had been allies of the British for much of the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries, but as Egypt became of crucial strategic and commercial importance to the British,
tensions mounted. Britain’s new ability to send shipping through the Suez Canal rather than around
the Horn of Africa greatly simplified travel from Britain to India, which – as Egypt – was
considered a Jewel in the Crown of Empire. The British viewed a secure Egypt as being essential to
maintaining access to the Canal, and this was one of the main reasons for the Taba Dispute.
94
The Ottoman Empire claimed control of the Sinai region, which had traditionally always belonged
to the Egyptians, but the British feared that if the Turks gained a foothold in the Sinai desert they
would be able to push for control of the Suez Canal. To add to the complications, the Ottomans
wanted to build a railway connecting ʿAqaba to the Suez Canal5 – a project which would put the
Turks in a position to move from the centre of their Empire to one of the most important logistical
assets in the British Empire in a very short amount of time.
Lord Cromer, who was the principal British official in Egypt from 1883 until 1907 in his capacity as
Consul-General, dominated negotiations over the Taba Dispute,6 mainly using the calculated bluster
which had turned him into such a great Imperialist. While efforts were made to modernise Egypt
during the Occupation, Lord Cromer’s overriding position was to view the Egyptian people with
suspicion. British interests always remained paramount. Following a mixture of diplomacy and
military brinkmanship, the British neutralised the threat from the Ottomans during the Taba Dispute,
and reaffirmed their command over the region. However, the episode awakened the danger to
Britain coming from the East, and increased British attention for Syria and Palestine as potential
buffers between the deeper Middle East and Egypt.
The capitulation of the Ottoman Sultan ʿAbdul Hamid II and the granting of what the British wanted
was the end result of the Taba Dispute. The increasingly ineffective Ottoman leader, who had never
wanted to see Britain occupy Egypt, handed over thousands of square miles of territory to Egypt,
and so to the British, who got their formal border in the Sinai Peninsula.7
The Taba Dispute started in January 1906 when British Camel Corps officer Wilfrid Jennings-
Bramly was ordered by British Military Intelligence, which was under the auspices of Sir Reginald
Wingate, Sirdar of the Egyptian Army, to go to the ʿAqaba area to build a guard post for the
Egyptian border police. Bramly and four Egyptian policemen arrived at Naqb al-ʿAqaba on
5 January to set up a fort. ʿAbdul Hamid had been warned by the Ottoman governor of Syria in
December8 about the possibility of a fort being erected. Seeing the fort as a direct menace to
Ottoman sovereignty over ʿAqaba itself, the Sultan constructed two guard posts of his own in the
5
The Times, 9 May 1906. The idea never materialised because of the conditions of the terrain.
6
John Burman, ‘British Strategic Interests versus Ottoman Sovereign Rights: New Perspectives on the ʿAqaba Crisis,
1906’ in The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, vol. 37, no. 2, June 2009, p.276.
7
Ibid., p.275
8
See Private Papers of W.E. Jennings-Bramly, Frontier Administration Officer in the Sinai Peninsula, 1902-1947, at the
Royal Geographic Society in London.
95
area – land he believed was Ottoman territory, as set out in letters between Cevad Pas, then Grand
Vizier, and Cairo in 1892.
There had always been vagueness about where the line between Ottoman and Egyptian territory in
the Sinai Peninsula lay, and Cromer was determined to clarify the border. He chose to highlight his
preference in a statement in the Egyptian Official Gazette of 13 April 1892. It pointed to the town of
Tor Sinai, bordered by a line from immediately east of al-Arish, on the Mediterranean, to the head
of the Gulf of ʿAqaba.9 This border would ensure Egypt, and thus Britain, assumed control of the
whole of the Sinai Peninsula. The Ottoman response to Cromer’s statement was to say nothing about
it and then, on 9 January 1906, to order Bramly to withdraw to Nakhl in central Sinai.10 The
Ottomans then set both diplomatic and military initiatives in motion aimed at showing the British
how unhappy they were to have Cromer’s forces so close to ʿAqaba.
Egyptian intellectuals argued that the Ottomans’ desire to build a railway towards British interests
was the main cause of the dispute. Muhammad Rashid Ridha supported such a view in his Cairo-
based newspaper, al-Manar.11 Ridha, whose general ideas centred on establishing Egypt as a united
Islamic state, was a hugely important scholar, influenced as he was by the Salafi movement founded
in Cairo by Muhammad ʿAbduh. As will be discussed at length later, the use of the burgeoning
Egyptian press to disseminate opinions was typical of how nationalist ideals were being developed
and spread at the time.
While the dispute was being resolved, British propaganda was regularly offered as a means of
bolstering the country’s position. Cromer was particularly focused on foreign powers being behind
the dispute, and Germany in particular. The theory was that the Germans wanted the Ottomans to
oppose British expansion in the area – a belief given credibility when a large number of Arabic
language anti-English and anti-French pamphlets were distributed around Cairo. They all pointed
out that Germany alone was the friend of the Sultan and of all Muslims.
The long period of diplomatic negotiations also saw the Sultan supported by Mustafa Kamil’s
al-Liwa newspaper (The Standard). An editorial on 22 April endorsed the Ottoman claim to the
Sinai Peninsula over Egypt, while an 8 May editorial called for all Egyptians to back the Ottomans
in the dispute. Kamil also ordered a strike at the Cairo Law School, which Cromer had to intervene
9
Burman, op. cit., p.279.
10
Ibid., p.278.
11
Muhammad Rashid Rida, ‘Masʾalat al-ʿAqaba’ in al-Manar, vol. 9, April 1906, pp.231–33.
96
in personally. Local opposition encouraged Cromer to try to persuade the Foreign Office that the
dispute had wider international implications, but the Ottomans ignored British demands to leave
Taba.12
It was Cromer who said that if talks failed they should “send a British fleet steaming towards
Constantinople”.13 Cromer’s belligerence was that “the result was a stiff ultimatum to the Sultan in
early May demanding the withdrawal of his troops from Taba within 10 days, backed up by orders
to British warships to persuade in the general direction of the Dardanelles, seizing ‘island after
island’ on the way”.14 This Gunboat Diplomacy worked, as so often in the past. The Ottoman force
in Taba capitulated, leaving the Ottoman authorities to take part in a joint delimitation of the
frontier, which was signed on 1 October. If the Turks had acted more diplomatically it would have
been difficult to justify such bellicose action over such a small incident.
Cromer had received warnings that the Ottomans intended to strengthen their garrison around
ʿAqaba, including one from the future Times reporter, Philip Graves, who visited Maʿan, north-east
of ʿAqaba, in May 1905. The Sinai Peninsula took on huge strategic importance following the
building of the Suez Canal, as it was effectively the buffer against Ottoman expansion towards the
waterway. Following days of wrangling between the parties involved, the Khedive sent the
following telegram to the Porte on 15 January 1906. Written under Cromer’s instruction, it read:
The frontier between Egypt and the Ghaza region has never been clearly
determined so, following representations made to me by His Excellency the
Imperial Commissioner, I invite Your Highness to nominate a special
administrator to head to the area and make contact with an ad hoc
commission formed by the Egyptian Government to delimit the border in
this area.
Meanwhile, a Royal Navy cruiser, HMS Diana, was sent to the Gulf of ʿAqaba, prompting the
Sultan to complain about an escalation. By February, the dispute had turned into an aggressive
stand-off. The undoubted instigator was Cromer, who pushed constantly for the border to be defined
and for Ottoman expansion to be contained so as to preserve the security of the Suez Canal.
Cromer’s strategic achievement was confirmed in the early months of the First World War, in 1915,
12
George Haddad, ‘Mustafa Kamil: A Self-Image from his Correspondence with Juliette Adam’ in The Muslim World,
vol. 63, no. 2, 1973, p.137.
13
Dispatch of 7 April 1907, quoted in Rashid Khalidi, British Policy Towards Syria and Palestine 1906-1914, London,
Ithaca Press, 1980, pp.32-3.
14
Grey to Cromer, 3 May 1906, FO 800/46, The National Archives of the United Kingdom (hereafter TNA), quoted in
Roger Owen, Lord Cromer: Victorian Imperialist, Edwardian Proconsul, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2004, p.334.
97
when Ottoman forces took a full 10 days to cross the Sinai Peninsula in an unsuccessful bid to seize
the Suez Canal.
Cromer and the British Agency in Cairo fought tirelessly against the Ottomans for British interests,
while nominally using Egypt as their pawn – a fact which did not impress indigenous Egyptians who
felt they were being used in an imperial power game. The sense of powerless Egyptian outrage
intensified a few months later when, in June 1906, a summary court trial saw ordinary Egyptian
villagers executed after being accused of murdering a British officer.
The radical nationalist Mustafa Kamil, for example, made it clear that he was supporting the
Ottoman Empire against the British rulers of Egypt. Indeed, the Taba Crisis was demonstrating
sharply British control over Egyptian territory – something which provoked the ire of the
nationalists in Egypt.15 It was to lead to Cromer acting with typical belligerence, asking for an
increase in British garrisons in Egypt. Cromer kept requesting more troops, calling for “public
confidence” in British security to be maintained.16 Troops were regularly marching through the
“native quarter” of Cairo, and the Egyptian police were disarmed in Buhaira.17
Cromer’s special talent was to continually demand British resources to be pumped into Egypt to
bolster his country’s own Empire. He successfully argued that strategic assets including the Suez
Canal made an essential Imperial bastion, and regional issues, such as British commerce in
neighbouring countries in the Ottoman Empire, should be of secondary concern. Cromer’s status as
a robust and highly respected statesman with vast experience across the jewels of Britain’s
international domain meant Egypt remained at the forefront of British foreign policy decisions.
The Dinshawai Incident of 1906
A pivotal point in the historical relationship between Egyptians and their colonial British masters
came in June 1906 with the Dinshawai Incident. In comparison to the mass worldwide violence
which was to characterise the second decade of the 20th century, and the casualties they caused, it
was a small event – one centred more on repressive colonial arrogance than widespread killing. But
the British response to what George Bernard Shaw would go on to call the “The Dinshawai
15
G. Haddad, op. cit., p.137.
16
Cromer to Grey, 21 May 1906, PRO, FO 141/397 quoted in Owen, op. cit., p.335.
17
Ibid.
98
Horror”18 was to have far-reaching repercussions, and indeed grave ones as far as the country’s hold
on a prestigious Imperial asset was concerned.
It was on 13 June 1906 that five British officers (three Englishmen and two Irishmen led by Major
John Edward Pine-Coffin, a Boer War veteran who had been used to wielding brutal colonial power
in South Africa) went pigeon shooting in the Egyptian Delta village of Dinshawai, in the Menufiyya
Governorate. With the soldiers were an Egyptian interpreter and a local police official. Locals in
Dinshawai raised pigeons in conical pigeon-cotes, primarily for food. The year before, in 1905,
other British military personnel had enquired about shooting pigeons there but, following
protestations, the British Army banned further hunting in the area. The exact details of what
happened during the 1906 Incident are often muddled, but the gist as outlined in the summary court
case, which ensued the Dinshawai Incident is as follows:
The soldiers had first of all split into two groups, and insisted that permission for the hunting had
come from the ʿumdeh, the effective chief of Dinshawai.19 All of the officers later stated that they
had been “guests” of the villagers, and had agreed to shoot a good 100 yards away from the
residential centre of the village, but as they started their hunt, a threshing floor in Dinshawai caught
fire. The Dinshawai residents were furious at losing the pigeons, and, as the fire spread, were in
increasingly angry mood. There was no sign of the ʿumdeh who had allegedly allowed the British to
kill the birds. Some of the villagers started to throw stones at the British, who responded with gun
fire. An already tense situation was exacerbated when the wife of Muhammad ʿAbd al-Nebi the
prayer leader at the local mosque, was shot dead. This led to the Egyptian mob growing in size, as
the attack on the British continued. As the officers’ live fire intensified, five Egyptians were
wounded. The fire in ʿAbd al-Nebi’s grain store raged, meanwhile, and he hit one of the British
officers with a stick. Al-Nebi was then joined in his attack on the British by Hassan Mahfouz, the
man whose pigeons had been killed.
The fight then turned against the British soldiers. Major Pine-Coffin ordered his officers to surrender
their weapons, along with their watches and money, but this failed to appease the enraged villagers.
Three were held captive but then let go. Two managed to escape, with one, a Captain Bull, dying
18
Bernard Shaw, John Bull's Other Island and Major Barbara, New York, NY, Brentano’s, 1907.
19
Foreign Office, Correspondence Respecting the Attack on British Officers at Denshawai, London, Printed for HMSO
by Harrison and Sons, 1906, pp.703-5.
99
from a combination of a blow to the head and sunstroke a few miles from the village.20 The second
British soldier who managed to escape was able to return to his garrison and raise the alarm. 21 An
Egyptian who tried to help the dying soldier was mistaken as a murderer and killed by the British.
Some 50 to 70 Dinshawai villagers were then arrested by the British (the exact number has varied).
Before considering details of the summary trial which followed the Dinshawai Incident, and its
effect on British rule in Egypt, it is worth outlining how autocratic Britain’s administration of Egypt
had been since Sir Evelyn Baring, Lord Cromer,22 was made Consul-General. The background to his
appointment to this hugely powerful position goes back to 1876 when the British and French agreed
on the Dual Control of Egypt to assist it in its grave financial difficulties. British rule had also been
strengthened immeasurably by military force after the London government agreed to occupy Egypt
following the ʿUrabi Revolt. Thus the reform of Egypt’s administration and fiscal system was used
by the British as an excuse to remain in Egypt following the ʿUrabi Revolt.
Imperial stability was offered to the indigenous population of Egypt as a means of sorting out their
considerable structural problems. Although Egypt’s Khedives were nominally running the country
under the supervision of the Ottoman Sultan, their actual ability to implement decisions was feeble.
Khedive Tawfiq officially reigned from 1879 to 1892, and Khedive ʿAbbas II from 1892 until 1914,
but the British were very much in charge throughout this period. The economy was in the hands of
British advisors, who made sure their Egyptian colleagues rubber-stamped their resolutions.
These colonialist controllers clamped down on any attempts by the Egyptians to carry out policy
unilaterally. For example, any possibility by the Egyptians to raise money to re-invade Sudan was
nullified because it showed fiscal irresponsibility while Egypt was trying to pay off its massive
debts. Lord Cromer personally intervened in such matters, using his status as the ultimate power
broker in Egypt, which was established at the beginning of the Occupation, from September 1882
until November 1883. Cromer sought backing for this position from London, and, agreeing to assist,
British Foreign Secretary George Granville issued the Grandville Doctrine.23 It stated:
20
Captain Bull was hit over the head repeatedly, and knocked out. Concussion and heatstroke were confirmed as the
cause of death by British medics. Sessional Papers, 1906, Egypt No. 3, Vol. 87, British Parliamentary Papers, House of
Commons, pp.10,16.
21
Ibid., p.16.
22
Baring was made a Baron in 1892 and given the title Lord Cromer. He was made a Viscount in 1898 and an Earl in
1901. ʿAfaf Lutfi al-Sayyid-Marsot, Egypt and Cromer: A Study in Anglo-Egyptian Relations, London, John Murray,
1968, p.82. To avoid any confusion, he will be referred to as Lord Cromer or Cromer throughout.
23
Ibid., p.57.
100
It should be made clear to the Egyptian Ministers and Governors of

Provinces that the responsibility which for the time rests on England obliges
Her Majesty’s Government to insist on the adoption of the policy which they
recommend, and that it will be necessary that those Ministers and Governors
who do not follow this course should cease to hold their offices.24
In other words, Cromer, who had next to no respect for the indigenous Egyptians as far as running
their own affairs was concerned, would guarantee that any of them who disagreed with British
recommendations would be removed. Cromer’s firm belief that essential Egyptian reforms needed to
be implemented as part of Britain’s Occupation,25 but not by the allegedly poorly educated and
inefficient Egyptians, was explained as follows:
It is absurd to suppose that a nation which has for centuries been exposed to
the worst form of misgovernment at the hands of a succession of rulers, from
Pharaohs to Pashas, can suddenly, on the strength of a superficial education
imparted to a few youths at the Government schools, acquire all the qualities
necessary to the exercise of full rights of autonomy with advantage to itself
or to those interested in its welfare.26
Cromer not only had the last say in any proposed action in the Sudan, but in any other policies
pursued by the Egyptians. In a memorandum issued on 8 September 1906, Cromer further stated that
“the system under which the country is governed, and which has grown up under the force of
circumstances, is opposed to every sound political and administrative principle”.27 Such reasoning
saw Cromer offer a form of control of Egypt which always made certain that the interests of the
British Empire take precedent over local views.28 The Consul-General and his staff were perfectly
satisfied to make policy decisions without paying any attention whatsoever to what the Egyptians
themselves wanted.
As far as the Dinshawai Incident was concerned, Cromer used his immense authority to set up the
legal machinery for emergency tribunals to deal “swiftly and summarily” with violence against his
occupying soldiers.29 Cromer was not altogether unhappy with processes organised by the
Egyptians, but crimes against the British Army carried out by locals were always a special case, and
24
Quoted in Ibid.
25
Ibid., p.57.
26
British Documents on Foreign Affairs: ‘The Near and Middle East; Britain, Egypt and the Sudan, 1885–1914’, Vol.
15, United Kingdom Foreign Office, p.407.
27
Ibid., pp.412-13.
28
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, op. cit., Egypt and Cromer, p.62.
29
Owen, op. cit., Lord Cromer, p.336.
101
Cromer believed that special measures enshrined by Khedival Decree were an absolute necessity. A
draft copy of the specific Khedival Decree concerning emergency courts was submitted by Cromer
to the Egyptian government, and ratified on 25 February 1895.30
Its aim was as much to do with deterrence as punishment,31 as Cromer looked to see any efforts at
violent dissent by the Egyptians against the British crushed at the earliest opportunity. No appeals
against sentences would be permitted and summary punishments would also be carried out as soon
as possible.32 Special tribunals would be adjudicated by both British and Egyptian officials,33 and
would follow an order by the Consul-General himself, along with the Commanding General of the
British Army of Occupation, in line with the consent of the Foreign Secretary in London. Rather
than abiding by the accepted penal code for Egypt, the special tribunal could hand down any
punishment it considered appropriate, depending on the severity of the crime.
Dinshawai was just the kind of incident which Cromer had always envisaged the Khedival Decree
dealing with. Agreement to invoke it over Dinshawai was taken with British commander, Major-
General G. M. Bullock.34 Among the figures defending the villagers was the prominent lawyer and
politician Lutfi al-Sayyid. The President of the court was an Egyptian, a senior Cabinet member,
Boutros Ghali (grandfather of the later United Nations Secretary-General Boutros Boutros-Ghali),
who sat with another Egyptian, Ahmad Fathi Zaghlul (lawyer and brother of the future nationalist
leader Saʿad Zaghlul). But the judge who mattered most was the British Vice-President, Sir Walter
Bond. Bond, like other British officials at the time, barely spoke a word of Arabic. Cromer’s Chargé
d’Affaires, Mansfeld Findlay, sat at the trial in the Consul-General’s absence. This was simply for
logistical reasons – Cromer was in England at the time.35 Findlay expressed concerns that the
Dinshawai Incident would have widespread political implications. Accordingly he advised that a
swift trial with a verdict that could not be appealed would enable everybody to move on as quickly
as possible, with controversy kept to a minimum.36 Lord Cromer later claimed to have been shocked
by the harsh sentences which were handed down, and told Foreign Secretary Sir Edward Grey, but
both men agreed that overruling the verdicts would be a sign of weakness.
30
Sessional Papers, Egypt No. 3, op. cit., pp.1-2.
31
Ibid., p.1.
32
Ibid., p.4.
33
Ibid.
34
Ibid., p.6.
35
Owen, op. cit., p.336.
36
Sessional Papers, Egypt No. 3, op. cit., pp.13–14.
102
So it was that Lord Cromer and his military and administrative colleagues decided to invoke the
Khedival Decree of 25 February 1895, initiating a summary trial involving the villagers of
Dinshawai who had been implicated in the attack on the British.37 The first day of the court case, in
which both British and Egyptian judges sat, was 24 June 1906, and, three days later, on 27 June
1906, verdicts were handed down following an extremely fast rehearsal of the often muddled
evidence.38 The view was that Captain Bull had been murdered, and so four of Dinshawai’s
residents – Hassan ʿAli Mahfouz, Youssef Hussein Seleem, Saʿid Issa Salin, and Mohammad
Darweesh Zahran – were sentenced to death by hanging.39 Hassan was actually hanged in front of
his own home in the village – something which was considered particularly inflammatory by other
villagers. Muhammad ʿAbd-el-Nebi and another villager, Ahmed ʿAbd al- Mahfouz, were given a
life sentence of penal servitude,40 and 26 residents of Dinshawai were given various terms of hard
labour and ordered to be flogged.41
The Egyptian policeman who had been with the soldiers would not confirm their claim that they
were “guests” and had effectively been given permission to act as they did. He testified in court that
after ʿAbd-el-Nebi’s wife had been shot, the officers he was accompanying all fired on the mob. The
policeman was severely punished for his testimony, with two years in prison and 50 whip lashes.
There was no authorisation of flogging, or indeed of hanging, in the penal code,42 yet Cromer
believed it was necessary as part of his policy of deterrence. The Consul-General argued that court
sentences should be “prompt and severe”43 as Egypt adjusted to a transitional period in which
reforms could be implemented by his British collaborators.
A crowd of around 100 people were permitted to watch the horrific punishments carried out in
Dinshawai, surrounded by an enclosure and guarded by 137 British soldiers and Egyptian police.44
37
Ibid., p.5.
38
Ibid., p.14.
39
Ibid., pp.16–17. It has to be noted that those public hangings took place in spite of the fact that they had been abolished
in Egypt some years before.
40
Ibid., p.17.
41
Ibid. For a full account of the trial, the sentences and names of the victims, see Kimberly Luke: ‘Order or Justice: The
Denshawai Incident and British Imperialism’ in History Compass, vol. 5, no. 2, March 2007, pp.278-87.
42
Ibid., p.24. Lord Cromer’s annual Egypt reports always made it clear that the British had put an end to the practice of
the kurbāsh, or heavy whip, which had been used to punish Egyptians for all kinds of alleged crimes, including not
paying their financial dues to the state. Thus, there was a notable contradiction between Cromer’s claims and the way
flogging was performed at Dinshawai. The punishment was not sanctioned by the penal code and so further discredited
the British.
43
Ibid., p.23.
44
Sessional Papers, Egypt No. 3, op. cit., pp.18-20.
103
The nationalist press in Egypt was to make much of this cruelty, describing it as a humiliation
designed to highlight Egyptian subservience to their heavily armed British masters. Under the
Decree which established the special tribunal, none of the sentences could be appealed – a
manifestly unjust state of affairs which furthered the impression of reactionary British rulers
refusing to show any leniency to the Egyptians.
After the punishments were administered, Dinshawai itself lost its ʿumdeh and numerous local
officials were dismissed.45 They were replaced by those approved of by the British, who said that
the person in charge would come from a neighbouring village. While the actual Dinshawai Incident
and the trial relating to it were soon over, its repercussions were enormous: opinion formers
including politicians and scholars all quickly saw it as a hugely significant turning point in the
history of Britain’s control over Egypt.
Egyptian academics and their students spoke openly about the possibility of independence.46 All
stressed the need of all types of Egyptian people to unite towards a common goal, whether their
nationalistic motivations were based on religion, through the Pan-Arabic movement, or through
secular ideas. A speech by Sheikh ʿAli-al-Gerbi in the mosque of Bishri Fakhrion on 12 August
1906 read: “Oh Moslems! Weep over these calamities. Unite yourselves together. Cease following
your desires. Obey not the enemies of Islam, for whom God has prepared fire.”47 After the Sheikh’s
speech, a spy working for the British listened to people in the crowd and heard an Egyptian say: “If
the preachers continue thus, the English will go. ‘No, they must be overthrown’.”48
Pan-Islamism appealed to many Egyptians because of the combination of religion and politics which
they had grown used to during the modernisation of their country during the nineteenth century. Just
as the Ottoman Sultan and Caliph was a consolidated position working within the British Empire, so
Muslims believed they had to fulfil their duties to both their own country, Egypt, and their God,
through their religious devotion.
This was a period of pan-Islamic agitation, however, and Cromer wanted to make sure that any
disturbances were dealt with in the harshest possible way.49 The Taba Crisis revealed the growing
45
Ibid.
46
British Documents on Foreign Affairs, op. cit., p.425.
47
Ibid., p.420.
48
Ibid.
49
Sessional Papers, Egypt No. 3, op. cit., p.23.
104
unpopularity of the British Occupation, and indeed how determined the British were to defend their
strategic and economic interests in Egypt at all costs. The brutality associated with such a committed
mindset was brought into sharp focus during the Dinshawai Incident.50 It was because of his
experiences negotiating Britain’s position in the Taba Dispute, and especially the resolve of the
Ottomans to secure a base close to the Suez Canal, that Cromer was particularly wary of pan-
Islamism.
Cromer warned of a growing Pan-Islamic movement aimed at creating a single region, made up of
different countries including Egypt, for all Muslims. Such a movement appealed to many Egyptian
Muslims, including potential agitators, who rallied against Western, Christian interference. These
increasingly politicised Muslims believed that unification around their religious belief would return
their country to the glory days of the Islamic dynasties of the seventh to the tenth centuries. Cromer
said that “Pan-Islamism [had] quickened into activity all those elements of discord, which close
observers well knew to exist, but which [had] heretofore remained comparatively dormant”.51 The
British Consul-General also argued that Pan-Islam in Egypt would make Egyptians subservient to
the Ottoman Sultan, rather than to the British. In general, Cromer was convinced that a return to the
earliest tenets of Islam would lead to a period of intense racial and religious hatred.52
Cromer had seen the radical forces of Pan-Islam in both Taba and Dinshawai. The Consul-General
considered that, as far as a threat to the British Empire was concerned, Pan-Islamic-based Egyptian
nationalism was a great menace to Britain. Cromer was indeed confident that Pan-Islamism used the
cover of nationalism to gain legitimacy. His means of combating it were, he hoped, ones which
would be persuasive for the British and the Egyptians who aspired to reform gradually under British
rule. Cromer argued that British Imperialism, whether manifested in Egypt or countries like India,
offered an example of how difficult it was to allow democratic government for indigenous people,
while maintaining an Empire at the same time.
Viewing the matter in what he regarded as a paternalistic fashion, Cromer thought that Pan-Islamic
tendencies were best fought by ensuring the Khedive’s support for the Egyptian government.
50
John Marlowe, Cromer in Egypt, New York, Praeger, 1970, pp.264-5.
51
British Documents on Foreign Affairs, op. cit., p.402.
52
Ibid., pp.403-4.
105
Cromer knew that ʿAbbas II was essentially hostile to the British remaining in Egypt,53 and indeed
partially viewed Pan-Islamism as a means of getting rid of them from his country. So it was that
Cromer looked at the Dinshawai as a chance to counter such sentiments, and show off Britain’s
ruthless determination to crush resistance. British colonial administrators believed they had been
fairer and more just rulers than the Ottomans, giving Egyptians a better opportunity of improving
their society, and indeed their day-to-day lives.
The use of the Khedival Decree to deal with the Dinshawai Incident had a devastating effect on the
international opinion of British rule in Egypt, not least of all from Britain itself. The writer and
social reformer George Bernard Shaw expressed his outrage in particularly strong terms in the
“Preface to Politicians” that introduces his 1911 John Bull’s Other Island. After defending Home
Rule for the Irish, Bernard Shaw wrote about “The Dinshawai Horror” thus:
Denshawai is a little Egyptian village in the Nile delta. Besides the

dilapidated huts among the reeds by the roadside, and the palm trees, there
are towers of unbaked brick, as unaccountable to an English villager as a
Kentish coast-house to an Egyptian. These towers are pigeon houses; for the
villagers keep pigeons just as an English farmer keeps poultry. Try to
imagine the feelings of an English village if a party of Chinese officers
suddenly appeared and began shooting the ducks, the geese, the hens and the
turkeys, and carried them off, asserting that they were wild birds, as
everybody in China knew, and that the pretended indignation of the farmers
was a cloak for hatred of the Chinese, and perhaps for a plot to overthrow
the religion of Confucius and establish the Church of England in its place!
Well, that is the British equivalent of what happened at Denshawai.54
Shaw further pointed out:
Ages of the four hanged men respectively, 60, 50, 22 and 20. Hanging,
however, is the least sensational form of public execution: it lacks those
elements of blood and torture for which the military and bureaucratic
imagination lusts. So, as they had room for only one man on the gallows, and
had to leave him hanging half an hour to make sure work and give his family
plenty of time to watch him swinging (“slowly turning round and round on
himself”, as the local paper described it), thus having two hours to kill as
well four men, they kept the entertainment going by flogging eight men with
53
On his first meeting with Khedive ‘Abbas II, who succeeded Khedive Tawfiq after his death on 7 January 1892, Lord
Cromer noted that: “I see that the young Khedive is going to be very Egyptian”. See Mudhakkirat Muhammad Farid,
Part. 1, Tarikh Misr Ibtidan min ‘Am 1891.
54
Shaw, op. cit., p.11.
106
fifty lashes each: eleven more than the utmost permitted by the law of Moses
in times which our Army of Occupation no doubt considers barbarous.55
Shaw was in no doubt that the British reaction to the Egyptian villagers was wholly
disproportionate, adding: “Instead of showing understanding for the peasants self-defence against
the officer’s tactless blundering, the colonial administrators viewed the natives’ actions as a
dangerous popular insurgency that had to be dealt with harshly.”56 Shaw also suggested that
Dinshawai was “more dangerous to the Empire than the loss of ten pitched battles”.57
John Marlowe said of Dinshawai: “It was the biggest blunder and the worst crime which Great
Britain has ever committed in Egypt.”58 The radical anti-Imperialist Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, a long-
time British advocate of Egyptian nationalism, thus commented on Dinshawai on June 29, 1906: “I
have worried myself all day about the Egyptian villagers, and I see now that they were hanged
yesterday under circumstances of revolting barbarity. All day I have been writing, and the thing is
weighing on me like a nightmare still.”59 It was to be Blunt who spearheaded dissent against what
was by now widely acknowledged as a British atrocity at Dinshawai. Blunt also coordinated the
House of Commons opposition to what happened at Dinshawai, with his associate, the Liberal MP
John Mackinnon Robertson. The latter was also introduced to the Egyptian journalist and politician
Mustafa Kamil by Blunt, when Kamil was visiting London to lobby for the cause of Egyptian
nationalism.60 On December 31 1906, Blunt recorded in his diary:
We have smitten Cromer hip and thigh from Tabah to Dinshawai, and from a
lost force at Cairo I have become a power again; never since Tel-el-Kebir
have the fortunes of Egyptian Nationalism seemed so smiling. Such have
been my consolations.61
There was every sign that a violent reaction to defiance had succeeded in the Taba Crisis, but
scholars such as Marlowe explain how the development of Egyptian nationalism clearly benefitted
from the murderous scandal of Dinshawai.
55
Ibid.
56
Glenn R. Cuomo, ‘“Saint Joan before the Cannibals”: George Bernard Shaw in the Third Reich’ in German Studies
Review, vol. 16, no. 3, Oct. 1993, p.448.
57
Shaw, op. cit.
58
John Marlowe, A History of Modern Egypt and Anglo-Egyptian Relations 1800–1953, New York, NY, Praeger, 1954,
p.169.
59
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, My Diaries: Being a Personal Narrative of Events 1888–1914, Vol. 2, 1900–1914, New York,
Alfred A. Knopf, 1921, p.147.
60
Marlowe, op. cit., Cromer in Egypt, pp.266-7.
61
Blunt, op. cit., My Diaries, p.164.
107
John Marlowe discussed how a revived nationalist movement led by Mustafa Kamil became ever
more popular towards the start of the twentieth century.62 Marlowe also pointed out how Cromer’s
view of radical nationalism, with its perceived strong links to the militant Pan-Islamic movement,
could be traced to the nationalist paper al-Muʾayyad (lit. the supported) which, throughout the
1890s, espoused virulent Pan-Islamic ideas.63
Sir Ronald Storrs, a British Foreign Official who in 1906 was at the beginning of his distinguished
career in North Africa and the Middle East, was to write later in his memoirs that the sentences
handed down at Dinshawai were “excessive and mediaeval”64 and that “a mistake had been
committed”.65 With such opposition to British policy mounting, not least of all from within the
British establishment, Sir Edward Grey, Britain’s Foreign Secretary, at least conceded that what
happened at Dinshawai was “open to question”.66 However, Grey chose to defend the
implementation of British rule in Egypt in the most severe possible terms, admitting that his
government struggled with the problem of whether “to uphold the authority on the spot at the cost of
making British rule open to reproach, or to override it at the risk of undermining it altogether”.67
Thus Grey’s ultimate position was that general stability in Egypt was more important than the
spending of too much time dwelling on the possibility that the response to the Dinshawai Incident
may well have been wrong. The confidence with which Grey offered such an opinion shows how
rigid British rule was in 1906: the Empire’s administrators were in fact in control of the nominal
Egyptian government through Lord Cromer. After Dinshawai, Grey agreed that the defeat of
resistance to the Empire should remain a priority, and that it should be destroyed at every
opportunity. Such a view was, however, to prove a great error. The violent behaviour displayed at
Dinshawai, and the reactionary delivery of British justice which followed, made the nationalists
even more determined to take control of their own destiny. By clamping down on those who had
suffered most from the horror of Dinshawai, the British had united the opponents of their rule, and
indeed reduced their support among opinion-formers within Britain.
Following Dinshawai, Egyptian nationalists certainly found themselves with more backing in both
their own country, as well as in Britain itself. Within Egypt, the nationalists were very careful not to
62
Marlowe, op. cit., Cromer in Egypt, p.259.
63
Ibid.
64
Ronald Storrs, The Memoirs of Sir Ronald Storrs, New York, NY, G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1937, p.70.
65
Ibid., p.71.
66
Edward Grey, Twenty-Five Years 1892–1916, vol. 1, New York, NY, Frederick A. Stokes Company, 1925, p.133.
67
Ibid., p.134.
108
take too strong a stance politically or religiously, so as not to lose the prop of the two leading figures
in the life of most Egyptian Muslims: the Khedive and the Ottoman Sultan. The fellah, who had
previously been Cromer’s most influential supporter, was to become a staunch nationalist after
Dinshawai.
The needs of ordinary Egyptian people became paramount after Dinshawai, as nationalist, rather
than Pan-Islamic arguments, prevailed:
Dinshawai brought the ordinary Egyptian much nearer to the opinions of

Mustafa Kamil and ʿAli Yusuf, and also brought the nationalist leaders
nearer to the real grievances of the people. Newspapers began to drop their
pan-Islamic tone and dwell on the miseries of the fellah; Copts joined in the
general abuse and criticism of the British rule, and Mustafa Kamil achieved
the Muslim-Coptic unity which he had always worked for.68
Khedive ‘Abbas II expressed his anger after Dinshawai with the words:
I admit that this was for me a bitter and real agony. My nights were troubled
by it for a long time. English haste and the weakness of the Egyptian
Government gave me no time to intervene at the time of the trial. I will not
go on. The English press and history have since lambasted the murderers of
Dinshwai, not the unfortunate peasants guilty of a mere gesture of violence
of which their ignorance excuses them, but those who sent out the
executioners, flouting law, equity and justice.69
Qasim Amin echoes the Khedive’s words, saying:
Everyone I met had a broken heart and a lump in his throat. There was
nervousness in every gesture – in their hands and their voices. Sadness was
on every face, but it was a peculiar sort of sadness. It was confused,
distracted and visibly subdued by superior force […] The spirits of the
hanged men seemed to hover over every place in the city.70
The influence of Dinshawai was to last long in time, with Anwar el-Sadat, the future President of
Egypt, who lived close to the blighted village, in the neighbouring hamlet of Mit ‘Abu ‘Kom,
writing:
But the ballad which affected me most deeply was probably that of Zahran,
the hero of Dinshawai. I recall my mother reciting it to me as I lay stretched
out on top of our huge rustic oven, half-asleep while my younger brothers
68
J.M. Ahmed, op. cit., p.63.
69
ʿAbbas Hilmi II, The Last Khedive of Egypt, trans. Amira Sonbol, Reading, Ithaca Press, 1998, p.159.
70
Quoted in J.M. Ahmed, op. cit., p.63.
109
(and our rabbits) had all fallen asleep. It appealed to me afresh every time I
listened to it. Dinshawai was only three miles away and the ballad dealt with
a real incident… Zahran was the hero of the battle against the British and the
first to be hanged. The ballad dwells on Zahran’s courage and doggedness in
the battle, how he walked with his head held high to the scaffold, feeling
proud that he had stood up to the aggressors and killed one of them.
I listened to that ballad night after night, half-awake, half-asleep, which
perhaps made the story sink into my subconscious. My imagination roamed
free. I often saw Zahran and lived his heroism in dream and reverie – I
wished I were Zahran.71
The dark, violent streak within British Imperialism had been shown up by the Dinshawai Incident,
as everyone from militant nationalists in Egypt to enlightened reformers in Britain itself realised that
urgent action was needed – not just to curb such reactionary excesses, but to allow nationalist
aspirations in Egypt to flourish. There was a distinctly racist element to what had happened in the
devastated community, with the British viewing their self-styled superiority as a pretext to wreak
havoc among the indigenous community.
Lord Cromer’s Departure in 1907
Cromer unexpectedly resigned in April 1907, citing health reasons, but there is no doubt he felt it
was time to go. The departure was variously described as “a bolt out of a clear sky” and a “national
calamity”. As the British Controller-General and Consul-General, Cromer’s greatest achievement in
Egypt was serving British interests – but his often ruthles treatment of native Egyptians also had the
effect of inspiring nationalist thought and action.
Egypt’s controllers had de facto authority over Egypt’s finances, meaning they wielded enormous
power in both the Egyptian and British governments. When Ismaʿil refused to declare bankruptcy, it
was Cromer who pressured the government in London to dispose of him in 1879. This was greeted
with relief in Egypt itself, not because there was widespread approval of the British choosing
leaders, but because Ismaʿil was considered a lackey of men like Cromer. This sense of puppet
Egyptians doing exactly what the British wanted was to intensify with the accession of Ismaʿil’s
son, Tawfiq.72
71
Anwar el-Sadat, In Search of Identity: An Autobiography, New York, Harper & Row, 1977, pp.5-6.
72
Marlowe, op. cit., A History of Modern Egypt, p.113
110
Historian Roger Owen thus assessed Cromer’s legacy in Egypt:
That Cromer really believed that one man could persuade the different
groups in Egypt to fuse themselves together into a single cosmopolitan
society with common interest is testimony to a system of personal rule that
had become significantly divorced from major local developments.73
The starting point of all Cromer’s dealings with the Egyptians was that he deemed that they could
govern themselves. Such prejudice caused immense resentment, as did his conviction that Egypt was
not a proper nation, and never would be one. Cromer’s day-to-day interactions with ordinary
Egyptian people saw him misread the undercurrent of nationalist fever. One of Cromer’s biggest
mistakes was to write off the burgeoning Egyptian nationalist movement as inconsequential. Soon
after returning to Cairo in October 1906, Cromer wrote that “Dinshawai is forgotten” 74 and all but
discarded the popularity of Mustafa Kamil as a matter of concern for those trying to maintain
domestic security in Egypt.
In this sense, he was a typical Victorian Imperialist – one who believed in the superiority of the
Anglo-Saxon race and its duty to act as a parental figure to the less advanced peoples of the world.
Viewing the Eastern mind as weak and “slipshod”, he was never happier than as a colonial
administrator. Known to co-workers and friends as “Over-Baring”, he could be condescending to
both his peers and to the “subject races” he governed. Cromer constantly fought to persuade opinion
formers in London – and particularly cabinet ministers and journalists – that there should be no
possibility of Britain abandoning Egypt. Alfred Milner’s England in Egypt,75 defended the
Occupation, and was of huge use to Cromer. Constant changes between Salisbury’s Conservative
governments and Gladstone’s Liberals made Cromer’s task a difficult one, but he slowly came to
realise that the Conservatives were a more determined Imperial party than the Liberals. Cromer
thought that Muslim fanaticism had pushed Europeans towards supporting the British, believing that
moderates were disturbed by pan-Islamic ideas, and that reactionary policing was the only way to
deal with it. In fact, the heavy-handed reliance on police and military force provoked Egyptian into
just the kind of nationalistic designs that Cromer and his fellow officials feared. Cromer always
estimated that a long period of Egyptian administrative and political incompetence meant a long
occupation was necessary for any type of reform.
73
74
CP/2, FO 633/13 quoted in Ibid.
75
Alfred Milner, England in Egypt, London, Edward Arnold, 1892.
111
When Cromer first became Consul-General, he approved the Dufferin Report, which effectively
sanctioned a compliant parliament for Egypt with no power. It stressed that the security of the Suez
Canal zone should be maintained at all times. More crucially, the report approved of men like
Cromer firing any Egyptian officials who refused to accept British directives. This guiding principle,
named after British Foreign Secretary Lord Granville, was known as the Granville Doctrine.
Cromer ensured that British officials were positioned in all key ministries during the so-called
Veiled Protectorate. Any show of Egyptian governance was essentially a façade, with the always
weak Tawfiq Pasha more than happy to abdicate any governmental responsibility. The Egyptian
army, which Cromer considered untrustworthy because of a history of mutinies against the Khedive,
was disbanded and a new army organised along British lines, as had happened in India. With
Egyptian finances stabilised by 1887, Cromer also made sure that the Egyptians abandoned any
aspirations towards reconquering the Sudan, which Egypt had lost control of following the Mahdist
Rebellion.
From 1885 to 1887 Baring ran a “race against bankruptcy”76 – struggling to find the money to keep
up payments on Egypt’s debt, pay for the occupying army, finance the administration, and fend off
French and British domestic objections to the Occupation. Cromer decided against evacuating Egypt
in the foreseeable future. Perhaps without fully realising it, Cromer “had helped to place Egypt on a
path along which the only logical destination was not self-government but annexation … the country
would now be subject to the familiar colonial process by which the more reforms were
implemented, the more further reform was seen as absolutely necessary”.77
There were sometimes more consolatory measures employed by Cromer. The Dufferin Report had
asserted the need for British supervision of reforms deemed necessary for the country. Cromer
upgraded the Egyptian Department of Education to a ministry, and appointed the perceived
“moderate” Saʿad Zaghlul as its new head in November 1907. Cromer wanted to work with
Egyptians in high positions, as a way of reforming from within.
However, Cromer misjudged the effect of his education policy on nationalist thinking. Cromer’s
background in India always made him think that underemployed graduates from European-style
schools and universities were likely to turn their attentions to nationalist considerations and action.
Thus he removed vital resources from higher professional schools, as well as the secondary and
76
77
Ibid., p.233.
112
primary schools that provided them with students. In an article entitled “Lord Cromer Before
History” in the newly-created al-Jarida newspaper, the nationalist Lutfi al-Sayyid commented on
Cromer’s mixed legacy: on the one hand he virulently criticised Cromer’s failure “to establish the
foundation of a productive and serviceable system of public education” but also lauded Cromer’s
“magnificent results” for his successful economic policies.78
Irrigation projects brought considerable economic prosperity to Egypt under Cromer. The projects
were underpinned by British expertise gained in India, and were often supervised by Anglo-Indian
engineers. The profits they made benefited every worker, from prosperous landowners to peasants
alike. One of the main aims of the irrigation schemes was to win support for the Occupation. Under
Cromer, the barrage north of Cairo was repaired, and – most famously – the British built the Aswan
Low Dam across the Nile between 1898 and 1902. As Egypt exported raw cotton to industrial
Britain, Cromer refused tariff protection to fledgling textile factories. The ability to control floods
and provide irrigation for Egyptian crops was, according to Owen, an example of Cromer presiding:
Over one of the world’s first modern green revolutions, in which a

temporary surge in yields and outputs based on a combination of extra water
and more prolific strains of cotton was bought at a longer-term cost in terms
of waterlogging and an intensification of pest attacks beginning in the early
1900s.79
Despite his reputation as an uncompromising Imperialist, Cromer always believed that British
control of Egypt would one day end, and that full independence would be restored, but only once the
Egyptian people had learned how to govern themselves properly.
Cromer’s policies directly led to profiteering by colonialists – something which inflamed passions
among Egyptians, especially those living in rural areas. Cromer circumvented French and other
European interest on the Caisse de la Dette Publique by raising loans through private interests, and
particularly Ernest Cassel and his local banking partners in Egypt. Cassel set up the National Bank
of Egypt, which obtained a monopoly on issuing Egyptian banknotes. Cassel also made a fortune at
the expense of the Egyptian government when he was allowed to sell off the state lands of the Daira
Saniya. Cromer appreciated how dangerous it was to give permission to profiteers to make so much
money out of Egypt, but, once schemes were in motion, he had trouble reining them in.
78
Al-Jarida, 13 April, 1907.
79
113
ʿAfaf Lutfi Sayyid-Marsot suggested that under Cromer Egyptian nationalists were inert and that
many Egyptians had trust in Britain’s policy of gradually retiring, while carrying out reforms in the
meantime. But, Marsot argued, Cromer had no intention of seeing the British actually leaving one
day. Marsot writes:
Baring believed that “subject races” were totally incapable of self-

government, that they did not really need or want self-government, and that
what they really needed was a “full belly” policy which kept it quiescent and
allowed the elite to make money and so cooperate with the occupying
power.80
Cromer’s sense of bullishness was increased by the way he had to continually deal with the French,
who had always opposed the Occupation. Attempts to sabotage British policy were frequently
manifested through the Mixed Tribunals or the Caisse de la Dette Publique, with the French
delaying or blocking any reforms which were necessary. It was only after the 1904 Anglo-French
Entente that Britain could enjoy the upper-hand in Egypt, in return for the French having the upper-
hand in Morocco.
Various factors combined to make Cromer seem even more authoritarian, as he moved towards the
end of his time in power. Very little information about what Egyptians were really thinking was
passed on to Cromer, who remained as assured of his ability to understand everything as ever
before. A Liberal government in Britain was becoming more in tune with nationalist aspirations
across the world, yet the Anglo-French Entente of 1904 convinced Cromer that he could do even
more to impose his country’s will on a foreign power. He wanted to abolish the Capitulations and
Mixed Tribunals and set up a European legislative council alongside the Egyptian one. With the
British in charge, Cromer dreamed of “fusing together all the races of the Valley of the Nile”. Owen
adds: “it is difficult to exaggerate the extraordinary, and misguided ambition behind this exercise in
what would now be called “nation-building”. Even more striking than the unreality of the whole
project is the megalomania involved.”81
Severe punishments meted out to Egyptian peasants following the 1906 Dinshawai Incident were a
huge black mark on Cromer’s period in power, even though he was out of the country at the time
and had no direct involvement in Dinshawai. Straight afterwards, the new British Liberal
80
ʿAfaf Lutfi al-Sayyid-Marsot, A History of Egypt: From the Arab Conquest to the Present, 2nd ed., New York,
Cambridge University Press, 2007, p.76.
81
114
government under Prime Minister Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman adopted a more lenient policy
towards Egypt, and this was soon followed by Cromer handing in his resignation. He was awarded
£50,000 by the British government for his “eminent services” to Egypt.
In 1908, Cromer published, in two volumes, Modern Egypt and a narrative of events in Egypt and
the Sudan since 1876. In 1910, he also published Ancient and Modern Imperialism, an influential
comparison of the British and Roman Empires. After Khedive ʿAbbas II was deposed by the British
for supporting the Ottomans during the First World War, Cromer was free to publish his impressions
of the Khedive, ʿAbbas II, in 1915.
So it was that pre-First World War Egypt was characterised by key episodes of traditional British
colonialism belligerence. Incidents such as Taba and Dinshawai, and indeed the use of
overwhelming military firepower in the suppression of the ʿUrabi Revolt, showed single-minded,
self-interested and often brutal British administrators acting with uncompromising ruthlessness to
protect their interests. Sensitivity to a changing world, and the views of an increasingly politicised
and internationally-aware indigenous population was always discarded in favour of the pursuit of
objectives which bolstered Britain’s position.
All of this was to have the effect of rallying Egyptian nationalists who found growing sympathy for
their cause among a more educated and better organised population. Indeed, political parties, private
clubs, and other groups became the platform from which people from every strata of society would
make a concerted attempt to dislodge foreign rulers who were increasingly being viewed as colonial
despots.
How Private Initiative and the Emergence of a Class of “New Intellectuals” helped spread
Radical Nationalist Ideas
Throughout the early part of the nineteenth century, it was the Egyptian state itself which was
widely considered as the main moderniser. The view that al-Azhar, the country’s most important
religious institution and its associated organisations, dominated society began to change. A need to
advance, and alter people’s perceptions of the world, saw the younger generation being sent to
European countries like France and Britain to study on government-funded scholarships. Schools
and other educational establishments at home also moved away from the rigidity of the al-Azhar
115
system. Reforming governments introduced theatres, and opera houses, and other forms of
entertainment aimed at a new type of culturally aware, cosmopolitan Egyptian. There were artistic
and literary movements which challenged traditional ways of looking at the world. The workplace
was also transformed, with people moving into factories and other communal places of work, rather
than remaining in agricultural jobs.
Colonial rule by the British had a great deal to do with these modernising trends in the nineteenth
century, enabling new concepts from abroad to circulate, and inspire change. However, the idea of
imposed development by an outside ruler which dictated how society was to evolve was not one
which could be maintained. By the turn of the century, and throughout the period 1900 to around
1920, the notion of the government and other state institutions playing the role of moderniser began
to be replicated through private initiatives. This meant educated, enlightened, and wealthy private
individuals and independent organisations investing in society to bring about progress.
These private individuals and organisations worked with modernising architects, artists and business
people, as well as politicians and civil servants. All had a loose societal mission to improve and
expand, with the ultimate aim being a better, contemporary society for all. This experiment in
changing every department of society has been compared to other countries’ “bourgeois cultural
revolution”82, especially the kind which took place in Europe from the three centuries starting in
1600. Similarly, Egypt, and indeed other parts of the Middle East, went through an intense period of
“modernisation” at the beginning of the twentieth century.83
Replacing absolute power based on religious beliefs with a more secular view of the world was the
definite objective of the “bourgeois cultural revolution”. Modern theories such as improving the lot
of women became paramount, and began to dominate all forms of cultural expression, including
literature. This new era of radical thinking was credited for creating the climate for Egypt’s
nationalist movement leading up to the 1919 Revolution.
82
Magda Baraka, ‘The Egyptian Upper Class Between Revolutions, 1919-1952’, 1 Jan 1998, p.62, MECA.
83
See Fred Jameson, ‘The realist floor-plan’ in Marshall Blonsky (ed.), On Signs, Oxford, Blackwell, 1985, pp.373-83.
116
From the outset, the intensely frustrating aspect of all this change was that it was still underpinned
by the British Empire, and its forces of control.84 Egyptians knew they had to work out their own
economic and political institutions, as well as sociocultural, ahlī85 autochtonous ones. This meant
“private” institutions beyond the state. The ownership of private land by Egyptians played a big part
in the feeling of an indigenous people taking charge of their own country, and indeed their own
destiny. Egyptians owned 31 per cent of all privately-owned land in their country by 1900, and
300,000 to 450,000 feddans (an Egyptian unit of land measurement) were added between 1900 and
1906.86 Thus people could start to speak about “provincial capitalism” as it applied to people living
in the Nile Delta in the quarter of a century starting in 1895. Notable among such landed gentry
were grandees living in al-Gharbiyya province: their farming and trade generated substantial surplus
of produce.87 Small and medium-sized factories such as cotton-ginning plants were also owned in
Upper Egypt, while others worked as merchants and government contractors.88
It is through such success that wealthy individuals were able to finance public projects. A large rise
in the incomes associated with the agricultural sector allowed landowners to support ahlī
institutions, and privately sponsor individuals who ran them. Many of these landowners were part of
the newly intellectualised class. Expatriates from other countries also belonged to this new
entrepreneurial class, promoting modernisation in every aspect of life, and bolstering it financially
too. An organisation directly funded by this diaspora from other countries, and through local
benefactors, was the Société Égyptienne d’Économie Politique et Législation (The Egyptian Society
of Political Economy and Legislation), which was set up in 1907. It offered Egyptians training in a
range of diverse fields, from banking to the cinematic arts. More generally, it provided practical
advice on how ordinary people could found working-class clubs and societies. More privileged
members of society also benefited from what the organisation had to propose, learning how to form
themselves into influential groups.
84
For example, the British Consul-General Lord Cromer implemented economic policies which led to the expansion of
private landownership among native Egyptians. Yet, while some of his measures in the field of public works and
infrastructure favoured big landowners, his policies as a whole did not help the emerging class of indigenous industrial
entrepreneurs.
85
The term ahlī describes those initiatives in the private sphere organised by Egyptians in the public arena, be it in the
political, economic and cultural field. Anything to do with members of the royal family is not included in this definition.
86
Roger Owen, A History of Middle East Economies in the Twentieth Century, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University
Press, 1999, p.342.
87
Eric Davis, Challenging Colonialism: Bank Misr and Egyptian Industrialization, 1920-1941, Princeton, N.J, Princeton
University Press, 1983, p.94. The father of Saʿad Zaghlul was ʿumdeh of the villages of al-Gharbiyya, meaning that most
of Zaghlul’s lucrative agricultural land was concentrated in the province.
88
Davis, op. cit., p.94.
117
Thus the nationalist flame was fanned by a range of modernising influences. Increased property
ownership, and especially the development of sizeable landowner estates, contributed to enrich and
educate people from all levels of society. Colonial rulers from Britain also unwittingly stimulated
nationalist thought by allowing this modernisation to develop within the public sphere. Community
life became hugely important to a new class of Egyptians, who wanted to share their wealth and
their ideas. This all created a dynamic around the turn of the century, when the era of the new,
assured, populist thinker was in full swing. The “modern intellectual” grew principally out of two
elements: this novel period of idea-sharing, and the expansion of national and international
journalism. Intellectuals and ordinary people were all able to take part in the circulation of ideas, as
the new language of democracy began to thrive out of this exchange. At this point it is important to
note the spread of non-Azharite thinking, which is to say the kind of belief which is not related to
the Mosque and the Islamic university of al-Azhar. Secular schools produced a whole new
generation of effendiya – those of high education and social standing in Arab society. These, in turn,
were part of a new literate class which provided the bulk of readers for the burgeoning press, and the
similarly revitalised publishing industry.
Intellectuals and influential journalists were at the forefront of the diffusion of new ideas. Rich
“upper-class” thinkers who offered to solve the nation’s problems were at the top of this pyramid.89
Many spoke a foreign language, usually from one of the allegedly great civilising nations, and
especially France. The new Egyptian philosophers were frequently wedded to the cultural
convictions of this foreign country too. Their thinking filtered down through society, through large
networks of new social groups.
The exchange of opinions, and high powered debates, took place in coffee shops between effendiya,
but such places of refreshment and discussion were also open to those without a significant
education. The semi-literate and wholly illiterate were given the opportunity to have newspapers and
books read out to them at these coffee shops by mutanawwirīn (enlightened people) – a term
associating education with “light”, in contrast to “dark” ignorance. This enabled ordinary people to
take part in arguments and talks of their own, with the mutanawwirīn – this vast new class of
intellectuals – contributing to the unfurling of civilising ideas imported from Europe.
89
Avriel Butovsky, ‘Languages of the Egyptian Monarchy’ in Harvard Middle Eastern and Islamic Review, vol. 1, no. 1,
1994, p.4.
118
These “new intellectuals” soon stepped into roles once fulfilled by Muslim scholars trained in
Islamic law, or ʿulama. In contrast to the ʿulama, who were easily recognisable thanks to their
traditional Islamic garb, the new thinkers dressed in European clothes, and often made themselves
noticeable through cosmopolitan accessories, perhaps marking their adhesion to French culture by
wearing a beret or carrying a work of Gallic literature around with them at all times, for example.
These determinedly worldly Egyptian thinkers saw themselves as essential members of a radical,
challenging new society, and indeed representatives of the modern age.90
New writings focusing on liberal ideas flourished. These included Qasim Amin’s feminist tomes on
the liberation of women: Tahrir al-marʾa (The Liberation of Women) (1899) and Al- marʾa
al-jadida [The New Woman] (1901). Books by scholars like Amin called for fresh, profound
theories about how society should be organised, so improving the condition of every social group,
especially perennially disadvantaged ones such as women. The thousands of articles and other
literature written in similar vein all provided the prelude to nationalist arguments which were to
dominate intellectual thought in the run up to the 1919 Revolution in Egypt. The need to move on
from an era characterised by regression, into an enlightened one inevitably underpinned all this new
reflections.
The overwhelming desire to see the British retreat from Egypt was naturally a primary component of
any Egyptian nationalist consideration, but the need to work out exactly what to replace it with was
also very important. In short, that new class of intellectuals wanted to define the new Egypt. A
consensus was to emerge around the belief that western modernisation could be reconcilied with
indigenous Egyptians finally taking hold of their own lives. Much of those new thinkers’ effort was
centred on how new technology, revived political and social institutions, and other factors could all
be directed towards the establishment of a new nation.
There were a number of national newspapers founded during the two decades leading up to 1919:
al-Muʾayyad (lit. the supported one) was set up by Sheikh ʿAli Yusuf in 1889 and it was later
adopted by Hizb al-Islahʿala al-Mabadiʾ al-Dusturiyya, the Party of Constitutional Reform, and al-
Liwaʾ, (The Standard), which was established by Mustafa Kamil in 1900. The latter became the
organ of the Watani Party. Similarly91 al-Jarida92 (lit. the newspaper) was first published in 1907,
90
Husayn Fawzi, Sinbad fi rihlat al-hayah (Sinbad on the Journey of Life), Cairo, Dar al-Maʿarif Iqraʾ series, 1968.
91
See Yunan Labib Rizq, al-Ahzab al-Siyasiyya fi Misr 1907-1984 (Political Parties in Egypt, 1907-1984), Cairo, Dar
al-Hilal, 1984, p.15.
119
just before the creation of the Umma Party, for which it was the mouthpiece. All of these
newspapers were examples of the dynamic success of ahlī associations, and activities which
involved huge numbers of Egyptians in the period preceding the 1919 uprisings. Many of these
groups concentrated on the production of newspapers and privately-funded magazines.
Classical Arabic was the main language of these new newspapers, along with colloquial Egyptian
dialects. Muhammad ʿUmar, the author, counted some sixteen new magazines in 1900 alone. 93 Over
the last 25 years of the nineteenth century, more than 160 Arabic-language newspapers and journals
were founded in Egypt.94 In The Arabs, Eugene Rogan notes how one the most famous newspapers
in the Arab world today, Al-Ahram (lit. the pyramids) came into being at this time. Al-Ahram was
launched by the brothers Salim and Bishara Taqla, who moved from Beirut to Alexandria in the
early 1870s. It was also during this period that the cities of Cairo and Beirut earned their
contemporary reputation as the main publishing cities in the Arab World.95
The Khedival Agricultural Society was initiated by the landowner Prince Husayn Kamal in 1898.
Kamal was one of the new enlightened thinkers who saw the need to address and then find an
answer to Egypt’s challenges through science. Specifically, Kamal wanted to create a body which
could use new technology to improve agricultural methods in his country’s rural areas. 96 In 1919
there was another major development which saw powerful Egyptian landowners working in tandem
towards the collective good: it was in this year that an appeal was made towards the formation of a
club for important figures in the agricultural sector (Nadi al-Aʿyān). The main purpose of this call
was to foster a sense of camaraderie among an agricultural elite. The solidarity of this “notables
club” never materialised for political reasons, but it was a perfect example of how members of
society wanted to come together for the benefit of Egyptian society.
92
The creation of al-Jarida illustrates the close links between publishing and the press as vehicles for the spread of ideas
throughout society, along with the development of private property. The privately-owned newspaper was well funded by
landowners. Later, private contributions to the running of the newspaper were welcomed.
93
Beinin & Lockman, op. cit., Workers on the Nile, p.10.
94
Eugene Rogan, The Arabs: A History, 2nd edition, London, Penguin Books, 2012, p.170.
95
Ibid., pp.171-2.
96
Roger Owen, A History of Middle East Economies in the Twentieth Century, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University
Press, 1999, pp.339-40.
120
The Watani party sponsored high-school students’ Clubs (Nadi Talabat al-Madāris al-ʿUlya), which
were founded in 1906. The party also helped set up the Manual Labourers’ Syndicate
(NiqābatʿUmmāl al-Sana’iʿal-Yadawiyya) and the Cairo Tramway Workers Syndicate three years
later.97 They were typical of a score of similar groups, some of which had strong links with
European countries, while others were more parochial in nature, concentrating more on building up
membership within Egypt itself.98 There was a civil servants’ Club formed in 1911, and, a year later,
a workers’ Club.99 All of these new associations were further proof of the increasing communal
character of Egyptian society.
All the while, public affairs were being discussed in private salons of the rich and influential.
Princess Nazli Fadil welcomed numerous people to hers, up until her death in 1913. Other
prominent figures who took part in talks in such forums were the religious scholar Muhammad
ʿAbduh, the writer Muhammad al-Muwailihi, and Ahmad Fathi Zaghlul, the lawyer, politician,
translator and alienated brother of the future nationalist leader Saʿad Zaghlul. The esteemed
newspaper editor Sheikh ʿAli Yusuf was also a regular visitor to Princess Nazli’s salon. Syrian
author May Ziyada (daughter of Ilyas Ziyada, the owner of the journal al-Mahrusa [lit. the protected
one]) also hosted writers and debaters in her salon. Those who called in up until the late 1920s
included thinkers such as Khalil Mutran, Salama Musa, Shibli Shmayyil, Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid,
Ahmad Zaki Pasha, and ʿAbbas al-ʿAqqad.
The growth of ahlī activities reached an important point in 1907. That year saw an infamous
financial crash, with the New York Stock Exchange falling 50 per cent on its 1906 peak. It became
known as the “Year of Panic” in international financial circles. At that time, any frailty in the
international system was viewed as something which could be turned to the advantage of
nationalists. Crucially, the exit of Egypt’s British Consul-General Lord Cromer the same year
preceded by the Taba Crisis and the Dinshawai Incident in 1906 also had a profound effect on
Egyptians, with the creation of political parties. These included ‘Ali Yusuf’s Hizb al- Islahʿala al-
Mabadiʾ (the Party of Constitutional Reform) associated with the Khedive; Hizb al-Umma was
backed by liberal landowners and senior civil servants; and al-Hizb al-Watani, which was founded
97
98
See Haydar Ibrahim ʿAli, ‘al-Mujtamaʿ al-madani fi Misr wa al-Sudan’ (Civil Society in Egypt and Sudan), paper
submitted to a Centre of Arab Unity Studies conference on ‘Civil Society in the Arab World and its Role in Achieving
Democracy’ in Beirut, January 1992.
99
Muhammad Sayyid al-Kilani, Tram al-Qahira (Cairo Tram), Cairo, Dar al-Firgani, 1968.
121
by Mustafa Kamil. Ahlī activities rapidly increased as an Egyptian School of Fine Arts, funded by
Prince Yusuf Kamal, was opened. A movement of agricultural cooperatives was also led by ʿUmar
Lutfi, a wealthy landowner and a teacher at the Khedival Law School.100
Mustafa Kamil was a leading proponent of the ahlī initiatives, and was to become synonymous with
their success. He rallied supporters through the new associations, and started a new newspaper to
promote his political party. Kamil was also one of the first people to offer private financial help to
education.101 In 1880, Yaʿqub Sarruf102 had translated Samuel Smile’s well-known book Self-help,
with Illustrations of Conduct and Perseverance. The book immediately had a profound impact on
intellectual thinking in Egypt. Kamil was among those who were to champion “self-help” as a
political dynamic. He frequently used the expression, including at the opening of a school he
founded in 1898, stressing the need for pupils to work towards taking control of their own lives.
Kamil also ensured that “self-help” was turned into a motto which was inscribed prominently
around the school, along with other inspiring phrases extracted from Smile’s book.103 This belief in
private initiatives in education also led, in 1908, to the establishment of an ahlī Egyptian university
following Kamil’s recommendation.
Secular Nationalists: Mustafa Kamil and Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid
Opinions about the substance and future direction of Egypt as an independent state differed
enormously in Egypt before the First World War, with newfound political parties putting forward
numerous policies and strategies to take the country forward into a prosperous future. Among the
most high-profile parties were the pro-Ottoman al-Hizb al-Watani (The Nationalist Party) which,
despite its loyalties to the Ottomans, was indisputably Egyptian in outlook and aspiration. The
figurehead of the party was Mustafa Kamil (and later Muhammad Farid). Less disposed to the
Ottoman Empire was the Hizb al-Umma (The Party of the Nation), whose main spokesman and
ideological inspiration was Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid. There were widespread divergences between the
Nationalist Party and the Party of the Nation in regards to the Ottoman Empire, but their views on
the future of Egypt itself were far more uniform.
100
See Patrick O’Brien, The Revolution in Egypt’s Economic System: from Private Enterprise to Socialism, 1952-1965,
London, Oxford University Press, 1966, p.49, and Davis, op. cit., p.88.
101
Baraka, op. cit., p.70.
102
Sarruf was a Syrian émigré to Egypt and editor of the pro-British magazine al-Muqtataf.
103
Timothy Mitchell, Colonising Egypt, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1988, p.109.
122
Mustafa Kamil (1874-1908) was to use his legal training to formulate and articulate his vision of an
independent Egypt, setting his ideas within the context of ties with an Ottoman Empire which he and
his followers still found attractive. Religious ties to the Sultan/Caliph were emphasised, as the
Nationalist Party strived to impress a huge constituency of ordinary Egyptian people. As he made
speeches around the country, Kamil highlighted a position which was only partially traditionalist,
combining hatred and rejection of the British Empire with an appeal to those who harked back to the
glories of Egypt’s ancient history. Kamil’s flowing rhetoric104 was enshrined in numerous
publications including the newspaper al-Liwaʾ, which he edited from 1900 to 1907. It was in 1907
that the paper’s editorial staff and other writers helped found al-Hizb al-Watani itself.105 In fact,
most political parties in Egypt at the time were established around a newspaper or an editor. In 1910,
owing to a discord between the new leader of the party, Muhammad Farid, and the heirs of Mustafa
Kamil, the party approved al-‘Alam newspaper (The World) as it new mouthpiece, although several
other newspapers supported the National Party too.106
Mustafa Kamil’s priorities were to stir up a strong nationalist spirit at home, while attempting to
make an overwhelming case internationally for Egypt’s right to be free from British rule. Kamil
tried to divide France and Britain by inviting François Deloncle, a journalist and member of the
French National Party, to see the political situation for himself as part of the process of
“Internationalising” Egypt’s struggle. Deloncle arrived in Cairo on 21 March 1895,107 and was
introduced by Kamil to Juliette Adam, the staunch pro-British publisher of La Nouvelle Revue.
Adam connected Kamil to French literary and political circles and personalities. Kamil thus
established the contacts to spread details of the Egyptian nationalist cause abroad, not least of all by
writing about it in La Nouvelle Revue.108
104
Nikki R. Keddie, ‘Western Rule Versus Western Values: Suggestions for Comparative Study of Asian Intellectual
History’ in Diogenes, vol. 7, no. 26, Summer 1959, pp.71-96.
105
Al-Jaridah, 23 October 1907. Egypt’s national movement had antecedents in a secret military group set up by Ahmad
‘Urabi in 1876. Known simply as the Military Party it evolved into a “National Front” called al-Hizb al-Watani led by
‘Urabi. When the ‘Urabi Revolt got underway, this party in turn achieved mass support as it rallied against foreigners
interfering in Egyptian affairs. The failure of the ‘Urabi Revolt, however, brought about the fall of the party before it
achieved the unity of its supporters.
106
These included al-Dustur, Wadi al-Nil, Dia al-Sharq, Misr al-Fatah, al-Balagh al-Misri, and Majallat al-Qutr
al-Misri.
107
Haykal Muhammad Hussein, Shakhsiyyat Misriyyah wa Gharbiyyah (Egyptian and Western Personalities), Cairo,
Dar Ruz al-Yusuf, 1954, p.51.
108
Mudhakkirat Muhammad Farid, Box No. 1, Khatab min Mustafa Kamil ila Muhammad Farid, 10 August 1898.
123
Al-Liwa advocated the party’s views and there was also a supplementary magazine entitled Majallat
al-Liwa that came out every two weeks. In the wake of the Dinshawai Incident of June 1906, Kamil
also launched two daily newspapers called L’Étendard Égyptien and The Egyptian Standard. They
first came out in March 1907, and specifically targeted European readers in order to explain the
Egyptian standpoint on those events.109 Both newspapers were to last until 1909, when a lack of
funds forced closure. The nationalist movement led by Kamil was indeed revived following the
Dinshawai Incident, which caused Egyptians to become extremely antagonistic towards the British
Imperialists.110 Kamil thus used all these platforms, as well as his public speaking, to advance his
nationalist ambitions, while at the same time lobbying for greater educational opportunities for
Egyptians. He accused Britain of having neglected this field on purpose. Kamil also promoted the
National Party’s programme that included the independence and just governance for Egypt and the
Sudan based on a written Constitution. Kamil also wanted rulers to be regulated by an authoritative
representative Assembly. Education was to become a priority for Kamil’s political demands, along
with support for international treaties and financial arrangements. Health, social policy, agriculture,
and industry were also part of the nationalists’objectives.111
Mustafa Kamil died in February 1908, and it was then that Muhammad Farid was elected president
of the Party. He re-iterated the requirements of the national movement, calling for the British to
leave Egypt so that his countrymen could get on with setting up their own Constitutional,
parliamentary government, an effective system of primary education for all classes, as well as
providing protection for workers through a variety of measures including trade unions.112 Just such a
union came into being in Bulaq in 1909, leading to increased friction between the Khedive and Farid
through the press.113
During Muhammad Sa’id’s time as Prime Minister (1910-1914 and again in 1919) – which
succeeded that of Boutros Ghali’s (1908-1910) – a number of laws were passed aimed at keeping
the power of the Nationalist Party in check.114 For example, criminal charges involving print
109
Mudhakkirat Muhammad Farid, Part. 1, Vol. 1, Malaf No. 1, p.2.
110
Tom Little, Modern Egypt, London, Ernest Denn Ltd., 1958, p.63.
111
Yunan Labib Rizq, Al-Ahzab al-Misriyya Qabil Thawrat 1952 (Egyptian Political Parties Before the 1952
Revolution), Cairo, al-Ahram, 1977, p.23 and al-Liwa, 27 December 1907.
112
Mudhakkirat Muhammad Farid, Part. 1, Vol. 1, File No. 1, pp.3-4.
113
Al-Liwa, 24, 25, 31 October 1908; and Al-Muayyad, 24, 29 October 1908; and Dar al-Watha‘iq al-Qawmiyyah,
Mahafiz ‘Abdin, Diwan al-Khidiwi, Iltimasat Jama’iyah, Mahfazah No. 1; and Dar al-Watha‘iq al-Qawmiyyah,
Mudhakkirat Sa‘ad Zaghlul, Kurras No. 17, pp.895, 896.
114
Qanun Nos. 27 and 28, 16 June 1910.
124
journalists were to be heard by the Criminal Court, where no appeal against conviction was possible,
instead of the Court of Justice, where appeals were allowed. Students were not permitted to take part
in protests. The law was changed so that any accomplice or accessory to an offence could be
punished, even if there was no direct involvement.
When Muhammad Farid wrote an introduction to Wataniyyati by Sheikh ‘Ali al-Ghayati, he was
prosecuted under the new laws, and put in prison. The literary introduction had urged poets to evoke
Egypt’s nationalistic consciousness. Undercover police harassed National Party members while the
newspapers al-Liwa and al-‘Alam were both suspended: al-Liwa on 31 August 1912 and al-‘Alam
on 7 November 1913.115
The National Party became much less influential during the First World War because of martial law,
under which numerous activities, including much journalism and political activity were put on
hold.116 The National Party’s work was mainly reduced to propagating literature in Europe calling
for a free Egypt.117 At the end of the war, the party resumed its protests against the British
government and reasserted its nationalist demands.
As far as Kamil’s views about Egypt’s relationship with the Ottoman Empire were concerned, he
was a secular politician whose position was always profoundly pro-Ottoman.118 He wrote reams
about the subject in his book The Eastern Question (al-Masʾala al-sharqiyya), published in 1898. It
deconstructed claims that Egyptians were trying to set up an Arab caliphate in their country,
blaming them as a British-backed conspiracy theory aimed at scaring people away from the
Egyptian nationalist movement. He was convinced the British were trying to break up the Ottoman
Empire and occupy its territories themselves, and so remained solidly pro-Ottoman right up to his
death in 1908.119
115
Al-‘Alam, 21 August 1912 and 27 October 1912.
116
The Press Laws of 1881 had already been re-issued under the Premiership of Boutros Ghali, which allowed the
Government to censor newspapers. See Al-Liwa, 1 February 1909, “Madha Yurid bil Sahafa”; and FO 407/174 No. 33,
Sir G. Lowther to Sir E. Grey, Constantinople, 15 March 1909; and FO 407/174 No. 40, Ronald Graham to Sir E. Grey,
Cairo, 4 April 1909.
117
Landau, op. cit., pp.130-131.
118
At the young age of thirty-four years-old, Kamil was honoured by the Ottoman Sultan with the title of Pasha in 1904.
In 1899, he had been made Bey.
119
See Muhammad Husayn, al-Ittijahat al-wataniyya fil-adab al-muʿasir (Nationalist Orientations in Contemporary
Literature), 2 vols., Cairo, Dar al-Maʿarif, 1954, vol. 1, pp.8-10; Faruq Abu Zayd, Azmat al-fikr al-qawmi fil-sihafa al-
misriyya (The Crisis of Nationalist Thought in the Egyptian Press), Cairo, Dar al-Fikr wa al-Fann, 1976, pp.121-22;
125
Indeed, Kamil provided the connecting link between Egypt and Ottoman Turkey as he protested
against the continuation of the British Occupation.120 Kamil thus showed support for the Ottoman
Khalifa as a tool against the British, all the while trying to make Britain more unpopular with other
powers in Europe. Kamil thus relentlessly used the press to defend the Ottoman Government and the
concept of Pan-Islamism.121 Mustafa Kamil was made al-Mutamaiz (lit. the distinguished) and given
the al-Majidi medal by the Sultan in 1899, and in 1904 Kamil attained the title of Pasha.
The pro-British Syrian community in Egypt was one which caused Kamil particular anger as they
did so many other Egyptian nationalists. The privileged Syrians were known as intruders
(dukhalaʾ).122 Muhammad Farid himself was particularly sympathetic to Kamil’s position towards
the Syrian Arabs in Egypt. Followers of Kamil became more determinedly pro-Ottoman Empire
from 1907 onwards. There were repeated attempts by the Watani Party hierarchy to work with the
Ottoman leaders who took over following the Young Turk Revolution of 1908, but these had little
impact. Instead, the years after the insurrection were characterised by increasing cracks in the
Ottoman Empire – ones which had started to open during the Young Turk revolt. It was brought
about by an unlikely alliance of discounted groups including Turkish nationalists and secularists
influenced mainly by western ideas and governments. The common bond was the widespread view
that the Ottoman Sultan was failing to run the Empire properly. The nationwide organisation which
brought disparate groups of nationalists together was the Committee of Union and Progress (CUP).
Its development led to the Ottomans trying to bolster their position in North Africa and the Balkans,
where they were continually being challenged by European Imperial powers. Measures to try to stop
expansionist Italy moving into Libya, for example, included a ban on Italians buying or running
factories in Tripoli and other major Libyan cities and towns. Similar restrictions were also applied in
Ottoman assets in the Balkan Peninsula.
120
‘Abd al-Rahman Al-Rafi’i, Mustafa Kamil Ba‘ith al-Haraka al-Qawmiyya: Ta’rikh Misr al-Qawmi min Sanat 1892-
1908 (Mustafa Kamil Instigator of the Nationalist Movement: The Nationalist History of Egypt 1892-1908), Cairo, Dar
Al-Nahda al-Misriya, pp.143, 344.
121
Al-Liwa published articles, ‘Salamat al-Dawlah al-‘Uthmaniyyah’; ‘Quwat al-Khilafah al-Islamiyyah’; ‘Al-Khilafah
wal-Islam’.
122
See Fritz Steppat, ‘Nationalismus und Islam bei Mustafa Kamil’ (Nationalism and Islam by Mustafa Kamil), Die Welt
des Islams (The World of Islam), 1956, vol. 4, no. 4, pp.258-61; J.M. Ahmed, op. cit., p.82.
126
Watani spokesman Muhammad Farid and Sheikh ʿAbd al-ʿAziz Jawish left Egypt in 1911-1912 to
support the Ottomans from Constantinople in their conflicts in Libya and the Balkans. 123 By the
outbreak of the Turkish-Italian war in Tripoli, many Egyptians were backing the Ottomans, and
Egyptians also sided with the Ottomans in the Balkan Wars of 1912 to 1913, when the aim was to
stop secession. Similarly, during the Taba Dispute in 1906 when British and Ottoman forces came
close to engaging, it was to the latter that Egyptians had shown loyalty. Kamil also backed the
Ottomans unreservedly, considering that losing territory to them was preferable to having the British
negotiate on their behalf.
By the time Arab discontent was brewing up against Ottoman rule during the period 1908 until
1914, the pro-Ottoman Watani leaders expressed their prevalent allegiance to the Ottoman Empire
and were singularly unsympathetic to Arabs seeking to break away from its domination. Instead,
specific Egyptian problems were concentrated upon at party meetings, including the annual
Congresses.124 Syrians like Rashid Ridha were attacked in journalistic articles for trying to diminish
the centralised power of the Ottoman Empire. Watanists believed that breaking down the power base
of the Ottomans would simply play into the hands of the British. The principal fear was that the
British would use Ottoman weakness to extend their own empire throughout the Muslim world. 125
As far as ideology was concerned, there were a number of reasons why Egyptians should be drawn
to Ottomanism. A lot of Muslims were impressed by the idea of pan-Islam which the empire
encouraged. The anti-western nature of the Ottoman Empire had similar appeal to the masses
(although more affluent, middle-class Egyptians were less inclined to support it). Upper-classes –
and especially those of Turco-Circassian origin – were meanwhile very pleased about the
association with Turkey which came with strong ties with the Ottoman Empire.
Up until the First World War, there was, as far as their relations with Ottoman rulers were
concerned, a notable divergence between Watani Party power-brokers and Arab nationalists. A
revealing example was the Party’s explicit rejection of the idea suggested by Arab nationalist
ʿAzizʿAli al-Misri that the Party support Arab aspirations for greater autonomy. The Administrative
Council of the Party opposed such a move because it did not want to encourage conflict between
123
Arthur Goldsmith, Jr., ‘The Egyptian Nationalist Party, 1892-1919’ in P. Holt (ed.), Political and Social Change in
Modern Egypt: Historical Studies from the Ottoman Conquest to the United Arab Republic, London, Oxford University
Press, 1968, pp.323-29.
124
Anis Sayigh, al-Fikra al-ʿarabiyya fi Misr (The Arab Idea in Egypt), Beirut, Matbaʿat Haykal al-Gharib, 1959, p.54.
125
Ibid., p.55; See also Sylvia Haim, ‘Islam and the Theory of Arab Nationalism’ in W.Z. Laqueur (ed.), The Middle
East in Transition, New York, Praeger, 1958.
127
Arabs and Turks at a time when the Ottoman Empire was already under great threat,126 argued
Muhammad Farid. It was just before the start of the War that Farid and Jawish took part in heated
debates with Arab nationalists in Constantinople accusing the Arabs of treason to an Empire which
deserved their fidelity.127 In summary, there were vast numbers of Egyptians who maintained their
loyalty to the Ottoman Empire right up until its defeat in World War I.
Despite widespread approval of the Ottoman Turks, there were thousands of others who believed
that the noticeable disintegration of the Ottoman Empire would lessen the chances of it helping
Egypt in its struggle towards independence. Instead, Hizb al-Umma, which was founded in 1907
around the newspaper al-Jarida (1907-1915) as a direct reaction to the Dinshawai Incident,
championed a form of secular nationalism which distanced itself from the profound Islamic nature
of the Ottomans. Hizb al-Umma’s leader was Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid (1872- 1963), also editor of the
Party’s newspaper. As a profoundly liberal nationalist who viewed organised religion as an
anachronism, Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid encouraged his supporters to reject continuing defence of the
Ottoman Empire, suggesting that cooperation with the British was justified as Egypt strived towards
reform in every aspect of public life.
Al-Sayyid always appreciated the efficient administration and relative financial stability which came
with Egypt’s links to the British Empire, but his overriding view was that the colonialists and the
Khedives would always be a barrier to his people expressing themselves democratically. Al-Sayyid
considered it wholly unrealistic that Britain’s military strength, and their often ferocious devotion to
maintaining their Empire, could be overcome by Egyptian nationalists. Ever a pragmatist, it was
al-Sayyid’s view that Egyptians should work within the British colonial system to lobby for a
Constitution on the Khedive, and indeed to strengthen the Legislative Council and the Provincial
Councils – the bodies of native rule.128
Al-Sayyid’s overall repudiation of Arab-centred nationalism was made very clear in 1911 when two
Syrian dignitaries visited Egypt and made the suggestion that Syria should be annexed to Egypt if
the Ottoman Empire were, as feared, to collapse. Al-Sayyid later said his reply was: “I did not agree
with this idea, not only because of the impossibility of the request, but because I did not see it as
126
Muhammad Farid, Awraq Muhammad Farid (The Papers of Muhammad Farid), Vol. I: Mudhakkirati baʿda al- hijra,
1904-1919 (My Memoirs in Exile, 1904-1919), Cairo, Markaz Wathaʾiq wa Tarikh Misr al-Muʿasir, 1978, pp.100-101.
127
Asʿad Daghir, Mudhakkiratiʿala Hamish al-Qadiyya al-ʿArabiyya (My Memoirs on the Margins of the Arab Cause),
Cairo, Dar al-Qahiralil Tibaʿa, 1959, pp.47-48.
128
Rogan, op. cit., p.179.
128
being in the interest of Egypt.”129 The interests of Egypt and Egyptians were paramount to Hizb
al-Umma, which appealed to an almost mythical sentiment of Egypt as a giant fusion of like-minded
people sharing a heritage and love of nationhood. Al-Sayyid called on his countrymen to “absolutely
reject any attachment to any other homeland but Egypt, whatever our origin – Hijazi, Nubian,
Turkish, Circassian, Syrian, or Greek”.130
Such a profoundly Egyptian nationalistic stance left al-Sayyid little scope to show sympathy towards
a more generalised Arab nationalism. Discussing discontent by Arabs at their under-representation
in the Ottoman Parliament, al-Sayyid appreciated the complaints of Arab activists, and sympathised
with their position, but was convinced they could be resolved through negotiations between Arabs
and Ottomans.131 As far as the fight against the Italian empire in Libya by Ottoman-Arabs between
1911 and 1912 was concerned, al-Sayyid made his opinion clear in a number of strongly argued
editorials in al-Jarida. Hi main argument was that Egypt had no national interest in the conflict, and
should remain out of it.132 So it was that nationalists like Lutfi al-Sayyid and the Umma Party
viewed Egypt as a national unit which was completely separate from its neighbours, while others –
and notably the Watanists – considered it was one of a number of indigenous units represented by
the all-encompassing Ottoman Empire. Like the National Party, the role of Hizb al-Umma declined
during the First World War, however, and after the conflict the majority of its members joined al-
Wafd party, which played a central role in the 1919 Revolution and on which we shall concentrate
fully later on.
It was this new belief in political groups and associations which was to create a wave of popular
support for the Revolution of 1919. People no longer regarded nationalism as an intellectual ideal,
but as a basic right. They had learned much through communal debate, and then communal action.
Association was deemed essential for people who wanted to fight against injustices, and rise up
against the British occupying forces.
129
Ahmed Lutfi al-Sayyid, Qissat Hayati (The Story of My Life), Cairo, Dar al-Hilal, 1962, p.137.
130
Quoted in Wendell, op. cit., p.259.
131
Quoted in Sayigh, op. cit., p.55.
132
See Abu Zayd, op. cit., pp.155-57; Al-Sayyid, op. cit., pp.129-30; and Ahmad Zakariyya al-Shaliq, Hizb al-Umma wa
Dawruhu fil-Siyasa al-Misriyya (The Umma Party and its Role in Egyptian Politics), Cairo, Dar al-Maʿarif, 1979,
pp.229-30.
129
There is no doubt that the basis of an Egyptian nationalist movement was well in place by the turn of
the twentieth century. The conduct of British soldiers during the Dinshawai Incident of 1906, and
the subsequent trial, was unquestionably reactionary and many showed their opposition. Dinshawai
was followed eight years later by the outbreak of a global war which, as far as Egypt was concerned,
brought ordinary people into contact with their colonial masters, often for the first time.
The sense of an expansionist coloniser pillaging one of its prestige overseas assets became very real
to the ordinary man and woman. The fact that many of these indigenous citizens actively had to help
the British exploit Egyptian resources for their use in the war became intolerable. Mass mobilisation
in the countryside saw nationalist resentment spread out of the cities and towns, across the whole
country, as an entire people began to focus their ire on the British Empire.
130
Chapter Three
Chapter Three:
Prelude to the 1919 Revolution:
How Britain’s “Informal Imperialism” was replaced by the
“War Imperialism” of the 1914-18 Conflict
131
Chapter Three: Prelude to the 1919 Revolution: How Britain’s “Informal Imperialism” was replaced by
the “War Imperialism” of the 1914-18 Conflict
The widespread view that Egypt had been plundered by an invading, colonial power during the First
World War inflamed passions across the country during the post-war period. People considered that
the mobilisation of an armed, foreign force stripped the indigenous population of precious resources.
So it was that, in the Spring of 1919, the arrest and deportation of nationalist leader Saʿad Zaghlul
became the spark which turned all these grievances into a fiery explosion of outrage. There were
strikes accompanied by riots in major cities including Cairo and Alexandria, as industrial unrest
brought transport links and other vital infrastructure to a standstill, causing panic across the ranks of
those upholding British rule in Egypt.
Darwin has depicted the Egyptian countryside in 1919 as being akin to “an economic and social
battleground where competing groups struggled to gain most and lose least from the changes of the
preceding decade”.1 Brown in his Peasant Politics notes how rural mobilisation led to wide-scale
resentment of the British occupiers. He points out that many Egyptian peasants were coming into
contact with direct British rule for the first time ever. Darwin argues that the “war imperialism” of
the 1914-18 conflict replaced the “informal imperialism” which had previously characterised
Britain’s presence in the Middle East. This form of “war imperialism” had three principal features
which Darwin qualifies succinctly. He describes them as “temporary additions to Imperial power” –
which is to say the introduction and extension of British administrative control; the mass
mobilisation of labourers and animals to form whole military units; and the organisation and
collection of agricultural resources for the war effort.2
Egypt’s agricultural cycle was detrimentally affected by this massive logistical undertaking, which
involved huge amounts of food and fodder for the soldiers and animals. All of this produce had been
originally intended for civilian use, but was instead turned over to the military. This caused major
changes in the nature of the Egyptian economy: it meant that everyone from senior Egyptian civil
servants and industrialists to ordinary agricultural and city workers became far more aware of the
control the British Empire had on their lives. The main argument of this chapter is that this
galvanised the nationalist consciousness as never before.
1
John Darwin, Britain, Egypt and the Middle East: Imperial Policy in the Aftermath of War 1918-1922, London,
Macmillan, 1981, p.73.
2
Ibid., p.275.
132
Certainly, the Wafd nationalist literature has made efforts to propagate this argument too.3 Officials
at the Foreign Office in London also admitted – albeit rather bluntly – that: “There is no doubt that
we squeezed the country very hard.”4 A logical corollary was great sympathy for nationalistic
messages.5 The system of reconciling civilian and military demand in the midst of a total war came
close to destruction in 1918. Rioters in Egypt in 1919 were in many ways similar to those in India
who attacked vital communications, including railway and telegraph lines, in order to try to break
down the British administration of their respective countries.6 The ultimate aim was to safeguard
local resources, and to stop them being taken away for the war effort.
The chapter will thus successively analyse the devastating consequences of the British “war
imperialism” on the Egyptian people. As the conflict grew in its intensity, an all but inevitable result
was Egypt been turned from a “Veiled Protectorate” of the British into a country which was directly
ruled from London. The main reason for this downward penetration was the need to step up the war
effort. The chapter will then highlight how the mass mobilisation of a traditional, agrarian economy
necessary for a modern, industrialised war had far-reaching repercussions on Egyptian society.
Finally, the chapter will examine how the war disrupted, and eventually destroyed an Anglo-
Egyptian system which had existed in the pre-war years – something which led to a politicisation of
the Egyptian people which was as swift and powerful as the progress of the war itself. Those
concerned were only too ready to react equally strongly when nationalist leader Saʿad Zaghlul called
for independence from Britain during the March 1919 uprising.
From “Veiled Protectorate” to Direct British Rule
Egypt’s pre-war economic system was based on very limited military spending, low taxes, free trade
and what was always described as a “temporary occupation”. After Royal Navy ships were sent to
put down the nationalist ʿUrabi Revolt in 1882, the economy evolved into a distinctive one right up
until the years preceding the First World War.7 British bureaucrats assisted by a formal Army of
Occupation were then given permission to modernise what Alfred Milner called the “frightful
3
See for example the Egyptian Delegation Report, Egyptian Delegation to the Peace Conference: Collection of Official
Correspondence from November 11, 1918 to July 14, 1919, Paris, published by the Delegation, 1919.
4
A.L., ‘Foreign Office minutes’, 24 March 1919, FO 371/3714.
5
Malcolm E. Yapp, The Making of the Modern Near East, 1792-1923, London, Longman, 1987, p.297.
6
Algernon Rumbold, Watershed in India, 1914-1922, London, Athlone Press, 1979, p.143.
7
133
misgovernment” of Khedival rule.8 After 1892, the London Foreign Office conceded that
withdrawal from Egypt was not likely to happen, despite politicians protesting against a supposedly
“temporary” occupation. British influence across Egypt spread in the years leading up to the turn of
the century.9 British civil servants flooded the higher reaches of the Egyptian government by 1914,
with Milner coining the description of Egypt as a “Veiled Protectorate”.10 These highly influential
British civil servants became known as “advisers in name, controllers in fact”, but they operated
behind the façade of the Egyptian Government.11 The British bureaucrats were ostensibly
accountable to Egyptian Ministers in a separation of powers. British policy between 1882 and 1914
was to maintain British economic and strategic interests, ensuring enough political co-operation so
as to avoid direct British rule.12 This led to a “constant balancing act” in British foreign policy –
work centred on improving Egypt’s political and economic status certainly led to stability within
Egypt, and actually strengthened Britain’s position, resulting in more British officials arriving in
Egypt to join the country’s bureaucracy.13
Lower, peasant levels of Egyptian society were not, however, influenced by this influx of British
administrators. The vast majority of the Egyptian population was instead unaffected by a British
presence made up of only 300 to 400 civil servants, and 4000 to 5000 soldiers. Their direct
involvement did not extend to rural Egypt. In the countryside, 68 per cent of Egyptians remained
employed in agriculture.14 Rural policies continued the Khedives’ pre-1882 measures, which saw
Egypt integrated into the international economy through the development of cotton as an export-
based cash crop.15 This course of action led to work on huge capital projects including the creation
of the Aswan Dam, as well as a comprehensive railway network.16
8
Peter J. Cain, ‘Character and Imperialism: The British Financial Administration of Egypt, 1878-1914’ in Journal of
Imperial and Commonwealth History, vol. 34, no. 2, 2006, p.183.
9
Lawrence Grafftey-Smith, Bright Levant, London, John Murray, 1970, p.24.
10
Alfred Milner, England in Egypt, London, Edward Arnold, 1892, p.24.
11
Percival G. Elgood, Egypt and the Army, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1924, p.10.
12
Darwin, op. cit., p.59.
13
Martin W. Daly, ‘The British Occupation, 1882-1922’ in Martin W. Daly (ed.), The Cambridge History of Egypt:
Volume 2. Modern Egypt, from 1517 to the End of the Twentieth Century, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press,
1998, p.240.
14
David French, ‘The Dardanelles, Mecca and Kut: Prestige as a Factor in British Eastern Strategy, 1914-1916’ in War
and Society, 1987, vol. 5, no. 1, p.46; Robert Tignor, State, Private Enterprise and Economic Change in Egypt, 1918-
1952, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1984, p.32.
15
Gabriel Baer, A History of Landownership in Modern Egypt 1800-1950, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1962, p.57.
16
Roger Owen, Cotton and the Egyptian Economy 1820-1914: A Study in Trade and Development, Oxford, Clarendon
Press, 1969, p.23.
134
The edicts of British officials were sent through the local village hierarchies, meaning most ordinary
people had very little to do with the British. This form of indirect rule led to many believing that
some kind of Egyptian government was in fact making decisions, rather than the British themselves.
After the First World War broke out in 1914, this separation of powers broke down. Military
demands during the war saw martial law introduced, resulting in centralised British control over
every aspect of Egyptian life. So it was that intense resource extraction engendered a fundamental
change in the relationship between the Egyptians and their British colonial masters.
At the outset of the war in 1914 Egypt was nominally still part of the Ottoman Empire, something
which was illogical considering Turkey’s position as an enemy of the British. Sir Edward Grey, the
British Foreign Secretary, first proposed that Egypt be annexed, but Sir Milne Cheetham, acting
Consul-General in Cairo, was against this, defending the collaborative tradition of the “temporary”
occupation of Egypt. Cheetham said that annexation would contradict the Government’s declared
aim of upholding the rights of small nations.17 Britain’s connection with the Caliph, the spiritual
head of the Sunni Muslim inhabitants of Egypt and India, also needed to be considered, argued
Cheetham. The Residency called for a careful approach in 1914, regarding Egyptians as “potential if
latent enemies whose neutrality and quiescence it was advisable to purchase at a price”.18 In October
1914, the Residency adjourned before suspending the Legislative Assembly. On 2 November 1914,
the British military authorities in Cairo proclaimed that Britain would take on primary responsibility
for the defence of Egypt. No Egyptian would be asked to engage in the fighting, it was alleged.
Press censorship and counter-intelligence expedients were also brought in, adding an undertaking
which defied those Egyptians who had declared an Islamic holy war on 14 November.19
Egyptian sovereignty was settled on 19 December 1914 when Britain declared Egypt a Protectorate
and replaced the pro-Ottoman Khedive, ʿAbbas Hilmi II, with his nephew, the pro-British Hussein, a
man described as a collaborator “of unmistakable loyalty and sincerity”.20 Sir Henry McMahon was
made Egypt’s High Commissioner, while martial law was put in place to bypass the system of
17
John C.B. Richmond, Egypt 1798-1952: Her Advance Towards a Modern Identity, New York, Columbia University
Press, 1977, p.169.
18
‘Letter from Sir Reginald Wingate to General Archibald Murray’, 23 May 1917, FO 371/2932, The National Archives
of the United Kingdom (hereafter TNA).
19
Martin W. Daly, The Sirdar: Sir Reginald Wingate and the British Empire in the Middle East, Philadelphia, American
Philosophical Society, 1997, p.203; Hew Strachan, The First World War: Volume I: To Arms, Oxford, Oxford
University Press, 2001, p.702.
20
Papers and Correspondence of Viscount Hardinge of Penshurst, ‘Letter from Sir Henry McMahon to Lord Hardinge of
Penshurst’, 2 February 1915, vol. 93, Cambridge University Library (hereafter CUL).
135
Capitulations.21 Britain became the main legislative and executive authority in Egypt, despite
Foreign Office claims that martial law would supplement rather than supersede the Civil
Administration.22 This development was one of the first signs of the newly aggressive British
involvement in Egyptian sovereignty.
This interference in the country’s most vital affairs transformed the political relationship between
Egyptians and British, directly creating the bitterness which led to unrest in the post-war years. The
terms of the Protectorate were ambiguous and easily manipulated. They were at first welcomed by
the British, while the Egyptians viewed them as a transitional plan aimed at prosecuting the war
successfully before Egypt’s status was finally settled.23 Percival Elgood, who served in the
Ministries of War, Interior and Finance and as wartime General Staff Officer at Port Said during his
career in Egypt, said later – in 1924 – that the Protectorate “inferred much and promised little” and
should not have been implemented since “no human intelligence in November1914 could foretell
the development of the War, or whether Egyptian assistance would not become necessary to the
success of military operations”.24 There was, to begin with at least, little impact on the daily life of
Egyptians made by the new measures.
However, an indication of the gradual manner in which the war ended up having a dramatic
consequence on Egyptian society is clear. As Britain extended its military commitments across
Europe and the Middle East it increasingly relied on logistical support from its Empire, and
especially the colossal human resources.25 The London government was fully aware that a global
war necessarily required a strategy designed to “embrace the active mobilisation provisional of the
nation’s entire economic resources as well”.26 Also, with Britain expanding its Imperial ambitions,
21
A capitulation is a formal, signed joint-agreement or unilateral undertaking by which a country relinquishes
jurisdiction within its borders over those living within a foreign state. As a result, those who have taken charge are
immune from actions by courts and other governmental institutions in the state they have invaded.
22
General Sir Archibald Murray, ‘Memorandum on Martial Law in Egypt’, 26 November 1916, FO 371/2930, TNA.
23
John E. Marshall, The Egyptian Enigma, London, John Murray, 1928, p.141; Marshall was a Judge in the Egyptian
Court of Appeal throughout the war years.
24
Elgood, op. cit., p.85.
25
See Kristian Coates-Ulrichsen, The Logistics and Politics of the British Campaigns in the Middle East, 1914-22,
London, Palgrave Macmillan, 2011, for a comprehensive coverage of how the British Empire made enormous logistical
and human demands on Egypt and India to conduct large scale campaigns in Mesopotamia and Palestine during the First
World War.
26
David French, ‘The Rise and Fall of “Business as Usual”’ in Kathleen Burk (ed.), War and the State: The
Transformation of British Government, 1914-1919, London, Allen and Unwin, 1982; Keith Grieves, ‘Lloyd George and
the Management of the British War Economy’ in Roger Chickering & Stig Forster (eds.), Great War, Total War:
Combat and Mobilisation on the Western Front, 1914-1918, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2000;
136
cities such as Cairo, as well as the larger towns, became full of uniformed soldiers from Britain and
the Commonwealth preparing for action in nearby theatres of war, including the Dardanelles and
Palestine. The flood of units of men with their equipment, all involved in training for war, had a
profound effect on the psyche of Egyptians. This kind of military presence was an extensive
physical manifestation of colonisation – one which raised tensions in local communities, convincing
people that the vast increase in troop number corresponded with a vast decrease in independence.27
Sir John Maxwell, the military Commander of Britain in Egypt in 1914-15, worked closely and
effectively with the civil administration.28 Egypt was the main base for the Dardanelles campaign in
1915 and, in January 1916, the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force (MEF) returned to Egypt. By
9 January General Archibald Murray had replaced General Charles Monro as Commander-in-Chief.
The MEF initially operated alongside the Force in Egypt, but by March 1916 the complexity of
maintaining two military formations persuaded Maxwell to suggest that his position be abolished.
Maxwell found the system “extravagant and wasteful”.29 Murray then assumed sole charge of the
amalgamated troops which were renamed the Egyptian Expeditionary Force (EEF).
An advance across the Canal Zone across the Sinai Peninsula to el-Arish was ordered by Murray in
February 1916, near the border with Ottoman Palestine. This aimed to stop the Sinai falling into
enemy hands by securing British control over the only town capable of defeating an attacking force
thanks to access to water supplies. Victory would also enable the EEF to take rapid offensive action
against any Ottoman build-up in southern Palestine.30 The War Office in London approved the
policy, and the EEF crossed the Sinai to occupy el-Arish on 22 December. The progress was
accompanied by the construction of a desert railway from the Canal port of Qantara, and a water
pipeline, and by 5 February 1917 both reached el-Arish.31 The campaign, which began as a
defensive one designed to protect Egypt, then became an offensive one, with the EEF making
headway into Palestine. The capture of Gaza and Beersheba, the two main sources of water for the
Martin Farr, ‘A Compelling Case for Voluntarism: Britain’s Alternative Strategy, 1915-16’ in War in History, vol. 9, no.
3, 2002.
27
Eugene Rogan, The Arabs: A History, 2nd ed., London, Penguin Books, 2012, p.204.
28
Major E.W. Poulson Newman, Great Britain in Egypt, London, Cassell, 1928, p.210.
29
‘Letter from Sir John Maxwell to Sir William Robertson’, 7 March 1916, Papers of Sir William Robertson, 4/5/3,
Kings College London, Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives (hereafter LHCMA).
30
Cyril Falls and George MacMunn, Official History, Military Operations. Egypt and Palestine, London, HMSO, 1928,
vol. I, p.173.
31
Archibald Murray, Sir Archibald Murray’s Despatches, London, J M Dent & Sons, 1920, Appendix D, ‘Water Supply
East of Canal’, p.190.
137
region, denied this water being made available for the enemy. It also ensured that the EEF had a
healthier HQ, away from the malaria-infested coastal plain of southern Palestine. The operation also
provided cover for the extension of the military railway into Palestine.32
There was very little resistance from the Ottoman Turks in the Sinai so, under mounting pressure
from the War Office in London to deliver a spectacular, morale-inspiring victory at the time of the
Russian Revolution, Murray carried on advancing. An attack on Gaza on 26 March was planned too
quickly, however, and without adequate logistical support. Despite a troubled campaign, the War
Office ordered that the manoeuvre continue leading to the Second Battle of Gaza on 18 April, when
a frontal assault on the reinforced Ottoman garrison was beaten back with heavy casualties to both
infantry and cavalry.33 On 11 June, Murray was relieved of his command and replaced by General
Sir Edmund Allenby.
With increased artillery, and two new infantry divisions put at his disposal, Allenby spent the
summer of 1917 extending the rail and pipeline networks up to and along the battle-front. This
detailed preparation was repaid during the Third Battle of Gaza between 31 October and
2 November – one which included the heaviest non-European artillery bombardment of the war.34
The EEF launched an assault on Gaza and Beersheba in a combined offensive and penetrated the
Ottoman lines.35 Allenby’s XX Corps was confronted with stiff Ottoman resistance in the Judean
Hills but broke through to capture Jerusalem on 9 December.
While all this was happening, British armies were involved in all-out fighting on the western front in
Europe. Offensives in France meant few additional troops were made available to the EEF from
Europe. Instead, battalions from British India were sent to Egypt, many of them initially badly
trained and poorly equipped before they were transferred to the front line of the conflict.36 Faced
with the want for extra training and fast supply lines, Allenby did not resume his offensive until
September. A joint-infantry-cavalry attack at Megiddo vanquished the Ottoman Seventh and Eighth
32
Sir Philip Chetwode, ‘Notes on the Palestine Operations’, 21 June 1917, Papers of Sir William Bartholomew, 1/2,
LHCMA.
33
Matthew Hughes, Allenby and British Strategy in the Middle East, 1917-1919, London, Frank Cass, 1999, pp.19-21.
34
Matthew Hughes, ‘General Allenby and the Palestine Campaign, 1917-1918’ in Journal of Strategic Studies, vol. 19,
no. 4, 1996, p.70.
35
Sir Philip Chetwode, ‘Report on XX Corps Operations – October 20th 1917 to November 7th 1917’, Papers of Field
Marshal Lord Chetwode, P 183, Folder 5, Imperial War Museum, London (hereafter IWM).
36
‘Memorandum on India’s Contribution to the War in Men, Materials and Money: August 1914 to November 1918’,
L/MIL/17/5/2381, British Library, London, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collection (hereafter APAC).
138
Armies on 26 September 1918. The use of the air force and substantial mechanised transport led to
the retreating Ottoman columns being cut off and defeated, in what became a text-book model for a
modern, “deep” battle.37 This paved the way for the advance to Damascus on 30 September and
Aleppo on 6 October. It was at Aleppo that the momentum was halted, because the cavalry and other
mechanised forces had far outstripped their supply lines.38
Such swift, dynamic, modernised warfare across a fluid frontline entailed that local resources
continually had to be commandeered to meet military needs. A lack of roads and railway lines at the
beginning of the war necessitated that supplies be carried by beasts of burden across countryside.
This was made particularly difficult because of the rough and uneven state of this rural environment
in the Sinai and Palestine, and involved basic logistical military units made up of thousands of
labourers and animals including camels and donkeys. By the time of the capture of Aleppo in
October 1918, lines of communication were stretched to 650 miles, with these animals and their
human guides having to negotiate the hundreds of miles of hugely difficult terrain. By this time, the
demands on the country of Egypt had increased inexorably.39 In November 1918 the Egyptian
Expeditionary Force comprised more than 460,000 combatants and non-combatants, with up to
500,000 Egyptians serving in the Egyptian Labour, and a further 170,000 in the Camel Transport
Corps.40
Wartime Mobilisation of Egyptian Resources
The provision of man and animal power, and food and fodder was the main strain of this massive
wartime mobilisation.41 The agricultural cycle and the delicate balance between civil and military
requirements were all affected in Egypt. While the enormous EEF mobilisation was met, there was
great disruption to the political economy of rural Egypt and its fragile equilibrium between
subsistence farming and the growth of cash crops for export. Units like the Egyptian Labour Corps
37
Jonathan M. House, Combined Arms Warfare in the Twentieth Century, Kansas, University Press of Kansas, 2001,
p.58.
38
Cyril Falls, Armageddon 1918, London, Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1964, p.169.
39
Edmund Allenby, A Brief Record of the Advance of the Egyptian Expeditionary Force, July 1917 to October 1918:
Compiled from Official Sources, London, HMSO, 1919, p.220.
40
W. Elliot and A. Kinross, ‘Maintaining Allenby’s Armies: A Footnote to History’ in Royal Army Service Corps
Quarterly, vol. 13, no. 1, 1925, p.127; ‘Statement of Egyptian Natives Employed in the EEF’, FO 371/3198, TNA.
41
Kristian Coates-Ulrichsen, ‘The British Occupation of Mesopotamia, 1914-1922’ in Journal of Strategic Studies,
vol. 30, no. 2, 2007, pp.349-377.
139
and Camel Transport Corps called for huge numbers of peasant workers to be recruited. This was a
voluntary movement to begin with, but it turned into a division of forced labour. Egyptians noted
that it started to resemble the corvée – a system of unpaid toil which had been abolished in 1892 but
which Cromer described as one of the primary “civilising” achievements of British rule. During the
war, the reappearance of state requests for labour caused great hardship and resentment in rural
regions which contributed to the revolt in 1919.42
Towards the end of the war, Britain was no longer the main supplier for the military forces in
Palestine and Mesopotamia. Instead, bulky comestible items had to be produced locally, so as to
economise on the use of shipping which was needed in other theatres of the war. In both Egypt and
India the British authorities increased their downward demand on agrarian society.
They organised the mobilisation and collection of local resources to supply the various military
campaigns, so intensifying the trend towards greater British exploitation of rural affairs in Egypt that
had begun during the consulships of Cromer and Kitchener. Above all, however, this development
represented a significant departure from pre-war policy as the civil-military state intervened directly
in economic affairs in order to requisition local produce on a far more substantial scale. 43 The High
Commission in Cairo initially had to take measures to stimulate the production of foodstuffs and
reverse the pre-war emphasis on cotton which had restricted the amount of cereal yielded and
created a dependence on imported food. By 1914, there were shortfalls in grain and meat and a
reliance on imports to meet domestic consumption. Around one-third of Egyptian wheat
requirements, amounting to 260,000 tons, were imported from Russia and India in 1913, while cattle
came from Sudan.44
The outbreak of war in 1914 and the immediate diversion of shipping to military use meant Egypt
either had to decrease food consumption or increase the production of foodstuffs. Reducing
consumption would make a mechanism of rationing and a literate population necessary.
Accordingly, the Egyptian Government passed a decree on 20 September 1914 forbidding the
cultivation of cotton in Upper Egypt and restricting it to one-quarter of total holdings elsewhere.45
42
Nathan J. Brown, ‘Who Abolished Corvee Labour in Egypt and Why?’ in Past and Present, vol. 144, no. 1, 1994,
p.136.
43
Darwin, op. cit., pp.56-8.
44
45
Ibid., p.212.
140
This limitation was subsequently relaxed to one-third of holdings following protests from large
landowners. Its results were mixed as the proportion of cultivated land producing cotton fell from
44% in 1914 to 28% in 1915, before rising to 40% in 1916 when many large landowners came to
regard the fine levied on excess cotton production as a minor tax on profits as world prices soared to
record levels.46 Consequently the constraint had to be re-imposed with tighter regulation in 1917.
Early attempts to change commercial agricultural patterns is what these curtailments on cotton
cultivation represented. But they failed to significantly increase grain production, or achieve self-
sufficiency in food output. Farmers switching production to the growth of cereals were hampered by
the absence of nitrate fertiliser, because it was needed by the military. This led to a disappointing
wheat harvest in 1915, and many peasants switched to growing animal fodder instead.47
The Egyptian Government’s failure to keep under control the export of foodstuffs in 1914
exacerbated the situation. It led to a huge increase in exports in 1915, making wheat scarce, and
leading to maize being used as a substitute in 1916. Egypt remained dependent on shipments of
wheat, and flour from India throughout the war, despite the various measures taken to stimulate
cereal production. The return of the MEF from Gallipoli in March 1916 overwhelmed existing
reserves of food and fodder and caused a food crisis which had to be dealt with by emergency
shipments of bread and hay from India.48 Prosecuting a major desert campaign with peasant labour,
animal transport, food, fodder and railways between mid-1916 and November 1918 had a huge
impact on Egyptian society. Established patterns of agricultural production and distribution were
distorted, and Egyptian agriculture regressed from an export-based cash economy to a food-
producing one in which any surplus was claimed for military consumption and thus withheld from
commercial sale. Egyptian agricultural schemes were disrupted because of three factors in
particular: the recruitment of peasant labourers for military unit; the diversion of the Egyptian
railways for use by the military; and the extraction of agricultural resources to feed and maintain the
troops in the Sinai and Palestine.
46
Ellis Goldberg, ‘Peasants in Revolt – Egypt 1919’ in International Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 24, no. 2, 1992,
p.265.
47
Ibid., p.264.
48
Jonathan Newell, British Military Policy in Egypt and Palestine, August 1914-June 1917, PhD thesis, University of
London, 1990.
141
The decision to use Egyptian manpower was part of a long history of state mobilisation of peasant
labour in Egypt. This had been standard practice during the Ottoman period (1517-1882) and
Mehmet ʿAli introduced conscription for the peasantry in 1823. Under the corvée system, vast
numbers of forced labourers worked on the construction of irrigation and infrastructural state-
building projects during his reign (1805-1848).49 During the reign of Khedive Ismaʿil (1863-1879)
railway development and the construction of the Suez Canal intensified and politicised the contacts
between state institutions and peasants and set in motion a dialectical process of negotiation and
occasional confrontation with the bureaucratising state.50 Government demands for labour declined
after 1882, and by 1914 only the Nile Bank Lists, which provided labourers for essential flood-
defence works, remained.51
The need for peasant labour during the war asked for a hierarchical bureaucratic structure that
projected state power downward to provincial and rural levels. This was how this mobilisation was
achieved.52 There were improvements in irrigation, however, and this ensured that British calls for
military labour differed greatly from what was the case under the Ottoman Empire. The agricultural
“off-season” in which labourers had temporarily offered their services under the corvée ceased to
exist, with agriculture becoming a year-round activity. Between 1917 and 1918 the agricultural and
military cycles clashed as wants for military labour peaked each spring and coincided with the wheat
harvest.53
The Egyptian Labour Corps and the Camel Transport Corps were the units in which most Egyptian
labourers served. They made up the complex logistical system which allowed the advance into
Palestine to take place. Before the railway had been built across the Sinai, and mechanised transport
emerged in great numbers after 1917, all items of consumption had to be shifted into place by man
and animal power. This included all of the water requirements of the force, which were moved
across the Sinai by camel until the water pipeline was ready in February 1917.
49
Zachary Lockman, ‘“Worker” and “Working Class” in pre-1914 Egypt: A Rereading’ in Zachary Lockman (ed.),
Workers and Working Classes in the Middle East: Struggles, Histories, Historiographies, New York, State University of
New York Press, 1994, p.81.
50
John Chalcraft, ‘Engaging the State: Peasants and Petitions in Egypt on the Eve of Colonial Rule’ in International
Journal of Middle East Studies, vol. 37, no. 3, 2005, p.304.
51
Nathan J. Brown, Peasant Politics in Modern Egypt: The Struggle Against the State, New York, Yale University Press,
1990, p.197.
52
Roger Owen & Bob Sutcliffe (eds.), Studies in the Theory of Imperialism, London, Longman, 1972, p.208.
53
Sir William Willcocks, ‘Memorandum by Sir William Willcocks’, 4 March 1919, FO 371/3714, TNA.
142
It was in January 1915 that the Camel Transport Corps (CTC) was founded to use animals in the
Canal Zone. Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Whittingham took charge, combining his military
experience in the Grenadier Guards with camel management skills picked up in the Anti-Slavery
Department in Sudan.54 The Corps strength stood at 1310 camels and 864 men by February 1915,
and was split into 24 sections and four divisions.55 The camels took rations and water along the Suez
Canal during the early stages of construction of the Canal Zone defence works.56 An Ottoman attack
on the Canal Zone occurred on 3 February 1915 but was largely unsuccessful. The CTC was
therefore reduced to 500 camels – a move which signified that the immediate military threat to
Egypt had got smaller.57 Methods of loading camels were perfected during these earlier years of the
Corps, as well as means by which the animals could be protected against mange, colic and cold.58
In December 1915 the London War Office authorised the Force in Egypt to be increased to 20,000
camels.59 This was in part due to Maxwell’s decision to defend the Canal in depth, and the need for
a defensive line 11,000 yards to the east. The sandy soil of the Sinai Desert made wheeled transport
unsuitable, so camels were brought in to ferry water, ammunition and other essential military
supplies.60 There was a rise in military demands on the CTC as the advance across the Sinai took
place in 1916. This was in particular because the water pipeline always lagged behind the railway.
Throughout 1916 the troops and labourers were dependent on the CTC on water which was
conveyed by rail from the Sweet Water Canal to the railhead and then loaded on to special fantasses
(camel tanks) and then divided up among advanced groups.61
54
Henry Keown-Boyd, The Lion and the Sphinx: The Rise and Fall of the British in Egypt, 1882-1956, Durham,
Spennymoor, 2002, p.76.
55
Lt-Col. C Whittingham, ‘Note on Organisation etc. of CTC’, February 1915, WO 95/4360, TNA.
56
Gerald E. Badcock, A History of the Transport Services of the Egyptian Expeditionary Force 1916-1918, London,
H. Rees, 1925, p.140.
57
General A. Wilson, ‘Major-General A Wilson to General Staff, Cairo’, 24 February 1915, WO 95/4360, TNA.
58
Whittingham, ‘Note on Organisation’, WO 95/4360, TNA.
59
‘Levant Base in Egypt to War Office’, 23 December 1915, WO 33/760, TNA.
60
Henry S. Gullett, The Official History of Australia in the War of 1914-1918. Volume 7: Sinai and Palestine, The
Australian Imperial Force in Sinai and Palestine 1914-1918, St Lucia, University of Queensland Press, 1984 [1925],
p.245.
61
Elliot & Kinross, op. cit., p.119.
143
The CTC peaked in size in June 1917 when it was made up of 33,594 camels and 19,886 Egyptian
personnel. Then its ration strength was reduced to 29,000 camels in March 1918 and 25,700 in
September. The change in ground in Palestine allowed greater use of mechanised transport.62
Around 170,000 camel drivers and 72,500 camels served in the CTC between December 1915 and
February 1919.63 The men and camels enduring terrible conditions, especially during the winter
progression to Jerusalem through the Judean Hills in 1917 and the two Trans-Jordan raids in March
and April 1918. In 1924, Elgood recorded how the “fellahin drafted into it gave themselves up as
lost men” who could “hardly have been worse off in Turkish captivity”.64
As well as the problems suffered by camels and drivers, there were other effects caused by the
strengthened CTC, especially in regards to impacts on Egyptian society. Around 30,000 camels
imported to Egypt from Arabia were all lost. The lack of camels on the open market naturally
pushed the price of the animals up.65 The Ministry of Interior started to buy lots of camels in
December 1915. The Heavy Delta camel proved the most suited to the work required, out of the
eight classes of camel tested.66
Camels were used by peasants to carry their produce to local markets for sale. They also resorted to
railway connections to take their produce to national markets. The effective requisitioning, through
“indirect pressure”, of their camels caused considerable hardship and unrest in the countryside, as an
estimated 20,000 were gathered in this way in 1916 and 35,000 in 1917.67 This in turn placed
enormous demands on agricultural Egypt to supply the fodder to feed the camels as well as the
46,000 horses, 15,000 mules and several thousand donkeys in service with the EEF by 1917. 68 As
with the supply of camels, the open market could not provide the required quantities, which were
obtained instead by means of requisitioning and forced purchasing at below market prices.69
62
Allenby, op. cit., p.99.
63
Badcock, op. cit., p.154.
64
Percival G. Elgood, Egypt and the Army, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1924, p.244 gives figures of 220 camel-
drivers killed in action with a further 4,000 deaths in field hospitals during the war.
65
Cyril Falls and George MacMunn, Official History, Military Operations: Egypt and Palestine, London, HMSO, 1928,
p.93.
66
Murray, op. cit., p.219.
67
68
Gullett, op. cit., p.364.
69
Brown, op. cit., Peasant Politics in Modern Egypt, p.201.
144
The reality of Egypt being a country in dire straits became more apparent as people were recruited to
the Egyptian Labour Corps (ELC). Some 500,000 Egyptians served in the unit between 1915 and
1919. Even then, these figures were disputed by some Egyptian historians with some saying the
actual number was more like 1million.70 Although enlistment initially represented a financially-
attractive proposition to many peasants affected by agricultural unemployment and low wage-rates
in 1915-16, the opportunity cost of engagement went up at a great rate in 1917-18 as agricultural
salaries readjusted to reflect the growing scarcity of rural labour. The resulting slump in recruitment
at a time of rapidly increasing military needs for labour led to the introduction of more coercive
methods of enrolment which caused great discontentment in rural areas.
The first mobilisation of Egyptian labour occurred in March 1915 with the dispatch of a 650-strong
Egyptian Works Battalion to the Dardanelles.71 The Battalion was stationed on the advanced base at
Lemnos and was involved in the construction of piers, jetties and a light railway. It performed
extremely valuable service in difficult conditions during the summer of 1915 and was often exposed
to shell-fire. However, an “unfortunate incident” early in September left nine Egyptian workers dead
and another seven injured after British officers fired on them to quell a disturbance. The unrest arose
when the labourers claimed that they had only agreed to serve for three months and that their
agreement stipulated that they would not be employed under fire. Their British officers disputed
both allegations, and tensions escalated further after one officer flogged several of the men.72
The civil and military authorities in Egypt condemned the “deplorable lack of tact and self-control”
of the officer involved, and the Commander-in-Chief of the MEF, Sir Ian Hamilton had little option
but to withdraw the Battalion to Egypt.73 This he did with regret, for “the abused and troubled
Works Battalion also did magnificent work as long as it was here, and I wish very much I had
another”.74 In Egypt, the British civil authorities fretted that the incident would awaken memories of
the 1906 killings at Dinshawai and spark a nationalist backlash. This was averted through a policy of
rigorous censorship which succeeded in keeping the incident quiet.75
70
Ibid., p.198.
71
‘Sir Henry McMahon to Sir Ian Hamilton’, 2 October 1915, Papers of Field Marshal Lord Kitchener, PRO 30/57/47.
72
Wingate to John Herbert, ‘Works Battalion Incident’, 14 September 1915, Hamilton Papers, 7/1/26, LHCMA.
73
Ibid.
74
Hamilton to Wingate, 2 October 1915, Hamilton Papers, 7/1/26, LHCMA.
75
Wingate to Herbert, 29 September 1915, Hamilton Papers, 7/1/26, LHCMA.
145
In July 1915 the Egyptian labour force at the Dardanelles was augmented by an Egyptian Labour
Corps. This numbered 1,152 labourers, recruited from the villages of Upper Egypt, and 10 British
officers, described as “private gentlemen specially qualified by their occupation in Egypt to
understand and handle Egyptian labourers”.76 Its commander, Major Hicks Paul, had long
experience of administering agricultural estates in Egypt and earlier in 1915 had served as Inspector
of a Section of the CTC. He thus combined practice of handling Egyptians in both a civilian and
quasi-military context. The ELC returned to Egypt after the evacuation of the Gallipoli beachheads
in January 1916. It then expanded rapidly as manual labourers constructed the railway and water
pipeline which accompanied Murray’s advance through Sinai. By the end of April 1916 its strength
had grown to 42 officers and 9000 men. A formal structure of recruitment replaced the hitherto “ad
hoc” system that had relied on the collaboration of specialists such as Hicks and other members of
the British commercial community.77
Demands for labour continued to increase as the logistical network became more complex and the
lines of communication lengthened. In July 1916, 3,800 labourers dug trenches and generally
buttressed the fortifications at Romani against the anticipated Ottoman charge which came on
4 August. This figure represented the maximum number who could be supplied with water, to the
chagrin of Murray who had ordered the dispatch of 5,000 and ordered a report as to why the
remaining 1,200 had been held back.78 Nevertheless, Murray was satisfied with their prowess,
remarking that “I feel it would have been perfectly impossible for Territorial troops in this area to
have accomplished one-twentieth of the work these Egyptians have done”.79
The exact strength of the ELC has been a matter of dispute between the official British sources and
Egyptian historians: Nathan Brown quotes a British estimate of half a million alongside an Egyptian
estimate “two or three times that number”.80 All labourers were recruited on three-month contracts,
except those serving overseas in France and Mesopotamia, who enlisted for six months. This meant
that one-third of the force had to be replaced each month.81 This high turnover has made it very
76
‘Note, General Staff, Army Headquarters, Cairo, 23 July 1915 – The Egyptian Labour Corps’, FO 141/97, TNA.
77
An example of the use of the British commercial community to enlist labour is contained in the First World War letters
of Lieutenant J.W. McPherson at IWM 80/25/1.
78
General Staff to General Officer Commanding No. 3 Section, Canal Defences, 14 July 1916, WO 95/4364, TNA.
79
‘Extract from notes made by C-in-C during recent visit to Romani and Mohamdiya’ in Dispatch from Captain A.C.
Dawnay to Deputy Quartermaster-General, G.H.Q., 7 July 1916, WO 95/4364, TNA.
80
Brown, op. cit., Peasant Politics, p.198.
81
Murray, op. cit., p.208.
146
difficult to calculate the overall statistic of men who served, as an unknown number re-enlisted, and
the precise figure may never be known. Official Foreign Office data show that the levels of
Egyptians working for the ELC rose steadily: these correspond roughly to the official sum of
100,002 labourers in November 1918, which included all ELC men performing duties overseas as
well as 6,406 skilled men assisting in the units.82 The British authorities were careful not to
publicise the extent of Egyptian involvement in the war effort, in light of the 1914 Proclamation and
nationalist unease at the scale of their participation. In September 1918, Cheetham informed Balfour
that “the figures have, for obvious military reasons, never been published, and are quite unknown to
the public”. Cheetham added that “it has recently been thought advisable to contradict exaggerated
rumours to the effect that several hundred thousand Egyptians had been sent across the Canal”.83
Enlistment in the ELC was nominally voluntary, and overall responsibility for raising the amount of
men rested with a network of British District Recruiting Officers. At this level, direct British
supervision of the system of recruitment ended as control shifted to a class of intermediate
collaborating groups. These utilised existing methods of state penetration of rural society as
Egyptian agents in each sub-district worked with the village headmen (ʿumdeh) to enrol the
labourers. Initially, the rates of pay – 5 Piastres per day for service within Egypt and 8 for service
overseas – compared favourably with the prevailing agricultural wage rate, which was lower in
1916.84 It was in the villages of rural Egypt, far from official gaze, that the abuses and compulsion
which engendered so much indignation occurred. British officials blamed the “natural venality” of
Egyptian ones for practices such as the acceptance by agents of bribes for exemption from service
from those willing and able to pay, while imposing effective conscription on all others.85
Significantly, the village headmen succeeded in deflecting the rural backlash against these abuses of
authority by ascribing them to “tyrannical” British demands for men. As a result, one British
administrator in Cairo acknowledged that “while we were winning the war, we were losing the
fellahin”, long considered the bedrock of British rule in Egypt, as in India.86
82
Allenby, op. cit., p.108.
83
Sir Milne Cheetham to Sir Arthur Balfour, 15 September 1918, FO 407/183, TNA.
84
Owen, op. cit., Studies in the Theory of Imperialism, p.356.
85
Wingate to Balfour, 15 September 1918, FO 141/797, TNA.
86
Grafftey-Smith, op. cit., p.56.
147
After mid-1917, the intensification of recruitment, increasing exposure of labourers to shell-fire and
deployment in an offensive campaign in Ottoman Palestine multiplied the plethora of rural
grievances. Although the measures taken in May 1917 temporarily boosted enlistment, the
inexorable rise in military requirements for labour resulted in another crisis in May 1918. This
happened as contracting fell from 6,000 per week in February to 4,000 per week in March and 1,800
per week in April when the start of the wheat harvest increased the opportunity cost of servicing.
The general reluctance to enlist was compounded by stories of sickness and hardship from returning
labourers and an outbreak of cholera in southern Palestine in January 1918. Meanwhile, news of the
great German offensive on the Western Front on 21 March reached Egypt alongside rumours that
hundreds of Egyptian labourers had been killed when the German assault broke through Fifth
Army’s front-lines at Saint-Quentin.
These declining returns led to the final collapse of the system of voluntary work. On 1 May, Allenby
informed Wingate that “recruiting has… now become so unsatisfactory and shows every inclination
to remain so that it is of the utmost importance to reconsider the question of compulsion”. 87 With
Wingate and both the Sultan and Prime Minister adamantly opposed to the introduction of
conscription, the High Commission adopted a scheme of “administrative pressure”. This involved
the requisitioning of labour from the villages, working through the hierarchical structure of the
provincial governors (mudīr) and village headmen (ʿumdeh).88 Within the High Commission itself it
was rather euphemistically referred to as “compulsory volunteering”.89
The new policies led to “various regrettable incidents” taking place, almost daily in late-May, June
and July in rural provinces, as opposition to them mounted.90 They included attacks on village
officials and policemen attempting to round up “volunteers” for the labour units. The British blamed
the disturbances on the ʿumdeh, whom they suspected of resorting to corrupt methods to collect
men. In particular, they believed that the new measures “brought to a head long standing differences
between village factions”.91 One Political Officer reported how “Junior Officials, ʿOmdehs and
Sheikhs used it as a weapon against their personal enemies, as well as for the purposes of extortion”.
87
Sir Edmund Allenby to Wingate, 1 May 1918, FO 141/797, TNA.
88
Wingate to Allenby, 8 May 1917, FO 141/797, TNA.
89
Grafftey-Smith, op. cit., p.55.
90
Wingate to Allenby, 24 May 1917, FO 141/797, TNA.
91
Minute from Keon Boyd to Wingate, 26 May 1918, FO 141/797, TNA.
148
In this manner, the system of “compulsory volunteering” became a haven of “favouritism and
baksheesh” that was “allowed to drift into a means of oppression of the poor and helpless”.92
The second action to destabilise rural Egypt was, between May 1917 and November 1918, Egyptian
railway being expropriated for military purposes. Thus the civilian lines were used to provide
minimum subsistence to the civilian population. This created a massive overstretching on the
connection between agricultural production and the railway network, as it was strained to its limit.
Before 1914, the virtual absence of wheeled traffic, added to restricted routes of inland waterways,
meant that the Egyptian State Railway (ESR) system was employed extensively for moving cash
crops (such as cotton) to the ports for export, and collecting sugar, cereal, forage and other
foodstuffs from agricultural districts and distributing them to the various centres of consumption
around the country.93
The exploitation of Egyptian railway resources was first raised in July 1916 when the Foreign Office
ordered the civilian authorities in Egypt to render all possible assistance to the construction of the
desert railway across the Sinai.94 The diversion of railways to military usage accelerated sharply in
May 1917 after Murray identified them – along with manpower – as the two areas where Egypt
could intensify its general contribution to the war effort.95 This led to the transfer of a dangerously
high proportion of Egyptian railway resources to satiate the voracious demands of the military
railway track as it extended further into Palestine.
By October 1917, 5400 wagons were in permanent military use. Only 3600 remained for supplying
food and goods to the civil population96 and Wingate warned the military authorities that the system
had been reduced to its minimum subsistence.97 The Director of ESR, Sir George Macauley, replied
that the country could still be nourished, but a considerable dislocation of traffic in goods would
occur in 1918 and continue into any post-war period.98 The Foreign Office advised Wingate that
92
‘Political Conditions in Provinces – Expressions of opinion extracted mainly from the Reports of British Political
Officers’, forwarded by Allenby to Lord Curzon, 24 May 1919, FO 608/213, TNA; Memorandum by Sir William
Willcocks, 4 March 1921, FO 407/183, TNA.
93
Murray to Robertson, 24 May 1917, FO 371/2932, TNA.
94
Foreign Office to McMahon, 29 July 1916, FO 141/478, TNA.
95
Murray to Wingate, 22 May 1917, FO 371/2932, TNA.
96
Sir George Macauley to the Quarter-master General of the EEF, 26 October 1917, FO 141/478, TNA.
97
Wingate to Balfour, 22 September 1917, FO 371/2932, TNA.
98
Memorandum by Sir George Macauley, ‘Egyptian State Railways and Telegraphs: Report on Rolling Stock and
Transport’, no date (but late October 1917), FO 371/2932, TNA.
149
military requirements justified “such sacrifices as would be entailed upon the Egyptian commercial
population”, unaware that their policies were creating food shortages in the cities and conditions of
severe deprivation in the countryside.99 The effects of this were made clear in March 1919, when
railway lines became one of the targets of the rural violence as peasants sought to evade state orders
for their meagre stocks of food and fodder.
The third element of dislocation was the large-scale extraction of agricultural resources to provide
for the EEF in the Sinai and Palestine. Vast quantities of food and fodder were called for to feed the
men and animals over and above the civilian population of Egypt. Fodder was initially brought over
from India, but it was a bulky item which took up scarce shipping space. From 1916 the shipping
shortage made it desirable to obtain sources locally in Egypt, and in 1917-18 Egyptian fodder was
used to meet needs in Palestine and Mesopotamia as well.100 Insufficient amounts were forthcoming
on the open market so fodder was secured by means of appropriation and forced purchasing from
rural producers.101
The extraction of foodstuffs was according to a similar pattern as initial acquisitions on the open
market were followed by the imposition of a formal commandeering apparatus. This new method of
distributing food and other local resources between civilian and military requirements altered
traditional farming convention. The Resources Board which formed in 1915 to equip the
Mediterranean Expeditionary Force with provisions evolved into the Supplies Commission in 1916
before being replaced by a Controller of Supplies late in 1917. However this only lasted until
March1918 when a Supplies Control Board was established.102 The Supplies Control Board
represented a comprehensive attempt to channel all agricultural activity towards the prosecution of
the war. It fixed maximum prices for cereals, meat and other commodities, was responsible for
maintaining stocks in the larger cities, and for collecting Army supplies direct from the cultivators.
In practice, this amounted to requisitioning in all but name, as local officials regularly seized crops
as “contributions” and all farmers were forced to sell their produce to the government at prices fixed
below market rates.103 Once again, Elgood retrospectively acknowledged that “of all forms of
99
Maurice de Bunsen to the Secretary of Army Council, 4 September 1917, FO 371/2932, TNA.
100
Goldberg, op. cit., p.268.
101
102
Wingate to Curzon, 20 January 1919, FO 371/3713, TNA.
103
Brown, op. cit., p.200.
150
control… few were guilty of more profound or more costly mistakes than those which dealt with
food”.104
These agricultural policies failed to make Egypt self-sufficient in food. Shipments of grain from
India continued to make up for shortfalls in local availability, and Cairo and Alexandria suffered
from acute food shortages in 1917-18. Prices of foodstuffs soared as the military competed with
civilians for sparse commodities, and wheat consumption fell dramatically from an average of
95.9 kg/capita in 1913 to 61.7 kg/capita in 1918.105 Usage of other crops also dropped by between 3
and 10%, and late in 1918 the food deficiencies extended to the countryside as peasants refused to
sell to the Supplies Control Board and began to hoard grain for their own consumption.106 By
November 1918, every facet of the agricultural system in Egypt had been penetrated by the British
authorities. Military demands for food, fodder, man and animal power and rolling stock led to the
disruption of pre-1914 agricultural patterns. The artificial restriction of prices denied cultivators the
opportunity to share in the soaring wartime prices, while the constraints on the cultivation of cotton
marked the regression of Egyptian agriculture from a highly-developed commercial economy to that
of a planned economy.
The Breakdown of the Anglo-Egyptian Economic System
The paucity of gearing a peasant economy to modern, industrialised warfare was continually
exposed. India, the main supply base for the campaign in Mesopotamia, had similar problems:
military demands for man and animal power, food and fodder made the civil authorities to question
the very foundations of their rule by Britain. In Egypt, as in India before it, the British were initially
reluctant to penetrate downwards to satisfy their war needs through relying on rural society.107 Bitter
memories of previous social backlashes against the imposition of heavy taxation on the peasantry in
India in 1857 and Egypt in 1882 reinforced this view. So it was that military demands for Egyptian
resources were not burdensome in the early days.
104
105
Goldberg, op. cit., p.262.
106
Ibid., p.263.
107
Christopher A. Bayly, The Birth of the Modern World, 1780-1914, Oxford, Blackwell, 2004, p.424.
151
In 1915, the main supply base for the Dardanelles was constructed at Alexandria and stocks were
drawn from the pre-1914 Army of Occupation peacetime depots at Cairo and Alexandria.108 In
October 1914, Egypt’s role as a centre for operations in the eastern Mediterranean expanded as it
took on responsibility for equipping the four infantry divisions dispatched to Salonika. The supply
base at Alexandria was re-organised into the Levant Base under direct War Office control. The
Egyptian Government established a local Resources Board that entered into contracts for all district
supply purchasing. This eased tensions in relations between the military and civilian communities
which had blighted society earlier in 1915 when the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force and the
Force in Egypt had contended on the open market for the same resources.109
It was Murray’s advance across the Sinai and his army’s offensive campaigns in Palestine which led
to a radical and long-lasting increase in military demands on the civilian population of Egypt.110
This was exacerbated by a growing shipping crisis as losses from German and Austro-Hungarian
U-boats mounted during 1916. Losses were particularly critical in the Mediterranean and seriously
interfered with the transport of provisions from the United Kingdom. In June, Sir John Cowans, the
Quartermaster-General at the War Office, insisted that local resources be used as much as
possible.111 By December, the position had worsened still. The General Staff in London admitted
that in the case of Egypt “we are faced with a situation which amounts practically to a break-down
in our shipping arrangements…We have, in fact, reached a stage where the available shipping is
inadequate to meet requirements”.112
A wider intensification of the Imperial war effort in 1916 had much to do with the decision to use
local resources that year. The flagging Egyptian and Indian wartime contributions had been harshly
criticised by officials in London, with many considering that Cairo and Delhi were not doing enough
to help win the war. In June 1916 the very influential Middle East diplomatic adviser Sir Mark
Sykes put forward a memorandum to the War Committee saying that “civil policy in Egypt since the
beginning of the war has been business as usual. There has been a steady effort to carry on the
108
Major-General A. Forbes, A History of the Army Ordnance Services, Volume 3: The Great War, London, Medici
Society, 1929, p.211.
109
Colonel G.F. Davies, ‘Lecture on Supplies and Transport – Egyptian Expeditionary Force’ in Army Service Corps
Quarterly, vol. 8, 1920, p.198.
110
Marlowe, op. cit., Anglo-Egyptian Relations, p.222.
111
Desmond Chapman-Huston & Owen Rutter, General Sir John Cowans, G.C.B.: The Quartermaster-General of the
Great War, Volume II, London, Hutchinson & Co, 1924, p.181.
112
William Robertson, Soldiers and Statesmen 1914-1918, Volume 2, London, Cassell, 1926, p.357.
152
administration as though very little was afoot…this has produced a deadening of energy and a
defensive or passive atmosphere…”113 The Proclamation of November 1914 is often described as
something which limited the ability of the British to alter their foreign policy to adapt to changed
circumstances, but this theory has been downplayed by Sykes. Sir Reginald Wingate, who took over
from McMahon as commissioner on 1 January admitted in May 1917 that other countries had in fact
contributed more than Egypt to the war effort. However, Wingate said the Egypt input was “by no
means negligible…within the limits of His Majesty’s Government’s assurance…and by the
requirements of the local political situation”. It was on 21 May 1917 that the issue of Egypt’s
participation in the war effort came to a head. William Robertson, the Chief of the Imperial General
Staff in London, sent a telegraph to Murray to ask “whether in your opinion, Egypt is contributing to
the fullest extent possible”. Robertson told Murray that: “It is essential that all parts of the Empire
should share the strain as far as local conditions admit.” This was proof that the November 1914
Proclamation prohibited a more dynamic involvement in the war effort, but Robertson said: “As
regards Egypt, I am not satisfied that this is the case.”114 Murray’s repeated failures to break through
into Gaza by May 1917 showed how important it was to devise a complex logistical network of
advanced bases and light railway lines so as to maintain a force of three infantry divisions, initially,
and then seven infantry and three cavalry divisions in southern Palestine. Robertson raised concerns
which were shared by all the military authorities in Egypt at the widening gap between the
increasing military requirements for labour and the decreasing numbers of men enlisting voluntarily
for the various labour units and auxiliary corps and services became evident.
A discussion of the general use of manpower and the scale of Egypt’s proper part in the war effort
was also brought up by Robertson’s telegraph. On 22 May, Murray warned Wingate that: “There
can be no doubt that Egypt is not feeling the strain of the war.”115 The High Commissioner
responded to this by reaffirming the principle of the November 1914 Proclamation. Wingate
reminded Murray that the need to maintain a compliant and stable Egypt represented a “strong
argument against conscription and the mobilisation, in a European sense, of the country’s
resources”.116 Talks between the civil and military authorities in Egypt were similar to those taking
113
Note by Sir Mark Sykes, ‘The Problem of the Near East’, prepared for the War Committee on 20 June 1916, CAB
17/175, TNA.
114
Robertson to Murray, 21 May 1917, FO 141/797, TNA.
115
Murray to Wingate, 22 May 1917, FO 371/2932, TNA.
116
Wingate to Murray, 23 May 1917, FO 371/2932, TNA.
153
place between the Foreign Office and War Office in London. On 18 June 1917, Sir Ronald Graham,
Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office and the former Adviser to the Ministry of the Interior in
Cairo, told the Army Council that the Foreign Secretary, Arthur Balfour, considered that any change
in the November 1914 Proclamation would be a mistake as it would justify the negative effect it
would have on public opinion in Egypt.117 But the London War Office held a very different view –
on 2 July, Lord Derby, the Secretary of State for War, informed Graham that the Proclamation
represented “the chief stumbling block to the fuller development of the resources for the purposes of
the war”.118
Allenby, the dynamic new Commander-in-Chief arrived with a mandate from the Prime Minister
ordering “such reinforcements and supplies as he found necessary” to take Jerusalem by
Christmas.119 Allenby’s successful breakthrough in November 1917 and extension of expeditions
into Palestine placed enormous strains on Egyptian resources to furnish the EEF and build the
networks of roads and railways which connected the troops in Palestine to their supply bases in
Egypt. The extraction of the resources necessarily involved the British in unprecedented downward
mobilisation. The agricultural cycle and the delicate balance between civil and military requisites
were all drastically altered, so ensuring that the war led to the rapid politicisation of all levels and
sectors of society in Egypt.120
Wartime demands for logistical supplies involved a deeper infiltration by the British into Egyptian
society and an intensification of the exploitation of local resources. Similar processes occurred in the
territories which came under British control in Mesopotamia, and in India which remained the
supply base for that campaign. In each region, the mobilisation of local resources led to a situation
of acute penury that affected rural and urban socio-economic groups. These included conditions of
near-famine121 brought about by the forced purchasing of crops in 1918, inflationary pressures that
resulted from the scarcity of food and other commodities such as coal and cotton seed, and service
in the military labour units. In Egypt, these measures gradually evolved into “a means of oppression
117
Sir Ronald Graham to the Secretary of the Army Council, 18 June 1917, FO 371/2932, TNA.
118
Lord Derby to Graham, 2 July 1917, FO 371/2932, TNA.
119
David Lloyd George, War Memoirs, London, Oldhams Press, 1938, volume 2, p.1090.
120
Yapp, op. cit., The Making of the Modern Near East, p.295.
121
Kirsten E. Schulze, ‘The Origins of the Arab-Israeli Conflict, 1900-1948’ in Antony Best (ed.), An International
History of the Twentieth Century and Beyond, 2nd ed., Abingdon, Oxon, Routledge, 2008, p.111.
154
of the poor and helpless” which contributed greatly to the alienation of the peasantry hitherto
considered the “keystone of the British occupation”.122
In summary, in 1919 the peasantry identified the principal reason for their grievances as “covert”
British rule.123 Even Chirol, a passionate imperialist, highlights the hardship felt not only by the
peasantry but also by the urban working-classes:
[I]n Egypt, as in every other country, all the conditions of life, and especially
the enormous rise in prices, had produced a wave of social unrest which took
many different forms. [...] For the rise in wages, considerable as it had been,
had often not kept pace with the inordinate rise in prices for the very
necessities of life. This was the case amongst the landless labourers in the
rural districts, and still more in the urban centres, where the lower classes –
workmen, carters, cab-drivers, shopkeepers, and a host of minor employees
– were hard put to it to make both ends meet.124
Chirol even goes as far as showing some understanding for the use of violence by the peasantry to
express their suffering:
The British Occupation has taught them for the first time in their history that
the fellah too has rights, and Nationalism has recently taught them that
violence is at least excusable in the assertion of grievances. An agrarian
movement, if once started under the pressure of economic distress, might
easily assume against the landlords the same disorderly character of violence
as the anti-British rising last year.125
In the same vein, Safran explains how railway lines and telegraph poles were listed among
legitimate symbols of British rule which could be attacked.126 This is also emphasised in Carman’s
article, “England and the Egyptian Problem”:
Before the war was two years old martial law had completely overshadowed
civil authority; requisitioning of supplies and forced recruiting of labour
alienated the agricultural masses which had hitherto been loyal.127
122
‘Memorandum by Sir William Willcocks’, 4 March 1919, FO 407/184, TNA.
123
124
125
Ibid., p.163.
126
Nadav Safran, Egypt in Search of Political Community: An Analysis of the Intellectual and Political Evolution of
Egypt, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1961, p.103.
127
Harry J. Carman, ‘England and the Egyptian Problem’ in Political Science Quarterly, vol. 36, no. 1, 1921, p.68.
155
The radicalisation of these disparate groups was matched by a second significant development in
1919. This was the British authorities’ attempt to legitimise their wartime powers and extend them
into the immediate post-war period. On 7 November 1918, the Anglo-French Declaration promised
to assist in “the establishment of indigenous Governments and administrations in Syria and
Mesopotamia”.128 Although Wingate informed the Sultan that Egypt was “in an entirely different
situation” and not covered by the Declaration, it nevertheless gave impetus to Egyptian demands
that they be allowed to place their case for self-government before the international community at
the post-war peace conference.129 So too did news that a delegation from the Hedjaz, led by Prince
Faisal bin Hussein, would travel to Paris.
These two strands came together between November 1918 and March 1919 to form the prelude to
the outbreak of the revolt. In November 1918, the Brunyate Commission proposed to replace the
1911 legislative machinery with a bicameral legislature which would, for the first time, bring
Egypt’s foreign communities into the legislative process. This discontended native civil servants and
lawyers,130 so far two of the most important collaborative props on which British rule rested and
whose continued cooperation was essential to the daily administration of Egypt.131
Also in November, the Foreign Office refused two requests, from Prime Minister Hussein Rushdi
and nationalist politician Saʿad Zaghlul, to travel to London and place their case for Egyptian
autonomy before ministers in advance of the Peace Conference. Balfour ruled that “no useful
purpose would be served by allowing Nationalist leaders to come to London and advance
immoderate demands which cannot be entertained”.132
Beyond “Drawing Room” Nationalism
Egyptian politicians felt that their loyal participation in the war effort entitled them to be involved in
the negotiations on the future of the Ottoman Empire.133 Rushdi resigned on 5 December in protest
128
See Elizabeth Monroe, Philby of Arabia, London, Faber, 1973, p.95 for the full text of the Anglo-French Declaration.
129
Wingate to Balfour, 5 December 1917, FO 371/3204, TNA.
130
As the Wafdists made their bid for power, the reaction of the Egyptian workers was largely according to ethnic lines.
Greeks, for example, remained extremely loyal to the British. The French were detached, if sympathetic to nationalist
aspirations, while Italians were broadly active supporters of the Wafd.
131
Yapp, op. cit., p.295.
132
‘Summary of Events in Egypt from November 1918 to April 1919’, 17 April 1919, FO 608/213, TNA.
133
Harding Papers, Vol. 4, 28 December 1918, Wingate to Harding, CUL.
156
at London’s “interpretation of the meaning of the protectorate with which he could not agree”.
Meanwhile, Zaghlul’s delegation (the Wafd) drew up a constitution declaring their intention to seek
the “absolute independence of Egypt” through “peaceful and lawful means”.134
Consequently it was the Wafd’s ability to broaden its appeal beyond the educated urban elite which
marked the real break with the past and shook British policy to its core. The politicisation of
Egyptian society enabled them to tap into and mobilise popular support. This was a reaction to the
more visible and penetrative nature of British interference in Egyptian affairs during the war. The
wartime political economy served to heighten public awareness of the effects of British decisions on
their lives. It provided disaffected elements and local elites with an external scapegoat on which they
could rightly blame their hardships.135 Furthermore, the active participation of native lawyers and
civil servants stripped the British of their two most important local allies and created the power
vacuum which temporarily paralysed the working of the state after the first strike wave erupted on
9 March.
In rural Egypt, disgruntled civil servants and lawyers played an important role in transmitting
Wafdist ideals to provincial towns. Labour social clubs and organisations such as the newly-
reconstituted Manual Trade Workers Union spread the activist message beyond the realms of the
educated elite.136 A broad range of socio-economic groups mobilised in an uneasy alliance between
the aristocratic leadership in Cairo who struggled to control and channel the inarticulate fervour of
the urban and rural masses which followed them.137 For the peasants who targeted symbols of
British authority such as railway lines and telegraph poles, their action was primarily motivated by
dissatisfaction with the wartime sufferings imposed by the military demands for their resources,
labour and animals as well as a desire to protect scarce supplies from further degradation. 138
The Wafd’s achievement was to combine the nationalism of ideals espoused by the educated urban
elite with the social and economic effects of Egyptian implication in the war effort. This was a
significant new development which, in the words of one contemporary British official, meant that:
134
135
Yapp, op. cit., p.297.
136
137
Vatikiotis, op. cit., The Egyptian Army in Politics, p.23.
138
Safran, op. cit., p.103.
157
“For the first time these two naturally antagonistic classes are united in having grievances.”139
Zaghlul fused the backlash of the educated urban intelligentsia and nationalist elite at British
attempts to extend their temporary wartime powers into the post-war world with the wide range of
hardships that faced almost every social and economic grouping in Egypt.
The mobilisation of Egyptian man and animal power made possible the conduct of modern warfare
in a pre-industrial setting. It made a formidable contribution toward the creation of a logistical
network that maintained the EEF over a line of communication which eventually linked the Suez
Canal to Aleppo on 31 October 1918. Nevertheless, the demand for military labour involved the
British authorities in unprecedented downward mobilisation into rural Egypt. It both built upon and
utilised the existing Ottoman pattern, but interfered with agricultural schemes in a fundamentally
different manner as agriculture had become a year-round activity by 1914. The impact of wartime
agricultural policies fell variously on large landowners, who resented the restrictions on cotton
cultivation that prevented them from sharing in record prices after 1916, and on small peasants, who
suffered from the requisitioning of their animals and fodder. Wingate defended these policies and
stated that the British authorities had been preoccupied with doing “all in their power to help in
winning the war”.140
The negative legacy of rural mobilisation was one of considerable hardships that hardened into
resentment against the British presence as countryside Egyptians came into contact with direct
British control for the first time.141 Their politicisation mirrored that of many other strata within
Egyptian society as a result of the war, and ensured that they were no longer immune to the
“drawing room” nationalism of the urban and educated intelligentsia.142
The mass slaughter and devastation of infrastructure caused by the First World War had created an
urge for global change. The old order of Imperial powers was in crisis, and nationalists
acknowledged this as an opportunity to challenge it. Their masters’ claim to represent superior
societies appeared particularly weak. European nations with expansive empires had used up masses
of resources to prosecute the war, and the veneer of martial invincibility that once surrounded them
139
‘Memorandum by Mr Mallaby Firth, Department of Antiquities’, 7 April 1919, FO 407/184, TNA.
140
‘Rough Notes by Sir R. Wingate on Sir W. Willcocks’s proposals’, no date but March 1919, FO 371/3714, TNA.
141
Brown, op. cit., p.203.
142
‘Enclosure by William Willcocks – Memorandum, giving the opinion of a very friendly and reliable Egyptian on the
situation today’, 4 March 1919, FO 371/3714, TNA.
158
had vanished. Moreover, those who had assisted the colonialists in their conflicts as subjects –
including risking their own lives and losing fellow countrymen – felt they should be repaid with a
greater stake in running their own affairs domestically as well as on the international stage.
Failing economies contributed to the bleakness of the immediate post-war period, as, between 1918
and early 1919, those in countries such as Egypt saw rays of light in Wilson’s idealistic rhetoric
about self-determination and a new world order. This is the reason why his “Wilsonian Moment”
was such an important international phenomenon, and why it should be duly investigated.
159
Chapter Four
Chapter Four
A New World Order:
The Emergence of an “International Self-Determination
Moment” and its Impact on Egyptian Nationalists
160
Chapter Four: A New World Order: The Emergence of an “International Self-Determination Moment”
The concept of “self-determination” that had such an abiding influence on the 1919 Egyptian
Revolution has its roots in Vladimir Ilyich Lenin’s political discourse during the period 1903 to
1917. A liberal, conservative version of the Russian leader’s radical, Marxist ideas was then placed
in the international arena by American President Woodrow Wilson, at the end of the First World
War, and during the post-war era when attempts were made at moulding a new world order.
Since 1917, the debate about self-determination mainly took place using the language of law and
international diplomacy.1 In this chapter, we will also examine it as social history, demonstrating
how it legitimised a dynamic force for hugely significant changes around the world.2 Both Lenin
and Wilson effectively combined to promote the term “self-determination” internationally as it was
projected into routine political discourse, especially with regard to the creation of new states, and the
re-organisation of former empires.3 The League of Nations was to evoke “self-determination” during
the Åland Crisis of the early 1920s, for example, when the population of the Åland Islands
demanded an end to Finnish rule. Rather than self-determination per se, Finland allowed measures
securing political and cultural autonomy 4 and the League of Nations ruled that these were enough to
protect the Swedish language and culture which those living in the islands wanted. By June 1945
delegates of 50 nations had met in San Francisco to incorporate the “equal rights and self-
determination of peoples” in the new UN Charter, the founding document of the United Nations.
1
See Quentin Skinner ‘The Idea of a Cultural Lexicon’, pp.158-174 in Skinner, Visions of Politics: Regarding Method,
Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, Vol. 1, 2002. On legitimation in international affairs see also Ian Hurd,
‘Legitimacy and Authority in International Politics’, International Organization, vol. 53, no. 2, 1999, pp.379–408,
at p.393. For a legal approach, see Martti Koskenniemi, ‘Hierarchy in International Law: A Sketch’, European Journal
of International Law, vol. 8, 1997, pp.566-582, and especially Martti Koskenniemi, From Apology to Utopia: The
Structure of International Legal Argument, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005. Recorded oral
pronouncements and written documents (including diplomatic, legal and political ones) all make up the “discourse”
referred to in this chapter.
2
This chapter follows the intellectual and social history methodology of the “Cambridge School” historian Quentin
Skinner, as outlined in his seminal article ‘Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas’ in History and Theory,
Vol. 8, no. 1, 1969, pp.3-53. We will, in particular, be applying Skinner’s framework to demonstrate how specific ideas
and terms of expressions are used in international discussions to legitimise concepts. Skinner argues that references of
political thinking require legitimation. In turn, they are “inhibited” by the need for this legitimisation. On all this see
Skinner’s History and Theory as well as Skinner’s highly influential publications on theoretical principles, which are
compiled in Visions of Politics.
3
On this precise aspect, see the analytical work of the scholar Rita Augestad Knudsen, along with her more general study
of the concept of “self-determination” as it relates to the idea of freedom in 20th and 21st century international discourse
in her unpublished doctoral thesis: Moments of Self-determination: The Concept of “Self- determination” and the Idea of
Freedom in 20th and 21st Century International Discourse, PhD thesis, London School of Economics and Political
Science, 2013.
4
Marvin W. Mikesell and Alexander B. Murphy, ‘A Framework for Comparative Study of Minority-Group Aspirations’,
Annals of the Association of American Geographers, vol. 81, no. 4, 1991, p.597.
161
Wilson and Lenin had both always had very different views as to what self-determination actually
meant, and each played a crucial role in triggering a global argument on the subject. Woodrow
Wilson’s general idea about “self-determination” was, in summary, a liberal conservative one, while
Lenin’s was a radical socialist one. Diplomacy in the early Twentieth Century became focused on
“self-determination” as a concept that could be used to justify policy. Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, the
Russian Bolshevik leader, spent fourteen years between 1903 and 1917 theorising it, and then it was
American President Woodrow Wilson who globalised it as a “legitimising” ideal. There is no doubt
that Wilson was on many occasions responding to Lenin’s work. In this chapter, we will analyse the
pronouncements of both men, and how they both helped to create an “international self-
determination moment”– one that would have resounding repercussions for the Egyptian nationalist
movement.
Accordingly, this chapter will start by exploring the ideological and theoretical chasm between
Lenin and Wilson’s respective interpretations of “self-determination”. What both leaders thought of
freedom was central to their discourse on self-determination: each wanted to justify and legitimise
their own definitions in relation to liberty. Lenin stressed how “self-determination” was a radical
idea: one that projected freedom as equality. If pursued, it would lead to complete political freedom,
and the creation of new, independent states equal in status with other states and systems. Lenin was
arguing for “self-determination” in the context of socialist internationalism – one that included the
possibility of violent revolution. This made for a more restricted definition of the term, based on
factors that were not to become internationally prevalent. Wilson also wanted to legitimise “self-
determination” in the context of freedom. Although his reference to “self-determination” was
ambiguous and potentially difficult to implement, it was markedly different to that envisaged by
Lenin. While the Russian’s “radical” stance has given prominence to equality in international
debate, Wilson’s “liberal-conservative” idea of freedom has instead insisted on the values of peace
and stability. The American President seldom evoked the term “self-determination” specifically, but
implied it as a conditional form of political freedom – a notion that guaranteed non-interference with
existing borders and orders. The political results of framing “self-determination” in such a way have
been advantageous to those upholding the status quo. As Lenin’s work, Wilson’s discourse set terms
of reference that would be used repeatedly at key historical junctures in the future. But, as will be
demonstrated, even though Wilson had used the terminology of “self-determination” far less than
162
Lenin and in a far more elusive manner, it was his liberal-conservative interpretation that was to
have great impact and long-lasting influence on the world.
This chapter will also, in turn, focus on Lenin’s and then Wilson’s use of the rhetoric of “self-
determination”, and place it in its historical perspective. Ideas popularly associated with “self-
determination” – such as sovereignty, freedom and legitimacy – had been debated for centuries, but
it was Lenin and Wilson who brought the term per se to international prominence, resorting to
precise language that took on immense significance for the future of the world. In short, “self-
determination” became a crucial reference point in global diplomacy thanks to both Lenin and
Wilson. This was at a time of turbulence, involving cataclysmic world events including the First
World War and Revolutions in Russia. Conflict resolution, and indeed conflict prevention,
underpinned the idea of “self-determination”, and the most destructive war in human history (to
date) gave the need to get the concept right added urgency. The perception was also that the pre-War
era had been wracked by corrupt, unjust systems that did nothing to alleviate the condition of
subjugated peoples.
Lenin and Wilson both endeavoured to alter the overwhelming negativity of the war into a catalyst
for change, following which a new, enlightened world would emerge. The notion of “self-
determination” was, for both men, integral to this, even though their versions of self-determination
differed as much as their overall political ideologies. Both men were determined to use this rhetoric
along with their own frameworks to win over international audiences. However, this chapter will
conclude by demonstrating that it was Wilson’s “self-determination” vocabulary which had the
more direct effect in practice. In particular, it will show how the Egyptian nationalists had studied
Wilson’s parlance in detail and consequently saw the promises of the post-war era as an opportunity
to break away from British colonial rule.
The “Leninist Moment”: Lenin’s Radical Socialist Interpretation of Self-Determination
Lenin produced numerous publications between 1903 and 1917 about the “right of nations to self-
determination”.5 Marxist thinking always informed his work, with discourse on “self-determination”
5
The principal reference to Lenin and other Marxists is the Marxists Internet Archive (MIA): www.marxists.org. The
website has digitalised the version of Lenin’s collected works originally printed by Progress Publishers, Moscow. The
163
at this time mainly occurring in debates about the “National Question” that raged between Lenin and
his fellow socialists. Soon, the First World War would have a far greater influence on Lenin’s
stances on “self-determination”.
At the start of the 1903-1917 period, Lenin’s party was relatively obscure and thus he and his
comrades were not constrained by the pressure of having to formulate views for a wider audience
(as Wilson would be). Lenin and the Bolsheviks were then not in a position to implement any
policies either, meaning they could push theoretical arguments without worrying about any real
world consequences. This was a time when there was no “standard” socialist view of the national
question.6 Karl Marx and the first Socialist International (1866) had instead left the problem of
reconciling Marxism with nationalism unresolved. A major problem for both Marx and the Socialist
International had been dealing with socialism’s focus on class being the main dynamic of political
behaviour and the notion of national solidarity. This made the entire subject of self-determination a
controversial one. Marxist thinkers were not intent on defining the nation precisely – they only
referred loosely to “nations”7 – but they saw these units as being bound up in the concept of self-
determination.
Lenin viewed the “national question” and “self-determination” as components of the same problem.
When Lenin first began making pronouncements about “self-determination”, the exact link between
national liberation and socialist liberation was not established. Later, the First World War provided
the reason for internal socialist discussions and works about “self-determination” to be elevated to
political theories about pressing world affairs. Thus Lenin’s original writings on “self-
determination” made reference to specific issues including the position of different nationalities
within the Russian Empire,8 and he subsequently applied his views on “self-determination” to the
first publication dates of his discourses are cited below, along with where they can be found online. Russian language
mentions follow the website’s standard referencing.
6
Marxist interpretations of nationalism are contained in John Breuilly, Nationalism and the State, New York, St.
Martin’s Press, 1982, pp.21-28. See also Walker Connor, The National Question in Marxist Leninist Theory and
Strategy, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 1984.
7
Stalin did, however, analyse the concepts that make up a “nation” in ‘Marxism and the National Question’, see below,
Prosveshcheniye, nos. 3-5, March–May 1913.
www.marxists.org/reference/archive/stalin/works/1913/03.htm.
8
E.g. Lenin, ‘The National Question in Our Programme’, Iskra, no. 44, 15 July 1903.
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1903/jul/15.htm (this discussion is reproduced verbatim in Lenin, Collected
Works, Vol. 6, Moscow, Progress Publishers, 1964, pp.454-463, but we will cite hereafter MIA references when
possible); Lenin, ‘The Agrarian Programme of Social-Democracy in the First Russian Revolution, 1905–1907’, Zhizn i
164
First World War, and related subjects such as Imperialism. So it was that terminology of “self-
determination” began to appear in the literature of the Russian Social Democratic Labour Party
(RSDLP or “the party”), including the Marxist group’s resolutions dating from 1903.9 This was the
year that polemics on national groups within Russia became particularly focused in socialist circles.
However, “self-determination” was still more to do with highly competitive theoretical exchanges
about ideology within the party,10 rather than being about tangible political action.
The necessity of establishing a new political order in Russia was naturally one that motivated the
discussions of revolutionary socialists imbued in Marxist thinking. Their debates on “self-
determination” became more intense as the promise of power beckoned. As Lenin jostled for
influence within his party, and indeed leadership of the RSDLP, he was intent on offering a rigorous
definition of “self-determination” that would legitimise his arguments. Lenin was not in Russia for
much of the early 1900s (he mainly remained in Munich, London and Geneva) but he followed his
country’s progress intently from abroad, writing all the time about its politics, and applying his
doctrine to the situation there.
The Bloody Sunday massacre of protestors in St Petersburg in January 1905 triggered Revolution in
Russia – one which the Tsar would survive.11 As Lenin encouraged the Bolsheviks to take part in
violent attacks on those in authority,12 he adopted slogans such as “armed insurrection”, “mass
terror”, and “the expropriation of gentry land”. This led to accusations from the Mensheviks, the
non-Bolshevik wing of the party, that Lenin was deviating from orthodox Marxism.13 By the time of
Znaniye, 1917, https://www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1907/agrprogr and Lenin, ‘Critical Remarks on the

National Question’, Prosveshcheniye, nos. 10–12, 1913, www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1913/crnq/index.htm.
For sources on political action by minorities in Russia during this period, see e.g. Rex A. Wade, The Bolshevik
Revolution and Russian Civil War, Westwood, CT, Greenwood Press, 2001, p.87; David R. Marples, Lenin’s
Revolution: Russia, 1917–1921, Essex, Pearson Education, 2000, p.5; Edward Acton, Rethinking the Russian
Revolution, New York, Routledge, 1990, p.145.
9
The terminology of “self-determination” also appeared in RSDLP resolutions of 1913 and 1917. In this chapter, “the
party” will refer to Lenin’s socialist party, regardless of its actual name at any point in time. The RSDLP was also
known as the Russian Social Democratic Workers’ Party or the Russian Social Democratic Party; it was later on called
the “Bolshevik” party, and then, following the birth of the USSR, the Communist Party of the Soviet Union.
10
James Mayall, ‘Nationalism and Imperialism’ in Terence Ball and Richard Bellamy (eds.), The Cambridge History of
Twentieth Century Political Thought, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2003, p.115 – also implying that efforts
to advance “self-determination” had more to with pragmatic political calculations, rather than doctrinal beliefs.
11
Louis Fischer, The Life of Lenin, London, Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1964, p.44; Christopher Rice, Lenin: Portrait of a
Professional Revolutionary, London, Cassell, 1990, pp.86–88; Robert Service, Lenin: A Biography, London, Macmillan,
2000, p.167.
12
Fischer, op. cit., pp.44-45; Richard Pipes, The Russian Revolution: 1899–1919, London, Collins Harvill, 1990, pp.362-
363; Rice, op. cit., pp.88-89.
13
Service, op. cit., pp.170-171.
165
the February 1917 Revolution, which prompted Lenin’s return to Russia, and the subsequent
October Revolution when the Bolsheviks took complete power, Lenin’s position within the party
was by no means certain,14 even though he had sided fully with the Bolshevik majority of the party,
rather than the Mensheviks in 1912.15
It was during the fourteen years after 1903 that Lenin came to view “the right of nations to self-
determination” as being of “utmost” and “specific importance”.16 Self-determination was a key part
of the socialists’ organised discussions, when the party’s debating programme became inextricably
intertwined with Lenin’s ascension to power.17 Lenin’s determinedly combative approach to politics
was initially aimed at winning over colleagues, rather than stamping his mark on the world stage.
His long-term view was to apply his political vision in Russia, and indeed the wider world, but he
first needed to convince his party to support his ideas. Lenin always spoke publicly about “self-
determination” when he was fighting for control of his party, his country or – later – international
domination.18 When, in 1917, Leon Trotsky became the Bolshevik Commissioner for Foreign
Affairs, he said that Lenin “possessed the tenseness of striving towards his goal”.19 Lenin was
always obsessed with any issue in hand, and immersed all of his being in the struggle to achieve his
objectives, according to Trotsky.20
14
See e.g. Christopher Read, Lenin: A Revolutionary Life, New York, Routledge, 2005, p.78; Stanley W. Page, Lenin
and World Revolution, New York, New York University Press, 1959, p.353; Leon Trotsky, Lenin, London, George
G. Harrap, 1925, pp.79-80; dates references follow the Julian calendar, used then.
15
See e.g. Neil Harding, ‘The Russian Revolution: an Ideology in Power’ in The Cambridge History, op. cit., pp.239-
266, especially p.242; Edward Hallett Carr, The Bolshevik Revolution 1917–1923, New York, Norton, Vol. I, 1978,
pp.26, 37; Page, op. cit., p.4; Read, op. cit., p.73; Stephen J. Lee, Lenin and Revolutionary Russia, London, Routledge,
2003, p.8.
16
Lenin, ‘To Alexandra Kollontai’, written after 19 March 1916, in Lenin, Lenin on the United States, New York,
International Publishers, 1970, pp.138-139. See also Lenin, ‘The Discussion On Self-Determination Summed Up’,
written in July 1916 and published in October 1916 in Sbornik Sotsial-Demokrata,
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1916/jul/x01.htm.
For example, the Marxist debate on self-determination is discussed in Neil Harding, Lenin’s Political Thought, Chicago,
IL, Haymarket Books, 2009, pp.298-299.
17
Lenin’s determined course to achieve power is documented in e.g. Service, op. cit., p.330; Rex A. Wade, The Russian
Revolution, 1917, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2005, p.210; Read, op. cit., p.67; Lee, op. cit., p.25;
Marples, op. cit., p.10.
18
See Orlando Figes, A People’s Tragedy, The Russian Revolution 1891–1924, London, Pimlico Random House, 1996,
pp.386, 388-389.
19
Trotsky, op. cit., pp.161-162, original emphasis.
20
Ibid. See also Carr, op. cit., p.23.
166
As with all his political arguments, Lenin tried to underpin his theory of “self-determination” with
ideological correctness.21 He produced as much legitimising literature as possible to back up his
cause that “self-determination” was an answer to the “national question”, including Karl Marx’s
writings on nationality and nationalism22 and a report from the 1896 London Congress of the Second
International.23 In 1914 Lenin wrote: “No one can seriously question the London resolution”.24
Lenin used extracts from the German version of the Political Action Commission’s report from the
London Congress to highlight how the Second International was in favour of “the full right of all
nations to self-determination”.25 Through citing texts from organisations such as the Second
International, Lenin was always trying to bolster his own standing, by making his ideas more
appealing amongst his fellow party members.26
Lenin believed that “self-determination” legitimised the freedom to secede and become a state, so as
to be equal with other states.27 In essence, people could not be free unless they had the opportunity
to choose full independence from a dominant nation. Without being granted that choice, countries
would not be able to realise self-determination, nor indeed freedom.28 In 1913, an RSDLP resolution
defined “self-determination” as “the right to secede and form independent states”. This was a
testament to the party’s endorsement of Lenin’s stance.29 In practice, a party resolution stated that
21
See e.g. Lenin, op. cit., ‘The National Question’, 1903. Such issues are only briefly touched upon in works about
Lenin’s political thought on self-determination, e.g. in Carr, op. cit., p.68; a relative exception is the following paper by
Uriel Abulof, ‘We the Peoples? The Birth and Death of Self-determination’, Tel Aviv University and Princeton
University Woodrow Wilson School, 2010.
22
See Joseph A. Petrus, ‘Marx and Engels on the National Question’, Journal of Politics, vol. 33, no. 3, 1971, pp.797-
824; Bill Bowring, ‘Marx, Lenin and Pashukanison Self-determination: Response to Robert Knox’, Historical
Materialism, vol. 19, no. 2, 2011, pp.113-127.
23
See Dick Geary, ‘The Second International: Socialism and Social Democracy’ in The Cambridge History, op. cit.,
pp.219-243.
24
Lenin, ‘The Right of Nations to Self-Determination’, written February-May 1914, published April-June 1914,
Prosveshcheniye, nos. 4-6, p.451, www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1914/self-det/index.htm.
25
Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Right of Nations’, 1914.
26
Also in Lenin’s ‘The Socialist Revolution and the Right of Nations to Self-Determination’, written January-February
1916, published in April 1916 in the magazine Vorbote, no. 2, in Russian in October 1916 in Sbornik Sotsial-
Demokrata, no. 1, www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1916/jan/x01.htm.
27
E.g. in Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Right of Nations’, 1914; Lenin, ‘The Revolutionary Proletariat and the Right of Nations to
Self-Determination’, written in German not earlier than October 16, vol. 29, 1915, published in Lenin Miscellany VI,
1927, https://www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1915/oct/16.htm; Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Socialist Revolution’, 1916;
Lenin, ‘A Caricature of Marxism and Imperialist Economism’, written August–October 1916, published in Zvezda
nos. 1-2, 1924, www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1916/carimarx/index.htm.
28
Terms such as “independence”, “freedom” and “self-determination” are used interchangeably in e.g. Lenin, op. cit.,
The National Question and Lenin, op. cit., The Socialist Revolution.
29
Lenin, ‘Resolutions of the Summer, 1913, Joint Conference of the Central Committee of the R.S.D.L.P. and Party
Officials’, September 1913 in Notification and Resolutions of the Summer, 1913, Joint Conference of the Central
Committee of the R.S.D.L.P. and Party Officials, Article 4, issued by the RSDLP Central Committee,
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1913/sep/30b.htm.
167
“self-determination” meant “the constitutional guarantee of an absolutely free and democratic

method of deciding the question of secession”.30 Due to Lenin’s work on the concept, whenever
“self-determination” was mentioned in future international contexts, the “default” way of
implementing it would be equated with the creation of a new state, and as the position that had to be
either approved or disapproved of. By declaring that “all nations” had the right to “self-
determination”, Lenin was also introducing equality as a key component.
Lenin defined self-determination as an overwhelmingly “negative” concept in 1913, saying:

“Combat all national oppression? Yes, of course! Fight for any kind of national development, for
‘national culture’ in general? – Of course not”.31 Here, Lenin was introducing the wider theoretical
context in which questions about nationality and self-determination would have to be solved.32
Lenin’s interpretation of self-determination concentrated on the economic and political role the
“nation” played as it developed into a socialist state. ‘The Right of Nations to Self-determination’,
Lenin’s main discussion on the subject in 1914, stressed the marked contrast between the specific
practice of self-determination in a particular case, and the unopposed right to self-determination as
secession.33 There would always need to be a great deal of groundwork involved in considering
whether an area should be granted independence based on self-determination. Lenin had, as early as
1903, made an emphatic distinction between promoting a right to self-determination, and actual
situations when peoples were demanding for the principle to be applied.34 So it was that Lenin
decided that sometimes secessionist claims could be ignored, even if there was theoretical support
for secession itself.
Definite geopolitical, economic and historical conditions for a conceptual right to self-determination
were laid out by Lenin between 1913 and 1916 in the context of a Marxist view of freedom – the
same Marxist ideology around which he had expressed his general self-determination discourse. The
requirements for self-determination and the “nation” were also rehearsed by Lenin as he suggested
historical determinism played an important part in these contingencies. Sticking to the Marxist view,
30
Ibid., Article 5.
31
Lenin, op. cit., ‘Critical Remarks’, 1913.
32
See Michael V. Kryukov, ‘Self-determination from Marx to Mao’, Ethnic and Racial Studies, vol. 19, no. 2, 1996,
pp.357; Gleb B. Starushenko, The Principle of National Self-determination in Soviet Foreign Policy, Moscow, Foreign
Languages Publishing House, 1964, pp.13-19.
33
Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Right of Nations’, 1914; Lenin, op. cit., ‘The National Question’, 1903.
34
Lenin, op. cit., ‘The National Question’, 1903.
168
Lenin argued that both nationalism and national identity were the results of a fixed phase of
bourgeois capitalism.35
Self-determination was part of capitalism’s historical dynamic and part of the national question,
Lenin contended in ‘The Right of Nations to Self-Determination’ in 1914. This would concentrate
on how self-determination needed to be examined as part of a capitalist period of history. 36 More
specifically, the point of history in which self-determination was being considered was crucial in
deciding whether it would assist progress towards socialism. This 1914 work pinpointed two stages
of capitalist development: the first was the collapse of feudalism and absolutism; the second was the
creation of bourgeois-democratic societies, and the mass movements focused on nationalist concerns
which followed.
As it set out to “capture the home market”, capitalism needed the bourgeois class, while it organised
itself into “politically united territories whose population speak a single language”. It was through
these units that capitalism won over feudalism.37 It was this period of capitalism that saw all classes
joining together to fight for “the rights of the nation”,38 Lenin argued. As this all inevitably
progressed towards the socialist society, self-determination should be supported during this period.
His 1914 writings also stipulate that the second stage of development of society towards socialism –
the “eve of capitalism’s downfall” – would not have any room for self-determination, however.
This, as mature capitalist states would be characterised by clear rivalries between the proletariat and
the bourgeoisie.39 The confrontation between the working-class movement and the capitalist one
would become a global one. Lenin’s view was that Socialist revolution and, ultimately, the defeat of
capitalism, would ensure that internationalism was triumphant over national self-determination.40
35
Lenin, op. cit., ‘Critical Remarks’, 1913. On the requirements of nationalism and self-determination, also Lenin, ‘Draft
Theses on National and Colonial Questions for the Second Congress of the Communist International’, 5 June, 1920.
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1920/jun/05.htm; S. Gilov, The Nationalities Question: Lenin’s Approach
(Theory and Practice in the USSR), Moscow, Progress Publishers, 1983, p.28; Carr, op. cit., pp.234-241.
36
37
Ibid.
38
Ibid.
39
Ibid.
40
Ibid. See also Robert J. C. Young, Postcolonialism: An Historical Introduction, Oxford, Blackwell, 2006, p.287.
169
Economics began to play a part in Lenin’s explanations of self-determination in 1915 as he wrote

that the “division of nations into oppressor and oppressed”41 was one which needed to be analysed
in line with Marxist ideology on the national question. This meant the proletariat in oppressor
nations assisting those in oppressed states towards self-determination. Meanwhile, the workers of
oppressed nations should push for “unity and the merging of the workers of the oppressed nations
with those of the oppressor nations”.42 If not, they would “involuntarily become the allies of their
own national bourgeoisie, which always betrays the interests of the people and of democracy, and is
always ready, in its turn, to annex territory and oppress other nations”.43 Secession could be
sanctioned only when liberation movements were combating capitalist oppressors in a progressive
fashion, Lenin had asserted in 1913. If a nation supported its “own bourgeois nationalism” then
Lenin could not endorse it.44 As Lenin stated again, in 1914: “We fight against the privileges and
violence of the oppressor nation, and do not in any way condone strivings for privileges on the part
of the oppressed nation.”45
A geopolitically determined categorisation was also part of Lenin’s criteria for the right to self-
determination. In 1916, Lenin pinpointed three different classes of nations, all of which had varied
obligations as far as self-determination was concerned.46 The first involved the advanced capitalist
countries, such as America, Britain, and other major western powers. By 1916, such nations had
seen bourgeois national movements disappear, and they were now subjugating colonised nations, as
well as people within their own borders. The proletariat in oppressor countries needed to lend their
support to the self-determination of people living in the areas they were oppressing, so hastening the
establishment of socialism there, and by consequence benefitting their own interests.47 Lenin quoted
Marx saying: “no nation can be free if it oppresses other nations”.48
41
Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Revolutionary Proletariat’, 1915.
42
Ibid.
43
Ibid.
44
Lenin, op. cit., ‘Critical Remarks’, 1913.
45
46
Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Socialist Revolution’, 1916.
47
Ibid.; also Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Right of Nations’, 1914. Such argument is also advanced in Lenin, op. cit., ‘Resolutions
of the Summer’, 1913.
48
170
Austria, the Balkans and Russia made up the second geopolitical area that interested Lenin, because
they contained recently formed bourgeois-democratic nationalist movements. The proletariat should
view self-determination as a way of uniting workers living in both oppressed and oppressing
nations, as part of the class struggle.49 The “semi-colonial” classification of China, Persia and
Turkey was Lenin’s third category, along with the colonies. Lenin’s views were based on his
particular interest in various developments in such areas.50 Self-determination – that is to say
immediate freedom – should be an unconditional demand of revolutionaries in bourgeois
democracies.51
Lenin believed, in line with Marxist theory, that larger states had intrinsic advantages for everyone
living in them, so long as full equality was granted.52 But the incentive to formally withdraw from a
union might recede if they had the right to self-determination.53 Lenin contended that if nations were
granted the right to self-determination as independent entities, then it would “attract” them “to union
with great socialist states”.54 Lenin expanded on his support for this idea in 1915 thus:
[N]ot because we [the social democrats] have dreamt of splitting up the

country economically, or of the ideal of small states, but, on the contrary,
because we want large states and the closer unity and even fusion of nations,
only on a truly democratic, truly internationalist basis, which is
inconceivable without the freedom to secede.55
There would be no desire to secede if people had equal rights that included the full right to self-
determination within a larger political unit. The reality would be that the equality made available by
the right to self-determination would have rendered the application of the concept irrelevant. It is
also likely that even if states did choose secession when given the right of self-determination, there
49
Ibid.
50
See e.g. Lenin, ‘Lenin’s remark on the arrest of B. G. Tilak in 1908’ (1911) in Ravindra Kumar (ed.), Selected
Documents of Lokamaya Bal Gangadhar Tilak 1880– 1929, Volume II, New Delhi, Anmol, 1992, pp.134-135; and
‘Lenin’s comments on Indian political system and the conviction of B. G. Tilak’ (1913) in Kumar (ed.), op. cit., p.166;
and his proposed additions to the 1896 International’s resolution in Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Socialist Revolution’, 1916.
51
52
Ibid.; Lenin, op. cit., ‘Critical Remarks’, 1913. Also his ‘Note to the Theses “Socialist Revolution and the Right of
Nations to Self-Determination”’, 1916, www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1916/feb/00.htm.
53
Lenin, ‘Is a Compulsory Official Language Needed?’ in Proletarskaya Pravda, vol. 32, no. 14, 18 January 1914,
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1914/jan/18.htm; Lenin, op. cit., ‘Critical Remarks’, 1913. See also Harding,
op. cit., Lenin’s Political Thought, p.300.
54
Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Discussion on Self-Determination’, 1916.
55
Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Revolutionary Proletariat’, 1915.
171
would be extremely close unifying ties between the states involved.56 Accordingly, self-
determination would not be a divide between working-class communities. On the contrary, the
concept of self-determination would reinforce links between equal entities across national
boundaries.57
Thus, Lenin’s views on “self-determination” encompassed an ideal of equality as a legitimising

standard. In 1914, Lenin laid out his vision as to how this legitimising mechanism could be
achieved: “By political equality [we] Social-Democrats mean equal rights, and by economic
equality [...] the abolition of classes.”58 This stance was later compared by Lenin to the deceptive,
bourgeois “abstract or formal posing of the problem”,59 and explained how: “Freedom and equality”,
would “in practice [only signify] wage-slavery for the workers”.60 Lenin believed that his own
approach to the notion of equality deemed necessary to ensure “self-determination”, was the right
one however. His emphasis on such a standard of equality showed that his arguments were based on
his broader thinking, and not just on debates with fellow Socialists about specific issues, such as
nationalism.
Lenin was therefore in favour of self-determination if it led to liberty as equality without division
into nationalities, and within a classless society progressing towards becoming a socialist one. 61
Once socialism was established, the national question, including questions of “self-determination”,
would be replaced by internationalist equality.62 Internationalism, rather than nationalism, was a
perennial theme in Lenin’s work.63 As Leon Trotsky put it: for Lenin, internationalism was “a guide
to revolutionary action embracing all nations”, with the world “considered as one single
battlefield”.64
56
Lenin, ‘A Letter to S.G. Shahumyan’ in Bakinsky Rabochy, no. 48, March 1918 (written 1913),
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1913/nov/23.htm.
57
See e.g. Lenin, ‘The Working Class and the National Question’ in Pravda, no. 106, 10 May 1913,
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1913/may/10.htm; Lenin, op. cit., ‘Draft Theses’, 1920.
58
Lenin, ‘A Liberal Professor on Equality’ in Put Pravdy, no. 33, 11 March, 1914 (emphasis in original),
marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1914/mar/11.htm.
59
Lenin, op. cit., ‘Draft Theses’, 1920.
60
Lenin, ‘Deceptions of the People with Slogans of Freedom and Equality’ in N. Lenin, Two Speeches at the First All-
Russia Congress on Adult Education, Moscow, 1919, www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1919/jun/23.htm.
61
Lenin, ‘The Fight for Freedom and the Fight for Power’ in Volna, no. 9, May 5, 1906,
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1906/may/05.htm; Lenin, op. cit., ‘Note to the Theses’, 1916; Lenin, op. cit.,
‘The Right of Nations’, 1914.
62
Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Discussion’, 1916.
63
See e.g. Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Right of Nations’, 1914.
64
Trotsky, op. cit., p.143.
172
The notion of “self-determination” as a concept encompassing freedom as equality was

consequently a “negative” legitimising principle, according to Lenin. That is to say that Lenin
believed self-determination was a right because it offered people freedom against and from
negatives such as, tyranny, absolutism, monarchy, annexations, and capitalist oppression. Self-
determination could be used to guard against all such factors.65 All of these restrictions on freedom
created circumstances of inequality, dependence, and interference. As such, they legitimised “self-
determination”.66 Thus it was self-determination as protection against threats to freedom that Lenin
praised, even if he believed that, as a right, self-determination would seldom be implemented. The
idea of “self-determination” as freedom from domination and dependence had been put forward by
republican theories for centuries, and Lenin’s thoughts were partially in line with theirs. 67 Where
Lenin’s vision differed, however, was that he was a radical socialist with a global view, rather than a
republican focusing on a single state. Liberty for Lenin was an international ideal, one that would
allow oppressed peoples worldwide to take charge of independent states. In this context, violence
and instability were permitted, if they contributed to the advancement of freedom as equality within
the framework of socialist beliefs across the planet. In this sense, Lenin would support a
revolutionary approach to self-determination, so long as it championed his political thinking.68
65
E.g. in Lenin, ‘The Social Significance of the Serbo-Bulgarian Victories’ in Pravda, no. 162, 7 November 1912,
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1912/nov/07.htm; Lenin, op. cit., ‘The National Question’, 1903; and Lenin,
op. cit., ‘The Discussion’, 1916. Another similar approach is in Karl Kautsky, Der Weg zur Macht (The Road to Power),
chapter 9, ‘A New Period of Revolutions’, Berlin, 1910, www.marxists.org/deutsch/archiv/kautsky/1909/macht; Patrick
Goode (ed. and trans.), Karl Kautsky: Selected Political Writings, London, Macmillan, 1983, p.75.
66
See also Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Socialist Revolution’, 1916; and Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Right of Nations’, 1914, in which
he outlines the freedom from oppression narrative in relation to the 1896 Resolution, highlighting its “sympathy for the
workers of every country now suffering under the yoke of military, national or other absolutism”. The English language
report employs the word “despotisms” and not “absolutisms”, see Will Thorne, ‘Full Report of the Proceedings of the
International Workers’ Congress, London, July and August, 1896 (the Fourth Congress of the Second International)’ in
The Labour Leader, Glasgow and London, 1896, p.32.
67
See, for example, Skinner’s work Hobbes and Republican Liberty, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2008;
Skinner, Liberty Before Liberalism, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1997; Quentin Skinner, ‘A Genealogy of
the Modern State’, Proceedings of the British Academy, vol. 162, 2009; and ‘The Paradoxes of Political Liberty’, The
Tanner Lectures on Human Values, Harvard University, 1984.
68
See e.g. Chapter 1 in Lenin’s The State and Revolution: The Marxist Theory of the State and the Tasks of the
Proletariat in the Revolution, written 1917, published 1918.
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1917/staterev.
173
Lenin’s view of self-determination helped resolve the tension between Marxism and nationalism. He
effectively won the in-party socialist arguments centred on the national question, as his theory was
included into key party resolutions in 1913 and 1917. 69 Nations in Russia, the resolutions stipulated,
should be allowed “self-determination” as the right “to secede and form independent states”.70 They
also advocated “complete equality for all nations”, promoting self-determination as a means to get
rid of “national oppression” by “ensur[ing] complete solidarity among the workers of the various
nations”.71 Thus, the resolutions highlighted – as Lenin did – the difference between being in favour
of self-determination, and “the expediency of a given nation’s secession”. 72 The latter expediency
needed to be worked out in “the interests of the proletarian class struggle for socialism” at all times,
and rule out joining up with the bourgeoisie, Lenin argued.73
The Bolsheviks triumphed in Russia with the October 1917 Revolution, just after Lenin’s views of
“self-determination” had also triumphed with the official formulation of these resolutions. Lenin
was then encouraged to transfer this ideology to real life by pressing for independence for such
groups such as the Ukrainians, Finns and those living in the Baltic.74 It is not the purpose of this
chapter to analyse the demands made of Lenin. Such matters are covered by others. 75 However,
while there were often stark differences between Lenin’s arguments in favour of self-determination
and his ability to reject certain claims to independence,76 his political ideology always informed his
policy decisions. Socialist development was paramount to Lenin, and underpinned his support for
69
See Wade, op. cit., The Russian Revolution, p.151 and Carr, op. cit., pp.261–263, on how Lenin inserted the rhetoric of
“self-determination” in the party programme, despite being initially unsuccessful. See Carr, Ibid., p.269, who writes on
how this also occurred in 1919. See also Read, op. cit., p.226.
70
The same expression is used in Lenin, op. cit., ‘Resolutions of the Summer’, 1913, and in Lenin, ‘Resolution on the
National Question’ of ‘The Seventh (April) All-Russia Conference of the R.S.D.L.P. (Bolsheviks) 24–29 April 1917’,
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1917/7thconf/29e.htm.
71
Lenin, op. cit., ‘Resolution on the National Question’, 1917.
72
Lenin, op. cit., ‘Resolutions of the Summer’, 1913.
73
Ibid.
74
See e.g. Jurij Borys, The Sovietization of Ukraine, 1917-1923. The Communist Doctrine and Practice of National Self-
Determination, Edmonton, Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies, 1980; Edward Hallett Carr, The Bolshevik
Revolution 1917–1923, Vol. III, London, Macmillan, 1953, pp.258-270.
75
E.g. Harold Temperley, A History of the Peace Conference of Paris, Vol. VI, London, Henry Frowde and Hodder &
Stoughton, 1924, pp.311-333; Richard K. Debo, Survival and Consolidation: The Foreign Policy of Soviet Russia 1918–
1921, Montreal, McGill-Queen’s University Press, 1992; Carr, op. cit., 1978, p.265 on Ukraine; pp.270-273 on the
Baltic States and Georgia, pp.286-289 on Poland and Finland; as well as Figes, op. cit., pp.375-377, 703-713.
76
For allegations of double standards and “opportunism” of the Bolshevik policy on “self-determination and
nationalities”, see e.g. Hugh Seton-Watson, ‘Soviet Nationality Policy’, Russian Review, vol. 15, no. 1, 1956, pp.3-13
especially p.4; Winston Churchill, The World Crisis. The Aftermath, London, Thornton Butterworth, 1929, p.85.
174
self-determination at all times.77 Some may have questioned whether it was fair to consider “self-
determination” between such a rigid doctrinal framework, but Lenin did not waiver from his clearly
stated rationale.
Lenin’s Discourse on “self-determination”: From Intra-Socialist Party Debate to Wartime

International Revolutionary Rhetoric
Lenin’s ideas about self-determination were considerably affected, and indeed changed, by the First
World War,78 and these adaptations in turn influenced how President Wilson responded, as he ended
up internationalising the concept. Like most politicians of his era, Lenin spent a great deal of time
considering what had led to the war starting, what kind of war it was, and what possibilities it
created for the future once the fighting was over. These reflections shaped Lenin’s political thoughts
on self-determination. Lenin’s views, contained in speeches and writings, saw the First World War
as primarily being the result of capitalism, and “imperialism” at its highest stage, 79 and specifically
the fight for control by dominating countries, as outlined in his famous 1917 pamphlet Imperialism.
He demonstrated how traditional capitalist competition had been replaced by monopolies,80 with
leading powers vying for economic and political hegemony.81 The First World War was
“imperialistic – both annexationist and plunderous”82 and, given Lenin’s theories about Imperialism,
unavoidable. Control was the ultimate aim of imperialism so its corollary would be violence. 83 This
violence came from the intense antagonism between respective capitalist powers, and also from the
imperialistic repressive nature of colonisation.84 Thus the capitalist dynamic was the main reason for
the war, Lenin believed.
77
See e.g. Lenin, ‘The Question of Nationalities or “Autonomisation”’, written 30 December 1922,
www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1922/dec/testamnt/autonomy.htm.
78
For the war’s impact on Lenin’s political thought, see also Harding, op. cit., Lenin’s Political Thought, pp.20-26;
Read, op. cit., pp.116-126; Jan Nederveen Pieterse, Empire and Emancipation: Power and Liberation on a World Scale,
New York, Praeger, 1989, pp.4-13.
79
Lenin’s opinions on the subject are contained in his Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism, London, Pluto
Press, 1996 (first written in 1916, and published in 1917), and also his Collected Works: Notebooks on Imperialism,
Vol. 39, Moscow, Progress Publishers, 1968.
80
Lenin, op. cit., Imperialism, p.101.
81
Ibid., pp.89, 77.
82
Ibid., (1920 preface to the French and German editions), pp.3-4.
83
Ibid., p.83.
84
Ibid., pp.97 and 125. See also Lenin, op. cit., ‘Resolution on the National Question’, 1917.
175
Aggressive imperialistic rivalry manifested itself in many ways, including the scramble to gain and
then govern colonies. This resulted in a globe “completely divided up”,85 with colonialist power
primarily growing out of the determination of avaricious nations to interfere with the populations of
new areas, and the natural resources that came with them.86 Lenin was “obviously not” opposed to
using force in broad terms,87 but he was against colonial annexations because they contradicted the
right of self-determination for all nations.88 Lenin wrote in 1916 that annexations “establish[ed] state
frontiers contrary to the will of the population”.89 Lenin explained:
National self-determination means political independence. Imperialism seeks

to violate such independence because political annexation often makes
economic annexation easier, cheaper (easier to bribe officials, secure
concessions, put through advantageous legislation. etc.), more convenient,
less troublesome.90
Being against imperialist annexations and standing up for the right of nations to self-determination
went together, Lenin argued.91
There was considerable liberating potential in the unrest, dissent and subsequent violence that
colonial expansionism and the denial of self-determination would inevitably cause, Lenin contented.
Imperialist oppression would stir the consciousness of those being exploited and provoke them to
unite socially towards the cause of expelling those who were dominating them. In short, maintaining
an economic grip through reactionary Imperialism and the forces of law and order which upheld it
would trigger social awareness and effective armed opposition.92 Lenin’s 1917 pamphlet
Imperialism explained how this united action was a reaction to capitalist provocation, leading to
violent revolution and liberation.93 So it was that there was no emphasis on peace in Lenin’s
wartime interpretation of self-determination. Lenin’s belief in the possibility of violence in the
context of self-determination and freedom was thus very different to Woodrow Wilson’s, who
championed peace and stability at all times.
85
86
Ibid., p.83.
87
88
89
90
Lenin, op. cit., ‘A Caricature’, 1916.
91
See also Harding, op. cit., Lenin’s Political Thought, p.66; Young, op. cit., pp.107-134.
92
93
Ibid., pp.125, 97.
176
In 1916, Lenin wrote that “Liberation of the colonies means self-determination of nations.
Europeans often forget that colonial peoples too are nations, but to tolerate this ‘forgetfulness’ is to
tolerate chauvinism.”94 Other socialists had put forward the same kind of thinking about Imperialism
and their view that colonised countries should be allowed to stand alone.95 For example, Karl
Kautsky in 1910 stated that imperialism “deceived and disposed of foreign peoples as if they were
cattle”. Kautsky then elaborated:
[Imperialism] rest[ed] on the assumption that only the peoples of European

civilization are capable of independent development. The men of other races
are regarded as children, idiots or beasts of burden, to be treated with more
or less mercy – at any rate they are beings of a lower kind, which can be
controlled according to our whim. 96
Lenin did not believe in unconditional self-determination, that is to say principled self-determination
without any exceptions at all. Instead he pushed for all colonised peoples to be given the right to
oppose those dominating them within the struggle to establish socialism within their areas of the
world. Lenin aimed to assess individual cases with this long-term objective prevalent in all
discussions.97 Thus this case assessment model contradicted the widespread belief among historians
that Lenin “first and foremost” viewed self-determination as “a postulate of anti-colonialism”.98 This
traditional presumption was not only misguided99 but Lenin proposed “self-determination” as a
much more generalised answer to the “national question” which had been debated among socialists.
Lenin was not in favour of any independence from colonialist oppression where liberation stopped
development towards socialism.
Lenin’s early calls to oppose the nationalistic “defend the fatherland” rallying cries prevalent in
Russia and Europe during the First World War seemed to be at odds with his support for an anti-
94
Lenin, op. cit., ‘A Caricature’, 1916.
95
See e.g. Rosa Luxemburg, The Accumulation of Capital, London, Routledge, 2003 (first published in 1913);
Karl Kautsky, ‘Imperialism and the War’ in International Socialist Review, November 1914,
www.marxists.org/archive/kautsky/1914/09/war.htm; Karl Kautsky, ‘Ultra-Imperialism’, Die Neue Zeit, September
1914, www.marxists.org/archive/kautsky/1914/09/ultra-imp.htm.
96
Kautsky, op. cit., Der Weg zur Macht, pp.75–76.
97
See Lenin, op. cit., ‘A Caricature’, 1916.
98
Antonio Cassese, Self-Determination of Peoples: A Legal Reappraisal, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1995,
p.44.
99
See also Bowring, op. cit., p.125.
177
colonial version of self-determination.100 Flag and country patriotism was a unifying and galvanising
force among all belligerents during the war, with people across the political and class spectrums
gathering around their national symbols,101 but Lenin had objected to this “fatherland” war effort.
He considered such emotional nationalism to be a “despicable betrayal of socialism”.102 In contrast
to the stances of the Marxist theorist and revolutionary socialist Rosa Luxemburg who was against
“defence of the fatherland” and “self-determination” whatever happened,103 Lenin had no problems
with it as long as it was aimed at imperialistic oppressors. In fact, Lenin argued, people were
perfectly entitled to consider their violent struggle a “defence of the fatherland” if it resulted in the
demise of an Imperial power.104 Thus Lenin’s backing of independence from a colonial power and
more general opposition to “defending the fatherland” could be reconciled. Both were legitimised in
the context of Marxist ideology and the global war against capitalist imperialism.
Lenin used the language of “self-determination” to undermine imperialism. In this sense he was
applying “self-determination” as a “negative idea of freedom” – defining it against a set of negative
concepts. The colonial drive for “domination” subdued “liberty”, Lenin outlined in his
Imperialism,105 and he advocated “self-determination” as the best liberating tool to get rid of it. Land
theft, oppression, exploitation, and other forms of interference were to be opposed at all times, but
Lenin had not condemned all forms of interference before the war. It was only once the First World
War had started that Lenin suggested that interference per se was generally a crucial way by which
freedom as equality was taken away, and proposed self-determination as a means of winning it back.
Thus the war altered Lenin’s theoretical opinion on “self-determination” and Imperialism, as he
addressed his revised position to a different kind of public. It was in this manner that Lenin was able
to increase the scope of his ambitions.
100
Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Discussion’, 1916; also Figes, op. cit., p.293; Arno J. Mayer, Political Origins of the New
Diplomacy 1917–1918, New Haven, CT, Yale University Press, 1959, pp.60-63, 380-381.
101
See Geary, op. cit., p.237, on the influence of the Second International on certain groups.
102
Lenin, op. cit., ‘Draft Resolution’, 1920. See also Carr, op. cit., p.66.
103
Rosa Luxemburg, ‘Speech to the Hanover Congress (October 1899)’, German: Ausgewählte Reden und Schriften, II,
Berlin, Dietz Verlag, 1951; Dick Howard (ed.), Selected Political Writings of Rosa Luxemburg, New York, Monthly
Review Press, 1971, pp.347–351.
104
105
178
Before the outbreak of the war, Lenin was largely directing his comments about “self-
determination” at fellow socialists, as he asserted himself within his party, but his comments were
aimed at a far wider audience as the global conflict progressed. During the war, Lenin’s use of the
rhetoric of “self-determination” was primarily motivated by the Marxist imperative to push peoples
all over the world to unite as an international working-class and so bring about revolution in the
colonies. Lenin’s ultimate objective was to halt the control of capitalist powers and to trigger an
international revolutionary wave.106 Furthermore, this dynamic applied in Europe would, Lenin
contended, “sharpen the revolutionary crisis” within major capitalist countries – the imperialists’
home arena.107 If the working-class united in these countries, they would not only spark revolution
at home, but bring the war to an end, as well as advance socialism.108 Thus, Lenin’s soundings on
self-determination were now focused on the international struggle to not only stop the war, but to
bring about the demise of capitalism. This contrasted with Lenin’s far more limited debates on “self-
determination” which took place among Socialist rivals before the war.109
Through attempting to influence the world with his increasingly radical wartime ideas on self-
determination, Lenin showed how ideological propaganda was crucial to the First World War effort.
A burgeoning mass media made sure that the standpoints of international politicians engaged in the
war reached as wide an audience as possible.110 People everywhere began to become aware of
messages about everything from generalised political thought to specific information about the
106
See also Trotsky, op. cit., p.93; B. I. Zhuchkov, Lenin on the Nationality Problem, Moscow, Novosti Press Agency
Publishing House, 1968, p.43; Craig Nation, War on War: Lenin, the Zimmerwald Left, and the Origins of Communist
Internationalism, Durham, NC, Duke University Press, 1989, p.232; Carr, op. cit., 1978, pp.245–246, 428; A.J. Mayer,
op. cit., pp.24, 264, 301; Richard K. Debo, Revolution and Survival: The Foreign Policy of Soviet Russia 1917–18,
Liverpool, Liverpool University Press, 1979, p.48; Figes, op. cit., pp.294, 537–538.
107
Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Discussion’, 1916. See also Carr, op. cit., 1978, pp.55, 62; Carr, op. cit., The Bolshevik
Revolution, p.9.
108
See in particular Lenin, ‘The Tasks of the Proletariat in Our Revolution (Draft Platform for the Proletarian Party)’,
Priboi Publishers, 1917, www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1917/tasks/index.htm. See also Carr, op. cit., 1978, pp.
65–67; Carr, op. cit., The Bolshevik Revolution, p.7; A.J. Mayer, op. cit., pp.97, 245.
109
See e.g. Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Revolutionary Proletariat’, 1915, and Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Discussion’, 1916.
110
See Gerard J. De Groot, The First World War, Hampshire, Palgrave, 2001, pp.146-148. A.J. Mayer, op. cit., pp.7-8;
Figes, op. cit., p.541 for the spread of Bolshevik propaganda; on US propaganda, see George Creel, How we Advertised
America. The First Telling of the Amazing Story of the Committee of Public Information that Carried the Gospel of
Americanism to Every Corner of the Globe, New York, Harper, 1920, and George Creel, The War, the World, and
Wilson, New York, Harper, 1920. See also Herbert E. Brekle, ‘War with Words’ in Ruth Wodak (ed.), Language, Power
and Ideology: Studies in Political Discourse, Amsterdam, John Benjamins Publishing Company, 1989, pp.83–87.
179
progress of the war, and indeed leaders’ plans for the peace that would come next.111 Both Lenin and
Wilson were at the heart of this propaganda war as they pushed forward their beliefs about “self-
determination”. However, it would be wrong to say that the two men’s public statements were solely
strategic – both had broad ideological convictions and these were certainly reflected in the ideas
they articulated about “self-determination”.112
Two revolutions in Russia and America’s entry into the war ensured that the ideological battle
became more protracted in 1917.113 President Wilson was interested in projecting America’s war
effort as being one about morality and virtue, and indeed about legitimising his country’s
contribution to the world conflict in glowing terms, with regular references to liberty and, crucially,
peace. Wilson’s approach to “self-determination” in this context will be examined in the next
section of this chapter.114 The February 1917 Revolution in Russia led to the end of the Tsar and the
establishing of the Provisional Government, which ostensibly shared power with the Soviet of
Workers’ Deputies in Petrogad.115 Later in 1917, the Bolsheviks prevailed during the October 1917
Revolution, seizing power. Against this background, Lenin had pushed self-determination as a
weapon of global revolution to oppose all forces resisting socialism, and particularly capitalist
imperialism. Russia and America were united in the war effort until March 1918,116 but, following
the Russian revolutions, they naturally had great ideological rivalry. The post-war destruction of
empires, and the need to replace them with new territorial lines, was still unclear then, but it was
already certain that traditional diplomacy and the accepted standards of an Imperialist world were
111
As far as the Press was concerned, Winston Churchill (op. cit., p.137) pointed out that the Paris Peace Conference had
500 “special correspondents” covering it. See also Laurence W. Martin, Peace without Victory: Woodrow Wilson and
the British Liberals, New Haven, CT, Yale University Press, 1958; A.J. Mayer, op. cit., pp.54, 372.
112
In spite of allegations to the contrary, e.g. Muriel Evelyn Chamberlain, Decolonization, Oxford, Blackwell, 1999,
p.10.
113
America formally joined the First World War as an “Entente” or “Associated” force, and not as an “Allied” one, but
for ease the USA will hereafter be referred to as a member of the “Allies”.
114
Former U.S. President Theodore Roosevelt’s 1914 idea of a ‘World League for the Peace of Righteousness’, Outlook,
23 September 1914, pp.169–178, at p.178 also shows how morally charged some American discourse could be.
115
See e.g. Harding, op. cit., ‘The Russian Revolution’, p.240. The “Petrograd Soviet of Workers’ and Soldiers’
Deputies” is what the name became. Until September 1917, the Mensheviks were very much in charge of this particular
Soviet: Wade, op. cit., The Russian Revolution, pp.64, 70. In contrast, Bolsheviks controlled the Petrograd and Moscow
Soviets by October 1917: Marples, op cit., p.87; also Sheila Fitzpatrick, The Russian Revolution, Oxford, Oxford
University Press, 2008, pp.43, 49; Carr, op. cit., 1978, pp.70–71; Peter Holquist, Making War, Forging Revolution:
Russia’s Continuum of Crisis, 1914–1921, Cambridge, MA, Harvard University Press, 2002, p.50; Peter Gatrell,
Russia’s First World War: A Social and Economic History, Harlow, Pearson Education Limited, 2005, p.197;
A.J. Mayer, op. cit., p.72.
116
At the time that Russia and Germany agreed to the Brest–Litovsk treaty, as below.
180
under threat.117 These changing circumstances and values saw the possibility of a new world being
acknowledged by both the Americans and the Bolsheviks. There was a distinct gulf between their
respective, competing principles, but they were personified by Vladimir Lenin and Woodrow
Wilson. The pair became locked in debate aimed at persuading global audiences that their own
causes were the right ones.118
For the Americans and their allies, the newfound influence and doctrinal fever of Lenin and the
Bolsheviks, and especially their calls for international revolution, were deeply troubling.119 As a
small, relatively unknown wing of an obscure party, the Bolsheviks had little appeal before the war,
and certainly not outside Russia. The war gave them a chance to propagate their ideals to Europeans,
and indeed to others living in other parts of the world and their push for radical change, and
especially freedom from oppression, resounded worldwide in areas exhausted by conflict.120 The
Bolsheviks developed a particular interest in altering western public opinion, with the European Left
becoming the key target for these theories about the war.121 The U.S.A and those who had fought
alongside them were, in the short term, most concerned that the Bolsheviks would actually withdraw
117
To see how this manifested itself after 1919, Lassa Oppenheim, The League of Nations and Its Problems: Three
Lectures, London, Longmans, Green, 1919.
118
On Wilson, see e.g. William Carleton, ‘A New Look at Woodrow Wilson’, Virginia Quarterly Review, vol. 38, no. 4,
1962, p.566.
119
Wilson’s writing between 1917 and 1918 sees this coming up a lot, as in PWW 1984, vol. 45, e.g. ‘A Memorandum
by William Boyce Thompson’, 3 January 1918, at p.442; ‘From George Jan Sosnowski’, 11 January 1918, at p.574; ‘A
Memorandum by Sidney Edward Mezes, David Hunter Miller, and Walter Lippmann’ – i.e. ‘The Memorandum of the
Inquiry’ – ‘The Present Situation: The War Aims and Peace Terms its Suggests. Our Objectives’, at pp.459–464; also
‘Sir William Wiseman to Lord Reading, 12 February 1918’, pp.333–334 in PWW 1984, vol. 46; Memorandum from
William Bullitt received by Wilson on 18 November 1918, pp.121–123 in PWW 1986, vol. 53; Robert Lansing, The
Peace Negotiations. A Personal Narrative, London, Constable, 1921, p.171; Edward Mandell House, The Intimate
Papers of Colonel House, Volume III: Into the War April 1917-June 1918, arranged as a narrative by Charles Seymour,
Ernest Benn Ltd, 1928, pp.297-298. There was frequent discourse about Russia in Paris during the Peace Conference:
see e.g. ‘Hankey’s notes of a meeting of the Council of Four’, 20 May 1919, pp.301-302 in PWW 1988, vol. 59.
120
Wilson’s propaganda chief George Creel responded by advocating for an American Bureau of Public Information in
Europe; see ‘A Memorandum by George Creel’, 31 January 1918, pp.200–203 in PWW 1984, vol. 46. The U.S.A.’s
worries about the popularity of the Bolsheviks were discussed in the New York Times: ‘Prey of Agitators’, 23 August
1919. This article reported that “a campaign for self-determination for the negroes of all corners of the earth” lauded
Lenin and Trotsky. To learn about the then Bolsheviks’ increasing appeal in Russia, see Gatrell, op. cit., p.221.
121
See e.g. E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. III, 1928, p.329; and Lenin quoted in Carr, op. cit., The Bolshevik Revolution, p.9.
Martin, op. cit., recounts how British radicals who organised themselves into groups were able to have an influence on
government action, despite their relatively small size, p.58. See also Memorandum of Lloyd George, ‘Some
Considerations for the Peace Conference’, 25 March 1919 in Ray Stannard Baker, Woodrow Wilson and World
Settlement, Vol. III, New York, Doubleday, Page & Co., 1922, p.449, as well as pp.451-452; Carr, op. cit., The
Bolshevik Revolution, p.12; A.J. Mayer, op. cit., pp.31, 34-35, 265, 333-334, 387-391. See also Lenin, op. cit., ‘The
Revolutionary Proletariat’, 1915, and Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Discussion’, 1916, referring in particular to German and
Polish leftists.
181
from the war effort, so potentially damaging their own contributions considerably.122 Their fears
proved grounded when, in March 1918, the Bolsheviks now running Russia, signed the Brest-
Litovsk Treaty with the Central Powers, who no longer had to combat on the Eastern front. 123
America and affiliated nations had in fact suspected that Germany had been undermining Russia all
along, supporting the Bolshevik rise to power as a means of improving its own chances of winning
the war.124
Wilson’s prestigious, “liberal” image and the substantial propaganda machinery he had at his
disposal made him a formidable enemy to Lenin as the two leaders competed to promote their
respective thinking.125 Despite the challenge from the American, Lenin was determined to champion
his radical Marxist ideas as much as possible.126 Yes, the men’s ultimate goals were very different,
but both employed the same kind of Old World Versus New World rhetoric – one that opposed
imperial annexations. The difference was Wilson wanted change according to liberal-conservative
principles, while Lenin was a revolutionary who used self-determination to strongly advocate for
socialism. When the war ended, Lenin attacked the allegedly hypocritical liberals in Europe who
had supported Wilson, saying they “call[ed] themselves pacifists and socialists, who sang praises to
‘Wilsonianism’, and who insisted that peace and reform were possible under imperialism”. 127
Wilson’s increasing popularity as the war progressed – and the widespread support that his ideas
received – is likely to have prompted Lenin to emphasise his own version of self-determination.128
While the phrase “self-determination” was barely employed by Wilson, the broader thinking
connected with it, and the expression itself as used by Wilson in 1918, were viewed as being an
122
A.J. Mayer, op. cit., pp.170, 77–78, 83, 88; Trygve Throntveit, ‘What was Wilson Thinking?, A Review of Recent
Literature on Wilsonian Foreign Policy’, White House Studies, vol. 10, no. 4, 2011, pp.457-458.
123
For a discussion of the Russian treaties from that time, see e.g. Charles G. Fenwick, ‘The Russian Peace Treaties’,
American Political Science Review, vol. 12, no. 4, 1918a, pp.706-711.
124
See e.g. the secret ‘Memorandum on the Formula of “the Self-Determination of Peoples” and the Moslem World’,
British Intelligence Bureau, TNA: FO 608/203, Department of Information, Section E, 30 January 1918, no. 6289/1,
pp.2–3; and memoranda received by Wilson on 20 and 22 November 1918, in PWW 1986, vol. 53, pp.136–137,
169–180.
125
See New York Tribune editorial reproduced in E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. III, 1928, p.354. See also Klaus Schwabe,
Woodrow Wilson, Revolutionary Germany, and Peacemaking, 1918– 1919: Missionary Diplomacy and the Realities of
Power, Chapel Hill, NC, University of North Carolina Press, 1985, p.25, on the “remarkable success” of Wilson’s
rhetoric in Germany.
126
Baker, op. cit., Vol. I, suggests that Wilson readily attracted support from “the liberal and labour groups”, p.45; see
also Carr, op. cit., The Bolshevik Revolution, p.13. For details on the US information infrastructure, see Creel, op. cit.,
How we Advertised America, and Creel, op. cit., The War, the World, and Wilson.
127
Lenin, op. cit., Imperialism, p.5, from his preface written in 1920.
128
See also Debo, op. cit., Survival and Consolidation, 1992, pp.24, 26, and Debo, Ibid., pp.386-388; A.J. Mayer,
op. cit., p.373.
182
integral part of what the U.S. president represented. Despite this, Lenin set out to undermine
Wilson’s message.129 Lenin wanted to try to take control of the “self-determination” narrative by
highlighting the hypocrisy of the USA and its colonialist, capitalist Allies as they interfered in the
affairs of foreign countries while allegedly championing self-determination.130
After the “self-determination” debate levitated from one between rival socialists to a global issue,
party members placed it at the centre of their international ideological war with the USA and its
western Allies. This aspect tends to be underplayed in scholarly literature on the subject.131 Lenin’s
opinions and similar pressure from the Soviet in Petrograd132 originally led to the Provisional
Government which came to power early in 1917 introducing its “Declaration of War Aims” in
March 1917. They read: “[T]he objective of free Russia is not the domination of other nations, nor
the expropriation of their… property, nor the forcible seizure of foreign territories, but the
ratification of a stable peace on the basis of national self-determination”.133 Following the October
Revolution later in 1917, self-determination was backed by the Bolsheviks as being a desirable
concept for all Russian people. The Bolsheviks advocated peace and democracy based on “no
annexations or indemnities and the self-determination of nations”.134 They wanted to stake their
claim to being more moral than their ideological enemies in America and in line with this they
disclosed previously confidential treaties from the Tsar’s regime into the public domain.135
It was Leon Trotsky, the Bolsheviks’ Foreign Commissioner, who, on December 31 1917, released
the most important international address as regards Lenin’s and the Bolsheviks’ pronouncements on
129
See e.g. Erez Manela, The Wilsonian Moment: Self-Determination and the International Origins of Anticolonial
Nationalism, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2007, in particular pp.47–51.
130
Trotsky, op. cit., p.93, Debo, op. cit., 1992, pp.30–31 and Debo, op. cit., Revolution and Survival, pp.386-388.
A.J. Mayer, op. cit., p.170.
131
Manela, op. cit., 2007, p.7. As an example, the idea that Lenin’s view of self-determination was only influential
internationally after spring 1919.
132
See e.g. Wade, op. cit., The Russian Revolution, p.84; Fitzpatrick, op. cit., p.46.
133
Ronald I. Kowalski, The Russian Revolution 1917–1921, ‘Provisional Government’s Declaration of War Aims’,
27 March 1917, London, Routledge, 1997, p.48, Document 4.2. See also Figes, op. cit., p.381. Lenin outlined “the utter
falsity” of the Provisional Government’s pledges “particularly of those relating to the renunciation of annexations”,
Lenin, op. cit., ‘The Tasks’, 1917. The Petrograd Soviet’s statement came before the Provisional Government’s
declaration: ‘Appeal to all the peoples of the world’, that came out against colonisation: Izvestiya, 15 March 1917 in
Martin McCauley, (ed.), The Russian Revolution and the Soviet State 1917–1921: Documents, London, Macmillan,
1975, pp.78-79.
134
Bolshevik decree of 2 November 1917, ‘Declaration of the Rights of the Peoples of Russia’, signed by Lenin and
Stalin. www.marxists.org/history/ussr/government/1917/11/02.htm.
135
See Leon Trotsky, ‘Note of Foreign Minister Trotsky to the Allied Embassies in Petrograd Offering an Armistice’,
21 November 1917, pp.188–189 in James Brown Scott, Official Statements of War Aims and Peace Proposals,
December 1916 to November 1918, Washington, DC, Carnegie Endowment for International Law, 1921.
183
self-determination: “To Peoples and Governments of Allied Countries”. It highlighted the posturing
of the Allies and called on them to be open with their war aims. It asked if the Allies were “willing
on their part to give the right of self-determination to the peoples of Ireland, Egypt, India,
Madagascar, Indochina, et cetera”, just as the Revolution in Russia had presented this right to those
living in Finland and Ukraine:136
[I]t is clear that to demand self-determination for the peoples that are
comprised within the borders of enemy states and refuse self-determination
to the peoples of their own state and their own colonies would mean the
defence of the most naked, the most cynical imperialism.137
The literature emphatically stated Lenin’s attitude towards “self-determination”, all the while
forcefully opposing the Imperialistic status of the colonial, western nations. Such public wartime
statements confronting the western Allies made sure that Lenin’s interpretation of “self-
determination” became part and parcel of the global moral debate about the world’s future. Lenin’s
rhetoric had led to the language of “self-determination” becoming more important to the extent that,
by December 1917, Wilson was apparently using it in his State of the Union Speech. The President
said “the principle” should be “brought under the patronage of its real friends”.138 It was also in
December 1917 that the Austria-Hungarian Foreign Minister Ottokar Czernin made a very clear
mention of “self-determination” in his Christmas address, arguing that the Central Powers provided
“validity to this principle everywhere in so far as it is practically realisable” and only if other war
participants followed suit.139
British Prime Minister David Lloyd George stated on 5 January 1918 that “we are fighting for a just
and lasting peace”, and “a territorial settlement must be secured, based on the right of self-
determination or the consent of the governed”.140 It has been said that Lloyd George thus “coined
136
English version in ‘David Roland Francis to Robert Lansing’, Petrograd 31 December 1917, recorded on 1 January
1918, PWW 1984, vol. 45, pp.411–412.
137
Ibid., pp.412–413.
138
Wilson, ‘Fifth Annual Message’, 4 December 1917, Miller Center of Public Affairs, University of Virginia.
millercenter.org/scripps/archive/speeches/detail/3799.
139
‘Statement of Count Czernin at Brest–Litovsk of the Terms on which the Central Powers were willing to Conclude a
General Peace’, 25 December 1917, pp.221-222 in Scott, op. cit.
140
David Lloyd George, ‘British War Aims’, 5 January 1918, WWI Document Archive.
wwi.lib.byu.edu/index.php/Prime_Minister_Lloyd_George_on_the_British_War_Aims. The speech was so similar to
what Wilson then planned that he reportedly considered cancelling his Fourteen Points Speech: Victor S. Mamatey, The
United States and East Central Europe 1914–1918: A Study in Wilsonian Diplomacy and Propaganda, Princeton, NJ,
Princeton University Press, 1957, pp.175-176. See also Trygve Throntveit, ‘The Fable of the Fourteen Points: Woodrow
Wilson and National Self-determination’, Diplomatic History, 35(3), 2011b, pp.445-481, especially pp.459–460.
184
the phrase self-determination”,141 but this was in fact after Lenin had spent at least fourteen years
discussing the subject in numerous speeches and written works, and also in the wake of First World
War international declarations by the Bolsheviks. Woodrow Wilson’s “Fourteen Points” speech was
made just three days after Lloyd George’s reference to self-determination. Wilson would firmly
propagate the language of self-determination worldwide the following month.
The fourteen years during which Lenin theorised “self-determination” between 1903 and 1917 were
hugely significant to getting the concept on to the global agenda and to comprehending its future
international references. While international mentions on the subject would not generally be framed
around Lenin’s radical socialist ideology,142 the Russian’s work was still vital as regards equating
the implementation of self-determination with independent nationhood. Self-determination thus
became the legitimising concept for the creation of these new states. Lenin’s “negative”
interpretation of liberty was also crucial. His definition of self-determination meant freedom from a
variety of negatives, ranging from colonial domination and inequality to exploitation. The need to
break free from oppression was, for example, part of a legitimising standard that permitted violence
to be used. Thus negatives had positive moral associations. This radical idea of self-determination –
one tied up in Lenin’s Marxist theory of freedom – was to go head-to-head with Wilson’s more
liberal-conservative approach to the concept.
Universal references about “self-determination” became increasingly dominated by Wilson’s liberal-

conservative convictions. But it was the Russian’s more revolutionary discourse on “self-
determination” that had prompted Wilson to globalise the term in the first place. By 1917, Lenin had
been grappling with it for fourteen years, and its conceptual and political insertion into wartime
rivalries on the world stage was down to him. If it had not been for Lenin’s work in this respect,
Wilson may not have reacted to it altogether. Lenin’s radical language thus provided the trigger to
Wilson internationalising the phrase in 1918, as the world considered the First World War and its
aftermath.
141
John Milton Cooper (ed.), Reconsidering Woodrow Wilson: Progressivism, Internationalism, War, and Peace,
Baltimore, MD, Johns Hopkins University Press, 2008, p.421; also p.426.
142
For a few later suggestions on how to condition statehood on the basis of “self- determination”, see e.g. Wayne
Norman, Negotiating Nationalism: Nation-building, Federalism, and Secession in the Multinational State, Oxford,
Oxford University Press, 2006, pp.208–212, and Nicolaus Tideman, ‘Secession as a Human Right’, Journal of
Moral Philosophy, vol. 1, no.1, 2004.
185
The “Wilsonian Moment”: Wilson’s Internationalist and Liberal-Conservative Interpretation of

Self-Determination
As the First World War raced to a close, President Woodrow Wilson committed America to “self-
determination” in a manner that was high profile and internationalist, while liable to
misinterpretation. Russia supported the right of all nations, especially colonised ones, to self-
determination, but Wilson’s intentions were far more limited in scope. So it was that the year before
the 1919 Egyptian revolution saw the U.S. President introduce “self-determination” on to the global
stage. The President imbued it with a sense of moral worth for an extensive audience, so as to try to
legitimise his vision of a secure, peaceful world order over and beyond the nationalist aspirations of
subjugated peoples. This was a time when Wilson was enjoying a great deal of prestige
internationally, and he was accordingly intent on pushing forward his liberal-conservative agenda
around the world. The result was that self-determination as a dynamic for change became hugely
influential – it gained traction across numerous countries, and would eventually be codified as
international law in the 1945 United Nations (UN) Charter.
Wilson was to personify this movement towards self-determination as a justification for political
action. He was so firmly linked with the concept143 that, remarkably, even his work that did not
specifically quoted “self-determination” was associated with the notion in the global imagination. A
prime example was that Wilson’s famous Fourteen Points speech did not mention the term, but
became nonetheless a key international reference for the idea.144 In this sense, Wilson’s principle of
self-determination also represented his wider political beliefs, and especially his conservative-liberal
ones about how the world should be organised.145
143
See Manela, op. cit., 2007; Nicholas N. Kittrie, The War against Authority: From the Crisis of Legitimacy to a New
Social Contract, Baltimore, MD, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1995, p.249; Stewart C. Easton, The Rise and Fall of
Western Colonialism: A Historical Survey from the Early Nineteenth Century to the Present, London, Pall Mall Press,
1964, p.123.
144
See Carleton, op. cit., p.563; Manela, op. cit., in particular pp.47–51; Throntveit, op. cit., ‘What was Wilson
Thinking?’, specifically pp.445, 450, 476.
145
Prior to becoming a politician, Wilson was a university academic. During his time as a professor his thoughts on “self
determination” were greatly influenced by Guiseppe Mazzini. Wilson acknowledged Mazzini in Genoa on 5 January
1919, ‘Remarks about Giuseppe Mazzini’ and ‘Further remarks in Genoa’, The Papers of Woodrow Wilson (PWW)
1986, vol. 53, pp.614-15. For example, also Guiseppe Mazzini, ‘On Nationality’, 1852, Modern History Sourcebook,
and Stefano Recchia and Nadia Urbinati (eds.), A Cosmopolitanism of Nations: Guiseppe Mazzini’s Writings on
Democracy, Nation Building, and International Relations, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 2009. While not
186
Wilson’s rhetoric of “self-determination” needs to be considered, like Lenin’s, in the historical

period it was articulated. The First World War was raging when Wilson made his most significant
points about self-determination. Lenin’s contribution to the subject was also an influence on the
American at the time. This section will therefore examine Wilson’s language of “self-determination”
and its standards of legitimation, in the context in which they were formulated. It will then present
Wilson’s more pragmatic “self-determination” discourse set within a worldwide movement
upholding the notion as a means of solving territorial disputes in the wake of the Great War. While
Wilson’s overall thought processes dictated his reasoning on self-determination, our focus will be on
the internationalisation of the concept, rather than the specifics of Wilson’s broader political
philosophy.146
Wartime doctrinal antagonism was culminating when, in 1918, Wilson first spoke formally about
“self-determination”.147 There were numerous official opposing views as to what the ideals of peace
should actually entail after the war148, so the conflicting nations enhanced their own contributions to
the war effort, all the while criticising their adversaries’ positions on the subject. Their objective at
all time was to appeal to a worldwide public, in order to convince them that they were best placed to
win the war, and indeed win the peace. All the warring parties were aware that Lenin had dominated
the “self-determination” debate before 1917. This ideological rivalry thus continued alongside the
actual combat. It was in this highly strifeful global environment that America tried to exploit
using the expression “self-determination” to any great extent, Mazzini’s ideas on democratic mandates and nationalism
appear to have had an impact on Wilson’s thinking, see e.g. pp.194, 233.
146
For a critical appraisal of modern literature assessing Wilson’s political vision, see Throntveit, op. cit., ‘The Fable of
the Fourteen Points’; also David Steigerwald, ‘The Synthetic Politics of Woodrow Wilson’, Journal of the History of
Ideas, 50(3), 1989, pp.465-484; Stephen Wertheim, ‘The League that wasn’t: American Designs for a Legalist-
sanctionist League of Nations and the Intellectual Origins of International Organization 1914–1920’, Diplomatic
History, vol. 35, no. 5, 2011, pp.797-836. Wilson’s most-rated philosopher was Edmund Burke: see Harley Notter, The
Origins of the Foreign Policy of Woodrow Wilson, Baltimore, MD, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1937, pp.29, 68;
and ‘Wilson and the Liberal Peace Program’ pp.91–125 in Arthur S. Link, Wilson: The Diplomatist. A Look at his Major
Foreign Policies, Baltimore, MD, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1957; David Hunter Miller, The Drafting of the
Covenant (DHM), Vol. I, New York, Knickerbocker Press, 1928, p.43; Memorandum from Isaiah Bowman after a
meeting with Wilson on 10 December 1918 and Wilson’s ‘Remarks to Foreign Correspondents’ in PWW 1984, vol. 47,
p.288.
147
Wilson’s statements are available at The American Presidency Project (APP): presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/index.php?pid=65405,
the Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library (WWPL): woodrowwilson.org; and Scripps Library and Multimedia Archive
(SLMA): millercenter.org/Scripps.
148
References to such exchanges in relation to competing visions for peace have been traced back to the resolution of the
German Reichstag 19 July 1917 by Mamatey, op. cit., pp.136–137. The previous section, however, highlighted how the
concept of “self-determination” had already been included in the Russian Provisional Government’s statement on war
aims 27 March 1917. It was in that context that Wilson’s adviser “Colonel” House (discussed later on) urged the
President to formulate a strategy on war aims on 17 August, 1917, E.M. House, op. cit., vol. III, 1928, p.161.
187
Wilson’s discourse as propaganda, projecting American values as universal ones. The significance
of self-determination arguments as a propaganda tool was illustrated after the war in 1920 when the
head of the American Committee on Public Information said Wilson’s wartime pronouncements had
been the USA’s “most effective weapons” in conveying to the world “the motives, purposes, and
ideals of America so that friend, foe and neutral alike might come to see us as a people without
selfishness and in love with justice”.149 The USA’s image on the international stage, as well as his
own reputation, were uppermost in Wilson’s mind as he put forward his ideals on “self-
determination”.150 It ensured “unprecedented enthusiasm” – as regards competition with other world
leaders, Wilson was certainly in the strongest position when he attended the Peace Conference at the
end of the war.151 In 1919, when he arrived in Paris, Wilson became the first president to leave the
U.S. territory while in office.
There were marked differences between the direct environment in which Wilson and Lenin
formulated their ideas concerning “self-determination”. Wilson’s were focused on self-
determination petitions during a particularly tumultuous period of world history, and they were
made when Wilson was President of the USA. Thus his pronouncements were expressed in the
context of international diplomacy and realpolitik when he was at the height of his power. America
itself was enjoying increased international standing, yet Wilson was not constrained by the need to
win elections, or ensure the approval of his colleagues. In contrast, Lenin articulated his thoughts far
more theoretically, setting them within the wider subject of Marxist revolution. He concentrated on
the doctrinal “correctness” of self-determination as it might apply to reality. At the time, Lenin was
fighting for power within his party, and all of his arguments were advanced within the framework of
Marxist ideology, and the passionate in-house debates that characterised socialist party politics.
Both Lenin and Wilson wanted to succeed in the propaganda battle during the war, and in the post-
war period, so as to enhance their moral authority and, in turn, increase their appeal to audiences
worldwide.
149
Creel, op. cit., How We Advertised America, pp.288, 237.
150
Notter, op. cit., pp.285, 294.
151
Cf. Viscount Cecil, A Great Experiment: An Autobiography, London, Jonathan Cape, 1941, p.59; and Arthur S. Link,
The Higher Realism of Woodrow Wilson and Other Essays, Nashville, TN, Vanderbilt University Press, 1971, p.125 and
‘From the diary of Dr. Cary T. Grayson’, 14 December 1918, PWW 1986, vol. 53, p.383, and E.M. House’s diary from
the same day, pp.389–391.
188
Personality was key to the two men’s presentation skills, and the way their respective opinions on
self-determination were greeted. While Lenin engaged with his opponents, Wilson was more single
minded, and there is no evidence of Wilson having to persuade critics that his stance on self-
determination was the right one.152 Instead, Wilson was overwhelmingly dismissive and even
“intolerant of the views of others”, and as “intensely prejudiced in his likes and dislikes”.153 Wilson
did not take kindly to guidance,154 and “shunned the sight or study of unpleasant truths that diverted
him from his foregone conclusions”.155 He had a “one-track mind”,156 and was “dogmatic and yet
[without] a very clear idea of what was really needed”.157
Woodrow Wilson’s Secretary of State, Robert Lansing, was naturally keen to offer as much advice
as possible to the President but – as so many other advisors – was routinely bypassed. The
Bolsheviks called on the U.S., and the country’s allies to explain their war aims in the context of
self-determination in December 1917.158 When Wilson used his January 1918 Fourteen Points
speech to reply, Lansing said the Bolsheviks represented “the proletariat [,] the ignorant and
mentally deficient”,159 and not the Russian people as a whole. Lansing argued that the Bolshevik
152
It was a highly unusual occurrence when Wilson took questions on “self-determination” at the San Francisco Labour
Council, on 17 September 1919. Rather than arguing in favour of his views in a positive fashion, he was trying to
reassure people as to the practical implications of his arguments. Records from the meeting, WWPL:
wwl2.dataformat.com/Document.aspx?doc=29523.
153
Quoted in Louis Siebold, ‘The Extraordinary Career of Woodrow Wilson who left the Quiet of University Life for the
Turmoil of Politics and became the Leader of the World’s greatest Nation during the World’s most Stirring Times’,
Post-Dispatch, 18 June 1920, WWPL: wwl2.dataformat.com/Document.aspx?doc=32168. Cf. also E.M. House’s diary
from 22 November, 1915, E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. I, 1926, p.128. Cecil, a British diplomat, claims that Wilson would
accept the opinions of other people “as soon as he realised what they were”. However, Cecil suggests that Wilson did
not really have much interest in finding out what those views were, Cecil, op. cit., pp.68-69.
154
See Lansing, op. cit., p.38. See also Cecil, op. cit., p.64; George Curry, ‘Woodrow Wilson, Jan Smuts, and the
Versailles Settlement’, American Historical Review, vol. 66, no. 4, 1961, pp.968-986, especially pp.977-979 on how
Wilson is said to have dismissed his advisors when drafting the Covenant; and Robert W. Tucker, Woodrow Wilson and
the Great War: Reconsidering America’s Neutrality 1914–1917, Charlottesville, VA, University of Virginia Press, 2007,
p.21.
155
David Lloyd George, Memoirs of the Peace Conference, Vol. I, New Haven, CT, Yale University Press, 1939, p.140.
Cf. also John Maynard Keynes, The Economic Consequences of the Peace, London, Labour Research Department, 1920,
p.38; Llewellyn Woodward, ‘A British View of Mr. Wilson’s Foreign Policy’, pp.141-176 in Edward H. Buehrig (ed.),
Wilson’s Foreign Policy in Perspective, Bloomington, IN, Indiana University Press, 1957, p.142.
156
Wilson himself was the first to use the expression (E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. I, 1926, diary notes from 10 July 1915,
p.129). On Wilson’s character see Sigmund Freud and William C. Bullit, Woodrow Wilson: A Psychological Study,
London, Transaction, 1966 and Alexander L. George and Juliette L. George, Woodrow Wilson and Colonel House: A
Personality Study, New York, Dover, 1964.
157
Cecil, op. cit., p.68.
158
Woodrow Wilson, ‘Address to a Joint Session of Congress on the Conditions of Peace’ (‘Fourteen Points’), 8 January
1918, APP: www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/index.php?pid=65405. See also Alan J. P. Taylor, The Origins of the Second
World War, Harmondsworth, Penguin, 1991, p.567; Manela, op. cit., 2007, p.42; A.J. Mayer, op. cit., pp.342, 353-355.
Lenin, however, remained sceptical; see E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. III, 1928, p.356.
159
‘From Robert Lansing’, Washington 2 January 1918 in PWW 1984, Vol. 45, p.429.
189
idea of “self-determination” would cause “international anarchy”160 and so, Lansing suggested, it
should not be addressed. It is also likely that Wilson was not as antipathetic towards the Bolsheviks
and, accordingly, ignored Lansing’s recommendation.
The changes brought about through revolutions in Russia were not something which Wilson felt
able to easily cope with, however, and, in 1918, he admitted: “I have been sweating blood over the
question that is right and feasible to do in Russia. It goes to pieces like quicksilver under my
touch”.161 President Wilson was not averse to the way Russia developed after the February 1917
Revolution, but this was not the case during and after the Bolshevik Revolution in October, when
Wilson was a lot more engaged with how matters were unfolding.162 Wilson objected to the
Bolsheviks’ covert diplomacy in the pre-war years and calls for radical change, even though he
welcomed some of their opposition to colonial annexations.163 This was entirely in line with
Wilson’s strong disapproval of disorder.
Wilson’s reply to the Bolsheviks in his Fourteen Points appeared to be to try to get them remain in
the war fighting with the Allies.164 At that time, Wilson was concerned that the Bolsheviks were
actively negotiating with the Central Powers from December 1917. More generally, he wanted to
persuade a Europe exhausted by the war – and left-wingers in the West, in particular – that his own
political ideology on the future of the post-war world order was far more attractive than the
Bolsheviks’ popular socialism.165 However, the Fourteen Points did not directly include the phrase
“self-determination”.
160
Ibid., p.427.
161
Wilson to House on 8 July, 1918, E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. III, 1928, p.398, see also pp.324-325.
162
For an overview of American talks on the Bolsheviks see A.J. Mayer, op. cit., p.166 and Margaret MacMillan, Paris
1919: Six Months that Changed the World, New York, Random House, 2002, p.79.
163
See, for example, David Stevenson, The First World War and International Politics, Oxford, Oxford University Press,
1988, p.194. See also ‘To Robert Lansing, with Enclosure’, 20 January 1918, PWW 1984, Vol. 46, p.45 and ‘Bowman
Memorandum on Conference with President Wilson’, 10 December 1918, E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. IV, 1928, p.291.
Georg Schild, Between Ideology and Realpolitik: Woodrow Wilson and the Russian Revolution, 1917–1921, Westport,
CT, Greenwood Press, 1995. For an academic review at the time, see Simon Litman, ‘Revolutionary Russia’, American
Political Science Review, vol. 12, no. 2, 1918, pp.181-191.
164
See Linda Killen, ‘Self-determination vs. Territorial Integrity’, Nationalities Papers, vol. 10, no. 1, 1982.
165
See, for example, Charles Seymour, ‘Woodrow Wilson and Self-determination in the Tyrol’, Virginia Quarterly
Review, vol. 38, no. 4, 1962, pp.567-587, at pp.570-571.
190
It was a month after the Fourteen Points speech that Wilson internationalised the concept of “self-
determination”, despite the opposition of political colleagues including his Secretary of State,
Lansing. The latter was a qualified lawyer and consistently argued that the absence of any specific
recipient of the concept of “self-determination” meant it did not have validity, to the extent that it
might be devoid of any significance at all.166 Lansing also claimed that pursuing self-determination
could be perilous and was “utterly destructive of the political fabric of society and resulted in
constant turmoil and change”.167 Lansing put across his opinion in 1918, emphasising arguments he
had also made to Wilson:
The more I think about the President’s declaration as to the right of ‘self-
determination’, the more convinced I am of the danger of putting such ideas
into the minds of certain races. It is bound to be the basis of impossible
demands on the Peace Congress and create trouble in many lands. What
effect will it have on the Irish, the Indians, the Egyptians, and the
nationalists among the Boers? Will it not breed discontent, disorder, and
rebellion? […] The phrase is simply loaded with dynamite. It will raise
hopes which can never be realized. It will, I fear, cost thousands of lives. In
the end it is bound to be discredited, to be called the dream of an idealist
who failed to realize the danger until too late to check those who attempt to
put the principle in force. What a calamity that the phrase was ever uttered!
What misery it will cause!168
Lansing was much chagrined when Wilson rejected his assessment.169 Despite such difficulties with
Wilson, Lansing’s work still provides important scholarly reference points170 and is consulted at key
moments in history.
During the First World War, “self-determination” underpinned discussion by all parties, including
Lenin, about likely territorial settlements at the end of the conflict. While Wilson appeared to ignore
advice on other matters, he accepted the knowledge of “experts” on that subject during that
166
Lansing, op. cit., notes from 20 December 1918, p.86.
167
‘From Robert Lansing’, Washington, 2 January 1918, PWW 1984, Vol. 45, p.428.
168
Quoted in Lansing, op. cit., pp.86-87. See also Robert Lansing, ‘Notes on Sovereignty in a State’, American Journal
of International Law, vol. 1, no. 105, 1907, pp.105-128, at p.128.
169
Lansing’s diary notes from 20 November 1921, cited in Arthur S. Link, Wilson: The New Freedom, Princeton, NJ,
Princeton University Press, 1967, p.67.
170
For a selection of direct references, see Cassese, op. cit., p.316, Michla Pomerance, Self-determination in Law and
Practice: The New Doctrine in the United Nations, The Hague, Boston, London, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers, 1982,
p.74; Thomas Musgrave, Self-determination and National Minorities, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1997, p.31; Daniel
Patrick Moynihan, Pandaemonium: Ethnicity in International Politics, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1993,
pp.81-84.
191
period,171 seeking “general principles of justice”, “not by diplomats and politicians each eager to
serve his own interests, but by dispassionate scientists – geographers, ethnologists, economists –
who had made studies of the problems involved”,172 said one of Wilson’s aids. On his way to Paris
for the Peace Conference at the end of 1918, Wilson said to the experts with him: “Tell me what is
right and I will fight for it. Give me a guaranteed position.”173 In September 1917, Wilson had
already set up a U.S. “Commission of the Inquiry”174 made up of specialist counsels and other
presidential advisors tasked with recommending territorial arrangements aimed at ensuring future
peace and stability. The Commission sent the President a memorandum just before Wilson delivered
his Fourteen Points speech.175 Findings outlined in the Memorandum were included.176
Wilson’s Fourteen Points speech made no direct reference to “self-determination” yet it became
eternally associated with the President’s view of the notion.177 Beyond that, the speech came to
illustrate Wilson’s close personal link with “self-determination”, especially in the context of the
peace that would follow World War I. In many ways, Wilson was the personification of “self-
determination” at the time. Thus the speech was not just a chance for him to outline his vision on the
war’s territorial divisions in detail, but it was the most well-known pronouncement anyone made
during the entire conflict. The meaning of “self-determination” and its use to the international
community all came to be inextricably connected to Wilson’s wider political thoughts and
utterances.
Numerous diplomatic historians have analysed President Wilson’s Fourteen Points speech in great
detail, and it is by no means our intention to do so here, but rather to focus on its significance. 178 It is
171
Cf. the Fourteen Points below. For manifestation of Wilson’s conduct towards experts, see DHM 1928, Vol. II,
Document 18: ‘The Council of Ten, January 30, 1919: Secretary’s Notes of a Conversation Held at M. Pinchon’s Room
at the Quai d’Orsay, Paris, on Thursday, January 20, 1919, at 11 AM’, p.198. See also Seymour, op. cit. p.575.
172
Baker, op. cit., Vol. I, p.112.
173
Ibid., p.113.
174
It was sixteen weeks prior to the Fourteen Points Speech that the ‘Commission of the Inquiry’ gathered, and twenty
before Wilson projected the term “self-determination” globally. See Liliana Riga and James Kennedy, ‘Mitteleuropa as
Middle America? “The Inquiry” and the Mapping of East Central Europe in 1919’, Ab Imperio, vol. 4, 2006, pp.271-
300.
175
DHM 1928, Vol. II, p.110; Baker, op. cit., Vol. III, p.23; also E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. III, 1928, p.328; Mamatey,
op. cit., p.179; Martin, op. cit., p.145; A.J. Mayer, op. cit., p.339.
176
Baker is on the record (op. cit., Vol. I, p.110) saying that six of Wilson’s Fourteen Points were directly drawn from
the Memorandum. See also Throntveit, op. cit., ‘The Fable of the Fourteen Points’, p.463.
177
See also Throntveit, op. cit., ‘What was Wilson Thinking?’, especially p.450.
178
See in particular Stevenson, op. cit., p.183–198; Mamatey, op. cit., pp.153-233; Harold Temperley, A History of the
Peace Conference of Paris, Vol. I-III, London, Henry Frowde and Hodder & Stoughton, 1920, Vol. I, pp.166-203 as
192
particularly noteworthy that Wilson spoke a week after being given an English language edition of a
document in which the Bolsheviks asked the Allies to explain their ambitions for the First World
War, in the context of “self-determination”. The Fourteen Points suggested specific cases of land
arrangement agreements for Europe that would be linked to his considerations on self-determination.
They included:
Independence for Poland so as to create a country “inhabited by indisputably Polish populations”

(XIII). Italy’s frontiers were to be changed “along clearly recognisable lines of nationality” (IX).
Those living in Austria-Hungary (X) would be permitted the “opportunity of autonomous
development”. Similarly, it was pledged that Arabs, like all the other subjects of the Ottoman
Empire, would be granted “an undoubted security of life and an absolutely unmolested opportunity
of autonomous development” (XII).179 Balkan alliances would be organised “along historically
established lines of allegiance and nationality”. It was also stated that the “political and economic
independence and territorial integrity of the several Balkan states” should be officially fixed (XI).180
Wilson also called for colonial arrangements to be “based upon a strict observance of the principle
that in determining all such questions of sovereignty the interests of the populations concerned must
have equal weight with the equitable claims of the government whose title is to be determined” (V).
Wilson wanted “evacuation of all Russian territory” (VI), the re-establishment of the state of
Belgium (VII), and the righting of the “wrong done to France by Prussia” in Alsace-Lorraine (VIII).
Wilson was opposed to further secret treaties (I). He forcefully asked for guarantees of freedom of
the seas and free trade (II and III), and significant arms reduction (IV); as well as a “general
association of nations” to ensure “political independence and territorial integrity to great and small
states alike”.
Bearing in mind his own link with “self-determination”, Wilson took advantage of the speech to
inspire international debate on the subject, without resorting to the phrase directly. An example of
this was the way Wilson highlighted nationally defined characteristics for working out state
boundaries: his contribution in this field provided reference points for politicians and academics to
well as ‘National Self-determination During the Great War’, pp.28-52 in Derek Heater, National Self-determination:
Woodrow Wilson and his Legacy, New York, Macmillan Press, 1994.
179
Eugene Rogan, The Fall of the Ottomans: The Great War in the Middle East, 1914-1920, London, Penguin Books,
p.398.
180
Wilson, op. cit., ‘Fourteen Points’, 1918.
193
discuss self-determination in nationalistic terms in future years. More specifically, Wilson’s

discourse on the restoration of Belgium and France independence would later be seen as case studies
in self-determination being used to re-establish sovereignty after occupation and annexation, as in
the 1990s instances of Baltic independence. Wilson’s talk of “colonial claims” in relation to Russia
seemed to be prompted by the Bolsheviks’ anti-imperialist rhetoric of “self-determination”. Wilson
primarily intended the Fourteen Points to be legitimised through creating peace, stability, liberty and
protection from the kind of disorderly involvement that Lenin had advocated. The main targets of
Lenin’s version of “self-determination” were domination, dependence and inequality. But Lenin also
aimed to prevent the sort of interference manifested in colonial oppression and exploitation by
capitalist forces.
In turn, Wilson linked the liberty of “free nations” – or “states” as they are referred to today181 –
with their stability and ability to trade freely.182 Thus Wilson outlined disruptive influence and
sudden change as the main threats to freedom. The U.S. President did not mention “self-
determination” or even “freedom” directly in his wartime speeches.183 Instead, peace and states
being able to act unimpeded were the main themes in Wilson’s communications.184 Freedom as
peace is what Wilson emphasised – he saw it as the legitimising norm. This was to be expected
considering his stance was being delivered in the context of the First World War. It was an idea of
“freedom” not shared by the far more radical Lenin, who continued to see violence as an acceptable
tool to be used towards political change in the context of “self-determination”.
181
See distinct example from Wilson’s ‘Address delivered at the First Annual Assemblage of the League to Enforce
Peace’, 27 May 1916, APP: www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/index.php?pid=65391; see the Fourteen Points speech, which
is also concerned with states; also House’s diary notes from 15 August 1918, relating a discussion with Wilson on
representation at the future League of Nations, E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. IV, 1928, p.49; Oppenheim, op. cit., p.33; Inis
L. Claude, Jr., Swords into Ploughshares: The Problems and Progress of International Organization, New York,
Random House, 1964, p.52-53.
182
Cf. for example, points II and III, as well as point VI (on Russia) and VII (on Belgium).
183
However, Wilson’s State of the Union Address of 1915 was full of direct references to freedom and liberty,
7 December 1915, WWPL: wwl2.dataformat.com/Document.aspx?doc=30447. For sparse mentions following the U.S.
entry into the war, see Wilson’s ‘Speech at the Opening of the Third Liberty Loan Campaign, delivered in the Fifth
Regiment Armory, Baltimore’ (‘Force to the Utmost’), 6 April 1918, APP:
www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/index.php?pid=65406; and ‘Address of the President of the United States Delivered at a
Joint Session of the Two Houses of Congress’, Washington 11 February, 1918, (‘Four Principles’), WWPL:
wwl2.dataformat.com/Document.aspx?doc=30724, along with Wilson’s reported mention in the 1918 Bowman
Memorandum, op. cit.
184
See, for example, Wilson’s speech at Coliseum, Indianapolis, Indiana, 4 September 1919, in Ray Stannard Baker and
William E. Dodd (eds.), War and Peace: Presidential Messages, Addresses, and Public Papers (1917–1924), Vol. I,
New York, Harper, 1927, pp.610-621.
194
Economics was crucial to Wilson’s argument during the war. As regards interference, free trade was
particularly important to him.185 The American President cautioned that curbing trade between states
would be a “non-interference” peril to their freedom.186 The ideology of economic liberalism,
expressed as free trade, was essential to peace, stability and overall freedom. Wilson warned in
April 1918 that a German victory in the war would end up with “trade […] follow(ing) the flag”,
with no maritime liberty.187 Protectionism blighted free trade, so jeopardising a nation’s freedom
and a peaceful world order, Wilson argued.188 To limit this danger, Wilson used post-war
settlements to press for free trade for some countries by emphasising their open passage to
international waters.189
Prior to America entering the First World War, Wilson mentioned “self-determination” in 1915
when he asked Congress to improve the country’s military measures so as to make independent
seaborne trade safer,190 but at this stage the term was not yet a global one. President Wilson’s first
significant statement on “self-determination” came with his “Four Principles” address to Congress
on 11 February 1918.191 He expanded on his Fourteen Points speech. The Four Principles aimed to
address international reaction to the Fourteen Points, and to clarify America’s peace settlement
proposals. By this time, the USA had been fighting in the war for close to an entire year, and still
viewed Russia as an ally. This was despite the latter being actively engaged in talks with the Central
Powers – the Quadruple Alliance that was at war with the Allied Powers. As difficulties mounted,
and the world searched for a new way forward, Wilson’s usage of “self-determination” in his Four
Principles pronouncement was the most valuable international expression of the notion of the
unfolding century.
185
See, for example, Wilson, Address to the Senate of the United States: ‘A World League for Peace’ (‘Peace without
Victory’), January 22 1917, APP: www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/index.php?pid=65396; Wilson 1915: ‘State of the
Union’. See also Stevenson, op. cit., p.66.
186
In Woodrow Wilson, The State: Elements of Historical and Practical Politics, London, D. C. Heath, 1919 (original
1889), p.309, he suggested that interference should only be permissible “where common action (and) uniform law are
indispensable”.
187
Wilson, op. cit., ‘Force to the Utmost’, 1918.
188
See also Lloyd E. Ambrosius, ‘Democracy, Peace and World Order’ in John Milton Cooper (ed.), op. cit.,
Reconsidering Woodrow Wilson, 2008, pp.225–249, at p.240; Buehrig (ed.), op. cit., p.42.
189
Wilson, op. cit., ‘Peace without Victory’, 1917. Wilson included such access to the territorial arrangements for Poland
and Serbia in the ‘Fourteen Points’, PWW, 1984, Vol. 45, p.478.
190
Wilson, op. cit., ‘State of the Union’, 1915.
191
Wilson, op. cit., ‘Four Principles’, 1918.
195
Wilson’s Four Principles immersed the language of “self-determination” into an enquiry into the
causes of the war, and indeed the entire nature of the war. This was at a time when Lenin was also
still exploring the concept of self-determination in his works as it related to the conflict. Wilson
wrote: “This war had its roots in the disregard of the rights of small nations and of nationalities
which lacked the union and the force to make good their claim to determine their own
allegiances and their own forms of political life.”192 Wilson scorned the “forever
discredited…balance of power” game, saying that, to guarantee peace, “every territorial settlement
involved in this war must be made in the interest and for the benefit of the populations concerned”.
A peaceful world, and an end to instability, was the ultimate object of Wilson’s form of “self-
determination”:
National aspirations must be respected; peoples may now be dominated and

governed only by their own consent. ‘Self- determination’ is not a mere
phrase. It is an imperative principle of action, which statesmen will
henceforth ignore at their peril.193
So it was that Wilson legitimised “self-determination” as a way of ending domination and

interference. Wilson had no truck with revolutionary violence. Peace and freedom were the result of
stability, and entirely the right state of affairs.194 This contrasted sharply with Lenin’s ideological
definition of “self-determination” that relied on self-determination as being a step on the road to
equality within the framework of internationalist socialism. Lenin’s ultimate objective was violent
revolution to end capitalism, and he advocated the unlawful use of force, if necessary, to attain this.
There is no doubt that, like Lenin, Wilson saw “self-determination” as a means to an end, but of
course the end Wilson aspired to was distinct from Lenin’s.
Wilson always differentiated between “peoples” and “statesmen” in his Four Principles address. He
suggested it was politicians, and not their constituents, who were responsible for the First World
War.195 Wilson insisted that his country was at war with Germany per se but “had no quarrel with
the German people”.196 Wilson aimed to make sure that everyone was free of “autocratic rulers”,
192
Ibid.
193
Ibid.
194
See, for example, Notter, op. cit., pp.20, 80, 228; Manela, op. cit., The Wilsonian Moment, p.43.
195
For instance, in the Washington Post interview, 5 November 1916, cited in Notter, op. cit., p.568, see also p.480.
196
In Wilson, ‘Address to a Joint Session of Congress Requesting a Declaration of War against Germany’, 2 April, 1917,
APP: www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/index.php?pid=65366.
196
and condemned such autocracy in Germany as an illegitimate bar to freedom. 197 Yet rather than
supporting the “bottom-up” idea that ordinary people should decide on policy, Wilson concentrated
on the ideal of rulers understanding what those they were in charge of desired, and delivering their
wishes through the established political system.198 Wilson thus viewed a flaw in the general will, in
that people en masse could make the wrong decisions and put society in peril. 199 Wilson was said to
be a self-styled “democrat like Jefferson, with aristocratic tastes” in 1917.200 He was not altogether
content to be considered as a democrat because “his mind led him where his taste rebelled”. 201
Wilson was prone to think of his backing for democracy as being in “bad taste”.
The Four Principles speech was, therefore, in many ways a warning to politicians that bypassing
“self-determination” would put their own futures in jeopardy. Allowing self-determination to
flourish would defuse popular dissent and prevent it from threatening political power.202 Wilson thus
considered that self-determination should be an “imperative principle of action”: ignoring it would
endanger peace and stability, and put the position of rulers at risk. Wilson’s crucial point was that, in
contrast to Lenin’s thinking, self-determination should not manifest itself in demands for equality or
separate statehood.203
Wilson’s Pragmatic Approach to Self-Determination: “An Imperative Principle of Action”?
The way Wilson considered “self-determination” as a means of empowering heads of state over
ordinary people has been underplayed by historians. Wilson’s view of the phrase as integral part of
democracy was noticeably dissimilar to many modern interpretations of the principle. 204
197
Wilson 1918, ‘Four Principles’, see also his message to the All-Russian Congress of Soviets, 11 March 1918, Baker
1922, Vol. I, p.45; and E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. III, 1928, p.433.
For reference to Lenin’s response on behalf of the Bolsheviks see ‘Draft Resolution on Lenin’s Message’, 15 March
1918: www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1918/mar/13.htm#bk2. See also William Langer, ‘Peace and the New
World Order’ in Arthur Dudden (ed.), Woodrow Wilson and the World Today, Philadelphia, PA, University of
Pennsylvania Press, 1957, p.67-68.
198
See, for example, Stephen Wertheim, ‘The Wilsonian Chimera: Why Debating Wilson’s Vision hasn’t saved
American Foreign Relations’, White House Studies, vol. 10, no. 4, 2011, pp.343-359, pp.349, 351.
199
See, for example, E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. IV, 1928, p.28, note 1.
200
E.M. House, op. cit., Vol. III, 1928, pp.181–182, diary entry from 10 September 1917.
201
Ibid.
202
Cf. Wilson, op. cit., ‘Peace without Victory’, 1917; also Edward M. House, ‘The Versailles Peace in Retrospect’ in
Edward Mandell House and Charles Seymour (eds.), What Really Happened at Paris: The Story of the Peace
Conference 1918–1919 by American Delegates, London, Hodder & Stoughton, 1921, pp.425–444, p.429.
203
Cf. also Throntveit, op. cit., ‘What was Wilson Thinking?’, p.446; and the Bowman Memorandum, DHM 1928,
Vol. I, p.43.
204
In particular, see Wilson, op. cit., The State; also Wertheim, op. cit., ‘The Wilsonian Chimera’, p.349.
197
The U.S. President’s ideas about democracy were thus very different to the kind that are popular
today, when voters in liberal democracies technically govern through elections, institutions, and
relations with their representatives. Simply describing Wilson’s “self-determination” as
encompassing values such as “popular sovereignty”205 and “self-government”206 can be wide off the
mark and certainly needs to be challenged. Wilson was prone to engage with particular grassroots
groups, for instance left-wingers who had to be persuaded away from Bolshevism, or Germans
whom he wanted to convince to rebel against the Central Powers’ unjust war.207 However, this
limited approach to “self-determination” clashed with Wilson’s universal discourse on the matter,
and seemed more like pragmatic manoeuvring prompted by the progress of the First World War.
The following ideas about Wilson’s concept of “self-determination” in fact appeared in his rhetoric
using a different form: that is to say the “consent of the governed”.208 Although Wilson often
employed the expressions “self-determination” and “consent of the governed” interchangeably,209
“consent of the governed” was given precedence. In particular, Wilson had articulated the
proposition in 1917 that peace and stability were reliant on “the principle that governments derive
all their just powers from the consent of the governed”.210 The way Wilson resorted to the two
notions as implying much the same thing created difficulties as to their exact meaning, and indeed
made it possible for peoples to apply differing definitions to the concept of “self-determination”.211
Repeated references to “self-determination” and “consent of the governed” did, however, point to
clear agreement on the legitimising requirements of stability, peace and freedom from interference.
Wilson’s “consent of the governed” was accordingly a diluted type of “self-determination”,212 as the
term “determination” indicates a far stronger link between the ruled and their rulers. The phrase
205
Manela, op. cit., p.42.
206
Throntveit, op. cit., ‘What was Wilson Thinking?’, p.451.
207
See, for example, Carleton, op. cit., p.563.
208
See, for instance, Wilson, op. cit., ‘Peace without Victory’, 1917; and on 26 May 1917 when Wilson addressed the
new Russian Government, E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate Papers, Vol. III, 1928, p.135. Thus the allegation of
Manela, op. cit., p.22, that President Wilson only swapped “self-determination” with “consent of the governed” in the
days after February 1918, is erroneous.
209
See, for example, Wilson, ‘The Pueblo Speech’, 25 September 1919, Voices of Democracy, The US Oratory Project:
voicesofdemocracy.umd.edu/wilson-the-pueblo-speech-speech-text. The term “consent” is also mentioned in the above
Four Principles citation.
210
Wilson, op. cit., ‘Peace without Victory’, 1917 and op. cit., ‘Force to the Utmost’, 1918.
211
See also Throntveit, op. cit., ‘What was Wilson Thinking?’, p.478.
212
Ray Stannard Baker, ‘The Versailles Treaty and After’, Current History, vol. 88, no. 534, 1989 (originally published
1924), pp.20–23, p.21; DHM 1928, Vol. II, Document 7: ‘Wilson’s Second Draft or First Paris Draft’, 10 January 1919,
with comments and suggestions by Miller, op. cit., p.87; Lansing, op. cit., The Peace Negotiations, p.85.
198
“consent of the governed” suggests peoples meekly accepting the whims of a political
establishment, while not assisting in the formation of the political framework which affects their
lives or opting out to set up a new political system. In the absence of any definition of equality,
“consent of the governed” could merely signify that people were governed rather than playing any
active part in the process of government. Thus this phrasing points to a form of representation, rather
than political ownership: it does not imbue people with a sense of political legitimacy, involving
them directly in governance and indeed law-making.
Lenin had presented “self-determination” as freedom, as it related to equality and the creation of
new states. Wilson thus reacted to what he perceived as Lenin’s radical creeds by questioning the
distinction between “self-determination” and “consent of the governed”. In short: Wilson moved
“self-determination” down a far less extreme route. This happened during the propaganda war which
was taking place between Russia and the USA, as both countries tried to champion their visions
about how to create a new post-war world order. More specifically, Wilson wanted to turn “self-
determination” into his own conception in order to use the socialists’ international discourse on
“self-determination”, while discarding its Bolshevik radical idea of freedom, and transforming it
into a globally influential notion impregnated with his own liberal-conservative outlook.
Wilson’s internationalisation of the language of “self-determination” led to millions calling for

political liberty, in numerous different countries.213 As we shall see, Wilson’s rhetoric had a great
appeal to Egyptian nationalists as they struggled against colonial rule. In this sense, Wilson’s
statements had a profound influence on the progress of the war, and the way in which democracy
would develop, and in particular on how the peoples’ political demands would be met. Wilson’s
global pronouncements during the war were thus made with great sensitivity to the kind of impact
they would have. Fear about the popularity of the Bolsheviks, and indeed the preoccupation that
Russia could actually pull out of the war, and the need to establish a new world order on American
terms, all bolstered the concept of self-determination.
Against this background, using the term “consent of the governed” was also a sign of Wilson
wanting to keep Allies such as Britain and France content during the war. Both had colonies and
were intend on strengthening their respective empires, instead of liberating their “subject peoples”.
213
See, for example, the Provisional Government of Lithuania: ‘Lithuanian Delegation to Woodrow Wilson, 23 Jan.
1919’, WWPL: wwl2.dataformat.com/Document.aspx?doc=30992; Manela, op. cit., p.196.
199
In the context of these colonial possessions, Wilson’s principles and proposals were examined with
a lot of scepticism,214 so the U.S. President toned down his arguments. This pragmatic approach saw
self-determination fitting into a definition that could encompass imperialism. In 1918, while Wilson
was publicly articulating on the subject, Lenin had already purposefully conflated “self-
determination” with freedom from colonialism on the world stage. Worried that US-style “self-
determination” was not being promoted adequately, a Wilson-sanctioned official215 offered a
perspective of the Fourteen Points in the Autumn of 1918 – one that encouraged Britain and France
not to be concerned about self-determination threatening their colonies.216 While there was a
consensus on a peace centred on Wilson’s Fourteen Points “and the principles of settlement
enunciated in [Wilson’s] subsequent address”,217 with concepts such as self-determination,218 there
was by no means a green light for a self-determination that included de-colonisation.219
So it was that Wilson’s own usage of “self-determination” had, by the opening of the Paris Peace
Conference, become acceptable to colonialist nations such as Britain. 220 Woodrow Wilson had
reconciled the desirables of peace, stability and non-interference with states which retained colonial
empires. So long as these standards were respected, then colonialism was sanctioned, Wilson
argued. Negotiators in Paris had also, in fact, sealed colonial arrangements, as they were in accord
on boundary agreements that adhered to the wishes of major powers. Only a handful of new states
214
In 1929, Churchill stated that the Allies were largely unsupportive of Wilson’s plan “except in general sympathy”,
p.105; an irritated Georges Clemenceau (in Grandeur and Misery of Victory, London, Harrap, 1930) went further and
diminished the Fourteen Points to a “purely American idea”, p.156. The same view is expressed in Franz Ansprenger,
The Dissolution of the Colonial Empires, New York, Routledge, 1989, p.31.
215
House’s analysis was prepared in time for the Peace Conference, and used during negotiations. Drafted in the main by
Walter Lippman, who had been Secretary of the Inquiry, it was completed on 29th October 1918, E.M. House, op. cit.,
Vol. IV, pp.156–158 and Churchill, op. cit., p.106. Cf. also Riga & Kennedy, op. cit.
216
E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate Papers, Vol. III, 1928; ‘Official American Commentary on the Fourteen Points’,
October 1918, pp.198, 201. See also Churchill, op. cit., p.106; Seymour, op. cit., pp.567-558, 571.
217
However, there were qualifications in relation to the “freedom of the seas”, and refraining from requesting German
compensation clauses, André Tardieu, The Truth about the Treaty, Indianapolis, IN, Bobbs-Merrill, 1921, p.71. The
Allies’ declaration was in response to ‘President Wilson’s consent to propose an armistice to the Allies’, Department of
State, Washington, DC, 23 October 1918, in Scott, op. cit., pp.434-436.
218
Indeed, France did mention “self-determination” in its “plan of procedure” ahead of the Paris Peace Conference,
Tardieu, op. cit., p.88.
219
Clemenceau would later refute that the Allies ever wished to implement any “liberation program”: A.J. Mayer,
op. cit., p.184; also De Groot, op. cit., pp.197, 193. For a sceptical British approach to Wilson’s principles, see TNA: FO
608/41/503, Peace Conference (British Delegation) Files 97/1/22 to 98/1/2 (to P.P.18113), 1919, from Herron on 30
April 1919, Geneva.
220
See the exchanges compiled in DHM 1928, Vol. I-II.
200
were brought into being by the Paris Peace Conference.221 Instead, subjugated minority groups were
left outside their “mother” countries.222 Concessions such as minority rights were awarded to some
of those living in existing states, but they were not granted their own state.223
By the time he actually got to Paris, Wilson was not as supportive of “self-determination” as peoples
around the world had imagined. He was mistrustful of altering frontiers,224 and did not act like the
self-styled champion of self-determination,225 or the “icon of their aspirations”.226 Oppressed people
had presented letters and petitions to Wilson, and organised visits to see him. 227 Despite this, Wilson
did not offer much help.228 Wilson had presented the theory of self-determination as the key to
peace, international order and non- interference in the affairs of states but he had no interest in new
cases.229 Wilson by no means saw the concept as a dynamic for action. In Paris, the American
President showed far more enthusiasm towards creating a League of Nations to ensure peace and
stability.
It is likely that Wilson was by then disgruntled that the language of “self-determination” he had
employed during the war was being used to justify the need for absolute freedom for millions of
disaffected people around the world. Just before the Paris Peace Conference, Wilson is said to have
told the aid who spread his speeches globally:
221
See, for example, Hurst Hannum, Autonomy, Sovereignty and Self-determination: The Accommodation of Conflicting
Rights, Philadelphia, PA, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996, pp.28, 30.
222
See, for example, Mamatey, op. cit.; Harold Temperley, A History of the Peace Conference of Paris, Vol. V, London,
Henry Frowde and Hodder & Stoughton, 1921, pp.112–132, along with Vol. I–VI, 1920-1921; and ‘The Application of
Self-determination in the Peace Treaties of 1919’, pp.57–84 in Alfred Cobban, The Nation State & National Self-
Determination, London, Collins, 1969; and Seymour, op. cit.
223
Liliana Riga and James Kennedy, ‘Tolerant Majorities, Loyal Minorities, and “Ethnic Reversals”: Constructing
Minority Rights at Versailles 1919’, Nations and Nationalism, vol. 15, no. 3, 2009, pp.461-482, in particular pp.463-
464. For an insight into international power relations as they relate to the war’s end, see Paul M. Kennedy, ‘The First
World War and the International Power System’, International Security, vol. 9, no. 1, 1984, pp.7-40.
224
Cf. Lloyd E. Ambrosius, Wilsonianism: Woodrow Wilson and His Legacy in American Foreign Relations, New York,
Palgrave Macmillan, 2002, p.131.
225
See, for example, Ivo J. Lederer, Yugoslavia at the Paris Peace Conference: A Study in Frontier making, New Haven,
CT, Yale University Press, 1963, p.25.
226
Manela, op. cit., p.4.
227
William Allen White, Woodrow Wilson: The Man, His Times and His Task, Boston, Houghton Mifflin, 3rd edition,
1925, p.388.
228
See also Manela, op. cit., in relation to the plight of the Egyptian nationalists, p.153; the Koreans, pp.123-127; the
Indians, p.166.
229
For instance, events described by the Indian and Turkish representatives in Grayson’s diary entry at the Peace
Conference, 17 May 1919, WWPL: wwl2.dataformat.com/Document.aspx?doc=30940. Note to records from February
6, 1919 described in E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate Papers, Vol. IV, 1928, p.322, and DHM 1928, Vol. I, pp.158,
165, on India and self-rule. House was also later frustrated with smaller entities’ demands to self-determination, see
E.M. House, op. cit., ‘The Versailles Peace’, p.431. Seymour’s claim in 1962, p.569 that Wilson had “emotional
sympathy for the weaker nationalities struggling for freedom” therefore appears uncertain.
201
I am wondering if you have not unconsciously spun a net for me from which
there is no escape. It is to America that the whole world turns to-day, not
only with its wrongs, but with its hopes and grievances. The hungry expects
us to feed them, the roofless look to us for shelter, the sick of heart and body
depend upon us for cure. […] What I seem to see – with all my heart I hope
that I am wrong – is a tragedy of disappointment.230
The most telling example of Wilson’s unease at raising the concept of “self-determination” is often
incorrectly linked to a speech at the US Senate on 19 August 1919,231 or a “written statement” he is
meant to have sent to Congress “in late 1919”.232 In fact, the actual statement referred to was made
while Wilson was with an Irish delegation in Paris on 11 June 1919, and it was sent to the US Senate
Committee on Foreign Relations on 30 August 1919.233 According to the proceedings of the
gathering, the group from Ireland said President Wilson had summed up the views of thousands
around the world when he “uttered those words declaring that all nations had a right to self-
determination”. President Wilson was in turn perturbed by the unpredictable impact of what he said,
explaining: “When I gave utterance to those words, I said them without the knowledge that
nationalities existed, which are coming to us day after day.”234
In light of Wilson’s more practical, and indeed sceptical behaviour in Paris, it is worth reconsidering
his reputation as a bone fide champion of “self-determination”. If he really had been the
personification of the concept, then he would have wanted to propagate it around the world, using it
to help liberate oppressed peoples. In fact, Wilson often made vague references to the idea, and his
muted commitment to “real life” self-determination (in contrast to the academic principle) has
tentatively been explained by his misgivings about actually coming up with the concept in the first
place. That said, Wilson never publicly declared that his discourse on “self-determination” had been
misinterpreted, or that he should not have uttered it in the first place.235
230
See Creel, op. cit., The War, p.163; also Baker, op. cit., Woodrow Wilson, Vol. I, p.7.
231
Cassese, op. cit., p.22; Tim Potier, Conflict in Nagorno-Karabakh, Abkhazia and South Ossetia: A Legal Appraisal,
The Hague, Lower Law International, 2001, p.23.
232
Joan Hoff, A Faustian Foreign Policy from Woodrow Wilson to George W. Bush: Dreams of Perfectibility,
Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2007, p.49.
233
United States Senate: ‘Interview between President Wilson and Messrs. Edward F. Dunne and Frank P. Walsh, at the
President’s House, 11 Place des Etats Unis, Paris, Wednesday, June 11, 1919’ presented by Walsh to Hearings to the
Committee on Foreign Relations, US Senate, 66th Congress, First Session: ‘On the Treaty of Peace with Germany,
signed at Versailles on June 28, 1919, and presented to the Senate on July 10, 1919, by the President of the United
States’, Government Printing Office, Washington, DC, 1919, Document 106, from Saturday 30 August 1919, p.838.
234
Ibid.
235
Throntveit, op. cit., ‘What was Wilson Thinking?’, p.478. Cf. also US Senate 1919, op. cit., p.838; Baker, op. cit.,
Woodrow Wilson, 1922, Vol. II, p.107; Baker, op. cit., ‘The Versailles Treaty’, p.21.
202
There was in fact a great deal of pragmatism in relation to Wilson’s language of self-determination,
especially in comparison to Lenin’s views on the subject. In this respect, it is likely that Wilson felt
his own ideas on self-determination were misunderstood by the international audience he spent so
much time cultivating. Lenin’s radical version of freedom as equality for everyone – including
colonised peoples – was what Wilson had responded to. Wilson’s main aim had been to see fellow
statesmen applying the principles of self-determination to create order, stability, and peace. He had
by no means envisaged using the notion to justify or indeed spur popular revolutions. It is possible
that it was not the rhetoric of “self-determination” that disappointed Wilson, but instead the fact that
ordinary people were acting in accordance with what they thought it meant, rather than allowing
world leaders to put it into practice. The irony was that subjugated peoples in many different
countries interpreted Wilson’s self-determination in the radical manner that Lenin had advocated.
So, nationalist movements around the world were in effect looking to put into practice Lenin’s
revolutionary principles through the proxy of Wilson’s words. Rather than strengthening the values
he believed in, Wilson’s globalisation of the term “self-determination” inspired numerous drives
towards liberation that the President had not foretold, or indeed desired.
There were other statements, private ones, used by Wilson to highlight his intricate evaluation of
“self-determination”. It was the French Prime Minister Georges Clemenceau who defined Wilson’s
ambition to create a League of Nations as the U.S. President’s “motor”. 236 Wilson’s initial draft of a
League Covenant, of 7 September 1918, referred to “self-determination”, but it was dependent on
international peace and stability, illustrating how idealised Wilson’s vision could be.
The Contracting Powers unite in guaranteeing to each other political

independence and territorial integrity; but it is understood between them that
such territorial readjustments, if any, as may in the future become necessary
by reason of changes in present racial conditions and aspirations or present
social and political relationships, pursuant to the principle of self-
determination, and also such territorial readjustments as may in the
judgement of three fourths of the Delegates be demanded by the welfare and
manifest interest of the peoples concerned, may be effected, if agreeable to
those peoples; and that territorial changes may in equity involve material
compensation. The Contracting Powers accept without reservation the
236
Clemenceau, op. cit., p.161. See also Ambrosius, op. cit., ‘Democracy’, p.229, and Stevenson, op. cit., p.245.
203
principle that the peace of the world is superior in importance to every

question of political jurisdiction or boundary. 237
It was Edward M. House, one of Wilson’s closest advisors, who placed the reference to “self-
determination” in the Covenant draft.238 Earlier, President Wilson had managed to keep the term
away from public documents.239 Other senior colleagues, including Secretary of State Lansing and
David Hunter Miller were categorically opposed to the use of the word: “self-determination” would
solely lead to unrest and destabilisation was their argument.240 Hunter Miller would dispel mentions
to “self-determination” as nationhood and instead stress the need for “internal” rights, or indeed
human rights. Hunter Miller accordingly recommended substituting “self-determination” in the
Covenant with a pledge to support minority rights.241
Faced with such opposition, Wilson agreed to temper the Covenant’s reference to “self-
determination”. He put forward the idea of letting countries to veto territorial changes. 242 There is
nothing to suggest that Wilson’s scepticism towards “self- determination” was being erased from
later versions of the Covenant243 – a document which he knew was crucial as a means for striving
for order in the post-war world.244 “Self-determination” was originally changed to “consent of the
237
DHM 1928, Vol. II, Document 3: ‘Wilson’s First Draft: Covenant’, pp.12–13, emphasis mine. Three months on,
Wilson is said to have expressed his view that territorial settlements should be envisaged only “in time as passion
subsided”: E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate Papers, Vol. IV, 1928, p.292. See also Temperley, op. cit., Vol. III, 1920,
p.56: ‘Revision of the Text of the Covenant of the League’; PWW 1986, Vol. 53, p.655, note 1; DHM 1928, Vol. I, p.15.
238
Wilson had requested such a draft after the British ‘Philimore report’. House’s draft was submitted to Wilson on
16 July 1918. E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate Papers, Vol. IV, 1928, pp.22, 27, 34 and DHM 1928, Vol. II,
Document 2: ‘Suggestion for a Covenant of a League of Nations’, p.10, and DHM 1928, Vol. I pp.12, 14–15. Wilson’s
only major addition to House’s draft was the second emphasis – other amendments were not substantial. Wilson put
forward the draft to his Paris commissioners with only minor adjustments. PWW 1986, Vol. 53, pp.655–656.
239
Only Wilson and Cooper had drafts according to DHM 1928, Vol. I, p.14. Cf. also John Milton Cooper, Breaking the
Heart of the World: Woodrow Wilson and the Fight for the League, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 2001,
p.30.
240
Lansing, op. cit., The Peace Negotiations, p.85. DHM 1928, Vol. II, p.70 and DHM 1928, Vol. I, p.52 – Hunter Miller
wrote a paper outlining his objections, p.45.
241
On 10 January 1919, DHM 1928, Vol. II, p.70.
242
In his draft of 20 January 1919, Ibid., Document 9, p.99. See also Riga & Kennedy, op. cit., ‘Mitteleuropa’ and
‘Tolerant Majorities’; Throntveit, op. cit., ‘What was Wilson Thinking?’, pp.445-446.
243
E.g. the records in DHM 1928, Vol. II, in particular Document 7, with Hunter Miller’s comments to the article, p.70;
as well as Document 8, p.94; Document 12: ‘Cecil-Miller Draft, January 27, 1919’, p.134; and Document 14: ‘Wilson’s
Fourth Draft or Third Paris Draft, February 2, 1919’, p.146. The “elasticity” of the initial wording was bemoaned by
House, E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate Papers, Vol. IV, 1928, p.35.
244
According to the Bowman Memorandum of December 1918, Wilson did not refer to the concept either when
elaborating on the article above to contemporaries: E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate Papers, Vol. IV, 1928, p.292.
204
governed” in the drafting process,245 but this too was eventually taken out.246 Article (X) of the final
Covenant ended up reading as follows:
The Members of the League undertake to respect and preserve as against

external aggression the territorial integrity and existing political
independence of all Members of the League. In case of any such aggression
or in case of any threat or danger of such aggression the Council shall
advise upon the means by which this obligation shall be fulfilled.247
Wilson could have incorporated “self-determination” into the League Covenant, but did not.248 It
thus remained a principle without any legal underpinning and indeed without any official means of
applying it. Wilson had succeeded in bolstering the rhetoric of “self-determination”, and its power to
make a difference in the world, but it did not become a part of international law.
Wilson’s language of “self-determination” in the Four Principles speech was by no means as

emphatic as it might have appeared at the time. Wilson had used the speech to attack Germany, and
specifically Chancellor Georg von Hertling, asking:
Is Count von Hertling not aware that he is speaking in the court of mankind,
that all the awakened nations of the world now sit in judgment on what every
public man, of whatever nation, may say on the issues of a conflict which
has spread to every region of the world?
Wilson described a “court” that was opposed to annexations and other threats and lauded “self-
determination” as being “an imperative principle of action”, rather than a vague rhetorical device,
which statesmen would from now on “ignore at their peril”.249 Accordingly the notion of “self-
determination” was put forward as something approved of by an external actor, the “court of
mankind”, while Wilson himself actually appeared less engaged with the concept of “self-
determination” in what was yet his most powerful argument for it. Wilson wanted to illustrate that
men like von Hertling were dismissive of “self-determination”. What Wilson was not doing,
however, was offering the proposition positively as a desirable that should be supported at all costs.
Wilson’s speech was delivered just over a week after American diplomat William Bullit suggested
245
This was recommended by Hunter Miller, DHM 1928, Vol. II, p.87. See also Document 11, p.119, with Lord Eustace
Percy making the same proposal.
246
DHM 1928, Vol. I, p.71.
247
See League of Nations: Covenant (Including Amendments adopted to December, 1924), Avalon Project:
avalon.law.yale.edu/20th_century/leagcov.asp.
248
See also Throntveit, op. cit., ‘What was Wilson Thinking?’, pp.445-446.
249
205
to the President that he should use “self-determination” against the Central Powers. The speech was
also four days after striking workers in Germany had sent Wilson a petition asking for “self-
determination”.250 Thus, Wilson’s Four Principles version of “self-determination” was reacting to
specific situations, and not imbued with the idea that it should be employed come what may.
Another reference to “self-determination” appeared in Wilson’s “Force to the Utmost” speech. This
second key public mention came two months after the “Four Principles” one. 251 It was made in
Baltimore to a military audience, and was very much like the one in his Four Principles. This was a
time when Wilson’s “self-determination” rhetoric was growing in popularity amongst peoples
worldwide. The “Force to the Utmost” saw Wilson opposing Germany’s so-called “programme”: a
programme that “our ideals, the ideals of justice and humanity and liberty, the principle of the free
self-determination of nations, upon which all the modern world insists, can play no part”. 252 As with
the Four Principles speech, however, President Wilson did not actively champion the language of
“self-determination” as playing an important role in his own agenda for world change. Instead, the
term was used to undermine a wartime enemy. Thus, it is clear with hindsight that there were
restrictions to Wilson’s support for “self-determination”, even when he spoke about it with such
apparent passion in the Four Principles and “Force to the Utmost” speeches.
An element of Wilson’s interpretation of “self-determination” which illustrates particular

divergences with Lenin was the manner in which he tied it to equality. Wilson invariably mentioned
equality in the context of discussions about self-determination, just as Lenin did.253 Where Wilson
differed from Lenin, however, was in the way he valued equality only as part of an orderly world, in
which peace was guaranteed. An example of this was how Wilson used his Fourteen Points to call
for a peace centred on the “right to live on equal terms of liberty and safety”. 254 Wilson resorted to
the same speech to advocate “equality of trade conditions” for peaceful countries, and he re-iterated
250
Quoted in correspondence from Gordon Auchincloss, PWW 1984, Vol. 46, pp.227, 266.
251
Wilson did mention “self-determination” on subsequent occasions, including in the 1919 ‘Pueblo Speech’, but it was a
reference in passing only, and while supporting his argument for the League – not “self- determination”. Other citations
were even less significant: see his September 1919 session with the San Francisco Labour Council and his exchange
with Grayson on 8 December 1918; Grayson’s ‘Peace Conference Diary Entry’, WWPL:
wwl2.dataformat.com/Document.aspx?doc=27740.
252
253
Ibid.; Wilson, op. cit., ‘Four principles’, 1918; Wilson, op. cit., ‘Peace without Victory’, 1917.
254
Wilson, op. cit., ‘Fourteen Points’, 1918.
206
this proposition in the Four Principles.255 Wilson’s “Force to the Utmost” speech also laid out the
terms for a “peace in which the strong and the weak shall fare alike”.256
Wilson’s definition of “self-determination” took into account a version of “equality” that was far
more limited in scope than Lenin’s.257 Wilson outlined the equality of nations – or states as they
would be referred to today – while Lenin applied equality to nations and their populations, including
those who had no political power. More specifically, Wilson viewed equality as a concept aimed at
ensuring peace.258 He considered equality as the right of any country to be free from interference in
their political and business affairs.259
Thanks to his generalised references to “peoples” and “nations”, Wilson was able to exclude
particular groups from his definitions of equal self-determination. He was said to have “a passionate
faith […] in the higher nature of the people!”,260 but this confidence was qualified to favour those
who provided stability and peace. Thus Wilsonian self-determination supported peoples that
guaranteed order.261 There was no question of simply granting self-determination as an ideal – it was
instead a tool towards the establishment of international stability.
It was also clear that there was an American bias in all Wilson’s views on self-determination, with
the President convinced that his own country led the field in “serving humanity”.262 Wilson also
255
Wilson, op. cit., ‘Four principles’, 1918.
256
257
Also, Wilson appeared to be uncommitted to equality in his domestic politics: see e.g. Wilson ‘An Address at New
Rochelle, New York’, 27 February 1905, when he disapproved of the push from labour unions for equality, stating that
“they drag the highest man to the level of the lowest”, in PWW 1974, Vol. 16, p.15. Wilson also objected to equal rights
for non-whites, Manela, The Wilsonian Moment, pp.26-29. Scholars have shown some interest in the influence of racial
thinking on Wilson’s policy and overall political thought, with one study published recently unequivocally calling him
“racist”, Gary Gerstle, ‘Race and Nation in the Thought and Politics of Woodrow Wilson’ in Cooper (ed.), op. cit.,
Reconsidering Woodrow Wilson, pp.93-124, at p.115. See also Siba N’Zatioula Grovogui, Sovereigns, Quasi sovereigns,
and Africans: Race and Self-determination in International Law, Minneapolis, MN, University of Minnesota Press,
1996, pp.120-121. Distrust towards certain “races” as well as towards democracy (as representative of the masses) was
commonplace at the time; for an overview see Richard Bellamy, ‘The advent of the Masses and the Making of the
Modern Theory of Democracy’ in Terence Ball and Richard Bellamy (eds.), The Cambridge History, op. cit., pp.70-103.
258
Wilson, op. cit., ‘Address’, 1916, and: ‘Fourteen Points’, 1918. See also House’s diary entry of 15 August 1918,
E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate Papers, Vol. III, 1928, p.49; Killen, op. cit., p.67.
259
See e.g. Wilson, op. cit., ‘Peace without Victory’, 1917.
260
Baker, op. cit., Woodrow Wilson, Vol. I, p.103. See also Link, op. cit., Wilson: The Diplomatist, p.14 and Edith
Benham’s diary notes, 10 January 1919, in PWW 1986, Vol. 53, p.707-709. See also Wilson, op. cit., The State e.g.
p.27.
261
Wilson laid out these points of his political thought in his 1919 (originally 1889) The State, as well as in ‘The Modern
Democratic State’, an 1885 piece of writing, reproduced in PWW 1968, Vol. 5, see pp.90 and 92 specifically.
262
Baker, op. cit., Woodrow Wilson, Vol. I, pp.17, 22.
207
believed that he had a special role in this duty.263 He stated that the USA “spr[ang] out of freedom
and [was] for the service of freedom”,264 and that only America could “redeem the world”.265
Wilson argued that America was the only “disinterested” combatant in the war, 266 and integral in
asserting the war aim he enunciated in his 1917 “Peace without Victory”.267 In this sense, America’s
unique morality informed the country’s war efforts to clamp down on the secret treaties and
diplomacy, and the annexing of territory associated with the old order.268 Thus, in theory, Wilson
articulated the formal ideal of equality between states, but there was always ambiguity in his words.
In fact, Wilson’s new world order promoted American exceptionalism, rather than genuine equality
between nations.
American values were fundamental to Wilson’s statements made during the war: he wanted to
spread them across the world, rather than let other populations define their own standards. In the
Four Principles, Wilson declared that he did “not mean that the peace of the world depends upon the
acceptance of any particular set of suggestions”,269 but a year earlier, a set of ideals was put forward.
President Wilson had stated the necessity for a re-shaped world centred on “consent of the
governed”, a reduction in armaments and freedom of the seas. Wilson wrote:
These are American principles, American policies. We could stand for no

others. And they are also the principles and policies of forward looking men
and women everywhere, of every modern nation, of every enlightened
community. They are the principles of mankind and must prevail.270
Beyond his grand missionary rhetoric, Wilson knew that his domestic audience required him to
concentrate on U.S. national interest as it related to the war effort.271 Wilson insisted throughout the
war that non-interference, especially as regards the flourishing of free trade, was essential to the
long term advantage of the country.272 If the war did not end in Victory, Wilson said in 1918, his
“own great Nation’s place and mission in the world would be lost with it”.273 The wishes of the
263
For psychological analysis, see Freud & Bullit, op. cit., pp.197, 226.
264
265
266
See Bowman’s notes, cited in DHM 1928, Vol. I, p.41.
267
Wilson, op. cit., ‘Peace without Victory’, 1917.
268
Baker, op. cit., Woodrow Wilson, Vol. I, pp.27–29, 100. See also Notter, op. cit., pp.114-119.
269
270
Wilson, op. cit., ‘Peace without Victory’, 1917.
271
See Ambrosius, op. cit., Wilsonianism, p.122.
272
Prior to America entering the war, in Wilson’s 1915: ‘State of the Union’; after, in 1917: ‘Peace without Victory’.
273
208
Republicans who controlled the American Congress were a huge influence on Wilson as he
formulated a place for the U.S. in the world. The Republicans were opposed to becoming too
wrapped up in world affairs, and Wilson had to make sure this did not happen.274
Beyond offering a confusing and at times muddled definition of “equality” in relation to “self-
determination”, Wilson’s actual implementation of the concept was also far from convincing. Due to
the term’s close association with its perceived originator, these ambiguous policies, too, would
become part of the international image of “self-determination”.275 The Wilsonian approach could
thus be as much about proposing universal values of equality to the peoples of the world as about
exclusion. Wilson dismissed Africans living within Germany’s Empire as “barbarians” unqualified
for self-determination, for example.276 Similar prejudice was aimed at the Irish and Albanians too.
When an Irish group petitioned Wilson at the White House in 1918, he was uninterested.277
Wilson was later to admit that the Irish made him “very angry”, and “that he had wanted to tell them
to go to hell”.278 Britain was an important ally of the USA, and Wilson saw no reason to grant Irish
nationalists support against Britain.279
The terminology used by Wilson as he discussed equality was therefore restrained by his
paradoxical belief that only progressive, liberal thinkers could have a say in politics. 280 Wilson
deemed equality to be a basic standard necessary within “free states” which demonstrated their
advancement by abiding by the law.281 Those who broke the law, on the other hand, were a threat to
274
See e.g. Republican criticism in Creel, op. cit., The War; Manela, op. cit., p.56.
275
See also House & Seymour (eds.), op. cit., What Really Happened at Paris, for the recollections of American Peace
Conference delegates.
276
As cited by South African Prime Minister Jan Smuts in his proposal which was completed on 16 December 1918, and
which Wilson received with much anticipation on 26 December, DHM 1928, Vol. I, pp.34, 28; See PWW 1986, Vol. 53,
p.515, note 1. See also Hunter Miller’s ‘Summary Observations’ on Smuts’ Plan to the American Commissioners,
13 January 1919 in DHM 1928, Vol. I, pp.35-36, and Jan Christiaan Smuts, The League of Nations. A Practical
Suggestion, London, Hodder & Stoughton, 1918.
277
‘An Address and a Reply’, 10 January 1918, in PWW 1984, Vol. 45, pp.559-561. See also Wilson’s replies to the San
Francisco Labour Council in September 1919, op. cit.
278
DHM 1928, Vol. I, p.294. See also Joseph P. Tumulty: Woodrow Wilson as I Know Him, Fairford, The Echo Library,
2006, p.264.
279
See also Ambrosius, op. cit., Wilsonianism, p.119-122.
280
For an insight into Wilson’s political thinking on these matters, see op. cit., The State; as well as Throntveit, op. cit.,
‘What was Wilson Thinking?’, in particular p.470; Notter, op. cit., pp.69–71; Steigerwald, op. cit., p.473.
281
See Wilson’s first draft Covenant in E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate Papers, Vol. IV, 1928, p.27-28. See also
Notter, op. cit., p.61; House’s letter to Lord Robert Cecil of 25 June 1918, E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate Papers,
Vol. IV, 1928, p.18.
209
peace and stability, and were thus not entitled to equality.282 Wilson said in 1917 that true equality
had to be “gained” in an incremental, non-violent way.283 This conditional attitude towards equality
was the basis for peace, Wilson argued. This position was prevalent following the end of the First
World War when newly liberated countries could only be recognised diplomatically if they adopted
treaties guaranteeing the rights of minorities.284
Moral and orderly governance worked within the mandate system, Woodrow Wilson suggested at
the end of 1918.285 He saw this as a pragmatic means of ensuring peaceful and stable societies while
avoiding the need to offer policies of equality without any pre-requisites and an independent
homeland for those who were “unqualified”. The mandate system would therefore become the most
decisive way to practically implement his concept of self-determination. The mandate system
would, when incorporated in the League of Nations Covenant, guarantee sovereignty for the League.
More specifically, it would be responsible for the “right of ultimate disposal” over populations
formerly under the rule of Russia, or the Hapsburg or Ottoman empires. A designated member of the
League would be mandated to each set area.286 According to the Covenant, mandate rule was
necessary for those “not (being) able to stand by themselves under the strenuous conditions of the
modern world”.287
It was South Africa’s Prime Minister Jan Smuts who helped to develop Wilson’s faith in the
mandate system in “Practical Suggestion” for a League of Nations.288 Smuts organised people into
282
See Link, op. cit., The Higher Realism, especially ‘Woodrow Wilson and his Presbyterian Inheritance’, pp.3-20.
Drawing on the same logic, Wilson recommended that “self-determination” should not be granted immediately to
German-speaking Austria, in Grayson’s notes of 8 December, 1918, op. cit., and PWW 1986, Vol. 53, pp.336-340,
especially p.339. For the same motives, Shipway 2008 suggests that Germany was discredited as a colonial power.
283
Wilson, op. cit., ‘Peace without Victory’, 1917. The British held the same view in relation to prospects for Egyptian
self-rule in Minute High Commissioner, Egypt, 11 May 1922, TNA: FO 141/790, No. 14549/1. See also Ambrosius,
op. cit., Wilsonianism, p.127.
284
Specifically: Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, Greece, Hungary, Poland, Romania, Turkey and Yugoslavia. For a critique on
this view, see Riga & Kennedy, op. cit., ‘Tolerant Majorities’; and Jan Herman Burgers, ‘The Road to San Francisco:
The Revival of Human Rights Idea in the Twentieth Century’, Human Rights Quarterly, vol. 14, no. 4, 1992,
pp.447–477, at pp.449–450.
285
See Wilson’s logic as documented in DHM 1928, Vol. II, Document 18: ‘The Council of Ten, January 30, 1919’, pp.
196–197.
286
Smuts, op. cit., p.12. The formal U.S. commentary to the Fourteen Points had advocated a similar system, namely that
colonial powers should be “trustee(s) for the natives and for the interests of the society of nations”, E.M. House, op. cit.,
The Intimate Papers, Vol. III, 1928, p.202.
287
The same expression had been used in Wilson’s various drafts of the Covenant; See e.g. DHM 1928, Vol. II,
Document 14, p.151–152.
288
The Allies were seriously contemplating the establishment of a mandate system towards the end of 1918: see Smuts,
op. cit.; Curry, op. cit., specifically p.975; Norman Gordon Levin, Woodrow Wilson and World Politics: America’s
response to War and Revolution, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1968, p.186; Thomas J. Knock, To End All Wars:
210
their ability to govern themselves (or not), insisting some needed, “much nursing” to attain self-
rule.289 Smuts believed that the “genius of Western civilization” had a crucial role to play in the
post-war world,290 and such views meant that Wilson was “[d]eeply impressed with the idea that it
was the moral duty of the great and enlightened nations to aid the less fortunate and especially to
guard the nationalities freed from autocratic rule until they were capable of self-government and
self-protection”.291 It was after reading the work of Smuts – a supporter of the apartheid system that
ensured separate territories for blacks and whites – that Wilson included the mandate system into his
own drafts of the League of Nations Covenant.292 Wilson’s confidence in Smuts suggests the U.S.
President was by no means the open-minded liberal that some have made out.
The mandate system and the Covenant were meant to guarantee guardianship by “advanced
nations”293 so that the world as a whole would be kept safe from the potential chaos brought about
by “uncivilised” peoples.294 The President’s advisors agreed to the mandate system being part of the
Covenant. The major criticism of the mandate system was that it effectively legitimised inequality,
rather than its stated aim of peace for all states. The completed, agreed Covenant left very little
power to those who were mandated,295 while League members could take advantage of the assets of
those oppressed peoples through the “open door” system.296 Lansing would then suggest that the
approval of the mandate system by the Allied powers was primarily motivated by their desire to
carve up Germany’s colonies.297
Woodrow Wilson and the Quest for a New World Order, New York, Oxford University Press, 1992, p.202. For Smuts’
later influence on the foundation of the UN, see Mark Mazower, No Enchanted Palace: The End of Empire and the
Ideological Origins of the United Nations, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press, 2009.
289
Smuts, op. cit., p.11; DHM 1928, Vol. II, Document 5: ‘The Smuts Plan: The League of Nations. A Practical
Suggestion’, p.26.
290
As cited in DHM 1928, Vol. II, pp.26–27.
291
Lansing, op. cit., The Peace Negotiations, pp.142–143.
292
A principle that concerned the former German colonies in the first place, DHM 1928, Vol. II, p.40. Churchill, op. cit.,
commented: “This was carrying a sound principle too far”, p.150.
293
League of Nations Covenant, Article XXII.
294
See Churchill, op. cit., p.139; Lloyd George on 30 January 1919, quoted in DHM 1928, Vol. II, Document 18,
pp.194–195.
295
Smuts, op. cit., p.19, points that out: it was only certain peoples previously living within the Ottoman Empire who, in
accordance with the Covenant’s Article XXII, could have a say in affairs – ones that were in line with “their” mandatory
power.
296
In December 1918, when Wilson spoke to Bowman, he indicated to him that he endorsed this proposal, E.M. House,
op. cit., The Intimate Papers, Vol. IV, 1928, p.293. This position was supported by the U.S commentary to the Fourteen
Points, which had suggested that mandates would benefit from this state of affairs. E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate
Papers, Vol. IV, 1928, p.201.
297
Lansing, op. cit., The Peace Negotiations, p.140.
211
The mandate system became linked across the globe with President Wilson’s notion of “self-
determination”. Subjugated peoples who were set to be part of the mandate system asked the U.S.
President about its effects at the 1919 Paris Peace Conference,298 and they particularly wanted to
know how it differed from “self-determination”.299 Wilson replied, rather mysteriously: “In every
instance the mandate should fit the case as the glove fits the hand”.300 At a later date Wilson
suggested to peoples living under a mandate that, over time, the system would assist them in gaining
“full membership in the family of nations”, as this was essential for the sake of peace. 301 All the
while, Wilson focused the system’s prerogatives on how he saw his and the USA’s role in the world.
That is to say, he wanted a prime example of universal rights and stability to administer people,
regardless of the views they particularly formulated.302 Peace would be guaranteed by the mandate
system, and this would in turn ensure proper freedom, was Wilson’s belief.
Wilson’s overriding argument that mandated populations were not developed enough to establish
themselves as political players meant that many would remain excluded from their own political,
economic and legal affairs. The League of Nations and the mandatory powers in authority would
make the final decision on self-rule once mandates had matured during a period of oppression.
Mandated peoples could agree to a system passively, but this system did not involve them directly in
the political process. The kind of plebiscites employed in select post-war settlements was not
applied for mandates.303 The ultimate aim of the system was to guarantee a peaceful international
system, within which mandatories’ freedoms to operate appear to have been the leading tenets. This
state of affairs was influenced by Wilson’s more reactionary views about “self-determination”. It
was thus formalised, even though Wilson’s explicit phrasing was not used.
298
For instance, at the Council of Ten meeting on 30 January; see questions from Australia, DHM 1928, Vol. II,
Document 18: ‘The Council of Ten, January 30, 1919’, p.202; and at the plenary session on 14 February 1919 – see
questions from the Turkish, DHM 1928, Vol. II, p.194. See also pp.23, 561.
299
DHM 1928, Vol. II, pp.196–197.
300
Ibid., p.198.
301
See the second principle in Wilson, op. cit., ‘Four Principles’, 1918. In a similar vein as regards pressing domestic
issues, Wilson suggested that segregation would suit American “Negroes” too, Gerstle, op. cit., p.109.
302
See, for example, Wilson in DHM 1928, Vol. II, Document 15: ‘Plenary Session of the Peace Conference, January 25,
1919’, p.155. See also Notter, op. cit., p.75 and Pomerance, op. cit., p.6.
303
Plebiscites were discussed in relation to Alsace-Lorraine, Fiume (Rijeka), Istria, and Poland, for example: see
E.M. House, op. cit., The Intimate Papers, Vol. IV, 1928, diary notes from 31 May, 1919, p.487; Baker, op. cit., Vol. III,
Document 65, ‘Memorandum of Mr. Lloyd George, entitled, “Some Considerations for the Peace Conference before
they finally draft their terms”’, 25 March 1919, p.483; PWW 1984, Vol. 45, ‘From Frank William Taussig’, 3 January
1918, p.441; PWW 1988, Vol. 59, ‘Hankey’s notes of a meeting of the Council of Four’, 13 May 1919, p.86. See also
Temperley, op. cit., Vol. VI, 1924, pp.556–559.
212
The differences between the Wilsonian and Leninist interpretations of self-determination are far
clearer now than they were when the two men were both articulating them at the beginning of the
20th century. Colonial subjects in particular perceived that the two leaders had very similar ideas
about the concept. They both questioned the validity of Empires, they were both in favour of a new
style of transparent diplomacy, and they were both seeking a peaceful world that allowed self-
determination to flourish.
What was certain, however, was that by 1918 Wilson had far more power to influence world opinion
than Lenin. Wilson could inform and direct the imminent peace negotiations, and indeed adopt
Bolshevik language to do so. Such radical discourse reflected an appetite for a complete overhaul of
society. Subjugated peoples around the world were desperate for a transformation of the
international order, and Wilson used the Bolshevik rhetoric of self-determination to promote his
own programme to significantly reshape the world. In turn, anti-colonial nationalists operating
within established Empires would appropriate Wilson’s language as they took on the foreign
oppressors governing their lives.
Wilson’s Self-Determination in Practice: “A Tragedy of Disappointment” for Egyptian

Nationalists?
Woodrow Wilson’s determined work towards creating a new world order was reported extensively
by newspapers and journals across Egypt. The leading Arabic language newspaper, Al-Ahram, carried
minute coverage and analysis of the American President’s April 1917 Speech to the U.S. Congress
declaring war. Wilson pledged to support small countries in their calls and rights for freedom and –
more generally –solemnly promised to make the world a place where democracy could flourish.
There were numerous similar articles in the press concentrating on what America had to offer the
Allies. Al-Ahram editorials stressed the country’s “immense” potential in the conflict, saying it
could raise a conscript army of three million men. The overall conclusion was that the USA’s entry
to the war could be decisive towards a successful outcome for the Allies.304
304
‘Al-duktur Wilsun yatlubu min al-majlis iʿlan al-harb ʿala Almania’ (Dr. Wilson asks Congress to Declare War on
Germany), Al-Ahram, 4 April 1917; ‘Amrika wa-Almania fi harb’ (The U.S. and Germany at War), and ‘Khitab al-raʾis
Wilsun’ (President Wilson’s Address), Al-Ahram, 5 April 1917; ‘Majlis al-Shuyukh al-Amriki yuqarriru iʿlan al-harb’
213
Wilson’s Fourteen Points Speech of January 8th 1918 received as much media attention as the
Congress Address: the entire Speech was translated into Arabic by the Reuters news agency, and the
joint commentary highlighted the enthusiastic responses to the Speech from around the world.305
Egyptians across the country were thus fully informed not only about Wilson’s set of actions on how
to win the war, but also on his vision for a post-war settlement. This had far more to do with the role
of the press than any propaganda efforts deployed by the Commission on Public Information, which
did not have a base in Egypt.306
Censors operating in Egypt during the war directed their efforts towards stamping down on dissent
shown against the domestic government, but there was little opposition to reports and analysis on
what was happening in America and the rest of the world. Well-educated Egyptians could also read
European newspapers from countries such as Britain and France that were imported and distributed
widely in major cities, as well as those printed in the country for the vast communities of
expatriates.307 News about other international events, including the demands for Home Rule by the
Indian National Congress was also carried by the newspapers. Egyptians could certainly get a very
good idea about the number of people who believed that the war could change their position in the
world, and ideally for the better.308
Journalism promoting the Allied cause became even more prevalent in 1918, as the Allied powers
looked increasingly likely to win. By the summer, as American troops contributed to more
battlefield triumphs, the Egyptian press reported on the Fourth of July Independence Day
celebrations in the U.S. for the first time. The fact that the USA chose the peaceful signing of the
Declaration of Independence – and not a military victory or violent upheaval – as a specific day to
mark its freedom from Britain was considered novel. Thus, high ideals were seen as being crucial to
the American victory, rather than simply armed conflict.
(The U.S. Senate Declares War), Al-Ahram, 6 April 1917; ‘Badʿ al-harb bayna Amrika wa-Almania’ (The War between
the United States and Germany begins), Al-Ahram, 8 April 1917; ‘Amrika tujannidu thalthat malayin muqatil’ (The
United States Drafting Three Million Soldiers), Al-Ahram, 9 April 1917.
305
‘Majhud Amrika’ (The U.S. Effort), Al-Ahram, 6 January 1918; ‘Khutba lil-duktur Wilsun’ (A Speech by Dr.
Wilson), Al-Ahram, 10 January 1918; ‘Khutbat al-raʾis Wilson’ (President Wilson’s Speech), Al-Ahram, 11 January
1918.
306
James D. Startt, ‘American Propaganda in Britain During World War I’ in Prologue, vol. 28, no. 1, 1996, pp.17-33;
Peter Buitenhuis, ‘Selling the Great War’ in Canadian Review of American Studies, vol. 7, no. 2, 1976, pp.139-150.
307
Vatikiotis, op. cit., The History of Modern Egypt, pp.179-188; Ami Ayalon, The Press in the Arab Middle East: A
History, New York, Oxford University Press, 1995, pp.51-62.
308
Al-Ahram, 8 April 1917 and 6 January 1918.
214
Less than 150 years since achieving liberty from Britain, America was leading the world in
numerous fields of human activity, from teaching and the arts, while also becoming a beacon of
freedom and economic success. A substantial citation from the Declaration of Independence stirred
Egyptian imaginations following its Arabic translation in Al-Ahram. Other events covered at length
included President Wilson’s Fourth of July Address at Mount Vernon, when he again outlined his
country’s war motivations, and there were also reports on the Independence Day festivities in capital
cities in Europe.309 The notion of American exceptionalism was being celebrated in print
newspapers in countries such as India and China, and Egypt followed suit. High moral stances,
rather than selfish self-interest, were seen as the guiding light of world leaders such as Wilson,
especially as America was evidently less reliant on Imperialism than the British or the French and
thus more favourable to the principle of self-determination.
Like nationalists in other parts of the world, those who longed for an independent Egypt were
increasingly impressed by Wilson, and everything that his country represented in the new world
order. Many of the Egyptian nationalists felt that America and its leader would therefore have to
conform to the values promoted in their Declaration of Independence, the American war effort
rhetoric, and indeed the country’s plans for a post-war peace, if they were to achieve their own
ambitions.310 Such ideas were reinforced when other Allied powers supported Wilson’s statements,
as the Egyptians were pleased to see. Just before the Armistice in 1918, there was an Anglo-French
declaration about the Middle East: it pledged to “ensure the complete and final emancipation of all
those peoples so long oppressed by the Turks, and to establish national governments and
administrations which shall derive their authority from the initiative and free will of the people
themselves”. Only Syria and Mesopotamia were specifically referred to, but Egyptian nationalists
were emboldened by the idea, and were convinced the same measures could apply to them.311
Nationalists in Egypt who had originally been demanding a greater say in the running of the
Egyptian government, were so impressed by Wilson’s and the Allied views that they saw no reason
why they should not strive for complete self-determination for themselves. Saʿad Zaghlul, the vice
309
‘4 yuniyu 1776, ʿid istiqlal Amrika’ (Fourth of July 1776, America’s Independence Day), Al-Ahram, 5 July 1918;
‘Al-ʿid al-watani al-Amriki: Khitab al-raʾis Wilsun’ (America’s National Holiday: President Wilson’s Address),
Al-Ahram, 6 July 1918.
310
Al-Rafiʿi, op. cit., Thawrat Sanat 1919, p.57; Lashin, op. cit., pp.126-127.
311
‘Resume of the political situation in Egypt’, Gary to Secretary of State, 15 February 1919, U.S. NARA, RG 256,
SD 883.00/28, pp.1-3; Janice J. Terry, The Wafd, 1919-1952, London, Third World Centre for Research and Publishing,
1982, pp.71-73; M. W. Daly, op. cit., The Sirdar, pp.276-282.
215
president of the Legislative Assembly, was among the nationalists who rallied around such ideas. He
was to become the leader of the 1919 Revolution, while colleagues who supported him included
Muhammad Mahmud, who was from Egypt’s landowning elite. Other prominent figures involved in
the movement were the liberal politician ʿAbd al-ʿAziz Fahmi, and the lawyer and author Ahmad
Lutfi al-Sayyid. All of these men considered that the First World War was part of a period of history
that was theirs to exploit. The “fight for Egyptian independence”, as Lutfi al-Sayyid would describe
it, was a challenge which numerous Egyptians wanted to take part in. Prince ʿUmar Tusun, of the
Egyptian Royal Family, spent the weeks leading up to the Armistice meeting Zaghlul to discuss
sending an Egyptian delegation to the Paris Peace Conference.312 Prince ʿUmar Tusun said that the
idea of Egypt dispatching a delegation had “occurred to him after the publication of President
Wilson’s famous Fourteen Points”.313 Even Egypt’s Sultan Fuʾad himself told the British High
Commissioner, Sir Reginald Wingate, Britain’s principal authority figure in Egypt, that he aspired to
“Home Rule for Egypt along the lines of President Wilson’s Fourteen Points”.314 This affirmation in
October 1918 showed that Egypt was utterly committed to exerting what power it could muster in
the new world order.
President Wilson’s pronouncements continued to drive this move towards Egypt’s independence.
Egyptian leaders were convinced that Wilson would offer his backing to them, because their
ambitions were so closely based on the president’s own beliefs in post-war peace negotiations.
Hampson Gary, America’s Consul General in Cairo, sent a report back to Washington on the day of
the 1918 Armistice saying: “I have been made aware of a tendency in all classes of Egyptians to
believe that President Wilson favours self-government throughout all the world and that he will
champion the right of the people of this country to govern themselves.” Mr. Gary said “prominent
officials” in Egypt had already asked him if Wilson’s vision for the world intended to extend his
ideals to countries outside of Europe, and specifically to Egypt itself. Mr. Gary said he had heard a
“persistent rumour” that members of the Egyptian National Assembly were circulating a petition
calling for their own “self-determination”. Gary wrote that “All signs seem to me to point to a
312
‘Umar Tusun, Mudhakkirah Bima Sadar ‘Ana Mundhu Fajr al-Harakah al-Wataniyyah Min 1918 ila 1928, Cairo,
1942, pp.4-7.
313
Ibid.
314
Haykal, op. cit., Khamsin ʿAman, pp.121-131; Kedourie, op. cit., ‘Saʿad Zaghlul and the British’, pp.93-94; Janice
J. Terry, ‘Official British Reaction to Egyptian Nationalism after World War I’ in Al-Abhath, vol. 21, nos. 2-4, 1968,
pp.15-18; Donald C. Coventry, The Public Career of Sir Francis Reginald Wingate, High Commissioner for Egypt:
1917-1919, PhD thesis, American University, 1989.
216
definite movement to elicit the support of the American Government on behalf of their claims in the
great international clearing house that is now in process of formation either by a general public
appeal or before the peace Congress soon to meet”,315 thus confirming the Egyptian politicians’ faith
that President Wilson would be on their side. Publications produced and distributed widely by the
nationalists stated that independence had been recognised by Wilson as “a natural right of nations”
and the subjugation of people completely contradicted Wilson’s principle of self-determination. In
such circumstances, Britain’s belief that it could govern Egypt against the will of Egyptians was no
longer acceptable.316
When Wilson became the first U.S. President to leave America while in office, the Egyptian press in
Arabic ran many reports about his arrival in France. The President personified the newfound
economic and military strength of the USA, and he appeared to be the first international statesman to
be working for everyone in the world, and not just the major powers. He wanted to back humanity
“without distinction between white, black, yellow, etc”. There were references to the Prime Minister
of Italy and how he saw Wilson as producing a new bible for humanity, but there was no sign of the
American president being arrogant. It was reported that Wilson made much of displaying his
passport to European border officials when he travelled between countries, for example. Speculation
about Wilson’s thought processes were rife, but commentators had nonetheless full trust that his past
“great addresses” would influence the future of the world in Paris positively.317
It was also noted in news reports that, beyond Paris, Wilson’s whirlwind tour of Europe included
trips to London, and Rome. There was a visit to the village in the north of England where his
mother’s family came from, and receptions with French President Raymond Poincaré; King George
V of England; and Pope Benedict XV, for instance. It was thanks to these published news reports
that literate Egyptians – and those who spoke to them – knew exactly where Wilson was, and what
he was saying.318 As he built up his international profile and influence, Egyptian nationalists
increasingly viewed Wilson as an ally, and cultivated his representatives at every opportunity. There
were a great number of petitions received at the American legation office in Cairo demanding that a
315
Gary to Lansing, 11 November 1918, U.S. NARA RG 256, SD 883.00/2. Gary’s report to DOS, 29 January 1919, RG
256, SD 883.00/12.
316
Terry, op. cit., The Wafd, pp.19-20, 84-100; Gershoni & Jankowski, op. cit., p.44; Kedourie, op. cit., ‘Saʿad Zaghlul
and the British’, pp.97-98.
317
‘Dr. Wilson in Europe’, Al-Ahram, 15 December 1918.
318
Reported in Al-Ahram, 16, 17, 23, 24, and 30 December 1918.
217
ban on the Egyptian delegation (Wafd, in Arabic) travelling to Paris should be reversed. The British
did not want Zaghlul to travel, and the Americans were asked to oppose this, by adhering to the
ideas of the “illustrious president, who stands today in the eyes of the world for full justice for all
nations, large or small”.319
All kinds of influential Egyptians signed the petition calling for the delegation to be able to go to
Paris, including civil servants and legislators, those working in local government, tradesmen,
members of the judiciary, doctors and those in the armed services.320 Hampson Gary wrote in his
account that all were “basing their claims to independence on the president’s self-determination
clause”, and that they would “endeavour to obtain an expression of opinion from him during his visit
in Europe”.321 Egyptian Christians were, said Gary, the only group who opposed the proposed trip to
Paris by the delegation, the Wafd. These Christians did not recognise Zaghlul as their leader, and
wanted Britain to remain in charge in Egypt. They feared Muslim majority government, thinking
that their own safety could be compromised. The petition received by the Americans from the
Christians was not signed, however, and Gary admitted that it might be a forgery.322
Zaghlul meanwhile sent a note to Gary saying that the Americans had entered the war with the aim
“of safeguarding the rights of the small nations”. Zaghlul said the Egyptian people had to take
control of their own future, and would be prepared to make a deal with America, to have their self-
determination supervised by a League of Nations envisioned by President Wilson.323 Zaghlul
dispatched a telegram to Wilson himself in December 1918, stressing that Egyptians endorsed his
view of the world. Zaghlul wrote: “No people more than the Egyptian people has felt strongly the
joyous emotion of the birth of a new era which, thanks to your virile action, is soon going to impose
itself upon the universe.” Wilson’s leadership would “spread everywhere all the benefits of a peace”
no longer “troubled by the ambitions of hypocrisy or the old-fashioned policy of hegemony and
furthering selfish national interests”, Zaghlul added.324 Egyptians were entitled to be in Paris,
319
Gary to Secretary of State, 30 December 1918, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/4; SD 883.00/30.
320
Ibid.
321
Gary to DOS, 19 December 1918, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/3.
322
Gary to DOS, 30 January 1919, U.S. NARA. RG 256, SD 883.00/13.
323
Gary to Secretary of State, 16 December 1918, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/5, SD 883.00/49.
324
Zaghlul to Wilson, 14 December 1918, in Egyptian Delegation to the Peace Conference, Collection of Official
Correspondence from November 11, 1918 to July 14, 1919, Paris, Published by the Delegation, 1919, p.47.
218
Zaghlul argued, because it was their “natural and sacred right”— the overwhelming desire was for
Wilson to get the British to accept all of this.325
Nationalists in the Egyptian legislature expressed similarly ardent feelings in a letter welcoming
President Wilson to Europe. It read:
To the great and venerated President who led the people of the United States
in their disinterested participation in the European conflict to save humanity
and to preserve the world in the future from the horrors of war, we send our
affectionate greetings.
To the eminent philosopher and statesman who occupies today a
preponderant place among the leaders of peoples, and whose high ideals are
imposing themselves upon statesmen of all nations, we offer our homage and
admiration.
To the chief of the great American democracy, who left his country in order
to bring about a durable peace based upon equal justice for all and
guaranteed by the Society of Nations, we submit the cause of Egypt, which
is subjugated to a foreign domination that Egypt unanimously rejects.
Long live the United States! Long live President Wilson! 326
While the note was clearly aimed at appealing to Wilson’s vanity, it reflected the American
President’s portrayal in the Egyptian press at that time, and there is every likelihood that those views
were completely sincere.
Zaghlul continued to write to President Wilson, calling on him to apply his ideals to Egypt. Zaghlul
also wrote to Georges Clemenceau, the French Prime Minister who was president of the Paris Peace
Conference, to complain about the British bar on Egyptians attending. 327 Zaghlul produced a
detailed memorandum about ‘The Egyptian National Claims’ on January 25, 1919, making the case
for his 15-men delegation to travel from Cairo. This thirty-three page document was disseminated to
all foreign diplomats in the city.328 All aspects of its culture and economic and historical
developments, including its rich ancient history, meant Egypt was a perfect candidate to govern
itself, the memo argued. Egypt’s “racial homogeneity, the high culture of her ‘elite,’ her sense of
325
Ibid., p.50; Zaghlul to Wilson, 3 January 1919, in Ibid., p.51; Gary to Secretary of State, 16 December 1918, U.S.
NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/5.
326
Zaghlul to Wilson, 13 January 1919, in Egyptian Delegation, Official Correspondence, p.52; Saʿad Zaghlul,
Mudhakkirat Saʿad Zaghlul (The Diaries of Saʿad Zaghlul), ʿAbd al-ʿAzim Ramadan (ed.), Cairo, Al Hayʾa al-Misriyya
al-ʿAmma lil-Kitab, 1987-1988, pp.9-22.
327
Gary to Secretary of State, 4 February 1919, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/19; Gary to Secretary of State, 17
February 1919, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/29.
328
Gary to Secretary of State, 3 February 1919, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/16.
219
order, love of liberty and generous tolerance” should all be considered, the memo emphasised.
Meanwhile, it said that violent British rule was “at utter variance with justice, not to mention
civilisation”. If, as Wilson had pledged, the world needed to be reorganised according to democratic
principles of justice and equality, then Egypt would have to become a self-governing state.329
Thus it was in the context of a rapidly changing world that the prospect of a democratic and free
Egypt was promoted. The nationalists were no longer pushing for limited liberalising reforms, as
they had been before the war. Instead they wanted full-blown self-determination. Those taking up
the Wilsonian clamour for self-government included the National Party, whose priority had been a
German and Ottoman victory in the war, so as to topple the British Empire administration in
Egypt.330 In exile in Geneva, the National Party president, Muhammad Farid, wrote to Wilson about
British oppression, and suggested that the American president’s “noble principles” would see him
pushing for Egypt’s presence at the Paris Peace Conference. Egyptians sought “the dawn of a new
era”, one that would see Egypt stand alone as a free nation, under the auspices of the League of
Nations, Farid wrote, and countries without “imperialistic designs” were best placed to deliver it.331
Farid went on to portray Wilson as “that great man whose name is venerated by all Egypt as that of
the champion of the liberation of nations”.332
Members of the U.S. peace commission were staying at the Hotel Crillon in central Paris, and they
received a stream of correspondence there from Egyptian groups from around the world, all of it
calling for independence for Egypt. The interest groups said they met Wilson’s visit to Europe “with
emotional joy” at “one of the most solemn hours of the world’s history” in order to serve “the cause
of justice, right and liberty”.
Commentators in the Egyptian press kept emphasising that Wilson’s words about freedom from
subjugation had inspired hope that the American president would deliver on his powerful
329
Zaghlul to Gary, 4 March 1919, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/36.
330
Ismaʿil Labib to Muhammad Farid, 24 December 1918, in Muhammad Farid, Awraq Muhammad Farid (The Papers
of Muhammad Farid), Vol. 2, Part 1: Correspondence, Mustafa al-Nahhas Jabr (ed.), Cairo, Al-Hayʾah al-Misriyya
al-ʿAmma lil-Kitab, 1986; Ismaʿil Sidqi, Mudhakkirati (My Memoirs), Sami Abu al-Nur (ed.), Cairo, Madbuli, 1991,
pp.43-44.
331
Kent to Wilson, 10 December 1918, LOC, WWP, series 5b, reel 385.
332
Farid to Wilson, 5 February 1919, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/20; National party declaration in U.S. NARA,
RG 256, SD 883.00/79. Farid, op. cit., Awraq Muhammad Farid, Vol. 1, p.421, 425-427.
220
pronouncements and help Egyptians achieve their goal.333 One of the pamphlets prepared by
activists and sent to the U.S. commission was called Egypt and the Peace Congress. It set Egypt’s
new demands in the context of its history, opening with a section “Egypt and the Wilsonian
Principle”. It said: “The principle of the rights of nations which, only yesterday, was in the eyes of
many a chimera, has to-day become a reality”, thus making it clear that Wilson had galvanised
nationalist thought and action, ensuring that it would play a hugely important part in world
affairs. Those who wrote the pamphlet noted that Egypt was effectively free prior to the British
occupation. It disputed the claim that Britain had brought economic prosperity to their country. The
hefty document used numerous quotes from Wilson’s statements throughout the War as evidence of
his apparent support for Egyptian independence. As so many other documents prepared at the time,
the pamphlet contained sweeteners aimed at encouraging the support of the western powers for their
cause: it suggested, for example, that Suez Canal control would be decided by the League of
Nations.334
Despite the lobbying of Wilson and his representatives in the French capital, Britain’s officials in
Paris did everything possible to counter the Egyptians’ calls for self-determination. The French-run
conference secretariat was easily manipulated by the British who made sure that petitions from
Egyptians were stored, rather than distributed to delegates.335 Even petitions sent directly to the
Americans did not do much better. Joseph C. Grew, Secretary of the American delegation said they
should be forwarded to the “persons in the Commission”, who were unsympathetic to Egyptian
demands for self-determination.336 Robert Lansing, the American Secretary of State, was a
particularly strong supporter of the British, and their powerful position in Egypt. Many American
diplomats were equally pro-British.337 Allen Dulles, who at the time was working in the State
Department’s Division of Near Eastern Affairs said that correspondence from the Egyptians “should
not even be acknowledged”. The request for Egyptian representation at the Paris Conference was of
primary interest to George Louis Beer, the designated expert on African affairs, who said: “Such a
333
The Egyptian Association of Paris to the President of the Delegation of the United States of America, 8 February
1919, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/22.
334
Petition from the Egyptian Committee in Geneva, 31 January 1919, enclosed in U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/14;
Farid, op. cit., Awraq Muhammad Farid, Vol. 1, pp.425-426.
335
Balfour to Curzon, 20 February 1919, TNA UK, FO 608/212, fol. 245; Hankey to Dutasta, 28 February 1919, FO
608/213, fol. 9.
336
Grew to Close, 8 February 1919, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/17.
337
Lansing, op. cit., The Peace Negotiations, p.196; Lawrence Gelfand, The Inquiry: American Preparations for Peace,
1917-1919, New Haven, CT, Yale University Press, 1963, p.238, 255.
221
step would serve no good purpose”, as it would lead to “similar appeals from factions in all parts of
the world”. Despite all their hard work, short and very formal acknowledgment of receipt slips from
Gilbert Close, Wilson’s private secretary, were all that the Egyptian nationalists ever got back after
delivering their extensive literature.338
Back in Cairo, Hampson Gary would not meet Zaghlul or other representatives of the Egyptian
nationalist lobby, and his advice to colleagues in both Washington and Paris was for them to dismiss
Zaghlul’s appeals to the Americans to help him against the British.339 Gary made out that those
seeking to influence western powers in Europe were by no means representative of the majority of
Egyptian people. They were instead a “native autocracy as foreign to the autonomous peasantry as
the British”, and not in any way “conversant with American and European ideals”. Furthermore they
were “incapable as yet of efficient government”, said Gary.
In turn, ordinary Egyptians were described as “politically undeveloped”, uneducated, and sceptical
about Egyptian authority figures. They “really prefer British protection to native autocracy”, was the
line of argument. Accordingly, self-determination was “manifestly impracticable” in Egypt because
its people were “as yet not fitted for self-government”. Gary suggested his country should back “the
continued political education of the Egyptian people under British protection”, so safeguarding the
majority of Egyptian citizens, and indeed foreigners. Rather than supporting nationalism, the USA
should recognise and support the British Protectorate over Egypt, Gary argued.340 Despite all this,
Wilson had by no means written off the demands of the Egyptian nationalists as the Peace
Conference progressed, and the Americans had not yet recognised the British Protectorate. As
Egyptians continued to insist that they should be able to run their own lives, one nationalist
pamphlet concluded: “Are we to believe, that such a plain and natural aspiration can be deliberately
put aside?”341
Towards the end of the war, those following Wilson’s announcements in colonies around the world
became increasingly optimistic that they could benefit from the new global order he contemplated.
338
Dulles to Beer, 7 February 1919, and Beer to Dulles, 8 February 1919, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/21; Close to
Grew, 4 February 1919, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/17.
339
Gary to Zaghlul, 6 December 1918, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/5.
340
Gary to Secretary of State, 16 December 1918, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/5 and FW 883.00/24, Gary to DOS,
19 December 1918, RG 256, SD 883.00/3; Gary to Secretary of State, 30 December 1918, RG 256, SD 883.00/4; Gary
to Secretary of State, 3 February 1919, RG 256, SD 883.00/16; Gary to Secretary of State, 15 February 1919, RG 256,
SD 883.00/28, pp.3-4, 6-7.
341
Petition from the Egyptian Committee in Geneva, 31 January 1919, U.S. NARA, RG 256, SD 883.00/14.
222
They initially trusted that change could be fast and far-reaching. However, details of the envisaged
peace treaty were to cause profound disappointment: they suggested beyond any doubt that
traditional imperialistic ideas were still dominating international diplomacy. Those living outside
Europe would continue to be denied anything approaching sovereignty – a fact that contributed to
the evaporation of the “Wilsonian Moment”. In Egypt, anger and bitterness led to demonstrations
against the old world order. It is this nationwide wave of discontent that will now be examined.
223
Chapter Five
Chapter Five
The Egyptian Nationalist Revolution of 1919 and the British
Response to the “Egyptian Problem”
224
Chapter Five: The Egyptian Nationalist Revolution of 1919 and the British Response to the “Egyptian Problem”
On 8 March 1919, a heavily armed platoon of British soldiers carried out a dawn raid on the Cairo
homes of the prominent Egyptian nationalists Saʿad Zaghlul, Ismaʿil Sidqi, Muhammad Mahmud
and Hamad al-Basil. The four were bundled into military vehicles and – still under the cover of
darkness – briefly taken to the city’s Qasr-al-Nil barracks before being placed on a warship heading
for Malta.1 The brutally unexpected deportations ultimately caused the Egyptian Revolution.
At the time of their arrests the men had been preparing to travel to France as their country’s
representatives at the post-World War One Paris Peace Conference.2 They were the most well-
known members of the Wafd (lit. “delegation”) who had effectively been designated to thrash out
their nation’s very future in the reorganised world. Egyptians were smarting at not having been
granted independence from Britain after the conflict, and these four men were meant to carry their
grievances to the major powers. The political, economic and social conditions under which
Egyptians had been living since the start of the British Occupation were crucial factors in the social
turmoil. The dramatic arrests exacerbated these factors to breaking point.
The myth of charismatic leadership is often applied to Saʿad Zaghlul, the fierce Egyptian nationalist
who did so much to forge his country’s recent history. His hero status has never been in dispute, but
just how much of it derived from his place within a mass movement is less easy to define. While
some view Zaghlul as a classic “man-of-the-people” who ultimately led his country to
independence, others position him within an authoritarian, highly-organised elite who were able to
impose their will on their country’s development. Indeed, in spite of his impressive legacy, Egyptian
historiography is still divided on Zaghlul’s actual contribution to the Revolution. His standing as a
compelling chief is discussed by some historians and social commentators who, instead of focusing
exclusively upon the individual leader, are primarily concerned with the hugely important role of the
masses at grass-root level.
It is therefore legitimate to consider to what extent the nationalist struggle in Egypt was a popular
movement from below, or indeed an elitist protest from above. Did Saʿad Zaghlul – an eloquent,
erudite and extremely intelligent politician, despite his humble origins – play a unique part in the
first truly modern revolution in Egypt; a revolution which involved all regions, age groups, classes,
1
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, Mahfazah No.1, Malaf No. 2, pp.114-116.
2
Cheetham to Curzon, Cairo, 6 March 1919, FO 407/184 No. 64, & Cheetham to Curzon, Cairo, 9 March 1919,
FO 407/184 No. 69, The National Archives of the United Kingdom in London (hereafter TNA).
225
and religious communities? Or was he merely a vehicle for the expression of nationalist hopes and
expectations?
A major argument in this chapter is that the events of 1919, as they are related by Western writers,
often overlook the Egyptian dimension of the story. An emphasis will therefore be put on Egyptian
sources to describe the circumstances surrounding the Revolution in an attempt to add a valuable
indigenous perspective which is largely absent from Western literature that tends to downplay the
scale of the protest as well as the brutality of its repression. Particular and extensive usage will be
made of a previously only carefully and selectively quoted Report drawn up by the Egyptian
Delegation which offers a detailed narrative of the Revolution. Furthermore, the document also
contains verbatim transcriptions of official Egyptian reports, correspondence, depositions of victims
and eye-witnesses, and photographs of atrocities committed by British troops in Egypt. This will be
treated as very useful information as we are focusing our attention on the Egyptian records of the
events, while being fully aware of their potential slant.
The recently-founded Wafd had been determined to receive authorisation – up to and including
passports from the British authorities – to allow them to travel to Paris so as to take up their places
at the negotiating table in Versailles.3 Their intention was to seek the “absolute independence of
Egypt” through “peaceful and lawful means”.4 In a letter addressed by the Wafd Delegation to High
Commissioner Wingate on 3 December 1918, Zaghlul wrote:
Forbidding our departure makes illusory and inoperative the mission that we
have accepted by the will of the country. It is difficult to conciliate this
situation with the principles of liberty and justice which the victory of Great
Britain and her Allies is supposed to have caused to triumph.5
The Wafd’s growing and more vociferous activism prompted Cheetham (acting as High
Commissioner in Egypt during Wingate’s absence in London) to address a note to the British
Government to request authority to arrest Saʿad Zaghlul and his principal confederates and to banish
them immediately.6
3
Mudhakkirat Sa‘ad Zaghlul, Kurras No. 33, p.1862.
4
5
Egyptian Delegation Report, op. cit., p.23; Mudhakkirat Sa‘ad Zaghlul, Kurras No. 32, pp.1855-1856.
6
Cheetham to Curzon, Cairo, 6 March 1919, FO 407/184 No. 64, TNA.
226
Did Cheetham’s decision unintentionally spark the unrest? The repercussions of what he did
certainly placed question marks against the British authorities’ anticipation of the ill-feeling which
inevitably led to Revolution.7 Cheetham’s resolution similarly cast some doubt about the extent to
which the British were prepared to tackle the uprising. The chapter will contend that the British were
indeed taken by surprise by what happened.
As the Revolution escalated, the British government appointed General Allenby as Special High
Commissioner for Egypt as evidence of a change of approach towards the nationalist movement.
What was Britain’s strategy behind the alteration of its policy in Egypt? And what was its outcome?
It will be demonstrated that, despite Allenby’s claims of controlling the situation, British power had
diminished under the increasing force of nationalist spirit.
This chapter will conclude that Zaghlul’s charismatic leadership was an important element in the
process of both individual and collective resistance against British rule. It will also highlight the fact
that there was no clear-cut dichotomy between “above and below” as far as the Revolution was
concerned. Instead, what emerges is a much more complex picture of interdependence between the
elitist and progressive direction of the nationalist Wafd Party and the popular and revolutionary
nature of the movement at the grassroots. This complementary relationship helped define “a new age
in Egyptian history – the age of Egyptian nationalism”8 – and, more specifically, a brand of
“revolutionary nationalism”.9 This period of upheaval created panic among those upholding British
rule, and showed how ill-prepared they were to deal with this state of affairs.
“Nationalism of the Elite” or Legitimacy Gained at Grass-Root Level?
Zaghlul’s popular myth was reinforced by the title Za‘im al-Umma, the Arabic for “Leader of the
Nation”, and he is also often referred to as “Father of the Egyptians”. Obituaries published in the
year of his death, 1927, evoked – variously – the “Death of an uncrowned King” and the demise of
the “Colossus of the Nile Valley”. The legendary singer Oum Kalthoum dedicated a song to him,
while Zaghlul’s home in Cairo was turned into the “House of the Nation” – Beit al-Umma. These
early tributes were followed up by Zaghlul’s name becoming imprinted in Egyptian national history,
7
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, Mahfazah No. 1, Malaf No. 2, p.111.
8
Ramadan, op. cit., Tatawwur al-Haraka al-Wataniyya, p.5.
9
Zaheer Masood Quraishi, Liberal Nationalism in Egypt: Rise and Fall of the Wafd Party, Delhi, The Jamal Printing
Press, 1967, p.3.
227
and indeed the collective consciousness. New schools, city and town squares, and streets were
named after him, while monuments and statues were erected to him.
Movies portraying Zaghlul leading the country to glory are still shown across Egypt to this day,
while radio programmes and plays also perpetuate the legend. Saʿad Zaghlul’s character was also
explored in Bayna al-Qasrayn, the first volume of Naguib Mahfouz’s trilogy of historical novels,
along with details of the anti-British uprising of 1919. There is an emphasis on Zaghlul’s life in
school history curricula. In general terms, all manifestations of Egyptian culture are pervaded by a
glorious episode of Egyptian history in which Zaghlul headed and ultimately won the struggle
against the country’s colonial masters. What is certain is that Zaghlul, who proudly called himself
the “son of the rabble”, because of his fellah (peasant) background, developed the ideas behind the
Egyptian Revolution of 1919, championing the anti-British nationalism which resulted in nominal
independence in1922.
On 13 November 1918, just two days after the Armistice brought the First World War to an end,
members of Egypt’s burgeoning nationalist movement began to assert their presence forcefully. This
was one of the reasons why Saʿad Zaghlul, already self-styled representative of the people of Egypt,
presented himself at the official Cairo Residency of Reginald Wingate, the British High
Commissioner for Egypt. The general subject of discussion was the Egyptian question, but Saʿad
Zaghlul, ʿAbd al-Aziz Fahmi and ʿAli Shaʿarawi – all members of the Legislative Assembly – were
specifically asking for the abolition of martial law and censorship, two oppressive measures which
had both been implemented at the outbreak of the War, and on the establishment of the British
Protectorate over Egypt on 18 December 1914.10
The Egyptians also demanded “complete independence”11 for Egypt although Saʿad Zaghlul assured
Wingate that there would be sufficient guarantees aimed at guaranteeing British interests. This
would mean that the routes down to India, the “Jewel in the Crown” of the British Empire, would be
protected, and British forces would be allowed to occupy Egyptian soil in times of emergency.
Shaʿarawi further explained that their claim meant “friendly relations between freemen rather than
between a slave and his owner”.12 Zaghlul said that their requests were being put to Wingate
10
FO 371/3204 No. 1710 Sir R. Wingate to FO (It was dispatched to the King and War Cabinet), Cairo, 17 November
1918.
11
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, Mahfazah No. 1, Malaf No .1, pp.12-17.
12
Al-Rafiʿi, op. cit., Tarikh al-Haraka al-Qawmiyyawa, pp.70-2.
228
because he was acting for the British Government, but made it clear that his Delegation was more
than ready to travel to London to negotiate with the government directly if necessary.13
Wingate, for his part, wanted an off-the-record conversation – stating that he could make no official
promises because he did not know what his government’s views about the demands actually were.14
Instead he offered assurances that, following the Peace Conference due after the War, Britain would
give full attention to the Egyptian question, which was presented as “an imperial and not an
international question”. Wingate is even believed to have quoted a line from the Qur’an to make his
point: “Allah maʿa al-sābīrīn, idha sabirū” (God is with the patient, if they are patient).15 Most
importantly, Wingate urged caution, insisting that the Delegation did not represent Egyptian public
opinion, saying they had come to his Residency to discuss the affairs of a whole nation without
having a mandate to do so.
It was, in fact, this crucial question of legitimacy which had galvanised the Delegation. A few hours
after the meeting with Wingate, Saʿad Zaghlul and his colleagues met to consider the methods
which would empower them to speak on behalf of the nation. They decided to form a board which
was called al-Wafd al-Misri (the Egyptian delegation),16 and which would obtain the mandatory
authorisation that would give the board the right to demand complete independence for the Egyptian
people.17
Al-Wafd al-Misri, Egypt’s first official Delegation, came into being on 13 November 1918. It was
made up of: Saʿad Zaghlul as its president,18 along with seven initial members, ʿAli Shaʿarawi, ʿAbd
al-Aziz Fahmi, Muhammad Mahmud, Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid, ʿAbd al-Latif al-Makabbati, and
Muhammad ʿAli ʿAlluba. An additional seven members later joined the Wafd – including members
of the pre-war party, al-Hizb al-Watani (the Nationalist Party).19 They included: Ismaʿil Sidqi,
13
Al-Rafi’i, op. cit., Thawrat Sanat 1919, Vol. 1, pp.138-139.
14
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, op. cit.; ʿAbd al-ʿAziz Fahmi, Hadhihi Hayati (This is my Life), Cairo, Dar
al-Hilal, 1963, pp.76-89.
15
Ronald Wingate, Wingate of the Sudan: The Life and Times of Sir Reginald Wingate, Maker of the Anglo-Egyptian
Sudan, London, John Murray, 1955, p.229.
16
Mudhakkirat Sa‘ad Zaghlul, Kurras No. 32, pp.1844-1846.
17
Ibid., pp.1845-1846.
18
Ibid., pp.1851-1853.
19
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, Mahfazah No. 1, Malaf No. 1, p.11; Mudhakkirat Muhammad ‘Ali ‘Aluba,
pp.107-108; and Amine Youssef Bey, Independent Egypt, London, John Murray, 1940, pp.62-64.
229
Sinyut Hanna,20 Hamad al-Basil, George Khayyat, Mahmud Abu al-Nasr, Mustafa al-Nahhas, and
Dr. Hafiz ʿAfifi.21
They immediately set about drafting a declaration that would allow the Delegation to officially
become the representative of the nation and press for its rights. On 23 November 1918, the fourteen
members laid down the regulations of the Wafd, which were made up of twenty-six Articles in all.22
The attainment of complete independence by legitimate and peaceful means was the intended
objective of the Delegation (Article 2). The will of the Egyptian people was announced to be the
source of the authority of the Delegation (Article 3).23 The final Article stipulated the formation of a
central committee for the Egyptian Delegation, whose members were to be chosen from prominent
personalities in the country. Its main purpose was to collect donations and ensure correspondence
within the Delegation.24
The new national organisation was meant to act on behalf of the Egyptian people, but there is little
doubt that its membership was initially biased towards the professional classes. Financiers,
administrators, lawyers, civil servants and other urban professionals were selected, along with a
small religious class (the Copts), but the grand land and property owning class dominated.
Cumulatively they provided the nucleus of a landed and commercial bourgeoisie which had an
obvious economic interest in political independence.25
Saʿad Zaghlul emerged as the Delegation’s leader because of his dynamic personality but also, it
was noted, because of his cultured outlook, and religious belief tempered with an enlightened
approach to new ideas.26 The highly experienced reformer soon established himself as the favourite
leader of the Wafd Party and the Egyptian people. Zaghlul was certainly different from other
politicians of his generation. Rather than coming from a metropolitan household, he was born in
Abyana, a country town, in 1856. He was brought up in this rural environment as the son of a fellah
(peasant), studying at his village school before going on to al-Azhar University, in the days of
20
This led Zaghlul to comment: “he was the first Copt to think of joining the Wafd” in his Memoirs, Mudhakkirat Sa‘ad
Zaghlul, op. cit., Kurras No. 32, pp.1853.
21
Ibid., p.1853.
22
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, op. cit., Mahfazah No. 1, Malaf No. 1, p.11.
23
Mudhakkirat Sa‘ad Zaghlul, op. cit., Kurras No. 32, p.1849.
24
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, Mahfazah No. 1, Malaf No. 3, p.272.
25
Muhammad Anis, ‘Thawrat 1919 Wa Hizb al-‘Ummal al-Britani’, al-Hilal, 1 October 1964, p.23, and ‘Atiyya Shuhdi
Al-Shafi’i, Tatawwur al-Haraka al-Wataniyya al-Misriyya, 1882-1956 (The Evolution of the Egyptian Nationalist
Movement, 1882-1956), Cairo, Dar Shuhdi, 1983, p.45; Ramadan, op. cit., Tatawwur al-Haraka al-Wataniyya, p.101.
26
ʿAbbas Mahmud al-ʿAqqad, Saʿad Zaghlul, Cairo, Matbaʿat Hijazi, 1932, pp.123-88.
230
Al-Afghani and then Mohammed ʿAbduh. Zaghlul made his political debut as a follower of ʿUrabi.
He later learnt French, the foremost diplomatic language of the time, at the Sorbonne University in
Paris, as well as taking a law degree. He married the daughter of Premier Mustafa Fahmi –
something which increased his social standing enormously.
A cosmopolitan, aspirational background combined with a grounding in Egypt’s rural heartland

made Zaghlul admired by all classes. Zaghlul was the one and only Egyptian whom Cromer was
particularly impressed by. In his farewell speech on leaving Egypt, Cromer in fact singled out
Zaghlul as “one of its future rulers. He possesses all the qualities necessary to save this country. He
is honest; he is capable; he has the courage of his convictions... he should go far.” 27 A distinguished
legal career saw him appointed a Judge at the High Court in 1892. He was then designated as
Minister of Education and, later on, Minister of Law. He was moderate in his views, something
which again was appealing to observers, from whichever side of the political spectrum they came
from. Zaghlul had a ruthless, uncompromising side too. He was an important figure behind the
establishment of the pre-war Hizb al-Umma (People’s Party) in 1907 before being elected to the
Legislative Assembly, and then selected for the post of Secretary of the Assembly. 28 Zaghlul was
thus a reformer with a commanding, traditional education behind him, and someone with experience
in a variety of political roles. His modest origins endeared him to the masses but he could evidently
mix with people from all classes. It was the former aspect of his character which was to prove most
useful as he moulded the Wafd into a political force which could represent the Egyptian population
at large.
So it was that the grassroots base for a popular revolution was laid down by the pressure caused by
martial law, censorship, and the First World War. When combined with President Wilson’s Fourteen
Points, this pressure became unassailable, as the American president’s heady principles infused
unprecedented hope into downtrodden Egyptian political circles. It was now all a matter of
coordination between those political circles and the masses. That is precisely where the relation of
interdependence between these two spheres comes into play.
27
George Young, Egypt, 3rd ed., London, Ernest Benn, 1930, p.233.
28
Lashin, op. cit., Saʿad Zaghlul wa-Dawruhu fi al-Siyasa al-Misriyya (Saʿad Zaghlul and His Role in the Politics of
Egypt), pp.82-102.
231
Interdependence between the Elite and the Masses
The Delegation was, at the start, little more than a small group of idealistic, high-minded individuals
who viewed themselves as nothing less than the leaders of a newly emerging, independent nation. In
terms of democratic organisation, the group had few institutional ties with the majority of Egypt’s
population.
Soon, however, the group developed into the Wafd Party, which took its place at the head of a mass,
broad-based movement including almost every section of Egyptian society. The traditional dynamic
of youth – so important to such movements wherever they are formed – was provided by students
from the Nadi al-Madaris al-ʿUlya, a strong coalition of Higher Schools’ Club. These bright, hugely
energetic youngsters were tasked with the collection of signatures, or Tawkīlat (also mandates),
which were to provide written legitimacy to the political grouping.29 The Tawkīl had only been a
hurriedly prepared document drawn up after the delegation’s meeting with Wingate at his Cairo
residency, but its subsequent impact was profound. It had provided permission to the Delegation to
work towards Egyptian independence through peaceful means, thus ensuring that the organisation
was lawful in the eyes of all those involved in the process, and to the watching world.
Beyond this limited aim of the Tawkīl, it had the effect of inspiring political awareness in the mass
of people.30 The Delegation had not envisaged the influence it would have on the people they sought
to represent and neither had the British authorities who initially tried to suppress the signatures
campaign31 – such was its immense power on the consciousness of the Egyptian people. As students
travelled the length and breadth of the country amassing signatures, they instilled great hope,
bringing thousands of Egyptians into their party.32 Certainly, there is little doubt that the Delegation
made far more effective use of their mandate enshrined in the Tawkīl than they did at the Paris Peace
conference.
29
Al-Ahram, 2-3 August 1920.
30
Ramadan, op. cit., Tatawwur al-Haraka al-Wataniyya, p.156.
31
Mudhakkirat Sa‘ad Zaghlul, op. cit., Kurras No. 32, pp.1855-1856.
32
Elie Kedourie, ‘Saʿad Zaghlul and the British’ in Albert Hourani (ed.), Middle Eastern Affairs, No. 2, St Antony’s
Papers, No. 11, London, Chatto and Windus, 1961, pp.148-149.
232
The Delegation had, of course, made representations to the British Government, asking if they could
travel to London to negotiate directly, but such requests were constantly turned down. 33 British
politicians said they were too busy, but it remains unclear as to whether the British anticipated
spokespersons of the Wafd Party travelling to Paris. The Egyptians viewed this as a sleight as – for
obvious reasons – they saw their peremptory claims as being of paramount importance.
Things moved rapidly and, on 4 March 1919, the Wafd sent letters to the agents of foreign countries
in Egypt protesting against British policy as it contradicted the wishes of the Egyptian people. 34 On
6 March, General Watson – the Commander of the British forces – threatened “to take strong
action” against the Delegation if it carried on with “the discussion of the existence of the
Protectorate”.35 The Delegation’s reply was short and to the point – they published a letter of protest
addressed to Lloyd George, the Prime Minister, reiterating their call for complete independence.36
This had a serious consequence on the British government, whose wholly negative reaction was to
arrest Saʿad Zaghlul, Muhammad Mahmud, Ismaʿil Sidqi and Hamad al-Basil and to deport them to
Malta on 9 March. ʿAli Shaʿarawi took over the leadership of the Wafd in the meantime.37
This section had sought to address the following question: did the Revolution of 1919 start from
above – under the auspices of the intensely charismatic leader Saʿad Zaghlul – or was it a genuinely
popular movement which emanated from the grassroots? The dynamic of the Egyptian Revolution
came from a combination of two compelling forces: the first was Zaghlul, and the second was his
vast power base among the masses. So it was that the Wafd succeeded in becoming a recognised
mouthpiece for the millions who had undergone unprecedented social turmoil and bitter hardship
during the First World War. This experience of the chaos caused by worldwide conflict, when
merged with Wilson’s rhetoric of self-determination, ensured they were determined to get rid of
their colonialists from Britain. But while the Wafd leaders and those operating at the grass roots had
the same overall purpose, they diverged on the means of achieving that result. In 1918 Egypt’s first
truly modern revolution began with peaceful negotiations aimed at terminating the newly declared
British Protectorate on the country. By 1919, it had escalated into widespread protest and physical
33
A. Fahmi, op. cit., p.88.
34
Al-Rafi’i, op. cit., Thawrat Sanat 1919, pp.163-164.
35
George Ambrose Lloyd, Egypt since Cromer, Vol. 1, London, Macmillan, 1933, pp.296-297.
36
Ahmed Shafiq, Hawliyat Misr al-Siyasiyyah (The Egyptian Political Annals), al-Tamhid, Vol. 1, Cairo, Matba’at
Shafiq Pasha, 1926, p.244.
37
Al-Rafi’i, op. cit., pp.167-169.
233
attacks firmly directed against the British administrative and military presence on its soil. As far as
political action was concerned, violence was replacing the gradual, piecemeal approach of the Wafd,
as a new brand of radical, “revolutionary nationalism” started to emerge.
“Revolutionary Nationalism” Crushed by the “Barbarism” of Empire Troops
The sudden deportation of Saʿad Zaghlul and his three colleagues was, as far as the stability of the
British Empire was concerned, a fatal move. As previously mentioned, it sparked a popular uprising
and strikes right across Egypt, precipitating a period of violent confrontations between the Egyptian
people and British troops known in Egyptian historiography as the 1919 Revolution. Over several
months, Egyptians of all classes and religions participated in the upheaval. The novel nature of the
clashes was highlighted by the fact that, for the first time in history, upper-class Egyptian women
openly took to the streets for a political cause and thus showed their solidarity with the nationalist
movement. The chronology of what happened was minutely recorded by the Egyptian Delegation in
a Report which was later addressed to the newly-appointed British High Commissioner, Allenby, on
30 March 1919. The Report recounts that the protests began with peaceful student demonstrations
on 9 March – the very day that the Wafd leaders were deported to Malta. In order to paint a
comprehensive picture of the dramatic events, we will also be relying on the records of other
observers, whether local historians and participants or British officials whose despatches were
mainly based on eye-witness accounts.
In Cairo, agitation first flared among students of law, engineering, agriculture, medicine and
commerce. All were joined by students from Dar al-‘Ulum (an institution which combined modern
secondary teaching with Islamic studies) and the School of Jurisprudence. “Nearly three hundred
were arrested.”38 On 10 March, students of al-Azhar and secondary school pupils also got involved.
The marches were deliberately organised to pass the houses of political agents, with those taking
part chanting their concern for the very future of Egypt, for their own freedom to be reinstated, and
for the end of the Protectorate.39 Later in the 10 March rally, there were numerous heavy-handed
38
Report presented by the Egyptian Delegation in Arabic, with a French translation, to the British High Commissioner
on 30 March 1919. The members of the Delegation were invited to the Residency on 31 March to discuss its contents
with the High Commissioner. See Egyptian Delegation Report, op. cit., p.30 & p.37.
39
Cheetham to Curzon, Cairo, 22 March 1919, FO 371/3715, TNA; Chirol, op. cit., The Egyptian Problem, pp.177-178;
John D. McIntyre, The Boycott of the Milner Mission: A Study in Egyptian Nationalism, New York, P. Lang, 1985, p.27.
234
attacks on everything from trams to shops, especially those owned by foreign nationals.40 The
Report points out that, on 11 March, “another peaceful manifestation of students was received by a
volley of shots which killed a certain number of them”.41 And, on 12 March, “similar peaceful
manifestations were suppressed by machine-gun fire which caused the death of more young
people”.42 Also on 12 March, dissent reached Tanta. British troops responded with more definitive
expressions of violence, killing and wounding Egyptian demonstrators with their firepower.43 There
were similar scenes of repression on the 13 and 14 March in Cairo, with the British Army
intervening against public displays of opposition all over the city in an attempt to disrupt further
peaceful processions organised by students “without arms”.44 Such action inevitably exacerbated the
problems.
The revolutionary spirit spread, as anti-British activity fanned out across the whole country.45 The
next day, 15 March, transport workers succeeded in severely disrupting communications all over
Egypt. On that day alone there were more than 4,000 railway workers on strike. Strategically crucial
areas which experienced sabotage included Imbaba, the gateway to Upper Egypt, where railway
lines were destroyed, thus preventing engines from moving.46 On 16 March, the craftsmen also
engaged in the dissent.47 Two days later, on 18 March, protests moved from Bulaq to al-Azhar. It
was in al-Azhar that there was even more resistance from British troops, and serious fighting broke
out. Again, demonstrators were killed and wounded by Empire troops.48 The violence prompted the
inhabitants of districts including al-Azhar, al-Sayyida Zaynab, al-Husseiniyya and Bab
al-Sha‘ariyya to erect barricades. They also dug long, deep ditches to prevent the easy movement of
military vehicles. By this time, shops and financial institutions had all been closed since 11 March.49
It had been on the same day that the legal profession had also organised meetings and agreed to go
40
Shafiq, op. cit., p. 252; and Letitia W. Ufford, Milner Mission to Egypt, 1919-1921, PhD thesis, Columbia University,
1977, p.90.
41
Egyptian Delegation Report, op. cit., p.37.
42
Ibid.
43
Ibid.
44
Ibid.
45
Ramadan, op. cit., Tatawwur, p.135; Young, op. cit., p.239.
46
Michael B. Bishku, The British Empire and the question of Egypt’s future, 1919-1922, PhD thesis, New York
University, 1981, p.50; John W. McPherson, Bimbashi McPherson: A Life in Egypt, London, BBC Pubns., 1983, p.224.
47
Overall, the workers’ contribution to the 1919 Revolution was substantial and documented by Nawal A. Radi in Adwa
Jadida ‘Ala al-Haraka al-‘Ummaliyyah al-Misriyyah, 1930-1945 (New Lights on the Egyptian Labour Movement: 1930-
1945), Cairo, Dar al-Nahdah al-‘Arabiyyah, 1977, pp.16-18.
48
Al-Rafiʿi, op. cit., Thawrat Sanat 1919, pp.136, 137, 154.
49
Ibid., p.129.
235
on strike as an objection against the deportation of the four nationalist leaders. 50 By 12 March, the
agitation extended to major cities including Alexandria, Tanta and al-Mansura. In the latter city
students had attacked police stations, also setting fire to railway stations and damaging telegraph and
telephone lines. Again, a number of demonstrators were shot dead or seriously wounded by British
troops. A key example was the slaughter in Tanta, where a British unit fired at them near a railway
station, killing 16 and wounding 49.51
Following these cataclysmic events, disturbances propagated to Mudiriyyat al-Buhaiyra,

al-Gharbiyya, al-Minufiyya, al-Daqahliyya, Assiut and al-Fayyum.52 Rioters in these regions
followed the revolutionary example, once again destroying railway lines, and cutting telegraph and
telephone poles. The first railway line was cut on 13 March, between Tanta and Tala. Damage was
done to numerous other parts of the rail network, to the extent that Cairo was separated from other
regions. The British military authorities had to put out a declaration on 17 March instructing people
living in communities near demolished or impaired railway lines and stations to pay for the cost of
repairs themselves.53 This did not prevent agitators at Dayrut and Dir-Muwas to assail the train from
Luxor to Cairo on 18 March, mortally wounding three British officers and five soldiers.54 As a
result, on 20 March, British army officials ordered that the settlement closest to the attacks be raised
to the ground.55
Bedouins also took part in the Revolution, with numerous engagements between them and the
British, especially at al-Fayyum, where there was solid support for the nationalist Hamad al-Basil.
On 19 March, a group of Bedouins from West Fayyum were involved in a conflict with British
Guardsmen. Around 400 demonstrators were killed or wounded. Bedouins also besieged the Diwan
of Itsa, demanding that the police gave up their weapons and horses. The isolated forces of authority
refused and heavy fighting ensued, with the Bedouins eventually defeated.56 Bedouins in Mudiriyat
al-Buhaiyra made an assault on the Kum Hamada district and British troops were sent by the
military administration to subjugate them.57
50
Ibid., pp.132-135 & McIntyre, op. cit., p.30.
51
Ramadan, op. cit., pp.136-137.
52
Cheetham to Curzon, Cairo, 22 March 1919, FO 371/3715, TNA & Ramadan, op. cit., p.137.
53
Ramadan, op. cit., p.137.
54
‘Egypt, 1919, Being a Narrative of certain Incidents of the Rising in Upper Egypt’, J.W.A. Young Papers, The Middle
East Centre at St Antony’s College, Oxford.
55
Ibid.
56
Ibid., pp.168-169; Lloyd, op. cit., p.298.
57
Al-Rafiʿi, op. cit., Thawrat Sanat 1919, p.160.
236
To illustrate the unity and tolerance of the whole of Egyptian society in revolt, many authors have
emphasised the participation of women and religious minorities in the nationalist movement. There
is no doubt that the appearance of women on the barricades was a fascinating development. Many of
these women indeed went so far as to assist with the demolition of railways lines and telegraph
poles. In correspondence with General Sir Edmund Allenby, the newly-appointed High
Commissioner of Egypt, Saʿad Zaghlul commented upon the extraordinary social change, noting
how “the most distinguished women in Egyptian society were not able [...] to see their fellow
countrymen treated in this way and keep silent about it”.58
On 16 March, nearly three hundred upper-class women had demonstrated under the leadership of his
wife, Safiyya Saʿad Zaghlul, Huda Shaʿarawi, wife of one of the original members of the Wafd and
organiser of the Egyptian Feminist Union, and Muna Fahmi Wissa. Zaghlul also testified that:
“[T]he British soldiers surrounded them on all sides, with fixed bayonets pointed towards them, and
compelled them to remain two hours under a broiling sun.”59
The involvement of women in the movement was certainly unprecedented. Middle-class women
played important roles in the struggle, taking part in the political process along with upper-class
women and fellahat (female peasants). These women organised all kinds of strikes, protests, and
boycotts of British goods and wrote petitions, circulating them to foreign embassies. Zaghlul himself
commented that, “[T]he curtain that ordinarily separates our women [...] from the outside world did
not prevent them from expressing their sentiments.”60 Historians have often remarked how the 1919
Revolution effected a huge transformation in relation to women’s place in Egyptian society. It took
women – as the historian Ramadan put it – from the harem to the public arena and the labour
market.61
Another significant moment as far as potentially disparate groups were concerned saw the Wafd
choose both the cross and the crescent as an emblem, signifying national as well as religious
concord. Leading Egyptian Copts sent correspondence expressing their empathy with the
nationalists, with the Egyptian Association, a group formed soon after Wilson’s arrival in Paris to
58
59
Ibid.
60
Ibid.
61
Ramadan, op. cit., Thawrat 1919, pp.5-6.
For the relationship between nationalism, feminism and Islam among Egyptian women, see Huda Shaʿarawi, Harem
Years: The Memoirs of an Egyptian Feminist, 1879-1924, Margot Badran (trans. & ed.), New York, The Feminist Press
at CUNY, 1987; Badran, op. cit., Feminists, Islam and Nation.
237
advocate independence, adopting a flag showing the symbols of Egypt’s three principal religious
communities – a crescent, a cross, and a star of David. This badge was displayed on a scarlet
background to signify the union of Egyptians of all faiths in the national struggle.62
In a letter to Georges Clemenceau, the President of the Paris Peace Conference, dated 28 June 1919,
Saʿad Zaghlul presented a brief statement about the different kinds of atrocities which had been
committed in Egypt. All stressed the increasing “barbarism” of Empire troops. Hoping that
Clemenceau would raise Egypt’s grievances at the Conference, he wrote forcefully:
The British authorities in Egypt were as much disturbed as provoked by the

extent of the movement, and astonished at their powerlessness to stop it. It
was then that the spirit of vengeance got the better of them, and that they
allowed themselves to indulge in the most disgraceful excesses. No longer
content to stop the demonstrations by means of rifles and machine guns, they
were guilty in several places of rape, of the assassination of peaceful
villagers, of pillage, of arson – all with the most trifling pretext or even
without pretext. No longer was it a question of individual crimes committed
by stray soldiers. [...] No longer was it a question of blows and thefts in the
streets of Cairo and Alexandria. Attacks began to be made by strong military
detachments, under the command of their officers, in villages as well as
cities.63
Thus Zaghlul underlined the paradox between discourse at the Paris Conference and British actions
in the real world. There was a deep irony in the sight of a reactionary British Army subduing
nationalist hopes in Egypt, while these same hopes were being put forward in Paris as the very basis
of a new world order.64
Elements of those involved in the Egyptian uprising had, of course, been violent, but their actions
were nothing as aggressive as the British. “Peace keeping” measures included the beheading of
revolutionaries. There were numerous incidents of serial rape, arson, pillage and flogging, all carried
out by ordinary “Tommies”, many already battle-hardened during First World War campaigns. The
detailed description of British atrocities provided by Zaghlul to Clemenceau was based on literal
translation of complaints and sworn testimony. He had gleaned facts from the memorials of the
62
63
Ibid., p.90.
64
This contradiction is forcefully highlighted in Dr Andrew Arsan’s essay ‘The Patriarch, the Amir and the Patriots:
Civilisation and Self-Determination at the Paris Peace Conference’ in T.G. Fraser (ed.), The First World War and its
Aftermath: The Shaping of the Middle East, London, Haus, 2015, pp.127-45.
238
complainants, police registers, the correspondence of the Ministry of the Interior and telegrams the
Wafd was able to get copies of.65
For example, a police record was established in the district of Bulaq, in the Egyptian capital, on
14 March 1919, reporting a rape case as follows:
The victim [...] was a girl named Zeinab Mohammed Aly. [...] She was only
ten years old. She had been violated and death had ensued. The medical
report qualifies this crime as one of “abominable barbarism”.66
Other instances of rapes are abundant. Mohammed Ahmed Goma, a 35-year-old teacher at the girls’
school at Manial al-Rodia, thus described what happened in his village at Giza on 30 March 1919:
The whole night, the soldiers mixed with the women [...]. They shamefully
attacked their chastity, and violated many of them. The reason why I do not
mention particular cases is that our peasant women would never confess
such shame that would leave ineffaceable marks of disgrace upon
themselves and their husbands.67
A merchant called Hussein Sayyid al-Mohr, aged 46, who lived in Nazlet al-Shobak, reported what
his wife as well as other women underwent:
I, with my very eyes, had to see my own wife, Aisha, being raped. I think no
woman escaped that disgrace, as the soldiers remained in the village from
the afternoon until the next morning.68
In the same village, Mahmud Ibrahim ‘Abdel Hadi, aged 32, stated that two soldiers caught his sister
‘Aziza, aged 30, and “took her to a room where both of them committed rape on her”. He added:
I myself saw the raping with my very eyes while I was unable to do
anything. One of the soldiers shot her, and one of them looted all the money
and jewellery which they found. Then they set fire to the house by pouring
some fluid from bottles which they had with them. They also poured some of
that liquid over my murdered sister and burnt her. I went up to the roof and
jumped to an unburnt house and continued jumping from one roof to another
until the morning.69
65
66
Ibid., p.169.
67
Ibid., p.133.
68
Ibid., p.150.
69
Ibid., p.151.
239
The situation worsened, with the number of punitive campaigns increasing. Examples of the rising
intensity of British repression included a statement by Mahmud Mansour al-Dali, ʿOmdeh (Mayor)
of Badrashin, in the Province of Giza, which related to events that occurred on 25 March 1919:
[A]t 4.30 a.m. my house was attacked by 40 British soldiers. [They] entered
my bedroom, where they found my wife, my daughters and daughters-in-
law. From the room in which I was held, I could hear their cries and sounds
of struggling. Their distress was heart-breaking. I wanted to fly to succour
them, but was immobilized by a stroke from the butt of a rifle. […] Having
obtained permission to dress, I entered my room where I found the women,
trembling with fear and indignation at the ignominious treatment which they
had received from the soldiers. […] Other troops pillaged the village [and]
soldiers divided the spoil between them.70
He added that he “saw the flames mount from homesteads and heard the cries of distress, interrupted
by the noise of a fusillade”.71 He later found out that, “Ibrahim ʿAtwa al-Dali, my cousin, was killed
by a bullet in his home, after having been divested of his money”. Among other casualties was also
ʿAbd al-Gawad Sayyid Marsouf who “was shot in his house, his head cut off, and the soldiers
amused themselves with it as if with a ball”.72
Similarly, on 30 March 1919, hundreds of soldiers arrived in the village of Shobak near Cairo,
raping local women and killing their men folk if they resisted. More than 140 houses were destroyed
by fire, leaving only 56. The Mayor and four members of his family “underwent a refined
martyrdom” as they were buried up to their waists before being cut to pieces by bayonets.
There were further examples of gratuitous acts of retaliation. For instance, Ibrahim Rashdan, Mayor
of Aziziyya, wrote on 25 March:
The British were going to burn the village, and ordered the inhabitants to
leave their homes as soon as possible. Men, women and children hurried
away, carrying what they could. […] They subjected the women to the most
shameful treatment, but the fellaheen hide these details for the sake of their
women’s reputation. […] A sacred banner embroidered with the Moslem
formula of faith was also desecrated.73
70
Ibid., p.114-115.
71
Ibid.
72
Ibid.
73
Ibid., p.111.
240
A particularly fierce punitive campaign was recounted by Ragheb Effendi Biachi who reported, on
behalf of the inhabitants of al-Chabannatt, the following episode:
On 25 March 1919, at half-past ten a.m. a group of British soldiers

surrounded the house of the Mayor of our village. […] On my arrival there I
was immediately surrounded by armed soldiers. The Colonel then informed
me that at 2 o’clock on 24 March, one of the Indian soldiers (Gourkas), who
was guarding the railway line, had been killed. He informed me that our
village would be burnt if the criminal was not denounced and handed over at
once.74
Continuing his narrative Ragheb wrote:
In the meantime the village had been encircled and the inhabitants, old and
young, ordered out of their homes. They were pushed along at the point of
the bayonet without pity for woman or child.75
Ragheb then cited one significantly cruel spectacle:
A poor woman, bearing child, was expelled violently. She was in terrible
pain, but every time she tried to sit down […], the soldiers prodded her on
with the points of their bayonets. […] [S]he died a few hours later.76
The officer then executed fifty of the inhabitants and the whole village was burnt and abandoned.
“This is a true story of what British soldiers did to our village and to our people. Even this did not
satisfy them, for they declared their intention to burn three more villages to avenge the death of one
Indian soldier.”77
A similar carnage occurred in the village of al-Shobak on 30 March 1919. One vivid scene of
atrocities describes how the “Sheikhs and other notabilities of the village [...] were strangled and
buried upright and their heads covered over by grass”.78 The massacre was followed by burning
which “continued from Sunday at 3 o’clock p.m. until Monday morning at 10 a.m.”.79 During these
events, twenty-one people were killed and twelve wounded. On top of that, one hundred and forty-
four houses were burnt, fifty-five animals were killed and a large number were stolen.80
74
Ibid.
75
Ibid.
76
Ibid.
77
Ibid., pp.170-172.
78
Ibid., p.120.
79
Ibid.
80
Ibid.
241
On 9 April 1919, two days after the atrocities committed in the villages of Imbaba, Aziziyya,
Badrashin and Nazlet al-Shobak:
[T]the inhabitants were still able to point to the bodies of the victims in the
cornfields and canals. No estimation can be made of all the animals
destroyed. The maize which was on the roofs of the houses has been
sprinkled with benzene and burned. Thus, the entire harvest of the peasantry
had been destroyed.81
The brutality of British rule was also illustrated by the way troops resorted to flogging as a means of
retaliation. Zaghlul noted in his correspondence to Clemenceau, that:
Under pretext that a shot had been fired at a British patrol which was passing
at a certain distance from the village of Kafr Moussaed, the soldiers entered
the said village, and also in the villages of Choubra-al-Charkieh and Kafr-al-
Hagga, as well as in the hamlets that depend upon them. They compelled the
whole masculine population to appear and condemned them to be flogged on
the stomach and on the back. [...] In the district of Kafr-al-Charkieh, the
British authorities made use of the whip a regular thing, and forced the
mayors to furnish men to be flogged.82
Egyptian men were depicted in graphic photographs with their bare torsos covered in whip marks.
The nationalists who took the images placed the name and social position of each man under each
photograph: pictures of peasants, students and religious scholars were all included so as to provide
evidence of the broad social support for the revolutionary nationalist movement. British soldiers also
forced the Mayors and businessmen of the villages to sign their names to a document
acknowledging the British Protectorate over Egypt.83
There were detailed reports of violent incidents at Saft-al-Melouk on 12-13 April 1919. Egyptian
men were severely tortured in an attempt to get them to admit the name of one alleged criminal, or
to show the British authorities where arms were concealed. Each man
… was seized by soldiers who undressed him, took all his money away, and,
as soon as he was naked, placed him with his head through a hole. Four
soldiers held him outside this hole while four groups of soldiers, each
composed of three soldiers held his feet and hands in lifting up his body.
Two other soldiers then flogged him mercilessly without taking any care as
to where the blows might fall. This over, the victim was thrown out of the
81
Ibid., p.107.
82
Ibid., pp.93-94.
83
Ibid., p.182.
242
kiosk and beaten and kicked by other soldiers outside the kiosk. Some of
these men fainted from the pain inflicted. Others vomited blood. There was
no doctor there to take care of those wounded or to prevent those who were
ill or feeble already from being thus tortured.84
The Delegation’s report notes that no exceptions were made by the British according to the social
status or age of the victims.85 Approximately five hundred men were brutalised in this fashion and
lodged a complaint in Cairo. However, the report states that those who could not come to Cairo were
“more numerous”.86
In view of the deaths and abuse perpetrated by British soldiers, Zaghlul felt entitled to put the
following questions to Georges Clemenceau:
Can we Egyptians remain with folded arms and keep absolute silence in the
presence of the different forms of martyrdom the British military authorities
are inflicting upon us, especially when our conscience is free from having
committed the slightest crime? [...] Can we hold our peace and not complain
when it is decided that every Egyptian, of whatever rank, must stand up and
salute passing British officers? Can we preserve our serenity when our
women are violated, our villages burned, the innocent assassinated en
masse?87
Thus, Saʿad Zaghlul summed up his own country’s tragedy with typical eloquence.
Despite the barbarity with which the British went about quelling the revolt, more railway lines were
cut at Meit al-Qirsh, Tafahna al-Ashraf and Dandit. Again, the British authorities responded with
more repressive violence.88 When the inhabitants of al-ʿAziziyya and al-Badrashin villages burnt the
railway stations at al-Hawamdiyya and al-Badrashin, troops responded by, on 25 March, burning
these villages in addition to the village of al-Shabanat near al- Zaqaziq.89 On 30 March, villagers
from Nazlet al-Shobak in al-ʿAyyat district, attacked a train, and the British burnt this village as
well.90
In Assiut, demonstrators seized local ammunition dumps as well as police arms. They also set
private and public buildings on fire while shops were looted. Revolutionaries also targeted the
84
Ibid., p.177.
85
Ibid.
86
Ibid., p.178.
87
Ibid., p.85.
88
Ramadan, op. cit., Tatawwur al-Haraka al-Wataniyya, p.37; Al-Rafiʿi, op. cit., Thawrat Sanat 1919, pp.165-167.
89
Shafiq, op. cit., Hawliyat Misr al-Siyasiyya, pp.278-280.
90
Al-Rafiʿi, op. cit., pp.178-179.
243
British forces in the city, but following the arrival of military supplies, the insurrection was
suppressed and law and order restored.91 At al-Minya, a nationalist committee was formed which
took responsibility for protecting foreigners and their property and tried to maintain peace generally.
The committee also upheld a basic form of local government, to the extent that consuls and
foreigners observed that conditions for foreigners remained remarkably safe.92
On 30 March, a British force commanded by Brigadier General Huddleston settled at the Diwan al-
Mudiriyya and sent for the thirty or so committee members. Six of them – namely Muhammad
Tawfiq Ismaʿil, Dr Mahmud Bey ʿAbd al-Razaq, Muhammad Effendi Rahmi, Hassan Effendi ‘Ali
Tarraf, Riyadh al-Jammal and Sheikh Ahmad Hatata – were arrested and accused of usurping the
authority of the Government.93
It was at Zifta that a revolutionary committee formally declared independence as they raised a
national flag and distributed literature announcing that they were now the main authority in the
town. Wafd Party member Yusuf al-Jundi gave clear instructions for the committee to be convened
at Cafe Mustawkli. The committee was made up of some Aʿyan (wealthy landlords), the educated,
and minor merchants, such as ʿAwad al-Kafrawi, Sheikh Mustafa ʿAmayim, Ibrahim Khayr al-Din,
Admun Burda, Muhammad al-Sayyid and Mahmud Hassas. Yusuf al-Jundi also led a large
demonstration, with many of those carrying guns and clubs. But Ismaʿil Hamad, the Maʾmūr (local
chief) of the area, was hugely proud of his country. In order to avoid fighting and further bloodshed
he capitulated, surrendering the town, and weapons to the British. However, insurgents were still in
control of the railway and telegraph stations.
The principal committee established smaller groups to preserve order and to collect dues, and also
set up groups of students and other learned people in the towns. These conducted patrols in the
streets, while others made sure that provisions were not stolen, and indeed worked to prevent British
spies from entering. It was one such faction which published and distributed a newspaper called
Al-Jumhur (The Public) containing its decisions, as well as directions and news.94
91
Ibid., pp.170-171.
92
Ibid., p.169.
93
Ibid., pp.169-170.
94
Ramadan, op. cit., Tatawwur, pp.142-143.
244
Following the release of Saʿad Zaghlul and the granting of permission to the Wafd to travel to Paris
on 7 April 1919, a revolutionary committee continued to exist in Zifta. This situation was sustained
until the British Military Authority finally sent a unit of Australian troops to put down the revolt.
The approach of the soldiers led to the inhabitants digging trenches in main roads, but the invaders
began shelling before seizing Mahlaj Rinhart and Kishk School on the outskirts of the town. It was
left to Ismaʿil Bey Hamad to intervene, and he acted as mediator between the soldiers and the
committee. It was only at this point that the soldiers went into the town and finally restored
government authority.95
The 1919 Revolution was a major watershed in the progress of the Egyptian national struggle. It
formed, according to the prominent Egyptian historian ʿAbd al-Rahman al-Rafiʿi, “the basis for all
the developments that followed”.96 It was the first truly popular revolution in Egypt, which included
all regions, age groups, classes, and religious communities. In the words of Saʿad Zaghlul, it brought
“all the Egyptians, from highest to lowest” together.97 Another Egyptian historian has written that
the 1919 Revolution augured, “a new age in Egyptian history the age of Egyptian nationalism –
which replaced the idea of the Islamic community that made Egypt part of the Ottoman state”.98 It is
apparent that Western history books make little mention of the brutality which characterised British
rule in Egypt. Some 800 Egyptians and 60 British soldiers and civilians died in the clashes that
Spring, and thousands more were wounded.99 In March 2009, however, an article published in the
Egyptian newspaper Al-Masry Al-Youm (The Egyptian Today) on the occasion of the 90th
anniversary of the Revolution, stated that the ruthless subduing had made “1,000 Martyrs” in
total.100 The violent disturbances of the period naturally worsened connections between the British
and the Egyptians. This deterioration in relations was to hamper all future attempts at negotiation.
95
Al-Rafiʿi, op. cit., p.162.
96
Ibid., p.5.
97
98
Ramadan, op. cit., Thawrat 1919, p.5.
99
See Political Intelligence Department [PID] reports in FO 371/4373, pp.35, 51.
100
Maher Hassan, ‘The 1,000 Martyrs’ Revolution: The People’s Strike Topples the Government and Brings Back Saʿad
Zaghlul and his Comrades’ in Al-Masry Al-Youm, 13 March 2009.
245
A New Brand of Egyptian Nationalism which took the British by Surprise
The Wafd’s novel brand of nationalism, which so surprised the British, was very different to pre-war
versions. It was based upon the legacy of Egypt’s extensive participation in World War One – a
conflict which exposed the country to a range of previously unheard of sufferings, thus altering its
social face. In particular it transformed the nationalist movement from one mainly involving an
educated urban elite into one supported by an extremely broad cross-section of socio-economic
groups.101 This new kind of nationalism discarded the pan-Islamic and pro-Ottoman beliefs of pre-
1914 nationalism, instead putting forward positivist ideas rooted in the framework of a liberal
political philosophy.102
The realisation that economic power played an important role in political advancement was another
post-war development. Landowners, financiers, administrators, lawyers, civil servants and other
urban professionals dominated the Wafd membership. Together they made up a concentrated group
of aspirational citizens in both metropolitan centres and the countryside who were invested in
Egyptian independence. The Wafd thus ensured that the influence of the collaborative groups which
had propped up the British administration was now eroded.103
The Wafd also distinguished itself by its efforts to build a solid political and economic alternative to
British rule. This differentiated the party from the older Turco-Albanian aristocracy, of which Prime
Minister Rushdi was a prominent member.104 The British civil and military authorities failed to
foresee this turn of events. During the few crucial months between Rushdi’s resignation in
December 1918 and the outbreak of the revolt on 9 March 1919, Egyptians affairs were run by
British advisers. They had nonetheless been unable to comprehend the extent to which the Wafd
managed to mobilise the endorsement of groups representing every strata of society.
101
Hourani, op. cit., Arabic Thought, p.209.
102
Safran, op. cit., Egypt in Search of Political Community, p.92.
103
104
246
The Residency turned to the Adviser to the Ministry of the Interior to ensure that they were able to
follow public opinion around the country, but during that period Haines had made little effort to do
so.105 Moreover, the Intelligence Branch of the General Staff was under strain because many officers
had been demobilised after the war, or else were on long leave.106 Accordingly, the Residency
received “totally insufficient and misleading information as to the true nature and character of the
Nationalist political movement”.107 It was these observations which led Cheetham to report to the
Foreign Office on 24 February 1919 that Zaghlul was widely distrusted and that the trouble which
he had been creating was dying out.108 The British government thus seemed to view the nationalist
movement as a minority group made up of a few disgruntled politicians, and with little real power,
let alone influence on the mass of the population.
Consequently, when the Wafdist agitation became more of a concern in March 1919, the British
authorities’ reaction was a traditionally brutal one. It was entirely conditioned on British experiences
pre-1914 when outbreaks of nationalist activity were violently crushed. Then, the arrest and
deportation of nationalist leaders had always succeeded in quelling putative uprisings. 109 By 1919,
however, the decision to deport Zaghlul and his three fellow nationalists to Malta could only have
been described as a disastrous miscalculation. It severely underestimated the amount of popular
support enjoyed by Zaghlul’s group.110 The British government thus realised in March 1919 that
their initial obstinacy first shown towards Zaghlul’s demands had been ill-advised in the extreme,
and was more than partly to blame for the subsequent rebellion.111 It was only when wide-scale
upheavals erupted that officials in London finally began to appreciate the seriousness of the
situation.
Thus, the “temporary reaction in our favour” which had been anticipated by Wingate in London did
not materialise. Instead the incarceration and then deportation of the Wafd leaders was met by
student demonstrations in Cairo and Alexandria on 9 March. These were followed by a wave of
strikes involving transport workers, judges and lawyers. In a highly significant display of inter-
communal unity against the British enemy, the al-Azhar Mosque in Cairo was opened up to Coptic
105
‘Minute by Sir R. Graham to Lord Curzon’, 6 May 1919, FO 407/184, TNA.
106
Allenby to Curzon, 26 February 1920, L/P&S/10/576, APAC.
107
Curzon to Allenby, 12 April 1919, FO 407/184, TNA.
108
Cheetham to Curzon, 24 February 1919, FO 407/184, TNA.
109
Darwin, op. cit., Britain, Egypt and the Middle East, p.74.
110
‘Note by Wingate on deportation of Egyptian Nationalists’, 9 March 1919, FO 371/3714, TNA.
111
Curzon to Balfour, 16 March 1919, FO 608/213, TNA.
247
preachers. Upper- and middle-class women took to the streets for the first time in Egyptian history.
By 15 March, the unrest had spread to large parts of the countryside, ensuring a temporary loss of
British control in numerous districts as logistical networks were targeted and destroyed, or at least
momentarily put out of action.112
British rulers, finally acknowledging that the disturbances were not solely isolated incidents which
could be put down by intimidation and deportation, but a far-reaching national revolt, rushed
General Allenby, “the strong man of the East”, to Egypt on 22 March.113 Allenby reached Cairo on
25 March and, as Special High Commissioner, was ordered “to exercise supreme authority in all
matters military and civil, to take all such measures as he considers necessary and expedient to
restore law and order, and to administrate in all matters as required by the necessity of maintaining
the King’s Protectorate over Egypt on a secure and equitable basis”.114 In order to carry out these
instructions, Allenby resorted to an apparently contradictory combination of military repression in
the provinces and limited but effective concessions to nationalist opinion. These compromises
included the release of Zaghlul and his associates and permission for them to travel to London and
on to Paris.115 By 29 April, Allenby reported that the situation was “much improved”.116 Yet as will
be shown, Allenby’s cruel legacy has not been particularly successful. In effect, the broadening of
the Wafd’s attractiveness beyond the educated urban elite constituted the real rupture with the past
and altered British policy dramatically.
The much-vaunted, rhetorical utopianism of mainly western statesmen at the post-war Paris Peace
Conference in 1919 certainly stirred a nationalist consciousness in Egypt. However, Egyptians were
only too well aware that lofty ideas about self-determination had done nothing to stop the British
using maximum force to stamp out a popular uprising in their own country. The pragmatic, and far
from idealistic, reality was that the Egyptian Revolution grew directly out of the Peace Conference
which took place in the French capital in January 1919.
112
Goldberg, op. cit., ‘Peasants in Revolt – Egypt 1919’, p.261.
113
British Parliamentary Debates, House of Lords, 1919, 5th series, Vol. 114, p.16.
114
Ibid., Vol. 34, p.675.
115
Allenby to Curzon, 6 April 1919, FO 407/184, TNA.
116
Allenby to Curzon, 29 April 1919, FO 608/213, TNA.
248
Allenby’s modus vivendi: Britain’s New Policy towards Egypt
As has been demonstrated throughout this chapter, the events of the Egyptian Revolution had an
effect across the country. Cheetham, the British Chargé d'affaires in Egypt, had this in mind when
he wrote to the British government:
Latest reports are that preaching in favour of cessation of work has taken
place in some mosques in Cairo. Were it not for this feature it would
probably be our best policy to deport or intern here the rest of Saad’s
deputation, and to treat similarly others who might openly replace them.
Alternative is to discover some ground for reconciliation, and I may wish to
recommend a concession to native feeling.117
It was Cheetham who put forward the idea that Egyptian nationalists should not be prevented from
travelling to Europe to air their grievances. He also believed that an investigatory commission
should travel to the country to provide recommendations about how the situation could be
ameliorated. All of this would happen once the Paris Peace Conference had formally recognised the
British Protectorate over Egypt, and indeed accepted the mandate.118
Cheetham sought the help of the United States in convincing the British Government to adopt a
more conciliatory policy. So it was that on 18 March he summoned the American Consul General,
telling him that “at no time since the Araby rebellion in 1882 has the state of affairs been so
critical”. Cheetham made it clear that he had not received orders from London. As the American
Consul General reported in a telegram:
[H]e desired me to report the serious conditions to my government in the

hope that it would exert promptly some influence over his own government
and thus make them appreciate the gravity of the situation.119
The Consul General also recounted that Cheetham had called him to his official Residency “to tell
me that the situation is getting beyond control and to ask if I will be prepared to help in the matter if
the worst comes”.120 Yet despite such a seemingly pacifying turn of events, the Foreign Office
instructed Cheetham to take further repressive measures so as to ensure that order was
117
Cheetham to Curzon, Cairo, 15 March 1919, FO 407/194 No. 93, TNA & Memorandum by Patterson, Director
General of State Accounts, FO 407/184 No. 339, TNA.
118
Ahmad ʿIzzat ʿAbd al-Karim, Khamsun ʿAman ʿAla Thawrat 1919 (The 1919 Revolution Fifty Years On), Cairo,
Muʾasasat al-Ahram, Markaz al-Wathaʾiq wa al-Bohouth al-Tarikhiya li-Misr al-Muʿasira, 1970, pp.235-236.
119
Elie Kedourie, The Chatham House Version and Other Middle Eastern Studies, New York, Preager, 1970, p.105.
120
Ibid.
249
maintained.121 Consequently, the General Commander-in-Chief sent for a number of selected Wafd
members on 16 March. At a meeting, he held them personally responsible for outbreaks of trouble.
The next day, the Wafd produced a letter protesting against what the British Commander had said,
sending a copy to the consuls of all foreign countries represented in Cairo.122
With the Revolution escalating, the Government ministers forming the British delegation in Paris
soon became aware of the immense power of the nationalist movement that they were up against.
Attempts to control it by deporting its leaders would be doomed to failure, they realised. Egypt was
faced with a bona fide nationalist uprising throughout the country.123 Accordingly, these British
ministers sent a telegram to London on 18 March reversing Curzon's policy:
[O]rder must be restored immediately and without bargaining, and then a

competent government carrying the requisite authority formed. When this
had been done, HMG were prepared to discuss in London any grievances
with Egyptian Ministers, and these Ministers could be accompanied by
persons qualified to represent the Nationalist cause, even if they were
extremists.124
It was at this point that General Allenby was appointed by the British Government as High
Commissioner for Egypt. He set about implementing a policy which had been broadly delineated by
the British delegation in Paris in its message to the Foreign Secretary on 18 March. Allenby arrived
in Cairo on 25 March. As quickly as the next day he summoned a group of Notables and Aʿyan,
including members of the Wafd, and firmly told them that his mission in Egypt involved: the
restoration of law and order in the country; a thorough investigation of the root causes of the
Revolution; and the use of the law to try and eliminate these grievances.125
Allenby called on all of them to work with him closely towards a fair and equitable settlement of the
issues which had led to the Revolution.126 It appeared that, within days of arriving in Cairo, Allenby
had already made his mind up about a solution to the Egyptian problem. It might even have been
that he had worked out a solution before arriving.127 His policies were to be as follows: a just,
transparent training policy ultimately designed towards getting Egyptians administrating their own
121
ʿAbd al-Karim, op. cit., p.228.
122
Ibid., pp.333-335.
123
124
Balfour to Curzon, Paris, 18 March 1919, FO 407/184 No. 85, TNA.
125
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, op. cit., Mahfazah No. 1, Malaf No. 2, p.142.
126
Chirol, op. cit., p.193; Jacques Berque, L’Égypte: Impérialisme et Révolution (Egypt: Imperialism and Revolution),
Paris, Gallimard, 1967, p.310.
127
Kedourie, op. cit., The Chatham House Version, pp.113-114.
250
country; a firm ban on bargaining in political affairs; some reduction in the strength of British
Forces in Egypt.128
Yet despite these measures which were clearly aimed at expunging the deeper origins of the
Revolution, Allenby did not call a halt to the military action undertaken by General Bulfin,
Brigadier General Huddleston and Major John Shea. On 29 March, it was reported that the punitive
campaign led by Brigadier General Huddleston in Assiut was ongoing, as the military commander
attempted to restore order in neighbouring districts. It was also the case that Major John Shea was
moving south to the Middle Egypt region, leading a full-strength army unit for the same purpose.
The 1 April official account included intelligence about 16 mobile platoons working in Upper
Egypt. It was recorded on 4 April that their repressive activities were intensifying.129 Lord Lloyd
criticised General Allenby, saying it was imperative to complete the work initiated by General
Bulfin as he tried to re-establish British authority in the country, and put an end to the unrest. It was
only after he had eradicated the trouble that he would discuss the removal of the sources of Egyptian
grievances.130
Despite the violence taking place across the country, Lord Allenby’s policies were certainly
tempered with a more benevolent spirit. He allowed military force to be used in quelling the March
Revolution, but at the same time he negotiated with Wafd members and Egyptian leaders to try and
deal with the causes of the Revolution. General Allenby understood clearly that “force could never
solve the problem of Anglo-Egyptian Relations”.131 As will be explained, however, this policy –
directed as it was towards the immediate suppression of the Egyptian Revolution and the
continuation of the British Protectorate – did not achieve its desired objectives.132
On 30 March, the members of the Egyptian delegation submitted a report on Egypt’s complaints,
and what they considered as the genesis of the Revolution. The Wafd argued that Egyptians viewed
the British protectorate over Egypt as something which had been made necessary by the war. They
said all had been forced to endure a military regime during the war, while maintaining the hope that
the Egyptian question would be settled in favour of the aspirations of the Egyptian people. This hope
128
Archibald Percival Wavell (Viscount), Allenby in Egypt, London, Harrap and Co., 1943, p.53.
129
130
Lloyd, op. cit., pp.302-303.
131
Wavell, op. cit., p.53.
132
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, op. cit., Mahfazah No. 1, Malaf No. 1, p.106; Mudhakkirat Sa‘ad Zaghlul,
Kurras No. 35, p.1928.
251
had all but disappeared after the end of the war, with the British refusing to authorise the Egyptian
delegation to travel to England and indeed France in order to test Egyptian claims for independence
before world public opinion. The Wafdists were concerned that representatives of British Wilāyāt
(dependent provinces) had been allowed participation at the Peace Conference in Paris, while Egypt
– generally regarded as a more civilised nation which had actually helped to conquer these countries
– was banned from the Conference.133
Not only had Britain put down Egyptian nationalist ambitions, but it had also arrested the head of
the Egyptian delegation and his three colleagues. As discussed, this had directly led to bloodshed,
with students and then other groups taking part in peaceful demonstrations against the British.
Violence was met with violence, as the Egyptian people fought back against British troops who had
been firing at them. The Delegation’s report thus repeated the advice which it had first offered the
military in a letter dated 24 March. In order to put an end to the agitation and general confusion, it
suggested the formation of a new popular ministry – an advice which had been promoted by the
notables, scientists, ministers, representatives and Aʿyan of Egypt. This view had indeed been
expressed in the aforementioned letter which they had sent to the General Commander-in-Chief.134
On the following day (31 March), General Allenby summoned the members of the delegation and
the members of Rushdi’s ministry who had resigned135 so as to review the report presented by the
Wafd. Allenby made it clear that he saw the report as an extremely positive development, and
suggested that the two parties had come closer to one another, so ensuring that an agreement was
possible.136 On the same day, Allenby wrote to the British Government recommending that the
Egyptian nationalists should be allowed to travel to Europe regardless of the nature of their
demands. Allenby stated that he had been influenced not only by the Wafd members, but also the ex-
ministers. These senior politicians had stated that “this concession would restore tranquillity and
guarantee the formation of a ministry”.137 The British Foreign Office, which viewed this proposal
“with grave misgiving”, passed it on to the British delegation in Paris.138 In turn, the delegation
concluded that Allenby’s advice “cannot be disregarded”, and accepted his considerations. They
133
134
Shafiq, op. cit., Hawliyat Misr al-Siyasiyyah, pp.295-305.
135
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, op. cit., Mahfazah No. 1, Malaf No. 3, p.242; Mudhakkirat Sa‘ad Zaghlul,
Kurras No. 35, p.1959.
136
Lloyd, op. cit., p.303; Chirol, op. cit., pp.193-194.
137
Memorandum by Sir R. Graham on the unrest in Egypt, FO 407/184 No. 152, TNA; Allenby to Curzon, Cairo,
13 March 1919, FO 407/184 No. 123, TNA; Wavell, op. cit., p.44.
138
Memorandum by Sir R. Graham on the unrest in Egypt, FO 407/184 No. 152, TNA.
252
also requested Curzon, the British Foreign Secretary in London, to “avoid any appearance of
mistrusting” Allenby’s present policy.139
Before the reply from the British Government had arrived, Allenby had written, on 4 April, to
re-emphasise his proposition, and to issue a warning to his own Government about the seriousness
of the situation, indicating that “there is evidence that movement is influencing Palestine and Syria,
besides Egypt, and danger is a very real one”. Simultaneously, Allenby reiterated to his government
“the importance of obtaining an early announcement that our protectorate is recognised by
powers”.140 On 5 April, Allenby was told that his policy had been agreed to. He was guaranteed all
support in implementing it. An alternative plan was, however, also put to him. This was that a
commission of the highest importance, headed by Lord Milner, should immediately be sent to Egypt
to conduct a probe into the current situation and produce an account about the future make-up of the
Protectorate. Adopting this substitute measure would have changed the centre of the political
dynamic concerning Egypt’s future from Europe back to Cairo, and it might also have made it
simpler to fulfil Egyptian requests without making out that violence had led to previously
unsatisfied demands being met. The decision as to which action to pursue was left to General
Allenby.141 On 6 April, Allenby telegraphed his government, outlining the steps to be followed to
carry out his strategy. In terms of the scheme of sending out Milner’s Commission to Egypt, Allenby
stated that “the proposed commission might be desirable later, but would be useless now”. There
was always the possibility that it might be sent when the ministerial deputation left Egypt for
London.142
Allenby’s priority was to implement his guidelines as soon as possible. On 7 April, he gave
permission to the Egyptians to travel to Europe following their release from prison in Malta. On
9 April, Hussein Rushdi formed the Ministry. Even so, Allenby’s decision was severely criticised.
As one British national in Egypt wrote:
The proclamation of April 7th came as a bombshell to us. As affecting British

Prestige and security in Egypt, General Allenby’s action is regarded as
139
Balfour to Curzon, Paris, 2 April 1919, FO 407/184 No. 152, TNA.
140
Allenby to Curzon, Cairo, 4 April 1919, FO 407/184 No. 144, TNA.
141
Curzon to Allenby, FO, 5 April 1919, FO 407/184 No. 148, TNA & Memorandum by Sir R. Graham on the unrest in
Egypt, FO 407/184 No. 152, TNA.
142
Memorandum by Sir R. Graham on the unrest in Egypt, FO 407/184 No. 152, TNA.
253
nothing short of calamitous. Men who were previously prepared to stand by

us simply had to go over to the other side for protection.143
Lord Lloyd made it clear that he considered this “reversal” of policy would make it appear that
violence as a tool of political action had succeeded. He accordingly described Allenby’s action as
unjustifiable.144 What alarmed Sir R. Graham, he said, was that two weeks of violence might lead to
Britain surrendering what it had failed to yield during four months of negotiations. 145 What was
immediately apparent, however, was that the news had a sudden effect right across Egypt and the
Sudan. It was hailed as great national triumph, with political agitation giving way to popular
celebrations.
It certainly seemed that the change in British policy in Egypt took place after Britain had reached
guarantees about the recognition of the Protectorate by the major powers which had convened at the
Peace Conference, and by the United States in particular. The U.S. President informally recognised
the Protectorate on 19 April, just as Zaghlul and his delegation, which had left Malta a few days
earlier, landed in Marseilles on their way to the Paris Peace Conference. The official recognition
which came on 21 April delighted British officials. Curzon was among those who were convinced
that a “severe rebuff” in Paris – and most definitely one which had come from the U.S. President –
had to be seen as a vital step in diminishing the danger from Zaghlul’s damaging extremism. He
believed that Wilson’s formal acknowledgement was “a very important step in the right
direction”.146 George Lloyd, who in the 1920s would serve as the British High Commissioner in
Egypt, said later (without trying to disguise his happiness) that the U.S. validation of the
Protectorate assured that “Zaghlul’s last hope of effective action in Paris disappeared”. The
statement showed how concerned the British had been about the possibility of President Wilson
giving Zaghlul a hearing in Paris.147 The Wafd delegation was, in turn, “shocked” at news of the
recognition, and “despair began to steep into their hearts” about the prospects of what they had set
out to achieve. The nationalists had seen Wilson as the personification of their hopes. Accordingly,
the final U.S. decision left them with a sense of betrayal. In his memoirs, Muhammad Haykal said
that this resolution by the Americans fell upon the nationalists “like a bolt of lightning”:
143
Wavell, op. cit., p.44.
144
Lloyd, op. cit., pp.303-304.
145
Sir Milne Cheetham Papers, ‘Letter from Sir R. Graham to Sir M. Cheetham’, 16 April 1919, FO.
146
Curzon to Balfour, 23 April 1919, FO 608/213, TNA.
147
Lloyd, op. cit., p.342.
254
Here was the man of the Fourteen Points, among them the right to self-
determination, denying the Egyptian people its right to self-determination
and recognising the British protectorate over Egypt. And doing all that
before the delegation on behalf of the Egyptian people had arrived in Paris to
defend its claim, and before President Wilson had heard one word from
them! Is this not the ugliest of treacheries?! Is it not the most profound
repudiation of principles?!148
Notwithstanding this harsh reverse, the Wafd representatives got to the French capital in April and
began pressing for Egypt’s independence from Britain. While there were Wafd members who
viewed the American stance as a mortal wound as far as Egyptian aspirations were concerned,
others, including Zaghlul himself, decided to keep reiterating their stated aims. The entire
population of Egypt, Zaghlul was to record in his diary, had become a “revolutionary people
determined to achieve independence and willing to pay a price for it”, and they would not accept
failure.149
Through the execution of its new policy in Egypt, Britain was seeking to guarantee the containment
of the Egyptian Revolution as well as the alleviation of its current impact on the British position in
the country. Was Allenby’s modus vivendi a success? What was the direct outcome of his via media
which combined the restoration of law and order with negotiations with the nationalists? Allenby’s
balance sheet turned out to be quite unimpressive.
The celebrations which followed the release of the Wafd delegation from Malta were only
temporary. Within a couple of days strikes and riots once more blighted the whole country, and
especially Cairo. There is no doubt that the government had been fully reshuffled, but as soon as the
Prime Minister, Rushdi Pasha, returned to office on April 9, he was warned with an ultimatum by
government officials who had been on strike. They called for the Cabinet to officially recognise the
Egyptian delegation as the principal legal power in the country, but also demanded that it should
refuse to recognise the British Protectorate. They also requested the withdrawal of British troops
from Egypt, stating that they should be replaced by Egyptian troops. After numerous and vain
negotiations, Rushdi Pasha resigned on 21 April.150 The next day, General Allenby issued a
proclamation151 ordering that the striking officials, under threat of being fired, should go back to
their posts. They grudgingly obeyed. Other strikes were outwardly crushed by the repressive
148
Haykal, op. cit., Mudhakkirat fi al-Siyyasa al-Misriyya, p.81.
149
Ramadan, op. cit., Thawrat 1919, p.64.
150
British Parliamentary Debates, op. cit., Vol. 34, p.676 & Vol. 37, p.339.
151
Ibid., Vol. 34, p.675.
255
measures of martial law, but nationalist spirit remained at the grassroots level. Ordinary Egyptians
were, perhaps more than ever before, resolved to abolish the Protectorate and liberate Egypt from
foreign “usurpers”.
By forcefully ensuring the resignation of the Rushdi Pasha ministry, the Wafd had dismissed the
theory that British control was crucial to Egypt’s future. Over a period of more than 30 years, the
Egyptians had only nominally governed Egypt with the assistance of English advisers, but the
country had actually been administered by a British bureaucracy headed by a Consul-General or a
High Commissioner. As far back as Lord Cromer’s time, this administration had worsened to such
an extent that it was almost entirely alienated from the population it was designed to be serving.
Under such a system, where there was little if no mechanism for public opinion to be heard,
Egyptians were naturally disinclined to accept that British plans to train an Egyptian governmental
class had worked. They considered that the number of Egyptians in the public service was in fact
decreasing and they “were treated more and more as inferiors and not as collaborators”. They also
complained that “the British official world had steadily cut itself off from any intimate contact with
Egyptians save with those who were prepared to have no opinions of their own”.152
It was clear to all that an out-of-touch, largely irresponsible civil service had to go. After the
stepping down of the Rushdi Pasha Cabinet, it took General Allenby a month to convince
Mohammed Saʿid Pasha to form a new government.153 This government went on to survive for eight
months, but it was inevitably unable to prevent the swelling tide of nationalism which was sweeping
the country. British control was close to breaking point.
The British authorities in London conceded this when on 15 May 1919, it informed the Westminster
Parliament that “a strong mission”, led by Lord Milner, would soon arrive in Cairo to investigate the
causes of the revolution and to make recommendations about what it saw as the necessary measures
to protect foreign interests in the country and in “shaping for the protectorate a system of prudent
and ever-enlarging enfranchisement” as well as addressing the “claims of the Egyptian people to a
due and increasing share in the management of the affairs of Egypt”.154
152
153
British Parliamentary Debates, op. cit., Vol. 116, pp.1203-1204.
154
British Parliamentary Debates, op. cit., Vol. 115, pp.1888-1889. See also ‘Lord Curzon’s statement in House of
Lords’, op. cit., Vol. 37, p.341.
256
What was particularly noticeable about these developments was how many women took part in the
Egyptian social movement calling for change. For the first time in history, upper- and middle-class
female members of the population were rallying on the streets, and indeed providing the intellectual
ideas which underpinned their country’s commitment to independence. This will be discussed in
detail next.
257
Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Women in the 1919 Egyptian Revolution:
From Political Awakening to Nationalist Feminism
258
Chapter Six: Women in the 1919 Egyptian Revolution: From Political Awakening to Nationalist Feminism
The formation of a feminist consciousness in Egypt ran in parallel with the country’s rapid
development as a modern state at the start of the 19th century. Technological advancements within
Muhammad ʿAli’s increasingly capitalistic, secular country were accompanied by burgeoning
intellectual thought among all sections of society, including women. The whole nation was united in
criticising the way the occupying British had used their country for their own ends, demeaning the
interests of the indigenous population, from the peasant masses up to the educated elites. This gave
rise to numerous variations of Egyptian nationalism, all of which were eventually to play a part in
seeing at least nominal native rule introduced.
The feminist element to this movement was both vocal and powerful, as women rallied under the
“Egypt for the Egyptians” slogan. Nationalism was certainly an obvious vehicle for feminist
demands. So it was that two dynamic and overlapping groups – nationalists and feminists – merged
to create a formidable campaigning force which would have a compelling effect on the progress of
Egyptian society. Radical calls for change being made by a pioneering women’s movement
strengthened the nationalist cause. In turn, feminists gained from their close association with the
nationalists, using their connections to build up their own power base.
Before 1919, there was a widespread perception that women were not involved in Egypt’s
nationalist struggle. Middle East historian Thomas Philipp noted the “total lack of political
involvement and the almost complete absence of patriotic nationalist expression” before 1919. 1 In
fact, historians have largely drawn attention to the role women played in the revolution of 1919
per se. That year was actually viewed as a turning point as far as Egyptian feminism was
concerned.2 The overlap between an emboldened nationalist consciousness and a new feminist one
has meant feminist progress often being blurred by nationalistic promotion. It manifestly appears
that feminist endeavours in the decades leading up to the war may well have been overlooked by
academics. The need to put this historical inaccuracy right is the main objective of this chapter, and
it will also examine the roles played by male intellectuals in the movement for change, including
their own contribution to a feminist awakening in Egypt.
1
Thomas Philipp, ‘Feminism and Nationalist Politics in Egypt’ in Lois Beck and Nikki Keddie (eds.), Women in the
Muslim World, Cambridge, MA., Harvard University Press, 1978, p.284.
2
See in particular the works of Latifa Muhammad Salim, Al-Marʾah al-misriyya wa al-taghyir al-ijtimaʿi, 1919-1945
(The Egyptian Woman and Social Change, 1919-1945), Cairo, al-Hayʾah al-Misriyya al-ʿAmma lil-Kitab, 1984, pp.26-
29; Muhammad Kamal Yahya, Al-Judhur al-tarikhiyya li-tahrir al-mar’ah al-misriyya fi al-ʿasr al-hadith (The
Historical Roots of the Liberation of Women in the Modern Era), Cairo, al-Hayʾah al-Misriyya al-ʿAmma lil-Kitab,
1983, pp.93-118. Huda Shaʿarawi herself deplores this view in her Memoirs, see Huda Shaʿarawi, Harem Years: The
Memoirs of an Egyptian Feminist, 1879-1924, Margot Badran (trans., ed., and intro.), New York, The Feminist Press at
CUNY, 1987, p.20.
259
However, it will be argued that after Egypt won nominal independence in 1922, many of the male
nationalists who had assisted those striving for female equality became less enthusiastic about the
women’s crusade. Feminists learned a crucial lesson from this disappointment – they could only
really succeed if they established their own independent political movement.
The following chapter will examine how such an organisation took shape in Egypt at the end of the
19th century, with the appearance of women’s journals expressing the feminist cause. It will trace its
evolution up until the early 1920s when the Egyptian Feminist Union (EFU) was formed. The focus
will be on the female, middle-class literary culture which was indelibly associated with a nationwide
feminist awakening. The activities of women’s groups in Egypt in the decades leading up to the
Revolution will be analysed. The convergence of feminist and nationalistic aspirations is hugely
significant, as both were major contributing factors in moves towards revolution. An irony in the
study of the development of a feminist consciousness in Egypt is that it has almost always been
considered by men, with historians likely to underplay the significance of women’s action. The role
of middle and upper-class women in recording their feminist battle will therefore be underlined in
this chapter, particularly the split between Muslim middle-class reformist women writers and upper-
class women activists with a western influence. Finally, the chapter will explore the way in which
women of all classes became vital political actors in the country’s fight for independence from the
British as they participated in nationalist demonstrations for the first time in March 1919. It will,
however, observe that the activism of the elite women, which started out playing such an important
part in the nationalist cause, was gradually separated from it so that it could plough its own furrow
through history. What is apparent is that the early modern feminist thinkers in Egypt did not
necessarily come to the same conclusions about the main issues at stake or, indeed, the means to
achieve their goals.3
“The Women’s Awakening in Egypt”
Feminist consciousness and the chiefly male-dominated nationalist movement were developing at a
different pace in late 19th century and early 20th century Egypt. Men were beginning to study abroad,
for example, while women were only just emerging from upper-class harems into the state sector.
Women in such close-knit traditional domestic situations were becoming increasingly disillusioned
3
Ignoring sectional differences, references to the “women’s movement” of the time will concern the overall evolution of
women’s thought and action during this extremely turbulent period.
260
with their plight, and they found new outlets to display their frustration namely a burgeoning
publishing industry. This period is referred to as “the women’s awakening” by Egypt scholars such
as Beth Baron who point to the manner in which women were able to make their demands aired.
While the better educated found their voice through the written word, others took part in public
political action. Among the early female activists who inspired these developments were ʿAisha al-
Taymuriyya and Huda Shaʿarawi.
Those researching early Egyptian feminism have conventionally regarded it as an upper-class

phenomenon. The trajectory of the aristocratic Huda Shaʿarawi (1879-1947), who became the first
president of the Egyptian Feminist Union (EFU) in 1923, helps perpetuate this view as she was the
woman who led the actual struggle for independence. Yet more recent inquiries have challenged this
belief, in particular works by Baron, and by Margot Badran, the women’s studies and Middle East
historian. They show that it was middle-class women who were at the forefront of the feminist
cause, using articles in magazines and newspapers, as well as more classical literature like poems
and novels, to convey the need for improved rights for women.4 Arabic was the language of the
middle-class at the time, and the women’s press – its founders, its editors, its contributors, and its
readers – mostly came from that class.
The new women’s literary culture gave rise to a powerful female Arabic printing business – one
which articulated the consciousness of a previously home-bound section of society. As an increase
in female literacy became a reality,5 middle-class women were able to put across their feminist
agenda through their writings. This feeling that everybody could not only have a say, but make a
positive contribution to change, was encapsulated in a phrase which came up time and time again in
Egyptian literature of the period: al-nahḍa al-nisaʾiyya (the women’s awakening). This expression
was regularly used by female intellectuals to describe their growing literary movement. It also took
on a more general meaning – referring to greater social mobility for women, a vast expansion in
popular education, and an explosion in the number of clubs and associations being formed by
newly-empowered women. The words al-nahḍa al-nisaʾiyya became more a rallying cry than a
straightforward description of a literary genre. They were certainly ones which captured the
Zeitgeist of a nascent women’s movement in Egypt.
4
Beth Baron, The Women’s Awakening in Egypt: Culture, Society, and the Press, New Haven, Yale University Press,
1994, p.188.
5
Ibid., pp.80-84, for data on the increase in female literacy in 19th and 20th centuries Egypt. For details about the
expansion of education for middle and upper-class urban women in 19th and 20th centuries Egypt, see Margot Badran,
‘Dual Liberation: Feminism and Nationalism in Egypt, 1870s-1925’ in Feminist Issues, vol. 8, no. 1, 1988, p.20
261
There were also technical reasons for Egypt’s popular publishing trade flourishing from the late
1870s onwards. By the time of the British Occupation in 1882, the Cairo governments had
relinquished their control of the press across the country, which meant that censorship had become
far less rigorous. The number of presses increased because members of the middle and upper-classes
had the financial means to invest in literature. Far more expenditure on the production of such
material saw profits for the sector rise, with the number of books, magazines, and newspapers
multiplying.6 As people grew more interested in political ideas, and the possibility of united action,
the press evolved into the key medium of communicating and indeed mobilising.
The specific development of the women’s press can be dated to the early 1890s. It corresponded
with the emergence of private publications which allowed publishers to respond to an expanding
female readership, and its heed of women’s affairs. Opposition to women reading and writing had
been prevalent among the middle and upper-classes, but this was no longer the case. Female literacy
shed its subversive image and filled those women who were able to read and write with pride, if not
a degree of conceit, as they opened up an entirely new literary culture.7 Principally female problems,
including ones about veiling and seclusion, were vented, along with popular ones about
relationships, marriage and divorce. Women’s journals also tackled matters such as education and
work, which were debated at length. The journals contained numerous articles about the world of
entertainment, and domestic life, ensuring balanced, readable issues. Baron summarises the three
elements of the early feminist popular press in Egypt: secularist, modernist, and Islamic.8
Publications which were more secular in content appeared to last the longest.9 The tradition of the
women’s press in Egypt began in 1892, when Hind Nawfal (c.1860 - 1920), a Syrian Christian
author, started the monthly journal al-Fatah (The Young Woman), which is deemed the first wholly
feminist outlet in a sizeable list of Arabic periodicals which were written for, by and about women
and their concerns. They came to be known as al-majallāt al-nisaʾiyya (women’s journals).10
Despite the wide variety of literary and scientific journals available at the time, Nawfal said she had
set up al-Fatah because none of those platforms dealt expressly with the rights of women, nor
articulated their predicaments in a satisfactory manner. It was for this reason that Nawfal invited
6
Baron, op. cit., pp.90-92, for data and details about the circulation of the press in 19th and 20th centuries Egypt.
7
Ibid., pp.82-84.
8
Ibid., p.189.
9
Margot Badran, Feminists, Islam and Nation: Gender and the Making of Modern Egypt, Princeton N.J., Princeton
University Press, 1995, p.61.
10
Baron, op. cit., The Women’s Awakening, p.14.
262
women to send her their contributions for print.11 Almost thirty of these women-centred periodicals
had been produced for distribution around Egypt, and indeed in the outside world, before the start of
the 1919 revolution.12
However, as early as the 1870s and 1880s, women’s achievements had been featured in the then
male-dominated press, offering hope of moving beyond customary gender roles. The first
biographical dictionaries of women were published by Maryam al-Nahhas (1856-1888), Nawfal’s
mother, and Zaynab Fawwaz (1860-1914) – two women who had emigrated from Lebanon to Egypt
and then settled in Alexandria. The pair were part of a dynamic generation of female writers who
described the condition of women in Egypt through their dictionaries. Al-Nahhas was very much at
the vanguard of the history of the Egyptian feminist awakening. Her biographical dictionaries, based
on a genre stretching back hundreds of years to the medieval period, became channels to document
women’s lives. Some of the earlier biographical dictionaries included references to women, and
there were even one or two volumes solely dedicated to women, but generally they were largely
ignored in favour of men. Redressing the balance, al-Nahhas completed Maʿrid al-Hasnaʾ fi Tarajim
Mashahir al-Nisaʾ (The beautiful woman’s exhibition for the biographies of female celebrities). The
latter was a biographical dictionary which concentrated on Eastern and Western women, 13 and
which al-Nahhas researched and wrote while living in Alexandria.
Zaynab Fawwaz, the Shiite Lebanese writer, followed in al-Nahhas’s legacy fifteen years later
when, in 1894, she published a weighty biographical tome called al-Durr al-Manthur fi Tabaqat
Rabbat al-Khudur14 (The Scattered pearls amongst the classes of secluded women). This highly
detailed work chronicled the lives of historical female icons, especially from Greek mythology.
These included Atlanta the Huntress, while biblical characters such as Abraham’s wife, Sarah, were
also written about. The life stories of Isabella II, the Queen of Spain, were among those of more
contemporary women accounted for, together with the 19th century American astronomer, Maria
Mitchell. As far as Islamic role models were concerned, Fawwaz recounted the tales of Khadeeja,
the Prophet Mohammed’s first wife; the Prophet’s daughter, Fatima; the Prophet’s youngest wife
‘Aisha; and Zaynab, the granddaughter of the Prophet. Fawwaz is considered a hugely prominent
11
Ibid., p.16.
12
Ibid., p.1.
13
Ibid., p.51.
14
Zaynab Fawwaz, Al-Durr al-Manthur fi Tabaqat Rabbat al-Khudur (The Scattered Pearls amongst the Classes of
Secluded Women), Cairo, al-Matbaʿa al-Kubra al-Amiriyya bi-Bulaq, 1894, p.38.
263
Arab feminist – not because there was anything overtly radical, let alone militant, about her
writings, but because she was a pioneer in her field. The very fact that she gave women an identity
by highlighting their social contributions made her biographical work adventurous.15
Women’s historical domestic seclusion in Egypt was well covered by the 19th century poet ʿAisha
al-Taymuriyya (1840-1902), whose volumes were to influence numerous generations.
Al-Taymuriyya mainly composed long passionate diwans about the equality of the sexes in Turkish,
Arabic, and Persian (her lineage included a Circassian mother and a Kurdish father). ʿAisha
al-Taymuriyya’s determination to one day be treated equally to her male counterparts derived
directly from her lack of formal education due to what she believed to be the constraining practices
of men. Al-Taymuriyya’s oeuvre was seen as a powerful argument for equality by thousands of
Egyptian women. Just before al-Taymuriyya’s death in 1902, her prose was circulated widely across
the country, while most of her poetry was published posthumously. Al-Taymuriyya was a leading
light of the early Egyptian feminist movement. Her production concentrated on what was logically
viewed as the biggest single impediment to women being treated equally in society – the denial of
access to education. Hind Nawfal and Zaynab Fawwaz followed al-Taymuriyya’s example in calling
for enhancement in the place of women in society. Both were, in particular, committed to bettering
educational standards for women, arguing that this was entirely in keeping with religious teaching,
including that of Islam and Christianity.
So it was that the number of journals available in Egypt grew rapidly from the 1900s onwards.
There was also a considerable increase in the number of Egyptian editors and writers (Syrians and
Lebanese had once dominated the industry).16 As previously discussed, Egypt scholar Beth Baron
provides a great deal of evidence that these early women authors – who were mainly drawn from the
middle-classes of society – were an extremely dedicated and dominant force as far as the initiation
of the women’s movement in Egypt was concerned.
There is little doubt that the output of female writers changed markedly as the feminist movement
evolved, with women finding the nationalist campaign a perfect agency for their endeavours. The
reasoning of people like al-Taymuriyah’s was not just a call for education for women for its own
sake, but a case to make Egyptian society a greater, more efficient one in the face of foreign
invaders. Women insisted that education and a feminist awareness would make them better citizens.
15
Badran, op. cit., Feminists, Islam, and Nation, p.14.
16
Ibid., p.37.
264
As a nationalistic consciousness developed alongside a feminist one, women’s journalism began to

play a role in affecting people’s perceptions. Malaka Sa’ad, founded al-Jins al-latif (The Fair Sex)
in 1908, and her editing aimed “to raise the status of Egyptian women in particular and Eastern
women in general”.17 Fluently asserted nationalist and patriotic opinions were advanced by women
writers, so making the entry of women into the literary arena an extremely significant one.18 Despite
this, women writers would regularly dispute suggestions that they had political aspirations, or were
in any way trying to transform society by becoming political players.19 They regularly dissociated
themselves from the suffragette movement in Europe, for example, making clear that their purpose
was not to win the vote, as many women were doing in countries like Britain in the early 1900s.
Sarah al-Mihiyya, editor of Fatat al-Nil (Young Woman of the Nile, 1913-1915) wrote that
European women “are in a worse situation now… having striven to attain political rights alone”.20
Women undoubtedly wanted a revitalised, new relationship with society, but greater clout in the
home was their priority. They sought more leverage among their own families and others in their
immediate circles, so swaying society in general. This was more important to them than outright
political power.
Fatima Rashid, the wife of Muhammad Farid Wajdi, owner of the nationalist newspaper al-Dustur
(The Constitution), expressed her ideas about a woman’s devotion for her country in an article
called “Nationalism and Woman”, in which she supported the view that those living in an occupied
land like Egypt had a moral duty to develop a nationalist consciousness. Rashid contended that there
were plenty of enlightened women who shared this belief with men, and that they had an obligation
to spread it around all levels of society. It was therefore imperative that “every educated woman
who senses the critical situation of her country […] to inspire all she meets with the essence of this
honourable sentiment”.21 She was confident that better mothers could pass on their cultural and
moral instruction to their children. Baron describes this process thus:
17
Malaka Saʿad, ‘Fatihat al-ʿaam al-sadis’ (An Introduction for the Sixth Year) in Al-Jins al-latif (The Fair Sex), vol. 6,
no. 1, May 1913, p.2.
18
Munira ʿAtiyya Suriyal, ‘Al-Marʾah al-misriyya’ (The Egyptian Woman) in Al-Jins al-latif (The Fair Sex), vol. 3, no.
10, April 1911, p.279.
19
Layla Al-Shamakhiyya, ‘Al-Marʾah wa safsatat al-kitab’ (Women and Sophistry) in Tarqiyat al-marʾah (Woman’s
Progress), vol. 1, no. 12, 1908, pp.179-182.
20
Sarah Al-Mihiyya, ‘Tahrir al-marʾah fi Urubba’ (Women’s Liberation in Europe) in Fatat al-nil (Young Woman of the
Nile), vol. 1, no. 6, April 1914, p.239.
21
Fatima Rashid, ‘Al-Wataniyya wa al-marʾah’ (Women and Nationalism) in Tarqiyat al-marʾah (Woman’s Progress),
vol. 1, no. 2, 1908, p.28.
265
In their unique capacity as “mothers of the world and child-raisers”, women

were given the imperative of imbuing their children with love for the nation,
teaching them national songs and stories. “It is upon you, tender hearted
mother, to impart to your son respect for his beloved nation, which has no
dignity without him. The glory of this nation and its misery are in your
hands.” Mothers were seen as particularly well-suited to be inculcators of
moral values and patriotic values.22
Those advocating the aspirations of women in society tended to emphasise their wishes for more
authority within the home, rather than for enhanced political rights per se. In this sense, women’s
status as highly moral wives and mothers, was always stressed. Taking up the cause of nationalism
was also used to legitimise calls for improved women’s rights. Yet limits were also set by the focus
on domestic roles – by highlighting their dependence on bread-winning men they lessened their own
functions as autonomous human beings who were capable of acting politically. Similarly, women
made it clear that they were relying on men to bring about change through the political system,
rather than seeing beliefs of their own implemented. There was frequent criticism aimed at
unwanted western influences introduced by colonialists, but not against men who routinely
subordinated women and kept them in often highly restricted positions within society. Men
legitimised their control of women with ideals of morality, many of them based on religion. Despite
this, there were a number of concessions which women were able to gain, and these increased
knowledge of women’s rights in general.
The purpose of women demonstrating their nationalistic stances was not solely an academic one –
they wanted their work to have practical consequences. Thus nationalism became the obvious means
by which Egyptian women could make their voices heard in society. It effectively allowed them to
deal with numerous vexed questions including education, seclusion, veiling, and not least of all
political action. The “mother of the nation” role which women held for themselves meant venturing
out of their homes and into key institutions such as schools and hospitals. They also held meetings,
developing nationalistic ideas and rhetoric which they shared with their male counterparts. These
activities are what we will consider next.
22
Rashid Khalidi (et al., eds.), The Origins of Arab Nationalism, New York, Columbia University Press, 1991, p.7 of
intro.
266
The Cultural and Social Dimensions of Nationalist Feminism
Hizb al-Umma (the Umma Party), al-Hizb al-Watani (the Nationalist Party), and Hizb al-Islah
al- Dusturi (the Party of Constitutional Reform) were the three main nationalist parties which
developed around newspapers in Egypt in 1907. Jamʿiyyat Tarqiyat al-Marʾah (the Society for
Woman’s Progress) was founded by a group of Muslim women a year later, along with a journal of
the same name. In common with all other women’s groups at the time, Jamʿiyyat Tarqiyat al-
Marʾah was not described as a party (ḥizb), and there were no public meetings in civic halls. Instead
the group was called a Society (jamʿiyya) and assemblies were always held in private homes.
Some members of Jamʿiyyat Tarqiyat al-Marʾah had Turkish backgrounds and they, along with
other associates, remained allegiant to the Ottoman Empire. These loyalists called for a constitution
similar to the Ottoman Constitution. “We do not have a remedy for our present situation except
through work and reform, and this will never be accomplished as long as the nation is not granted a
constitution like that of the Ottoman Empire”, wrote Munira ʿAbd al-Ghaffar, an affiliate of the
Jamʿiyyat. “What does that constitution mean? That our men will formulate their own policy, and
foreigners will not prevent reform.”23 The obligation for male relatives to fight for a new Egyptian
constitution was stressed by ʿAbd al-Ghaffar, along with the need for economic sanctions against
foreigners who challenged the autonomy of Egyptians. ʿAbd al-Ghaffar encouraged Egyptians to
ignore overseas-made, imported products, saying they should manufacture and buy indigenous ones
instead.24
As women tried to persuade, rather than force people to come round their way of thinking, the
middle and upper-classes established their own network of charities. This often meant that activities
usually carried out in the home and for the family – like cooking and sewing and caring for the sick
– were performed in society at large. There were also other types of compassionate institutions set
up. One, founded in 1908, looked after orphans, and one of its mission statements was to contribute
to the “vitality of the nation”.25 This kind of altruism added a voluntary, well-intentioned dimension
to their undertaking, which won them far more supporters than would have been the case if they
23
Munira ʿAbd al-Ghaffar, ‘La taqulu al-nisa’ (Do not Say Women) in Tarqiyat al-marʾah (Woman’s Progress), vol. 1,
no. 6, 1908, p.127.
24
Ibid., pp.126-128.
25
Zaynab Anis, ‘Jamʿiyyat al-shafaqa bi al-atfal’ (The Society of Compassion for Children) in al-Rihanna (Lit. The Basil
Leaf), vol. 1, no. 1, 20 March 1908, pp.6-7.
267
were simply working for proceeds. The rallying cry for these disinterested deeds was the need for
national renewal, and not the selfish welfare of individuals. Part of this bringing the nation together
entailed removing benevolent national agencies away from foreign control. A medicine dispensary
initiated by Lady Cromer, wife of the British Consul General Lord Cromer, and largely run by
British women was boycotted by Egyptian women including Huda Shaʿarawi. A royal Egyptian
project, the Mabarrat Muhammad ʿAli, was later launched by Shaʿarawi and a number of Egyptian
women. Middle and upper-class women invested a huge amount of time, energy and money into
new charitable structures such as clinics and orphanages. Many became limited power bases for
women, allowing them to influence society from outside their homes, while providing important
social services for an increasingly unified nation.26
Egyptian women were, by the turn of the 19th century, also using private talks as a forum for their
new feminist awareness. The lectures, which were coordinated by upper-class women and chiefly
delivered to women-only audiences by middle-class women, were held on Friday – the national day
off. The new Egyptian University, which was opened in 1908 thanks to a number of generous
endowments, including an exceptionally large one from Princess Fatma, was where many of these
educational addresses were given. The offices of the liberal, pro-feminist newspaper al-Jarida (lit.
The newspaper) were inaugurated in 1907, and were also used as a place for instruction. Among the
influential speakers was Malak Hifni Nasif (1886-1918), a former teacher, who used her skills as a
poet and writer to encourage women to lift themselves academically, and to involve themselves in
professions from which they had previously been excluded. Using the pseudonym Bahithat
al-Badiyya (Seeker in the Desert), Nasif always ensured packed gatherings as she became the first
woman in Egyptian history to publicly call for the liberation of women. The first time she did this
was at a meeting of male nationalists held at the Egyptian Congress in Heliopolis in 1911, with
Bahithat al-Badiyya advocating a gradual breakdown of segregation, so as not to compromise
women. Other cultural lessons were later arranged by the Intellectual Association of Egyptian
Women, which was set up in 1914.
The matter of a woman’s place in Egypt’s society in the early 20th century has often been considered
in the context of the nationalist debate. In turn, female activity towards change has mainly been
studied by male writers. There was also no doubt that the country’s growing feminist press kept up
with the budding Egyptian nationalist movement. The parallel emergence of the two has been
26
Shaʿarawi, op. cit., Harem Years, p.94.
268
underplayed by history books, with many of the female intellectuals of the period – whose writings
triggered the women’s awakening – often ignored at the expense of more high-profile men.
The Contribution of Male Intellectuals to the Feminist Debate
One of the great ironies of the early feminist debate which took place in Egypt’s books, newspapers,
and magazines in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries was that it was predominantly
conducted by authoritative men. The Muslim lawyer Judge Qasim Amin (1863- 1908) and Talaʿat
Harb27 (1867-1941), the Cairo-based economist who founded Banque Misr, were two fiercely
competitive male intellectuals who carried out a very overt contest on the vexed issue of women’s
emancipation. The Amin/Harb rivalry has led to a misconception that women were not actively
engaged in the discussion on women’s role in society, or, that women only joined in some time later
when the Egyptian Muslim Malak Hifni Nasif began to write. Because of this erroneous view, many
scholars attribute the foundation and early leadership of the women’s movement in Egypt – and
indeed in the rest of the Arab world – to men.28 Yvonne Haddad, for instance, states that the Arab
feminist campaign’s “most prominent advocates have been men who took up the cause of
women”.29
No male individual is more inextricably linked to the awakening of the feminist struggle in Egypt
than Judge Qasim Amin. Feminist scholar Kader even dubs Amin “the first Egyptian and Arab
feminist”, arguing that Amin’s books transformed the widespread national polemic about women
into a full-fledged feminist crusade.30 But this claim seems to underplay earlier Egyptian and Arab
feminist history, and major societal developments during and after the strive for independence. A
French volume published in 1894 by Qasim Amin and entitled Les Égyptiens: Réponse à M. Le Duc
d’Harcourt (The Egyptians: Response to The Duke of Harcourt) was said to have laid the basis for
an argumentation about the situation of women in society. This work was a response to a French
intellectual’s criticism of the treatment of women in Egypt and in Islam. In his own book, Amin
denies that women are overwhelmingly secluded in Egypt and goes so far as to say that there is no
27
Juan Ricardo Cole, ‘Feminism, Class, and Islam in Turn-of-the-Century Egypt’ in International Journal of Middle
East Studies, vol. 13, no. 4, 1981, p.401.
28
Tignor, op. cit., Modernization and British Colonial Rule in Egypt, p.341.
29
Yvonne Haddad, ‘Islam, Women and Revolution in Twentieth-Century Arab Thought’ in Women in the Muslim World,
vol. 74, nos. 3-4, 1984, p.160.
30
Soha Abdel Kader, Egyptian Women in a Changing Society, London, Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1987, p.8.
269
fundamental difference between the conditions of European and Muslim women. 31 However, Amin
reverted from his original defence of Islam to arrive at a more secular position in Tahrir al-Marʾah
(The Liberation of Women, 1899) and al-Marʾah al-Jadida (The New Woman, 1900). The latter
publication lambasted Islam, mainly using quotes from French authors who were sceptical, to say
the least, of classical Islamic culture. Both of Amin’s latter works critiqued the place of women in
society far more forcefully than earlier literature. Both also created a huge stir, drawing numerous
plaudits, as well as many detractors who found his opinions repellent.32 Amin went to great efforts
to highlight the positive contribution of Western women towards their societies’ civilisation.33 Amin
thus summed up his view of Egyptian feminism as a tension between “modern” Western values and
“ancient” Islamic ones.
Amin’s key premise was that the liberation of Egyptian society from foreign control required female
emancipation. Amin also used arguments based on the teachings of Islam to call for a sovereign
Egypt free from external domination. In his two pro-enfranchisement tomes, Amin concentrates on
the contentious topics of women’s education, the seclusion of women because of the way many
covered their faces in public, reforms of marriage and divorce, and the subject of polygamy. Many
of these issues involved laws and customs that are directly relevant to Islam or the Arab world.
Others, such as the female veil, preceded the emergence of Islam as a religion. It has to be pointed
out, however, that not all of these subjects were particularly pertinent to all classes of women in
Egypt at the time. Veiling and seclusion, for example, were not practiced by working-class and
peasant women. While arranged marriages (often followed by divorces) were relatively common,
polygamy was in fact fairly rare in Egypt. Regardless of class, numerous women found themselves
denied all property rights.
Education remained the fundamental dilemma of women’s subjugation. Amin contended, for
example, that men were to be blamed for women’s state of ignorance. 34 But while Amin was in
favour of women being educated, he did not advocate for women to be tutored on equal terms with
men.35 The questions of polygamy and veiling were, of course, closely linked to that of education. In
31
Qasim Amin, Les Égyptiens: Réponse à M. Le Duc d’Harcourt (The Egyptians: Response to the Duke of Harcourt),
Cairo, Jules Barbier, 1894, pp.279-80.
32
33
Ibid., p.73.
34
Qasim Amin, The Liberation of Women: A Document in the History of Egyptian Feminism, translated by Samiha
Sidhom Peterson, Cairo, The American University in Cairo Press, 1992, p.16.
35
Ibid., p.28.
270
order to defend his stances on both matters, Amin used references from Islam and Shariʿa law.
These opposed polygamy, asserting that the Islamic legal system itself had “stipulated the equality
of women and men before any other legal system”.36 Amin equally maintained that the covering of
the face using a veil was not even mentioned in Islamic law.37 He said that the veil itself was in fact
more likely to increase interest in potential suitors, and that it was a barrier to women taking part in
any dealings.38 Shariʿa law did not require the seclusion of women in society, insisted Amin, even
affirming that exclusions were in fact harmful to society. Despite this, Amin did not push for a
complete and immediate ban on seclusion. Instead, Amin explained that: “…such a sudden
revolution could lead to an increase in the behaviour that we consider corrupt”.39
Amin’s contentions for the emancipation of women – albeit limited in scope – certainly had roots in
the Egyptian society in which he was writing. The values of the English ruling class in Egypt also
had a strong influence on his claims. For instance, Amin suggested in his works that the burgeoning
feminist movement in Britain had a considerable impact on Egyptian women. As the Europeans
tightened their control over Egypt, the principles of the old Turco-Circassian elite – the power
structure which dominated the main administrative and military posts in society – became less
relevant to Egypt’s upper middle-classes. There is little doubt that Amin presented a very positive
picture of women from Europe and America during the period, declaring that many were leading
fulfilled lives. Amin pointed to the fact that many were working alongside male counterparts in all
kinds of fields, from the arts through to trade. He said he was saddened that Egypt was depriving
women of the opportunities so readily enjoyed in Europe and America.40 Amin also described
European women as being well-socialised, in the sense that they were modest and restrained in their
behaviour. A surprising statement made by Amin was that European and American women
continued to lower their eyes when they came into contact with an unfamiliar man publicly. He
reckoned that not even the chastest Egyptian women would have been expected to do this.41
Leila Ahmed, a prominent scholar specialising in women’s studies and religion, is among the
authors who have examined Amin’s writings at length and come to the conclusion that he was not,
as many allege, “the father of Arab feminism”. Instead she proposes that Amin was “the son of
36
Ibid., p.7.
37
Ibid., p.43.
38
Ibid., p.40.
39
Ibid., p.60.
40
Cole, op. cit., ‘Feminism, Class, and Islam’, p.395.
41
Qasim Amin, op. cit., The Liberation of Women, p.145.
271
Cromer” – the Victorian British Consul General in Egypt - and “colonialism”. These figurative
criticisms are certainly worthy of being taken seriously. Many of Amin’s theories about women
were in fact being shared by men of the period in colonial societies like British Egypt. Ahmed
makes the accusations that Amin’s book Tahrir al-marʾah “merely called for the substitution of
Islamic-style male dominance by Western-style male dominance”.42
Muhammad Talaʿat Harb was, however, the fiercest opponent of Amin’s views on women’s
emancipation. Harb, a nationalist historian and economist who came from a lower middle-class
Cairo family, wrote two books in 1899 and 1901,43 with the second of these, Fasl al-khitab fi
al-marʾah wa al-hijab (The Decisive Decree on Women and the Veil), containing long excerpts
from Amin’s reply to the Duc d'Harcourt. In it, Harb takes up a particularly authoritarian,
conservative position on the theme of women. He collaborated on this subject with Mustafa Kamil,
the lawyer and journalist who was a founder of the Nationalist Party, who also used his writing to
campaign against women’s freedoms at the turn of the century. The common factor between Harb,
Kamil and many other male intellectuals of the period was that they all had a French legal
education.
Harb did not oppose increased education for women, as Amin did. However, he vigorously objected
to removing restrictions on the social mobility of women. Harb’s book starts with a quote from
Amin’s Les Égyptiens, asserting that Muslims will never subject women to the same treatment as
Europeans. Harb launches a vitriolic attack on him for changing his position. 44 Harb is in fact in
general agreement with the necessity for improved educational standards for Muslim women, but he
prescribes two conditions: the first is that education does not preclude the type of modesty involved
in seclusion and veiling; the second is that women’s education should have a significant Islamic
dimension, and indeed be limited to the study of keeping a household in order and bringing up
children properly. The veil and seclusion do not need to be abolished as part of a policy of educating
women, states Harb. In practical terms, he recommends that a girl’s tutor could be a relative or a
close family friend. The most important thing argues Harb, is that al-hijab (the veil) can be observed
– that is to say that the head and body of a woman should be covered when she is with anybody with
whom she is not on intimate terms. Harb supports the view that a woman should remain at home,
42
Leila Ahmed, Women and Gender in Islam: Historical Roots of a Modern Debate, New Haven, Yale University Press,
1992, pp.162-3.
43
44
Ibid., p.402.
272
except in extreme circumstances when she is forced to go out.45 Harb also suggests that women
teachers and administrators should staff Islamic girls’ schools. Harb is hostile to the importing of
instructors from non-Muslim countries, even though – at the time – there were not enough trained
Egyptian women to take up schooling and bureaucratic posts in all the educational institutions.
Accordingly, Harb recommends that learned Muslim women should arrive from India and other
Islamic countries to educate Muslim girls.46
Harb is sceptical of the high regard in which Amin holds European civilisation, and he also
castigates Amin’s dismissal of the glories of ancient Islamic legacy. Harb points out that the reforms
in society which Amin has endorsed might have earned him praise as a reformer, but that the
reforms have been far from effective. Harb considers that too many societal dangers were creeping
in from the West: manners were not what they were; incidents of prostitution were on the increase;
people were drinking wine and other alcohol; a lot of people were in debt and wasting money; and
educational standards were declining. Harb even blamed Europeans for a deterioration in the moral
codes of Islam. European colonialism and commerce had – alongside European “civilisation” –
succeeded in corrupting Muslim society, and, indeed, threatening its very existence. Salvation, Harb
insisted, did not lie in living up to European lifestyles.47
Amin and Harb’s ideas should also be placed in the context of a conflict between the classes of
Egyptian society. The Europeans, who were undeniably the governing class in Egypt, were seen
differently by the upper middle-class reformers like Amin and lower middle-class intellectuals like
Harb. In his younger days, Amin rejected European culture, but then began to admire the continent’s
achievements as he grew older. This change of mind coincided with a widespread belief that British
rule would, in the long run, be more beneficial to his class than the Khedives had been. But, as far as
Harb was concerned, the colonialism and industry of Europe was a genuine threat to Egyptian
institutions and ethics. This consideration almost certainly summed up the insecurities of his class.
Internal tensions between men and women combined with these fundamental disparities in attitude
towards European mores at the turn of the century were to produce a protracted divergence in the
convictions of those from the new upper middle-classes, and the petite bourgeoisie as they related to
the rights of women in Egyptian society. Juan Cole, the American historian specialising in the
45
Ibid., p.403.
46
Ibid.
47
Ibid., p.404.
273
Middle East speculates that Egyptian men from a petite bourgeoisie background felt threatened by
women. In summary, the men feared that their traditional roles as guardians of the family honour
were being endangered by European supremacy and by the standards of the British occupiers, in
particular. They also thought they were being undermined by women who were increasingly
questioning their own standing within society. In contrast, men belonging to the new upper-middle
class were more inspired by Western customs and advocated women’s moves towards
emancipation.48
The advancement of women in society was of course a shared goal of women of all classes, but
there was a distinct split about how to achieve it: mainly between middle-class Islamic reformist
women and upper-class women activists who were more galvanised by ideas from the West. This
cleavage became one between traditional, conservative women and more liberal ones. It was made
clear in the differences of opinion between Malak Hifni Nasif and Huda Shaʿarawi – both of whom
were high profile adversaries in the debate on women’s issues at the end of the 19th century and
early 20th century.
The Islamic/Western Split among Egyptian Feminists
The early 20th century not only saw the activation and participation of upper-class women such as
Shaʿarawi but also an intensification of feminist arguments within the press and amongst middle-
class women writers. While the pioneering works on feminism were produced by men or by non-
Muslim women, middle-class Muslim women soon joined the conversation on the side of reform.
The most prominent of these was Malak Hifni Nasif who, as mentioned earlier, wrote under the pen
name of Bahithat al-Badiyah. An example of this is seen in her various journal articles and letters.
She also spoke publicly about the situation and advancement of women, and was tirelessly involved
with other women such as the prolific Christian Lebanese-Palestinian writer Mayy Ziyadah (1886-
1941) in various literary groups exchanging on feminism,49 nationalism and giving lectures to
female audiences comprised of both upper and middle-class women.50 Her work inspired more
upper middle-class women to be instrumental in the dialogue on women and society in the following
decade.
48
Ibid., pp.387-407.
49
50
Shaʿarawi, op. cit., p.126.
274
Ziyadah, the poet, essayist and translator, was an essential figure in the Nahda – or “renaissance” –
of Arab literature in the early 20th century. Ziyadah and her family emigrated to Egypt in 1908, with
her father founding al-Mahrusah (lit. the protected one) newspaper. Ziyadah became a regular
contributor to the paper, and went on to run a literary salon in Cairo during the 1920s and 1930s
which turned one of the most famous in the world. Her letters to Nasif provide a very clear
illustration of their ideas with respect to women’s rights. In one letter to Nasif, written in 1902,
Ziyadah asks for direction and leadership in the woman’s struggle:
We have hearts that are burning, but we do not know what fire is burning
them… so teach us how and where to direct it… Help in the emancipation of
the woman by teaching her responsibilities and duties…We do not mind if
you hide your delicate hands behind walls or if you hide your eastern
features behind your veil, as long as we continue to hear the sound of your
pen at work, so that we may know from you what the higher self is.51
Nasif’s response to this letter was equally charged and thought-provoking. In 1912, she wrote: “My
heart is breaking because of the corruption in our society”,52 and argued that men had for too long
determined the fate of women: “If the man commanded us to veil, we veiled, and if he asked us to
unveil, we unveiled, and if he asked us to learn, we learned, but were there always good intentions
behind his demands for us?”53 Ziyadah replied to this letter, making her feelings about men’s
historical domination over women unambiguous: “Man wants the woman to feel his tyranny,
because tyranny is control… the more she rebelled, the more his authoritarianism increased”.54
Malak Hifni Nasif had already rehearsed her own views about the status of women in her feminist
tract which was published in 1910, prior to her correspondence with Ziyadah. The book,
Al-Nisaʾiyat (Women’s Affairs) was, and still is considered an extremely important ground-breaking
feminist publication, which looked at several issues from marriage, to polygamy, to education and
work. Nasif objected to arranged marriages saying: “if love is not the foundation for two people
coming together, then there is no meaning to their union”,55 and wrote that the marriage age for girls
had to be raised to at least sixteen years-old.56 She was vehemently opposed to polygamy asserting
51
Ibid., p.14.
52
Ibid., p.18.
53
Ibid., p.20.
54
Ibid., p.25.
55
Malak Hifni Nasif, al-Nisaʾiyat (Women’s Affairs), Cairo, Multaqa al-Marʾah wa al-Dhakira, 1998, p.57.
56
Ibid., p.82.
275
that: “Polygamy corrupts men… and corrupts the hearts of women.”57 Her stance on veiling was
more equivocal – on the one hand she argued that “our religion does not restrict us in this matter”,58
and on the other hand stated: “My opinion is that it is not yet time for the removal of the veil, for
women must first be given a true education, and taught proper behaviour… then leave her to choose
what is most beneficial to her and her nation.”59
What is very evident in Nasif’s work is a genuine attempt to advance any changes within an Islamic
modernist context. There were other conservative women in society who, as Nasif, had a traditional
attitude towards their role in the community – one which had been cultivated during their restricted
experiences under Ottoman rule. These women were concerned about what they perceived as the
spread of liberal immorality. Fatima Rashid, editor of Tarqiyat al-marʾah (Woman’s Progress;
1908- 1909), for example, was critical of the way Egyptian women mimicked their European
counterparts in everything from progressive point-of-views to fashion. Rashid contended that a
return to Islamic law would be the only way of moving back from this blind copying of a foreign
social group. Rashid wrote that Egyptian women “did not understand the full scope of religious law
which has given them all the rights that they need”.60 Ideas about how women should behave within
Egypt under the Ottomans also found support in the journals al-ʿAfaf (The Virtue; 1910- 1922) and
Fatat al-Nil (Young Woman of the Nile).
The vision of conservative women nurtured under Ottoman sovereignty was based on a harking
back to an ancient Islamic past. It centred on the manner in which the wives of the Prophet were said
to have conducted their lives, along with other prominent religious women. So it was that customs
which gave women a subordinate place in society were highlighted. These included, for example,
wearing a veil, and generally keeping a subdued profile, or secluding themselves away completely
from society. Conflicting cultural and sexual identities put forward by women on different sides of
the feminist polemic created a conundrum. Leila Ahmed suggested that Middle Eastern feminists
were “caught between those two opposing loyalties, forced almost to choose between betrayal and
betrayal”.61 By attempting to reconcile different aspects of their identity – including class, culture,
57
Ibid., p.78.
58
Ibid., p.61.
59
Ibid., p.64.
60
Fatima Rashid, ‘Al-Marʾah wa huququha fi al-Islam’ (A Woman’s Rights in Islam) in Tarqiyat al-marʾah (Woman’s
Progress), vol. 1, no. 10, 1908, p.150.
61
Leila Ahmed, ‘Early Feminist Movements in the Middle East’ in Freda Hussain (ed.), Muslim Women, New York,
St. Martin’s Press, 1984, p.122.
276
and political outlook – conservative women were particularly prone to solely calling for improved
women’s rights within strictly prescribed parameters. In this sense, they had no interest in
challenging the boundaries which had already been set for them by their backgrounds, and were thus
content with accepting male views of nationalism, and what it meant for their society.
This Islamic approach to feminism contrasted noticeably with the statements made by the more
upper-class feminists like Huda Shaʿarawi, which appear to show a greater western orientation.
Accounts of harems in the latter part of the 19th century and early decades of the 20th century testify
to how upper-class women’s perceptions of themselves were evolving within the harem walls, and
how the shifts taking place outside these walls and the writings of middle-class women were seeping
in and influencing them. One of Shaʿarawi’s childhood memories is of a travelling poet coming to
her house – she writes how this woman of lower status impressed her with her level of knowledge:
“Observing Sayyida Khadija convinced me that, with learning, women could be the equals of men if
not surpass them.”62 Moreover, upper-class women’s philanthropic activities were also pushing
them into the public sphere, making them more aware of the political forces around them. One of the
most successful charitable organisations, the Mabarrat Muhammad ʿAli, founded in 1909 by Huda
Shaʿarawi and other Egyptian women, is mentioned in the Egyptian Gazette in 1910 in an article
about high infant mortality in Egypt:
In order to remedy this deplorable state of affairs a society has been started
called “L’Œuvre Mohamed Aly”, which by means of pamphlets, tracts and
the distribution of medical necessities is trying to spread some elementary
notions of health among the native populace. The Khedive, the Khedivah
and the Khedival mother have given their patronage to this work.63
One conspicuous distinction between middle and upper-class Egyptian women was the level and
type of contact they had with Western women which can endeavour to explain this Islamic/Western
split amongst Egyptian feminists. Many upper-class families during this period employed Western
governesses and teachers to educate their children. The memoirs of Shaʿarawi and Mary “Ellen”
Chennells, the English governess, (c. 1814-1896) demonstrate that often very genuine friendships
developed between these women. Chennells was, following a long career as a governess, appointed
governor to Princess Zeynab Khanum Effendi, daughter of Ismail Pasha, Khedive of Egypt and his
second wife, Princess Jananyar Berinici Khanum Effendimiz. Chennells wrote Recollections of an
62
63
Egyptian Gazette, Wednesday April 6 1910, p.5, British Library newspapers.
277
Egyptian Princess by her English Governess, a book which has become a classic source about day-
to-day life in the Khedival court, setting in the context of Anglo-Egyptian history. Shaʿarawi thus
commented on her close association with Eugenie Le Brun, the French wife of Hussain Rushdi
Pasha (Prime Minister of Egypt between 1914-1919): “Mme Rushdi not only guarded my
reputation, but also nourished my mind and spirit… Soon, at her request, I began to attend her
Saturday salon.”64 Whilst women of the middle-classes such as Ziyadah were holding meetings for
intellectual reflections, women of the upper-classes were also engaging in socio-political
considerations within the harems and at the high society gatherings of women such as Eugenie le
Brun: “Mme Rushdi adroitly guided the discourse from issue to issue. There were debates about
social practices, especially veiling.”65 Upper-class women such as Shaʿarawi also began organising
lectures for women, initially inviting European female speakers, and later welcoming well-known
Egyptian writers. It was through these talks that a more direct link was made between feminists of
the middle-class and those from upper-class harems:
Marguerite Clement arrived from France … she asked if Egyptian women

were in the habit of giving and attending lectures. We were not, I had to
admit, but I invited her to give one…The lecture drew a good audience…
Soon Egyptian women began to speak. The best known was Malak Hifni
Nasif.66
On the other hand, under British colonial rule, middle-class women in Egypt would have come into
contact with western women working as teachers or for ministries, positions that were limited if not
closed to them. A level of estrangement was always maintained, and often a strong resentment grew
out of the situation. This is seen in the case of the educator, Nabawiyya Musa (1886-1951). She
grew up in a modest Muslim family and entered herself into the girls section of the ʿAbbas Primary
School.67 She was subsequently admitted at the Saniyah Teacher’s Training School68 and later
appealed to the Ministry of Education to sit the state baccalaureate exam and receive equal pay to
male teachers. She describes this experience in her memoirs:
Mr. Dunlope surprised me when he came in holding my application in his

hand... He said: you are a dreamer so listen to my advice and remove this
64
65
Ibid., p.80.
66
Ibid., pp.93-94.
67
Badran, op. cit., Feminists, Islam and Nation, pp.38-39.
68
Nabawiyya Musa, Tarikhi bi-Qalami (My History by My Pen), Cairo, Multaqa al-Marʾah wa al-Dhakira, 1999,
pp.47-48.
278
request… unless you promise me you will be successful. I said: And have
any of the other candidates promised you success before sitting the exam?
[...] he said: then know that if you fail, my opinion of you will fall. I said: I
am, thank God, above the serving classes, and neither you nor anyone else
can make me a servant… for my work carries no deficiency.69
As Badran explains, the British authorities made Musa the exception to the rule by making her the
first female teacher to receive an equal salary to male teachers.70 Musa herself writes of her success:
The results came out and I passed coming out forty-third among two-
hundred candidates. This was in the year 1907… no other Egyptian woman
would pass the baccalaureate exam until 1928. For this reason my success
was big news, and newspapers carried titles such as “the first female
Egyptian to pass the baccalaureate”.71
Musa was strongly opposed to marriage arguing: “I hate marriage and see it as dirt, and I decided
never to soil myself with this dirt”72 and justifies her decision to remove her veil as being partly
motivated by a desire to set an example in order to alter established practices: “I wanted to unveil,
although I did not write about it but read Qasim Amin’s book and liked it, though I believe traditions
cannot be changed with words.”73 Musa was a highly controversial character, who clashed with the
colonial powers and also with the men of her time. She records: “They called me the wrecker of
men’s homes and the severer of their livelihoods”,74 and describes an incident which exemplifies the
resentment the other male teachers and the British principal had for her:
At that time I used to write for a daily journal called “the young woman’s
Egypt”… The other Arabic teachers went to the principal and brought her
various clips from the journal and said I was criticizing English politics in
these articles… and by doing that they managed to turn her against me.75
Musa went on to become the first Egyptian woman principal at a girls’ school in Fayyum, in Middle
Egypt.76 She was made principal of the Mansurah teaching school and in 1924 became inspector of
girls’ schools.77 As Badran argues, the achievements in her career as an educator threatened both the
69
Ibid., p.83.
70
Badran, op. cit., p.44.
71
Musa, op. cit., p.85.
72
Ibid., p.87.
73
Ibid., p.78.
74
Ibid., p.93.
75
Ibid., p.94.
76
Ibid., p.114.
77
Ibid., p.142.
279
social patriarchy as well as the British administration.78 The relatively positive interaction of upper-
class Egyptian women with Europeans compared to the more negative one of middle-class Egyptian
women can help clarify the spilt in Egypt’s feminist awakening from the very start between a
western-oriented feminism promoted more amongst women of the upper-classes such as Shaʿarawi,
and a more Islamic feminism bolstered by middle-class women like Nasif and Musa.79 Nationalist
arguments were exploited by both liberal and conservative feminists, agreeing on the need for girls
to be educated, to attain domestic competence, and to maintain a patriotic posture within their
nation.
It was through the increased intellectual contentions between female and male thinkers and writers,
and the interplay between middle and upper-class feminists, that Egyptian feminism moved into its
second phase during the fight for independence in 1919-1922, which tied it directly to Egyptian
nationalism and provided the background needed to turn ideas into actions. Thus, the nationalist and
feminist voices of the early part of the 20th century had collided. In some arenas women were
involved by the nationalists, while in others they were marginalised and had their claims turned
against them. However, the events of the 1919 revolution would give women a reason to hope that
their work had not been in vain. Women’s militant participation in the protests against the British
was greeted with open arms by many nationalists, and for a brief period the men and women of
Egyptian society were united in their quest for independence. A joint struggle towards freedom from
Britain suited both men, and women who had been driven to political action.
Nationalist Feminist Political Activism
During the 1919 revolution, Huda Shaʿarawi led veiled women demonstrators in the strife against
the British. Female solidarity with the Egyptian nationalists was embodied by Shaʿarawi’s strong
partnership with Saʿad Zaghlul (1859-1927), leader of the Wafd (“delegation”) – the Egyptian
nationalist movement which was formed in 1918 at the end of the First World War. It was at the
forefront of the push for independence from Britain, with both men and women lending their
support to the “party of the nation”. What women also stressed, however, was that they were equally
78
Badran, op. cit., p.60.
79
Ibid., pp.21-22.
280
campaigning for equality of the sexes – so engaging in a “dual struggle”.80 Egyptian women first
took part in nationalist public actions in 1919, but they were to become central to the limited
withdrawal of the British from Egypt in 1922.
It is at this point that the chapter focuses on the role of Huda Shaʿarawi and Safiyya Zaghlul, two
women from the aristocratic class who were integral to the nationalist feminist movement – helping
to organise the rallies of March 1919 against the British, but also mobilising the Egyptian feminist
movement as the revolution gathered steam. Both women were the wives of Wafd activists: Huda
Shaʿarawi was married to ʿAli Shaʿarawi Pasha, a senior member of the Wafd party and of the
adjourned legislative assembly. Safiyya Zaghlul (1878- 1946), in turn, was the wife of Saʿad
Zaghlul, the Wafd leader himself. Following the favourable outcome of the 1919 revolution, Safiyya
Zaghlul was to become known as the “Mother of the Egyptians”. There had been numerous manners
in which upper-class Egyptian women resisted British rule, including through economic boycotts,
pickets, and the distribution of anti-colonial literature. This chapter, however, intends to concentrate
on the particularly symbolic marches in March 1919 and the way they created a seminal moment in
the relationship between the nationalists and the feminists. It was the first public interaction between
the two groups, and one which was in many respects an immediate accomplishment. So it was that
women were able to resort to popular political activity to voice their concerns to as large an
audience as possible, utilising their solidarity with men to advance their cause.
Egypt scholars such as ʿAfaf Lutfi al-Sayyid-Marsot, and especially feminist ones, highlight the fact
that women from all kinds of backgrounds were involved in the battle for change. This cooperation
across different social and economic classes has been discussed at length. However, while the effort
of upper-class, aristocratic women to the revolution was often described in great detail, and indeed
celebrated, the help of poorer, unentitled women has frequently been forgotten. Masses of
economically disadvantaged women actually lost their lives in the process, while the sacrifice of
more privileged women was nothing like as extreme.
The arrests and deportations of Saʿad Zaghlul and three colleagues was the spark which ignited
major protests all over Egypt in March 1919. It was also at this time that women took to the streets
to dissent for the first time in the country’s history. This hugely significant development has been
examined by historians writing in various languages, including English, Arabic and French. Thus a
80
For more on women’s dual struggle see the Egyptian historian ʿAbd al-ʿAziz Ramadan’s account of the Egyptian
nationalist movement, op. cit., Tatawwur al-Haraka al-Wataniyya.
281
mythology has emerged around the women’s very public gatherings, with recollections of the
“Revolutionary Gentlewomen”81 written about, along with references to the “ladies’ demonstration”
of March 1919.82
Middle-class and upper-class women in Egypt were, before the First World War, associated with a
number of professional sectors, including educational and journalistic. Women also gained some
type of political action by forming social groups, but the outbreak of the war in 1914 brought a lot of
these activities to an abrupt halt. Schools, for example, were effectively shut down as learning
institutions as they were used to house refugees. Journalists lost their jobs as journals had to close
because of high production costs in wartime. Many associations, including those founded by
women, were dissolved. Rising prices, shortages of basic foodstuffs and other necessities were
inconveniences which all hampered women’s pursuits in public life.
The war also led to increased interest in colonial politics, drawing attention to oppressive British
rulers and their methods. As women joined men in their hostility to the British authorities, they
became more familiar with the language of national determination.83 Wartime hardships amplified a
sense of injustice, and made women more inclined to protest. The basic narrative of the 1919
revolution is allegedly well established, having been pieced together considering diverse sources
(both indigenous and foreign) – from eye-witness accounts, and newspapers articles through to
contemporaneous historical chronicles.84 Yet there were a number of contradictions in these records
impeding the construction of a definitive minute-by-minute version of exactly what happened.85
Indeed, descriptions of the March rallies are often blurred. Demonstrations first broke out on
Sunday, 16 March, with the daily newspaper Al-Ahram reporting a “ladies’ demonstration” starting.
81
ʿAfaf Lutfi Al-Sayyid-Marsot, ‘The Revolutionary Gentlewomen in Egypt’ in Lois Beck and Nikki Keddie (eds.),
Women in the Muslim World, Cambridge, Mass., Harvard University Press, 1978, pp.261-76.
82
Al-Ahram, 17 March 1919, p.2; 21 March 1919, p.2.
83
For comprehensive information about women’s experiences during the war, see Beth Baron, ‘The Politics of Female
Notables in Post-War Egypt’ in Billie Melman (ed.), Borderlines: Genders and Identities in War and Peace, 1870-1930,
New York, Routledge, 1998, pp.330-34.
84
The Egyptian historian ʿAbd al-Rahman al-Rafiʿi, who was thirty years old at the time of the Revolution, recorded a
remarkably detailed account of the events as they unfolded in his Thawrat 1919, which was first published in 1946.
85
For example, while the Egyptian daily Al-Ahram reported a demonstration of 250 women on 16 March 1919, the
London Times newspaper wrote about 400 women marching on 19 March 1919. The historian Beth Baron has suggested
that: “It is quite possible that the events often associated with 16 March actually occurred on 19 or 20 March.” See Beth
Baron, Egypt as a Woman: Nationalism, Gender, and Politics, London, University of California Press, 2005, p.109.
282
This was followed by a similar march on Wednesday, 19 March, and/or Thursday, 20 March.86
These distinct protests have frequently been erroneously joined together as one.
Although the processions of March 1919 by elite Egyptian women were planned in advance, and
meticulously coordinated by Huda Shaʿarawi, they have often been characterised as being
spontaneous ones. Shaʿarawi’s entourage sent a delegation to the British authorities to ensure there
was official permission for the first mass meeting. No approval was offered to begin with, but it was
later reported in al-Muqattam87 (lit. the name of a hill range in Southeast Cairo) that sanction had
been granted by the colonial administration. Pre-demonstration work was then carried out, mainly
involving upper-class women telephoning each other to arrange assembly points. These women also
employed their literary skills to produce slogans on banners, and to circulate petitions promoting
their aims. Even though her husband was a prominent personage in the progress towards
independence from Britain, there was no question of Safiyya Zaghlul remaining in his shadow. On
the contrary, she became a formidable political actor in her own right, showing immense support for
the March 1919 revolution. Safiyya Zaghlul’s very home in Cairo was known as Bayt al-Umma (the
House of the Nation), with nationalists from far and wide rallying within it. Safiyya Zaghlul invited
activists while her husband was away – first in exile following his arrest and later travelling to
London and Paris to press for independence for Egypt. Through this period, Safiyya Zaghlul took a
pride in playing a pivotal role in their struggle. By organising meetings at their house, and styling
herself as a national “mother” figure, she achieved results which have often been overlooked by
those studying nationalist movements. During the house assemblies, Safiyya Zaghlul would sign
petitions, deliver speeches, and generally make the men and women who visited this focal point of
revolution feel welcome. Safiyya Zaghlul had until then lived a largely secluded life in her own
upper-class enclave, so especially took pleasure in becoming a public individual.88 Sultan (later
King) Fuʾad summed up the power which Safiyya Zaghlul yielded within the Wafdist nationalist
movement when he noted the “extraordinary influence of the women and particularly of Madame
Saʿad Zaghlul in exciting native hostility to the British”.89
86
Al-Ahram, op. cit.
87
Al-Muqattam, Cairo, March 1919.
88
For more on Safiyya Zaghlul, see her biography written in French by her close friend, Fina Gued Vidal, shortly after
Safiyya’s death. Fina Gued Vidal, Safia Zaghloul, Cairo, R. Schindler, 1946.
89
Allenby to Curzon, 20 April 1919, enclosure: ‘Colonel Symes’ Note on Interview with the Sultan, April 17, 1919’,
FO 407/184/286, TNA.
283
The home of the distinguished protestor ʿAtiyya Abu Isbaa was used as a convergence location for
demonstrators on the first day of their march. The house was in Garden City, near the central square
of Maydan Ismaʿiliyya (later renamed Midan al-Tahrir or Liberation Square), and also close to
government offices, as well as the headquarters of foreign diplomatic missions. Petitions were
signed by all women who came together, and then an itinerary was explained to all marchers, with
all those taking part encouraged to walk in an orderly manner, to maintain the image of a well-
organised and peaceful demonstration. Those participating mainly wore dress favoured by women
from the highest strands of Cairo society, namely black abayas, and white face veils.90 Most of them
arrived by car, keeping them parked nearby as they set out on the protest route. Estimates of the
number of women who turned up ranged from 150 to 530.91
Banners at the front of the demonstration projected slogans such as: “We protest the shedding of the
blood of the innocent and the unarmed” and “We demand complete independence”.92 Those shouted
out verbally included: “Long live freedom and independence!” and “Down with the protectorate!”
The march progressed along Qasr al-ʿAini Street, now one of the oldest streets in central Cairo,
towards the foreign missions and other administrative offices, where organisers aimed to distribute
tracts stating their claims. However, it was then diverted to the home of Saʿad Zaghlul which was a
prime place for the undertaking of the Wafdist movement – a symbol of the idea that all those
involved in the protest were part of a “national family”.
As the dissenting crowds approached the house of Saʿad Zaghlul, it soon became evident that the
occupying forces were uneasy about what was going on. “When we had arrived at the end of Saʿad
Zaghlul Pasha Street we were surrounded by British troops who levelled their weapons at us”,
women wrote in a later petition.93 Huda Shaʿarawi then challenged the soldiers with the words: “Let
me die so Egypt shall have an Edith Cavell.”94 Cavell was the English nurse who became a female
martyr when she was killed by German soldiers in Belgium in 1915 after helping Allied prisoners of
war to escape. The allusion to Cavell showed that Huda Shaʿarawi knew how to cite emotional
British references to her own advantage. Other marchers had to physically restrain Shaʿarawi from
overly intimidating the British. They feared that violence might ensue if this were to happen. The
90
91
The Times of London, 11 April 1919, p.11.
92
93
Enclosure petition dated 20 March 1919, SD 883.00/135, U.S. National Archive, State Department (hereafter USNA).
94
284
officers then “kept us standing thus for two hours under a burning sun”.95 Sir Thomas Russell Pasha,
British commander of the Cairo City Police, later admitted that it was his decision to keep the
women standing around under a hot sun as a way of sapping their energy and morale. The tense
situation came to an end when Russell called for the women’s cars to be summoned so that all the
demonstrators could depart in a restrained, easily monitored fashion.96
The American Consul-General was among foreign missions which received petitions from the
women, which were to become central prescribed acts of notable women’s disobedience. Many
included complaints about the way they had been treated by the British. Records confirm that the
women engaged in the resistance came from the highest echelons of Cairo society. Those joining in
the dissidence movement included Safiyya Zaghlul, Sharifa Riyad, Labiba Ahmad, Esther Fahmi
Wissa, and the wife of the late revolutionary feminist activist Qasim Amin.97 Many were the wives
and daughters of pashas and beys, and they signed their names accordingly. The register also reveals
that many of the women who protested together came from the same august families.
Opposition to the methods of the British military to suppress public demonstrations was expressed
in the appeals to the authorities, as well as the principal call for Egyptian independence from Britain.
Signatories specifically resented the practice of force against people, “who have done nothing more
than claim the liberty and independence of their country, in conformity with the principles
proclaimed by Dr. [President Woodrow] Wilson and accepted by all belligerent and neutral
nations”.98 At the time Egyptians were hugely influenced by Wilson’s principles of self-
determination, as outlined in his Fourteen Points speech delivered to Congress at a joint session on
January 1, 1918. Pleas presented by the select group of women condemned the British for using
machine gun fire against unarmed women and children, especially as many of the women protestors
marched peacefully. A petition signed by 118 women urged the international community: “We beg
you to send our message to America and to President Wilson personally. Let them hear our call. We
believe they will not suffer Liberty to be crushed in Egypt, that human Liberty for which you[r]
95
Ibid.
96
Thomas Russell Pasha Papers, c. 1, April 1919, The Middle East Centre at St. Anthony’s College, Oxford.
97
Enclosure petition dated 20 March 1919, SD 883.00/135, USNA.
98
Enclosure ‘The Egyptian Women to the American Diplomatic Agent and Consul-General, Cairo’, 18 March 1919,
SD 883.00/130, USNA.
285
brave and noble sons have died.”99 The hint at the U.S. War of Independence from Britain was seen
as a particularly poignant one by those who endorsed the solicitation.
Analysing the early March 1919 events, Middle East specialist Beth Baron is categorical that gentry
women spent next to no time demonstrating with women from other classes. In this sense the revolt
was not a consolidated social one, Baron argues. Instead, the main aim of the non-violent rallies
was, at first, to convince the British that the upper Egyptian classes objected to their presence in
their country. Coptic and Muslim women thus joined forces. The women’s choice of black clothing
with white veils was that of entitled women who lived in relative seclusion, albeit a highly
privileged one. They set themselves apart from women working in menial jobs in the countryside, or
in factories, or solely in their husband’s homes. The women used the telephone to plan their
marches, and turned up in chauffeur driven cars. The evidence of this elitism, Baron contends,
contradicts the idea that the “lady demonstrators” displayed collective solidarity and unity across
class boundaries. On the contrary, their attitude contributed to maintain a very stiff hierarchical view
of society based on class distinctions.100
The primary outcome of the aristocratic women’s activity was to create a female Egyptian voice
which would impress a wider, international audience. Petitions written by the high society women
used expressions such as: “In the name of the women of Egypt” and many were signed as “The
Ladies of Egypt” and “The Egyptian Women”.101 The Egyptian family unit also became a rallying
cry for the women demonstrating in 1919. They dubbed themselves “the mothers, sisters and wives
of the victims massacred for the satisfaction of British ambitions”.102 Through presenting themselves
as “Mothers of the Nation”, women played on their moral high ground as such, so dramatising their
campaign for freedom. Some commentators, such as the wealthy Socialist and prolific Coptic writer
and journalist Salama Musa (1887-1958), have described the March 1919 popular gatherings as a
feminist act. A staunch defender of women’s rights, Musa writes in his Memoirs published only a
year after al-Rafiʿi’s authoritative Thawrat 1919: “That even women went out to stage
demonstrations was not only a revolt against the English, but even more so against a thousand years
99
Enclosure ‘To the U.S. Diplomatic Agent in Egypt, Cairo’, 24 March 1919, SD 883.00/135, USNA.
100
Badran, op. cit., Feminists, Islam, and Nation, pp.76-77.
101
SD 883.00/130, op. cit., 18 March 1919; SD 883.00/135, op. cit., 20 March 1919; SD 883.00/135, op. cit., 24 March
1919.
102
SD 883.00/130, op. cit.
286
of veiled obscurity.”103 Baron, however, denies that feminist demands were rehearsed during the
protests. Establishment women stayed away from working-class ones, and insisted on remaining cut
off from other social groups, and indeed from men, so reinforcing gender barriers.104
The historian Ijlal Khalifa wrote:
It is said that the daughter of the wealthy or aristocratic class is the one who
participated in the revolution and the adept political work after it, and that
the daughter of the middle and lower classes is the one who died as a martyr
by the hand of colonialism, who felt its humiliation and oppression.105
Peasant women from the countryside also supported revolutionary action. Among their exertion
were acts of sabotage, including the destruction of railway lines. Khalifa honours the “female
martyrs” who died carrying out this kind of operation, and lists their names, the places they came
from, and the dates of their deaths. The Egyptian feminist Nawal al-Saʿadawi (1931- ), suggests that
“little has been said about the masses of poor women who rushed into the national struggle without
counting the cost, and who lost their lives, whereas the lesser contributions of aristocratic women
leaders have been noisily acclaimed and brought to the forefront”.106
Demonstrations against the British became increasingly populist throughout 1919, with working-
class women who had marched in different sections to the bourgeois women gradually merging with
them. So it was that class separations were crossed. Female historians, in particular, have
underplayed the gender segregation that has been associated with elite women’s activity. There are
also indications that women “agitated side by side with their men”.107 Husbands and wives were
thus brought together in protest. Shaʿarawi’s memoirs make this manifest.
Following the achievements of the revolution, upper-class women tried to establish a political role
for themselves through the foundation on 12 January 1920 of the Wafdist Women’s Central
Committee (WWCC), a subsidiary branch of the main Wafd. These female activists wanted to share
the nationalist stage with their male counterparts so as to advance women’s political culture in new
103
Salam Musa, Tarbiyat Salama Musa (The Raising of Salama Musa), Cairo, Dar al-Katib al-Misri, 1958, pp.150-151.
104
Badran, op. cit., Feminists, Islam, and Nation, pp.76-77.
105
Ijlal Khalifa, Al-Haraka al-Nisa’iyya al-Haditha: Qissat al-Mar’ah al-ʿArabiyya ʿala Ard Misr (The Modern
Women’s Movement: The Story of the Arab Woman in the Land of Egypt), Cairo, al-Matbaʿa al-ʿArabiyya al-Haditha,
1973.
106
Nawal al-Saʿadawi, The Hidden Face of Eve: Women in the Arab World, translated by Sherif Hetata, London, Zed
Books, 1980, p.176.
107
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, op. cit., p.269.
287
directions. However, once nominal independence from the British had been granted in 1922,
nationalist men who had worked with women in the liberation struggle disowned them. Women
were thus prompted to create formal institutions to follow their own path towards female
emancipation. Foremost among these was the Egyptian Feminist Union (EFU), which was set up
and presided over by Huda Shaʿarawi in 1923. The EFU was to become the first in a number of
influential women’s political organisations which would work towards equality and reform.
The Aftermath of the 1919 Revolution: How Male Nationalists Disowned Feminist Nationalists
Strains between men and women campaigning for Egyptian independence came to a head towards
the close of 1920, when male Wafdists returned from London following talks with the British
authorities. Emboldened by their negotiations with imperial leaders, the men presented new terms
for self-government to their own countrymen. But they ignored women’s groups,108 and specifically
the Wafdist Women’s Central Committee which had been working so hard towards self-
determination. Angered by the Committee’s snub, the women sent a stiff letter to Saʿad Zaghlul, in
charge of the Wafd. The correspondence of 12 December 1920 was signed by Huda Shaʿarawi and
read:
We are surprised and shocked by the way we have been treated recently, in
contrast to previous treatment and certainly contrary to what we expect from
you. You supported us when we created our Committee. Your
congratulatory telegrams expressed the finest hopes and most noble
sentiments. What makes us all the more indignant is that by disregarding us
the Wafd has caused foreigners to disparage the renaissance of women. They
claim that our participation in the nationalist movement was merely a ploy to
dupe our civilized nations into believing in the advancement of Egypt and its
ability to govern itself. Our women’s renaissance is above that as you know.
At this moment when the future of Egypt is about to be decided, it is unjust
that the Wafd, which stands for the rights of Egypt and struggles for its
liberation, should deny half the nation its role in that liberation.109
108
ʿAfaf Lutfi al-Sayyid-Marsot, Egypt’s Liberal Experiment 1922-1936, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press,
1977, p.53.
109
288
The relative success of the Egyptian Revolution which saw Britain grant the country nominal
independence in 1922 was not the accomplishment envisaged by feminists. Instead, male liberal
nationalists effectively abandoned their women supporters. Badran summarises what happened:
Following independence, women’s liberation slipped in order of priority for

male liberals, who became engaged in their own political power struggles. It
was then that feminists proclaimed the start of the public, political
movement for their own liberation and national liberation within the
framework of their feminist movement and began the move to desegregate
society by the removal of the veil.110
These developments laid the foundations for the establishment of a genuinely feminist movement –
one which could act beyond the original calls for independence. Free of its nationalist ideology, the
grouping brought about what was, arguably, the most momentous period in the history of the
Egyptian women’s movement. Faced with increasing marginalisation as they campaigned alongside
male nationalists, women were determined not to be disregarded, as they were in 1924 when they
were left out of the inaugural ceremonies of the new Egyptian Parliament. A year later, in 1925,
women were also prevented from contributing to the third convocation of Parliament. Saiza
Nabarawi, the young editor of L’Égyptienne (The Egyptian Woman), the journal of the Feminist
Union, made much of what was clearly a “double standard” in one of her articles for the publication:
In stating my complaint I by no means resent the presence of my

distinguished colleagues but simply wish to raise a voice against unequal
treatment. I should point out that representatives of the local press are often
less favoured than certain foreign women… A double standard! This will
always exist as long as men rule…Is it just that in this Egyptian land… our
women should be the last to enjoy rights and prerogatives accorded
others..?111
The distinct biased principles of male nationalist advocates very much set the tone for the years to
come. Women were quick to grasp the change in approach by the men, and set up groups aimed at
combating it. The pioneering EFU was the original all-women faction that led the way in
championing female rights.112
110
Margot Badran, ‘The Feminist Vision in the Writings of Three Turn-of-the-Century Egyptian Women’, Bulletin, in
British Society for Middle Eastern Studies, vol. 15, nos. 1 & 2, 1988, p.15.
111
Margot Badran and Miriam Cooke (eds.), Opening the Gates: A Century of Arab Feminist Writing, Bloomington,
Indiana University Press, 1990, pp.280-281.
112
289
Women’s chronic setbacks at not attaining equal citizenship with men following the formulation of
the 1924 Constitution were soon transformed into renewed demands for universal suffrage.
Members of the EFU, as well as women working within other structures, concentrated once more on
the goal of political equality. While this was happening, however, they were met with fierce
religious criticism. Male Muslim conservatives were not wholly opposed to women fighting for their
prerogatives when they were united with liberal nationalists in the common, formal request for self-
rule, but this enlightened view did not extend to allowing enfranchisement. The idea of having
women voting and acting in the political sphere for any other reason beyond lobbying for
independence was considered beyond the pale:
Now focusing mainly on suffrage, the feminist movement evoked a hostile

reaction, mainly from popular religious quarters, of the sort that the EFU had
not attracted earlier. The problem was not simply that women’s intensified
drive for political rights was threatening but that a segment of the patriarchal
culture, anchoring its ideology and politics in a conservative reading of
Islam, had been gaining momentum in the 1930s and 1940s… Feminist
activism in its most symbolically threatening form, a suffrage movement,
and patriarchy at its most conservative, were on a collision course.113
Despite the inevitable reproval from the conservative elements of a profoundly religious society,
however, women did make some gains during the period. These included a rise in the number of
jobs made available to women. In 1923, the government granted equal secondary education for girls
too, and in 1924 the minimum marriage age for both sexes was raised (it was set at 16 for girls and
18 for boys). 1929 was also the first year that women were allowed to go to university. By the time
World War II started, there was a marked curtailment in all political activity, and this had a
profound effect on the fortunes of women in society. Saiza Nabarawi’s journal L’Égyptienne was
forced out of business, for example. By the end of the war, however, women had established the
Arab Feminist Union in Cairo, with Huda Shaʿarawi as the federation’s president.114
The growth and dissemination of a literary culture among middle-class Egyptian women at the turn
of the 19th century and early 20th century was tied up in a feminist awakening in the country.
Nationalist aspirations were part and parcel of this movement, with women using pride in country
and their fellow citizens as means of expressing themselves as feminists. An irony is that this
113
Ibid., p.218.
114
Ibid., p.244.
290
feminist advancement was largely overlooked by Egypt scholars while the writings of male
intellectuals on feminism at the time were given more historical prominence.
Charities and other associations combined with women’s literature and other forms of
argumentation to promote a nationalist strife linked to feminist action. The participation of middle
and upper-class women in a wide range of activities in the years leading up to 1919 suggests that
women’s involvement in the 1919 revolution was more the result of a historical trend, rather than a
radical new phenomenon. As they increased their undertaking, many felt as they were an integral
part of a national endeavour against British control. What is less clear is exactly how much impact
these women’s groups had on the nationalist entreprise. There is little doubt, however, that
influential nationalist literature was propagated by fronts managed by women, along with ideas by
word of mouth. So it was that women created a place for themselves in the fight for independence,
albeit more of a guiding, moral role than an overtly political one.
Privileged women also saw taking up a public duty as a means of voicing their concerns while
displaying loyalty towards men engaged in the strive towards independence. The 1919 revolution,
led by the Wafdist Saʿad Zaghlul, was a flagship opportunity for women to show that their
aspirations lay beyond their own societal rights as women. Instead they wanted to demonstrate that
they were just as capable of working towards Egyptian sovereignty as their fellow male patriots.
Veiled female agitators led by Huda Shaʿarawi confronted the British, exhibiting their solidarity
with all Egyptian nationalists, and particularly the Wafd party. These early female mobilisations –
the first of their kind – certainly helped precipitate the qualified withdrawal of the British from
Egypt in 1922.
However, following nominal independence the same year, many male Egyptian nationalists
effectively discarded women activists who had offered them so much allegiance. Feminists were in
turn forced to face up to an unavoidable reality – to succeed they needed to form their own
independent political movement.
291
Conclusion
A struggle motivated by an “Egypt for Egyptians” spirit finally achieved nominal independence for
the country in the first half of the 20th century. Through focusing on this sense of “oneness” this
thesis has shown how the rise of nationalism on both mass and elite opinion before, during and after
the First World War, was channeled towards success.
This study has demonstrated that the Egyptian nationalist movement developed through and beyond
the quelling of the ‘Urabi Revolt by the British army in 1882. The mutiny had begun as an effort to
restore the rights of native Egyptian military officers, but turned into a full-blown protest against far
broader injustices. Colonel Ahmed ‘Urabi, who led the revolt, highlighted his country’s unique
cultural identity. Beyond this, elite Muslim scholars took part in the uprising. These ‘ulama
provided the religious and intellectual rationales for the growing Egyptian nationalism.
Despite the short term failure of the ‘Urabi Revolt, this thesis discussed the immediate pre- and post-
First World War contexts that bolstered calls for self-government in Egypt so significantly. The
British Occupation, and the particularly violent behavior of British soldiers during the Taba Crisis
and the Dinshawai Incident in 1906, had caused widespread anger and the increased politicization of
Egyptians. The country’s educated classes propagated radical thoughts, creating a vigorous
militantism that would eventually spur society towards the 1919 Revolution.
The activists were also to become preoccupied by the impact the Great War had on the political
awareness of a colonized people. As so often throughout human history, war was a huge catalyst of
change. The Wafd Party’s novel brand of nationalism – one which caught the British by surprise –
was based on the legacy of Egypt’s extensive contribution to the global war. The hostilities exposed
the country to a range of previously unheard of hardships, and indeed altered its entire social make-
up. Anti-British sentiment escalated under the Protectorate because of the widely held belief that the
land had been pillaged by a colonising power. This stirred the nationalist consciousness as the
British presence had expanded from a “Veiled Protectorate” to direct “Wartime Imperialism”.
292
Conclusion
The effendiya – in essence the aspirational middle-classes – continuously participated in politics

during the war. The ground was prepared for them by the fastest growth of mass education since
Muhammad ‘Ali’s reign. Oppression under the British Occupation also gave them ideas about how
to win over and organise people. Both men and women reacted to changes in Egypt’s social,
economic and political landscape, uniting around a common language, and a shared culture as they
expressed dissent.
The thesis argues, in particular, that conflict transformed the nationalist movement from one mainly
involving a small elite based in Cairo into one supported by an extremely broad cross-section of
socio-economic groups, including many from the countryside. An overwhelming feeling of
dissatisfaction built up, with radicals constantly looking for a time and place to act. Crucially, those
advocating a powerful Egyptian identity received backing from the country’s non-Muslim
communities. This new sense of nationalism was an explicitly secular one, bringing together all
indigenous Egyptians including the Coptic Christian minority.
Meanwhile, U.S. President Woodrow Wilson had internationalised the rhetoric of self-determination
in pursuit of a new world order – a factor that was a huge boost to the Egyptian nationalists. The
words of the American head of state were an inspiration to them as they perceived the idealism of
the post-war era as a chance to advance their opposition to rule by British Empire forces. It was in
fact Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, the Russian Bolshevik chief, who had theorised the concept of “self-
determination”, before Wilson globalised it as a “legitimising” ambition. The two men certainly
generated an “international self-determination moment” that would benefit the anti-colonial
movement in Egypt.
Beyond the principles contained in Wilson’s Fourteen Points, Egyptian nationalist leader Saʿad
Zaghlul had emphasised the deep contradiction between discourse in Paris at the 1919 Peace
Conference and British oppression on the ground. The United Kingdom’s Foreign Office had sent
the Special High Commissioner General Sir Edmund Allenby to Egypt. Allenby was tasked with
maintaining security across the country. He set about this by combining military brutality to
safeguard peace in the countryside, while displaying apparent tolerance towards urban
demonstrations of nationalism. Specifically, he allowed Saʿad Zaghlul and other senior Wafd Party
members to be released after they were detained and then deported to Malta, so that they could
attend the Paris Peace Conference in 1919.
293
Conclusion
The thesis has illustrated how civic nationalism resulted in people championing the common good
of all Egyptians. However, those who led the 1919 Revolution perceived no direct connection
between what they were striving to do at home and what nationalists in other Arab countries were
trying to achieve. This lack of parallel nationalism was evident in both the ideology and the action
of the revolutionaries. The revolt did, nonetheless, include a forceful feminist element. It did not
bring about emancipation, but women’s anger at this need of progress helped to drive the
establishment of a formal women’s movement.1 Rebellion culminated in the transformation of
Anglo-Egyptian colonial relations, as Egypt was granted nominal independence in 1922.
The reaction of the British to the wide-scale turmoil of March and April 1919 was to send Alfred
Milner, the Colonies Secretary, to conduct an enquiry. His commission focused on the future of
Egypt, but was met with overwhelming antagonism by nationalists. With cooperation refused, and
the prevailing order rejected, Milner had concluded by February 1921 that the Protectorate could no
longer operate effectively. He instead advised Lord Curzon, Britain’s Foreign Secretary, that
nominal independence should be regarded as a viable option for Egypt.
Despite Milner’s recommendation, there was still a strong desire in London to retain control of the
Suez Canal, and other key assets – a position that conflicted with what the Egyptian people wanted.
This huge discrepancy between the two views was reflected in the manner in which Britain was
prepared to concede nominal independence. Securing strategic interests remained the priority of the
British, who guaranteed they were still responsible for defence and foreign policy, especially as they
continued to occupy the crucial Suez Canal Zone. Saʿad Zaghlul meanwhile kept on coordinating
resistance across Egypt.
It was on February 28th 1922 that Field Marshal Edmund Allenby ensured that the London
government issued a unilateral declaration of Egyptian independence. The subsequent Anglo-
Egyptian Treaty deemed Egypt ‘a sovereign independent state’ with four notable exceptions: ‘the
security of the communications of the British Empire in Egypt’, ‘the defence of Egypt against all
foreign aggression or interference, direct or indirect’, ‘the protection of foreign interests in Egypt
and the protection of minorities’ and ‘the Sudan’.2
1
Nabila Ramdani, ‘Women in the 1919 Egyptian Revolution: From Feminist Awakening to Nationalist Political
Activism’, Journal of International Women’s Studies, vol. 14, no. 2, 2013, pp.45-7.
2
294
Conclusion
Research in this thesis deliberately analysed events mainly from the point of view of indigenous
Egyptians, rather than solely through outsiders who have written original histories of this period. In
equally contemporary fashion, it has contended that the revolution exemplified the strength of both
elitist and populist circles working together. This was manifested in the grievances of the highbrow
Egyptians who eventually made their way to the Paris Peace Conference of 1919, as well as in the
columns of the journalists who fuelled Egypt’s burgeoning popular press. All played a crucial part in
obtaining Egypt’s nominal independence, attempting a largely peaceful approach to political change
in a campaign of civil disobedience that was to influence, among others, Mahatma Gandhi in India.
This work forms a pertinent case study of all types of nationalism throughout the 20th century and
beyond, and particularly Arab nationalism. It concludes that a nationalist movement cannot operate
in a vacuum so, naturally, must be investigated within the social, political and economic
developments of the country in which it took shape and thrived. Egyptian nationalism gained an
unstoppable momentum, leading to a genuinely popular uprising considered as the first modern
revolution.
295
Bibliography
296
Bibliography
I Primary Sources
The National Archives of the United Kingdom (TNA), London
CAB 17/175 Memoranda and Maps by Sir Mark Sykes.
FO 78/3682 General Correspondence on Politics in Egypt before 1906 by Sir E. Baring.
FO 141 Embassy and Consular Series, 1914-1924.
FO 141/97 Note, General Staff, Army Headquarters, Cairo, 23 July 1915 – The Egyptian Labour
Corps.
FO 141/478
FO 141/790 No. 14549/1 Minute High Commissioner, Egypt, 11 May 1922.
FO 141/797
FO 371 Political and General Correspondence on Egypt, 1914-1947.
FO 371/2930 General Sir Archibald Murray, Memorandum on Martial Law in Egypt, 26 November
1916.
FO 371/2932 Letter from Sir Reginald Wingate to General Archibald Murray, 23 May 1917.
FO 371/3198 Statement of Egyptian Natives Employed in the Egyptian Expeditionary Force.
FO 371/3204
FO 371/3204 No. 1710 Sir R. Wingate to FO (It was dispatched to the King and War Cabinet),
Cairo, 17 November 1918.
FO 371/3713
FO 371/3714 A.L., Foreign Office minutes, 24 March 1919; Sir William Willcocks, Memorandum
by Sir William Willcocks, 4 March 1919.
FO 371/3715
FO 371/4373
FO 407 Further Correspondence on Egypt and the Sudan, 1881-1924.
297
Bibliography
FO 407/174 No. 33 Sir G. Lowther to Sir E. Grey, Constantinople, 15 March 1909.
FO 407/174 No. 40 Ronald Graham to Sir E. Grey, Cairo, 4 April 1909.
FO 407/183
FO 407/184
FO 407/184 No. 64
FO 407/184 No. 69
FO 407/184 No. 85
FO 407/184 No. 123
FO 407/184 No. 131
FO 407/184 No. 144
FO 407/184 No. 148
FO 407/184 No. 152
FO 407/184 No. 339
FO 407/184/286
FO 407/194 No. 93
FO 608/41/503 Peace Conference (British Delegation) Files 97/1/22 to 98/1/2 (To P.P. 18113),
Geneva, 30 April 1919.
FO 608/203 No. 6289/1, Department of Information, Section E, 30 January 1918.
FO 608/212, fol. 245 Balfour to Curzon, 20 February 1919.
FO 608/213, fol. 9 Hankey to Dutasta, 28 February 1919.
FO 608/213 British Delegation, Correspondence and Papers relating to British Africa.
FO 633/13 Correspondence with Sir Edward Grey on Egyptian Affairs.
FO 800/48 Sir Edward Grey Papers 1912-1916.
FO 800/153 Lord Curzon General Papers.
FO 800/214-217 Balfour Papers.
298
Bibliography
FO 800/256 Sir Austen Chamberlain Papers.
FO 848 Milner Papers 1919.
PRO 30/57/47 Egypt 1915: Miscellaneous Correspondence; Papers of Field Marshal Lord
Kitchener.
WO 33/760 War Office: Reports, Memoranda, Papers, and Telegrams. (Inter alia: Levant Base in
Egypt to War Office, 23 December 1915).
WO 95/4360 First World War and Army of Occupation War Diaries. Part IV: Egypt, Palestine and
Syria. (Inter alia: Lt-Col. C. Whittingham, Note on Organisation etc. of CTC, February 1915;
Major-General A. Wilson to General Staff, Cairo, 24 February 1915).
WO 95/4364
British Parliamentary Papers, House of Commons
Sessional Papers, 1906, Egypt No. 3, Vol. 87, 1906.
United Kingdom Foreign Office
British Documents on Foreign Affairs: The Near and Middle East; Britain, Egypt and the Sudan,
1885-1914, Vol. 15.
Paper Respecting the Attack on British Officers at Denshawai, Egypt No. 3 and No. 4.
(Printed for HMSO by Harrison and Sons, London, 1906).
The Egyptian National Library and Archives in Cairo

Dar al-Kutub wa al-Watha‘iq al-Qawmiyya fi al-Qahira
Awraq al-Hadrah al-Khdaiwiyyah bi Sadad al-Thawrah al-‘Urabiyyah.
Mahafiz ‘Abdin.
Mahafiz ‘Abdin, al-Mas‘alah al-Misriyyah Min 1915-1924.
Mahafiz ‘Abdin, Diwan al-Khidiwi, Iltimasat Jama’iyah, Mahfazah No.1.
Mahafiz ‘Abdin, Mahafiz Nos.1-216, Hizb al-Wafd 1919-1946.
Mahafiz ‘Abdin, Mahafiz Nos.1-214, Hizb al-Watani 1908-1940.
Mahafiz ‘Abdin, Mahfazah No. 9A, Misr fi al-Harb al-‘Alamiyyah al-Ula min 1912-1919.
299
Bibliography
Mahafiz Majlis al-Nazar.
Mahafiz Majlis al-Nazar, Mahfazah No. 5/4 “Jalasat Majlis al-Nazar”, 3 April 1881.
Mahafiz Majlis al-Nazar, Mahfazah No. 11 “Nadharat al-Harbiyyah”, “Taqrir ila al-Khediwi bi
Khusus Muratabat al-Dubat wa al-‘Asakir”, 19 April 1881.
Majlis al-Nazar, Mahafiz Nos. 13A, 13B and 13C, Thawrat 1919 wal Mas‘alah al-Misriyyah min
1918-1924.
Majlis al-Wuzar‘a, Jalasat Majlis al-Wuzar‘a al-Misri, 1914-1918.
Mahafiz Qanat al-Suways, Mahafiz No. 2, 7, 121.
Mahafiz Qanat al-Suways, Mahfazah No. 2 file 184-81-J5, p.6.
Mahafiz al-Thawrah al-‘Urabiyyah.
Mahafiz al-Thawrah al-‘Urabiyyah, Mahfazah No. 41 Dusiah 6,3.
Mahafiz al-Thawrah al-‘Urabiyyah, Mahfazah No. 8, Dusiah 53/D, file 220.
Mahafiz al-Thawrah al-‘Urabiyyah, Mahfazah No. 8, Dusiah 53/D/6, file 220.
Qanun Nos. 27 and 28, 16 June 1910.
Taqarir ‘An al-Thawrah al-‘Urabiyyah.
Taqarir ‘An al-Thawrah al-‘Urabiyyah, Vol. 1 Taqrir No. 14 Aqwal Riyad Pasha.
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi.
Mudhakkirat ‘Abd al-Rahman Fahmi, Mahfazah No. 1, Malaf No. 1.
Mudhakkirat Muhammad ‘Ali ‘Aluba.
Mudhakkirat Muhammad Farid, Part. 1, Vol. 1, Malaf No. 1.
Mudhakkirat Muhammad Farid, Part. 1, Tarikh Misr Ibtidan min ‘Am 1891.
Mudhakkirat Muhammad Farid, Box No. 1, Khatab min Mustafa Kamil ila Muhammad Farid, 10
August 1898.
300
Bibliography
Mudhakkirat Sa‘ad Zaghlul
Mudhakkirat Sa‘ad Zaghlul, Kurras No. 17.
Egyptian Official Government Sources
Annual Report, Ministry of Public Work, 1914-1919, Cairo, Government Press.
Al-Waqa‘i’ al-Misriyyah, Egypt, No. 781, 13 October 1878.
Al-Waqa‘i’ al-Misriyyah, Egypt, No. 12, 19 January 1880.
National Archives and Records Administration (NARA), United States
SD 883.00/2
SD 883.00/3
SD 883.00/4
SD 883.00/5
SD 883.00/12
SD 883.00/13
SD 883.00/14
SD 883.00/16
SD 883.00/17
SD 883.00/19
SD 883.00/20
SD 883.00/21
SD 883.00/22
SD 883.00/24
301
Bibliography
SD 883.00/28
SD 883.00/29
SD 883.00/30
SD 883.00/36
SD 883.00/49
SD 883.00/79
SD 883.00/130
SD 883.00/135
Library of Congress (LOC), Washington D.C.
Woodrow Wilson Papers (WWP), Microform.
Official Sources
United States Senate, ‘Interview between President Wilson and Messrs. Edward F. Dunne and Frank
P. Walsh, at the President’s House, 11 Place des États Unis, Paris, Wednesday, June 11, 1919’ from
‘Hearings before the Committee on Foreign Relations, Sixty-Sixth Congress, First Session: on the
Treaty of Peace with Germany, signed at Versailles on June 28, 1919, and submitted to the Senate
on July 10, 1919, by the President of the United States’, Government Printing Office, Washington,
Document 106, Saturday 30 August, 1919.
British Library, Asia, Pacific and Africa Collection (APAC), London
L/MIL/17/5/2381 Memorandum on India’s Contribution to the War in Men, Material and Money:
August 1914 to November 1918.
L/P&S/10/576 SSI to Viceroy, 10 December 1915.
Cambridge University Library (CUL)
Harding Papers, Vol. 4.
Papers and Correspondence of Viscount Hardinge of Penshurst.
302
Bibliography
Imperial War Museum (IWM), London
First World War letters of Lieutenant J.W. McPherson, 80/25/1.
Papers of Field Marshal Lord Chetwode, P 183, Folder 5.
King’s College London, Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives (LHCMA)
Hamilton Papers, 7/1/26.
Papers of Sir William Robertson, 4/5/3.
Papers of Sir William Bartholomew, 1/2.
The London School of Economics and Political Science Archives (LSEA)
Egyptian Delegation Report, Egyptian Delegation to the Peace Conference: Collection of Official
Correspondence from November 11, 1918 to July 14, 1919, Paris, Published by the Delegation,
1919.
Délégation Égyptienne [Egyptian Delegation], Rapport présenté à la Conférence de Paix sur la

répression par les troupes britanniques du mouvement national égyptien du mois de mars 1919
[Report presented at the Peace Conference on the repression by the British troops on the Egyptian
nationalist movement, March 1919], Paris, Publié par la Délégation [Published by the Delegation],
1919.
Egyptian Delegation, Report presented on March the 30th 1919 by the Egyptian Delegation to His
Excellency the General Sir Edmund-Henry-Hymman Allenby, British High Commissioner, Paris,
Published by the Delegation, 1919.
Délégation Égyptienne [Egyptian Delegation], Note présentée le 9 juin 1919 à l’‘Internationale

Socialiste’ [Note presented on 9 June 1919 at the ‘Socialist International’], Paris, Publiée par la
Délégation [Published by the Delegation], 1919.
Délégation Égyptienne [Egyptian Delegation], Discours prononcés au déjeuner offert par la

Délégation Égyptienne le 2 août 1919 [Speeches given at the breakfast offered by the Egyptian
Delegation on 2 August 1919], Paris, Publiés par la Délégation [Published by the Delegation], 1919.
Egyptian Delegation, The Egyptian National Claims: A Memorandum presented to the Peace
Conference by the Egyptian Delegation charged with the Defence of Egyptian Independence, Paris,
Published by the Delegation, 1919.
303
Bibliography
Middle East Centre Archives (MECA) at St Antony’s College, Oxford
Alexander Keown Boyd Papers.
British Parliamentary Debates, House of Lords, 1919, 5th series, Vol. 34 & Vol. 37.
British Parliamentary Debates, House of Lords, 1919, 5th series, Vol. 114.
Collection of Private Papers:
Colonel Charles Ryder Papers.
J. W. A. Young Papers.
Lord Allenby Letters.
Magda Baraka, ‘The Egyptian Upper Class Between Revolutions, 1919-1952’, 1 Jan 1998.
Richard Adamson, 1919 Revolution.
Sir Bertram Homsby Papers.
Sir Milne Cheetham Papers.
Sir Valentine Chirol Papers.
Thomas Russell Pasha Papers.
The Royal Geographical Society, London
W.E. Jennings-Bramly, ‘Frontier Administration Officer in the Sinai Peninsula, 1902-1947’.
Media
Marxist Internet Archive (MIA), The principal reference to Lenin and other Marxists:
www.marxists.org.
Mazzini, Giuseppe (1852), ‘On Nationality’, Modern History Sourcebook:

www.fordham.edu/halsall/mod/1852mazzini.html
Skinner, Quentin (1984), ‘The Paradoxes of Political Liberty’, The Tanner Lectures on Human
Values, delivered at Harvard University:
http://tannerlectures.utah.edu/_documents/a-to-z/s/skinner86.pdf
304
Bibliography
Wilson, Woodrow (1919), ‘The Pueblo Speech’, 25 September 1919, Voices of Democracy, the
US Oratory Project: voicesofdemocracy.umd.edu/wilson-the-pueblo-speech-speech-text
Woodrow Wilson American Presidency Project (APP):
Wilson, Woodrow (1916), ‘Address delivered at the First Annual Assemblage of the League to
Enforce Peace’ (‘American Principles’), 27 May 1916, APP:
www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/index.php?pid=65391
Wilson, Woodrow (1917), ‘Address to the Senate of the United States: A World League for Peace’
(‘Peace without Victory’), 22 January 1917, APP:
Wilson, Woodrow (1917), ‘Address to a Joint Session of Congress Requesting a Declaration of War
Against Germany’, 2 April 1917, APP:
Wilson, Woodrow (1918), ‘Address to a Joint Session of Congress on the Conditions of Peace’
(‘Fourteen Points’), 8 January 1918, APP:
Wilson, Woodrow (1918), ‘Speech at the Opening of the Third Liberty Loan Campaign, delivered in
the Fifth Regiment Armory, Baltimore’ (‘Force to the Utmost’), 6 April 1918, APP:
Woodrow Wilson Presidential Library (WWPL):
Grayson, Cary T. (1919), ‘Peace Conference Diary Entry, 17 May 1919’, WWPL:
wwl2.dataformat.com/Document.aspx?doc=30940
Siebold, Louis (1920), ‘The Extraordinary Career of Woodrow Wilson who left the quiet of
university life for the turmoil of politics and became the leader of the world’s greatest nation during
the world’s most stirring times’, Post- Dispatch, WWPL:
Wilson, Woodrow (1915), ‘State of the Union Address of 7 December 1915’, WWPL:
Wilson, Woodrow (1918), ‘Address of the President of the United States Delivered at a Joint
Session of the Two Houses of Congress’, Washington, DC, (‘Four Principles’), 11 February 1918,
WWPL: wwl2.dataformat.com/Document.aspx?doc=30724
305
Bibliography
Newspapers and Periodicals
Al-Afkar
Al-Ahram
Al-Akhbar
Al-‘Alam
Al-Balagh
Al-Dustur
Al-Ghurfa al-Tijariyah
Al-Hilal
Al-Jarida
Jaridat al-Misri
Al-Liwa
Al-Masry Al-Youm
Al-Muayyad
Al-Musawar
Al-Muqattam
Al-Nazam
Sahifat al-Safir
Al-Shabab
Al-Sha’ab
Al-Tijarah
Al-Ustadh
Al-Watan
Dia al-Sharq
Misr al-Fatah
306
Bibliography
Majallat al-Qutr al-Misri
Egyptian Gazette
The Times of London
II Secondary Sources
Academic Journal Articles, Papers & Original Reports from Non-Governmental

Organisations
ʿAbd al-Ghaffar, Munira (1908), ‘La Taqulu al-Nisa’ [Do Not Say Women], Tarqiyat al-marʾah
[Woman’s Progress], Vol. 1, no. 6.
ʿAbduh, Muhammad (1877), ‘Al-‘Ulum al-Kalamiya wa al-Da’wa ila al-‘Ulum al-‘Asriya’

[Linguistic/Literary Sciences and the Call to Modern Sciences], al-Ahram, Issue no. 36.
ʿAbduh, Muhammad (1881), ‘Ma huwa al-Fiqr al-Haqiqi fi al-Balaad’ [What is the Real Poverty in
the Country?], al-Wakai’i al-Misriyya, Issue no. 1073.
ʿAbduh, Muhammad (1881), ‘Ta’thir al-Ta’lim fi al-Din wa al-‘Aqida’ [The Impact of Education on
Religion and Faith], al-Wakai’i al-Misriyya, Issue no. 1186.
Abulof, Uriel (2010), ‘We the Peoples? The Birth and Death of Self-determination’, Tel Aviv
University and Princeton University Woodrow Wilson School.
Abu-Lughod, Ibrahim (1967), ‘The Transformation of the Egyptian Elite: Prelude to the ‘Urabi
Revolt’, Middle East Journal, Vol. 21, no. 3.
Al-Afghani, Jamal al-Din (1883), ‘Exchange with Ernest Renan’, Journal des Débats [Journal of
Debates].
Al-Mihiyya, Sarah (1914), ‘Tahrir al-marʾah fi Urubba’ [Women’s Liberation in Europe], Fatat
al-nil [Young Woman of the Nile], Vol. 1, no. 6.
Al-Shamakhiyya, Layla (1908), ‘Al-Marʾah wa safsatat al-kitab’ [Women and Sophistry], Tarqiyat
al-marʾah [Woman’s Progress], Vol. 1, no. 12.
Anis, Muhammad (1964), ‘Thawrat 1919 Wa Hizb al-‘Ummal al-Britani’ [The 1919 Revolution and
the British Workers’ Party], al-Hilal, October issue.
Anis, Zaynab (1908), ‘Jamʿiyyat al-Shafaqa bi al-Atfal’ [The Society of Compassion for Children],
al-Rihanna [Lit. The Basil Leaf], Vol. 1, no. 1.
307
Bibliography
Badran, Margot (1988), ‘Dual Liberation: Feminism and Nationalism in Egypt, 1870s-1925’,
Feminist Issues, Vol. 8, no. 1.
Badran, Margot (1988), ‘The Feminist Vision in the Writings of Three Turn-of-the-Century
Egyptian Women’, Bulletin British Society for Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 15, nos. 1&2.
Baker, Ray Stannard (1989), ‘The Versailles Treaty and After’, Current History, Vol. 88, no. 534.
Bezirgan, Najm (1978), ‘Islam and Arab Nationalism’, Middle East Review, Vol. 11, no. 2.
Bowring, Bill (2011), ‘Marx, Lenin and Pashukanison Self-determination: Response to Robert
Knox’, Historical Materialism, Vol. 19, no. 2.
Brown, Nathan J. (1994), ‘Who Abolished Corvee Labour in Egypt and Why?’, Past and Present,
Vol. 144, no. 1.
Burgers, Jan Herman (1992), ‘The Road to San Francisco: The Revival of Human Rights Idea in the
Twentieth Century’, Human Rights Quarterly, Vol. 14, no. 4.
Burman, John (2009), ‘British Strategic Interests versus Ottoman Sovereign Rights: New
Perspectives on the ʿAqaba Crisis, 1906’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, Vol.
37, no. 2.
Butovsky, Avriel (1994), ‘Languages of the Egyptian Monarchy’, Harvard Middle Eastern and
Islamic Review, Vol. 1, no. 1.
Buitenhuis, Peter (1976), ‘Selling the Great War’, The Canadian Review of American Studies,
Vol. 7, no. 2.
Cain, Peter J. (2006), ‘Character and Imperialism: The British Financial Administration of Egypt,
1878-1914’, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, Vol. 34, no. 2.
Carleton, William G. (1962), ‘A New Look at Woodrow Wilson’, Virginia Quarterly Review,
Vol. 38, no. 4.
Carman, Harry J. (1921), ‘England and the Egyptian Problem’, Political Science Quarterly, Vol. 36,
no. 1.
Chalcraft, John (2005), ‘Engaging the State: Peasants and Petitions in Egypt on the Eve of Colonial
Rule’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 37, no. 3.
Cleveland, William (1979), ‘Sources of Arab Nationalism: An Overview’, Middle East Review,
Vol. 11, no. 3.
308
Bibliography
Coates-Ulrichsen, Kristian (2007), ‘The British Occupation of Mesopotamia, 1914-1922’, Journal

of Strategic Studies, Vol. 30, no. 2.
Cole, Juan Ricardo (1981), ‘Feminism, Class, and Islam in Turn-of-the-Century Egypt’,
International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. 13, no. 4.
Cuomo, Glenn R. (1993), ‘“Saint Joan before the Cannibals”: George Bernard Shaw in the Third
Reich’, German Studies Review, Vol. 16, no. 3.
Curry, George (1961), ‘Woodrow Wilson, Jan Smuts, and the Versailles Settlement’, American
Historical Review, Vol. 66, no. 4.
Davies, Colonel G.F. (1920), ‘Lecture on Supplies and Transport – Egyptian Expeditionary Force’,
Army Service Corps Quarterly, Vol. 8.
Dazhao, Li (1918), ‘Bolshevism de shengli’ [The Victory of Bolshevism], Xin Qingnian [New
Youth], Vol. 5, no. 5.
Elliot, W. and Kinross, A. (1925), ‘Maintaining Allenby’s Armies: A Footnote to History’, Royal
Army Service Corps Quarterly, Vol. 13, no. 1.
Farr, Martin (2002), ‘A Compelling Case for Voluntarism: Britain’s Alternative Strategy, 1915-16’,
War in History, Vol. 9, no. 3.
Fenwick, Charles G. (1918), ‘The Russian Peace Treaties’, American Political Science Review,
Vol. 12, no. 4.
French, David (1987), ‘The Dardanelles, Mecca and Kut: Prestige as a Factor in British Eastern
Strategy, 1914-1916’, War and Society, Vol. 5, no. 1.
Gershman, Carl (1981), ‘Self-Determination and the Soviet Empire’, World Affairs, Vol. 144, no. 3.
Goldberg, Ellis (1992), ‘Peasants in Revolt – Egypt 1919’, International Journal of Middle East
Studies, Vol. 24, no. 2.
Haddad, George (1973), ‘Mustafa Kamil: A Self-Image from his Correspondence with Juliette
Adam’, The Muslim World, Vol. 63, no. 2.
Haddad, Yvonne (1984), ‘Islam, Women and Revolution in Twentieth-Century Arab Thought’,
Women in the Muslim World, Vol. 74, nos. 3-4.
Hassan, Maher (2009), ‘The 1,000 Martyrs’ Revolution: The People’s Strike Topples the
Government and Brings Back Saʿad Zaghlul and his Comrades’, Al-Masry Al-Youm, 13 March
2009.
309
Bibliography
Hatina, Meir (2003), ‘Historical Legacy and the Challenge of Modernity in the Middle East: The
Case of al-Azhar in Egypt’, The Muslim World, Vol. 93, no.1.
Heyworth-Dunne, James (1939), ‘Rifaʿa Bey Rafiʿ al-Tahtawi: The Egyptian Revivalist’, Bulletin of
the School of Oriental and African Studies, Vol. 9, no. 4.
Heyworth-Dunne, James (1940), ‘Rifaʿa Bey Rafiʿ al-Tahtawi: The Egyptian Revivalist’, Bulletin of
the School of Oriental and African Studies, Vol. 10, no. 2.
Hughes, Matthew (1996), ‘General Allenby and the Palestine Campaign, 1917-1918’, Journal of
Strategic Studies, Vol. 19, no. 4.
Hurd, Ian (1999), ‘Legitimacy and Authority in International Politics’, International

Organization, Vol. 53, no. 2.
Keddie, Nikki R. (1959), ‘Western Rule Versus Western Values: Suggestions for Comparative
Study of Asian Intellectual History’, Diogenes, Vol. 7, no. 26.
Kennedy, Paul M. (1984), ‘The First World War and the International Power System’, International
Security, Vol. 9, no. 1.
Killen, Linda (1982), ‘Self-determination vs. Territorial Integrity’, Nationalities Papers, Vol. 10,
no. 1.
Koskenniemi, Martti (1997), ‘Hierarchy in International Law: A Sketch’, European Journal of

International Law, Vol. 8.
Kryukov, Michael V. (1996), ‘Self-determination from Marx to Mao’, Ethnic and Racial Studies,
Vol. 19, no. 2.
Lalor, Paul (1999), ‘Rethinking Nationalism in the Arab Middle East’, Nations and Nationalism,
Vol. 5, no. 2.
Lansing, Robert (1907), ‘Notes on Sovereignty in a State’, American Journal of International Law,
Vol. 1, no. 105.
Litman, Simon (1918), ‘Revolutionary Russia’, American Political Science Review, Vol. 12, no. 2.
Louis, W.M. Roger & Robinson, Ronald (1994), ‘The Imperialism of Decolonization’, The Journal
of Imperial and Commonwealth History, Vol. 22, no. 3.
Luke, Kimberly (2007), ‘Order or Justice: The Denshawai Incident and British Imperialism’,
History Compass, Vol. 5, no. 2.
310
Bibliography
Malaka, Saʿad (1913), ‘Fatihat al-ʿaam al-sadis’ [An Introduction for the Sixth Year], Al-Jins al-latif
[The Fair Sex], Vol. 6, no. 1.
Mikesell, Marvin W. & Murphy, Alexander B. (1991), ‘A Framework for Comparative Study of
Minority-Group Aspirations’, Annals of the Association of American Geographers, Vol. 81, no. 4.
Petrus, Joseph A. (1971), ‘Marx and Engels on the National Question’, Journal of Politics, Vol. 33,
no. 3.
Ramdani, Nabila (2013), ‘Women in the 1919 Egyptian Revolution: From Feminist Awakening to
Nationalist Political Activism’, Journal of International Women’s Studies, Vol. 14, no. 2.
Rashid, Fatima (1908), ‘Al-Marʾah wa huququha fi al-Islam’ [A Woman’s Rights in Islam],

Tarqiyat al-marʾah [Woman’s Progress], Vol. 1, no. 10.
Rashid, Fatima (1908), ‘Al-Wataniyya wa al-marʾah’ [Women and Nationalism], Tarqiyat

al-marʾah [Woman’s Progress], Vol. 1, no. 2.
Rida, Rashid Muhammad (1906), ‘Masʾalat al-ʿAqaba’ [The issue of Aqaba], al-Manar [The Light],
Vol. 9.
Riga, Liliana and Kennedy, James (2006), ‘Mitteleuropa as Middle America? “The Inquiry” and the
Mapping of East Central Europe in 1919’, Ab Imperio, Vol. 4.
Riga, Liliana and Kennedy, James (2009), ‘Tolerant Majorities, Loyal Minorities, and “Ethnic
Reversals”: Constructing Minority Rights at Versailles 1919’, Nations and Nationalism, Vol. 15,
no. 3.
Salim, Latifa (1981), ‘Sahafat al-Thawra al-‘Urabiyya’ [The Press of the ‘Urabi Revolt], Chapter 7
in Abd al-Hamid, Nabil and Ahmed, Sayyid (eds.), ‘Misr lil Misriyyin: Mi’at ‘Am ‘ala al-Thawra
al-‘Urabiyya’ [Egypt for the Egyptians: Hundred Years on the Urabi Revolt], Markaz al-Dirasat
al-Siyasiyah wa-al-Istiratijiyah bi al-Ahram [al-Ahram Centre for Political and Strategic Studies].
Seton-Watson, Hugh (1956), ‘Soviet Nationality Policy’, Russian Review, Vol. 15, no. 1.
Seymour, Charles (1962), ‘Woodrow Wilson and Self-determination in the Tyrol’, Virginia
Quarterly Review, Vol. 38, no. 4.
Shaked, Haim (1971), ‘The Biographies of ‘ulama in ‘Ali Mubarak’s Khitat as a Source for the
History of the ‘ulama in Nineteenth Century Egypt’, Asian and African Studies, Vol. 7.
Skinner, Quentin (1969), ‘Meaning and Understanding in the History of Ideas’, History and Theory,
Vol. 8, no. 1.
311
Bibliography
Skinner, Quentin (1979), ‘The Idea of a Cultural Lexicon’, Essays in Criticism, Vol. XXIX, no. 3.
Skinner, Quentin (2009), ‘A Genealogy of the Modern State’, Proceedings of the British Academy,
Vol. 162.
Startt, James D. (1996), ‘American Propaganda in Britain During World War I’, Prologue, Vol. 28,
no. 1.
Steigerwald, David (1989), ‘The Synthetic Politics of Woodrow Wilson’, Journal of the History of
Ideas, Vol. 50, no. 3.
Steppat, Fritz (1956), ‘Nationalismus und Islam bei Mustafa Kamil’ [Nationalism and Islam by
Mustafa Kamil], Die Welt des Islams [The World of Islam], Vol. 4, no. 4.
Suriyal, Munira ʿAtiyya (1911), ‘Al-Marʾah al-misriyya’ [The Egyptian Woman], Al-Jins al-latif
[The Fair Sex], Vol. 3, no. 10.
Terry, Janice J. (1968), ‘Official British Reaction to Egyptian Nationalism after World War I’,
Al-Abhath, Vol. 21, nos. 2-4.
Thorne, Will (1896), ‘Full Report of the Proceedings of the International Workers’ Congress,
London, July and August, 1896 (the Fourth Congress of the Second International)’, The Labour
Leader.
Throntveit, Trygve (2011), ‘The Fable of the Fourteen Points: Woodrow Wilson and National Self-
determination’, Diplomatic History, Vol. 35, no. 3.
Throntveit, Trygve (2011), ‘What was Wilson Thinking? A Review of Recent Literature on
Wilsonian Foreign Policy’, White House Studies, Vol. 10, no. 4.
Tideman, Nicolaus (2004), ‘Secession as a Human Right’, Journal of Moral Philosophy, Vol. 1,
no.1.
Tignor, Robert L. (1962), ‘Some Materials for a History of the ʿArabi Revolution’, Middle East
Journal, Vol. 16, no. 2.
Toledano, Ehud (1995), ‘Review of Juan Cole’s Colonialism and Revolution in the Middle East:
Social and Cultural Origins of Egypt’s ‘Urabi Movement’, Middle Eastern Studies.
Tucker, Judith E. (1983), ‘Problems in the Historiography of Women in the Middle East: The Case
of Nineteenth Century Egypt’, International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 15,
pp.321-336.
312
Bibliography
Wertheim, Stephen (2011), ‘The League that wasn't: American Designs for a Legalist– Sanctionist
League of Nations and the Intellectual Origins of International Organization 1914–1920’,
Diplomatic History, Vol. 35, no. 5.
Wertheim, Stephen (2011), ‘The Wilsonian Chimera: Why Debating Wilson’s Vision hasn't saved
American Foreign Relations’, White House Studies, Vol. 10, no. 4.
Zubaida, Sami (2004), ‘Islam and Nationalism: Continuities and Contradictions’, Nations and
Nationalism, Vol. 10, no. 4.
Books in English
Abdel Kader, Soha (1987). Egyptian Women in a Changing Society, Lynne Rienner Publishers.
Acton, Edward (1990). Rethinking the Russian Revolution, Routledge.
Adams, Charles C. (2000). Islam and Modernism in Egypt: A Study of the Modern Reform
Movement Inaugurated by Muhammad ‘Abduh, Routledge.
Ahmed, Jamal Muhammad (1960). The Intellectual Origins of Egyptian Nationalism, Oxford
University Press.
Ahmed, Leila (1984). ‘Early Feminist Movements in the Middle East’ in Freda Hussain (ed.),
Muslim Women, St. Martin’s Press.
Ahmed, Leila (1992). Women and Gender in Islam: Historical Roots of a Modern Debate, Yale
University Press.
Allenby, Edmund (1919). A Brief Record of the Advance of the Egyptian Expeditionary Force, July
1917 to October 1918: Compiled from Official Sources, HMSO.
Algar, Hamid (1968). An Islamic Response to Imperialism, Political and Religious Writings of
Sayyid Jamal al-Din al-Afghani, University of California Press.
Al-Husri, Sati’ Khaldun (1966). Three Reformers: A Study in Modern Arab Political Thought,
Khayats.
Al-Saʿadawi, Nawal (1980). The Hidden Face of Eve: Women in the Arab World, translated by
Sherif Hetata, Zed Books.
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, ʿAfaf Lutfi (1968). Egypt and Cromer: A Study in Anglo-Egyptian Relations,
John Murray.
313
Bibliography
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, ʿAfaf Lutfi (1968). ‘The Beginnings of Modernization among the Rectors of
al-Azhar, 1789-1879’ in Polkand, William R. and Chambers, Richard (eds.), Beginnings of
Modernization in the Middle East: The Nineteenth Century, University of Chicago Press.
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, ʿAfaf Lutfi (1968). ‘The Role of the “Ulama” in Egypt During the Early
Nineteenth Century’ in Holt, Peter M. (ed.), Political and Social Change in Modern Egypt:
Historical Studies from the Ottoman Conquest to the United Arab Republic, Oxford University
Press.
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, ʿAfaf Lutfi (1972). ‘The ‘ulama of Cairo in the 18th and 19th Centuries’ in
Keddie, Nikki R. (ed.), Scholars, Saints and Sufis: Muslim Religious Institutions in the Middle East
since 1500, University of California Press.
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, ʿAfaf Lutfi (1977). Egypt’s Liberal Experiment 1922-1936, University of

California Press.
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, ʿAfaf Lutfi (1978). ‘The Revolutionary Gentlewomen in Egypt’ in Beck, Lois
and Keddie, Nikki (eds.), Women in the Muslim World, Harvard University Press.
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, ʿAfaf Lutfi (1984). Egypt in the Reign of Muhammad ‘Ali, Cambridge University
Press.
Al-Sayyid-Marsot, ʿAfaf Lutfi (2007). A History of Egypt: From the Arab Conquest to the Present,
2nd ed., Cambridge University Press.
Ambrosius, Lloyd E. (2002). Wilsonianism: Woodrow Wilson and His Legacy in American Foreign
Relations, Palgrave Macmillan.
Ambrosius, Lloyd E. (2008). ‘Democracy, Peace and World Order’ in Cooper, John Milton (ed.),
Reconsidering Woodrow Wilson: Progressivism, Internationalism, War, and Peace, The Johns
Hopkins University Press.
Amin, Qasim (1992). The Liberation of Women: A Document in the History of Egyptian Feminism,
translated by Samiha Sidhom Peterson, The American University in Cairo Press.
Anderson, Benedict (1991). Imagined Communities, Verso.
Antonius, George (1965). The Arab Awakening, Capricorn Books.
Ansprenger, Franz (1989). The Dissolution of the Colonial Empires, Routledge.
314
Bibliography
Aroian, Lois A. (1983). The Nationalization of Arabic and Islamic Education in Egypt: Dar al-Ulum
and al-Azhar, Cairo Papers in Social Science, Vol. 6, Monograph 4, American University in Cairo
Press.
Arsan, Andrew (2015). ‘The Patriarch, the Amir and the Patriots: Civilisation and Self-
Determination at the Paris Peace Conference’ in Fraser, T.G., (ed.), The First World War and
its Aftermath: The Shaping of the Middle East, Haus.
Auchincloss, Gordon (1984). The Papers of Woodrow Wilson (PWW), Princeton University Press,
Vol. 46.
Ayalon, Ami (1995). The Press in the Arab Middle East: A History, Oxford University Press.
Badcock, Gerald E. (1925). A History of the Transport Services of the Egyptian Expeditionary Force
1916-1918, H. Rees.
Badran, Margot & Cooke, Miriam (eds.) (1990). Opening the Gates: A Century of Arab Feminist
Writing, Indiana University Press.
Badran, Margot (1995). Feminists, Islam and Nation: Gender and the Making of Modern Egypt,
Princeton University Press.
Baer, Gabriel (1962). A History of Landownership in Modern Egypt 1800-1950, Oxford University
Press.
Baer, Gabriel (1964). Population and Society in the Arab East, Greenwood Press.
Baer, Gabriel (1969). Studies in the Social History of Modern Egypt, Chicago University Press.
Baker, Ray Stannard (1922). Woodrow Wilson and World Settlement, Vols. I-III, Doubleday, Page
& Co.
Baker, Ray Stannard & Dodd, William E. (eds.) (1927). War and Peace: Presidential Messages,
Addresses, and Public Papers (1917–1924), Volume I, Harper.
Baron, Beth (1991). ‘Mothers, Morality, and Nationalism in Pre-1919 Egypt’ in Khalidi, Rashid (et
al., eds.), The Origins of Arab Nationalism, Columbia University Press.
Baron, Beth (1994). The Women’s Awakening in Egypt: Culture, Society, and the Press, Yale
University Press.
Baron, Beth (1998). ‘The Politics of Female Notables in Post-War Egypt’ in Melman, Billie (ed.),
Borderlines: Genders and Identities in War and Peace, 1870-1930, Routledge.
315
Bibliography
Baron, Beth (2005). Egypt as a Woman: Nationalism, Gender, and Politics, University of California
Press.
Bayly, Christopher A. (2004). The Birth of the Modern World 1780-1914, Blackwell.
Beinin, Joel & Lockman, Zachary (1988). Workers on the Nile: Nationalism, Communism, Islam
and the Egyptian Working Class, 1882-1954, Tauris.
Bellamy, Richard (2003). ‘The Advent of the Masses and the Making of the Modern Theory of
Democracy’ in Ball, Terence and Bellamy, Richard (eds.), Cambridge History of Twentieth Century
Political Thought, Cambridge University Press.
Berkin, Carol R., & Lovett, Carla M. (eds.) (1979). Women, War, and Revolution, Holmes and
Meier.
Berque, Jacques (1972). Egypt, Imperialism and Revolution (translated by Jean Stewart), Faber &
Faber.
Bey, Amine Youssef (1940). Independent Egypt, John Murray.
Blunt, Wilfred S. (1907). Secret History of the English Occupation of Egypt: Being a Personal
Narrative of Events, T. Fisher Unwin.
Blunt, Wilfrid S. (1921). My Diaries, Being a Personal Narrative of Events 1888-1914, Alfred
Knopf.
Borys, Jurij (1980). The Sovietization of Ukraine, 1917-1923: The Communist Doctrine and
Practice of National Self- Determination, Canadian Institute of Ukrainian Studies.
Brekle, Herbert E. (1989). ‘War with words’ in Wodak, Ruth (ed.), Language, Power and Ideology:
Studies in Political Discourse, John Benjamins Publishing Company.
Breuilly, John (1982). Nationalism and the State, St. Martin’s Press.
Brown, Nathan J. (1990). Peasant Politics in Modern Egypt: The Struggle Against the State, Yale
University Press.
Buehrig, Edward H. (ed.) (1957). Wilson’s Foreign Policy in Perspective, Indiana University Press.
Carr, Edward Hallett (1953). The Bolshevik Revolution 1917–1923, Vol. III, Macmillan.
Carr, Edward Hallett (1978). The Bolshevik Revolution 1917–1923, Vol. I, Norton.
Casal, Lourdes (1979). ‘Revolution and Conciencia: Women in Cuba’ in Berkin, C.R. & Lovett,
C.M. (eds.), Women, War and Revolution, Holmes and Meier.
316
Bibliography
Cassese, Antonio (1995). Self-Determination of Peoples: A Legal Reappraisal, Cambridge

University Press.
Castellino, Joshua (2000). International Law and Self-determination, Martinus Nijhoff.
Cecil, Viscount (1941). A Great Experiment. An Autobiography, Jonathan Cape.
Chamberlain, Muriel Evelyn (1999). Decolonization, Blackwell.
Chapman-Huston, Desmond & Rutter, Owen (1924). General Sir John Cowans, G.C.B.: The
Quartermaster-General of the Great War, Vol. II, Hutchinson & Co..
Chirol, Valentine (1920). The Egyptian Problem, Macmillan and Co..
Clemenceau, Georges (1930). Grandeur and Misery of Victory, George G. Harrap & Co.
Churchill, Winston (1929). The World Crisis. The Aftermath, Thornton Butterworth.
Claude, Inis L. Jr. (1964). Swords into Ploughshares: The Problems and Progress of International
Organization, Random House.
Coates-Ulrichsen, Kristian (2011). The Logistics and Politics of the British Campaigns in the
Middle-East, 1914-22, Palgrave Macmillan.
Cobban, Alfred (1969). The Nation State & National Self-Determination, Collins.
Cole, Juan Ricardo (1993). Colonialism and Revolution in the Middle East: Social and Cultural
Origins of Egypt’s ‘Urabi Movement, Princeton University Press.
Connor, Walker (1984). The National Question in Marxist Leninist Theory and Strategy, Princeton
University Press.
Cooper, John Milton (2001). Breaking the Heart of the World: Woodrow Wilson and the Fight for
the League, Cambridge University Press.
Cooper, John Milton (ed.) (2008). Reconsidering Woodrow Wilson: Progressivism,

Internationalism, War, and Peace, The Johns Hopkins University Press.
Crabbs Jr., Jack A. (1984). The Writing of History in Ninteenth Century Egypt, Wayne State
University Press.
Crecelius, Daniel (1972). ‘Non ideological Responses of the Egyptian Ulama to Modernisation’ in
Keddie, Nikki R. (ed.), Scholars, Saints and Sufis: Muslim Religious Institutions in the Middle East
since 1500, University of California Press.
317
Bibliography
Creel, George (1920). How we Advertised America. The first telling of the amazing story of the
Committee of Public Information that carried the gospel of Americanism to every corner of the
globe, Harper.
Creel, George (1920). The War, the World, and Wilson, Harper.
Daly, Martin W. (1997). The Sirdar: Sir Reginald Wingate and the British Empire in the Middle
East, American Philosophical Society.
Daly, Martin W. (1998). ‘The British Occupation, 1882-1922’ in Daly, Martin W. (ed.), The
Cambridge History of Egypt: Modern Egypt, from 1517 to the End of the Twentieth Century, Vol. 2.,
Cambridge University Press.
Darwin, John (1981). Britain, Egypt and the Middle East: Imperial Policy in the Aftermath of War
1918-1922, Macmillan.
Davis, Eric (1983). Challenging Colonialism: Bank Misr and Egyptian Industrialization, 1920-
1941, Princeton University Press.
Debo, Richard K. (1979). Revolution and Survival: The Foreign Policy of Soviet Russia 1917–18,
Liverpool University Press.
Debo, Richard K. (1992). Survival and Consolidation: The Foreign Policy of Soviet Russia 1918–
1921, McGill-Queen’s University Press.
De Groot, Gerard J. (2001). The First World War, Palgrave.
Dodwell, Henry (2011). The Founder of Modern Egypt: A Study of Muhammad ʿAli, 2nd ed.,
Dudden, Arthur P. (ed.) (1957). Woodrow Wilson and the World Today, University of Pennsylvania
Press.
Easton, Stewart C. (1964). The Rise and Fall of Western Colonialism: A Historical Survey from the
Early Nineteenth Century to the Present, Pall Mall Press.
Eccel, Chris A. (1984). Egypt, Islam and Social Change: al-Azhar in Conflict and Accommodation,
Klaus Schwarz Verlag.
Elgood, Percival G. (1924). Egypt and the Army, Oxford University Press.
El-Sadat, Anwar (1977). In Search of Identity: An Autobiography, Harper & Row.
318
Bibliography
Eran, Oded (1983). ‘Negotiating the Anglo-Egyptian Relationship between the World Wars’ in
Wilson, K.M. (ed.), Imperialism and Nationalism in the Middle East: The Anglo-Egyptian
Experience 1882-1982, Mansell.
Esposito, John L. (2003). The Oxford Dictionary of Islam, Oxford University Press.
Fahmy, Khaled (1997). All the Pasha’s Men: Mehmed Ali Pasha, His Army and the Founding of
Modern Egypt, Cambridge University Press.
Fahmy, Ziad (2011). Ordinary Egyptians: Creating the Modern Nation through Popular Culture,
1870– 1919, American University Press.
Falls, Cyril & MacMunn, George (1928). Official History, Military Operations: Egypt and
Palestine, HMSO.
Falls, Cyril (1964). Armageddon 1918, Weidenfeld & Nicolson.
Fanon, Frantz (1967). A Dying Colonianism, Grove Press.
Farnsworth, Brodsky (1979). ‘Communist Feminism: Its Synthesis and Demise’ in Berkin, C.R. &
Lovett, C.M. (eds.), Women, War and Revolution, Holmes and Meier.
Figes, Orlando (1996). A People’s Tragedy, The Russian Revolution 1891–1924, Pimlico Random
House.
Finkel, Caroline (2006). Osman’s Dreams: The Story of the Ottoman Empire 1300-1923, John
Murray.
Fitzpatrick, Sheila (2008). The Russian Revolution, Oxford University Press.
Forbes, Major-General A. (1929). A History of the Army Ordnance Services, Volume 3: The Great
War, Medici Society.
Fischer, Louis (1964). The Life of Lenin, Weidenfeld and Nicolson.
French, David (1982). ‘The Rise and Fall of “Business as Usual”’ in Burk, Kathleen (ed.), War and
the State: The Transformation of British Government, 1914-1919, Allen and Unwin.
Freud, Sigmund & William C. Bullit (1966). Woodrow Wilson: A Psychological Study, Transaction
Publishers.
Fromkin, David (1989). A Peace to End All Peace: The Fall of the Ottoman Empire and the
Creation of the Modern Middle East, Owl Books.
Füredi, Frank (1994). Colonial Wars and the Politics of Third World Nationalism, I. B. Tauris.
319
Bibliography
Gatrell, Peter (2005). Russia’s First World War: A Social and Economic History, Pearson Education
Limited.
Geary, Dick (2003). ‘The Second International: Socialism and Social Democracy’ in Ball, Terence
& Bellamy, Richard (eds.), The Cambridge History of Twentieth-Century Political Thought,
Gelfand, Lawrence (1963). The Inquiry: American Preparations for Peace, 1917-1919, Yale
University Press.
George, Alexander L. & Juliette L., George (1964). Woodrow Wilson and Colonel House: A
Personality Study, Dover Publications.
George, David Lloyd (1918). British War Aims: Statement by the Prime Minister, the Right
Honourable David Lloyd George, on January 5, 1918, Hazell, Watson & Viney.
George, David Lloyd (1922). ‘Some Considerations for the Peace Conference’, 25 March 1919 in
Baker, Ray Stannard, Woodrow Wilson and World Settlement, Vol. III, Doubleday, Page & Co.
George, David Lloyd (1938). War Memoirs, Oldhams Press.
George, David Lloyd (1939). Memoirs of the Peace Conference, Volume I, Yale University Press.
Gershoni, Israel & Jankowski, James (1987). Egypt, Islam and the Arabs: The Search for Egyptian
Nationhood, 1900-1930, Oxford University Press.
Gerstle, Gary (2008). ‘Race and Nation in the Thought and Politics of Woodrow Wilson’ in Cooper,
John Milton (ed.), Reconsidering Woodrow Wilson: Progressivism, Internationalism, War, and
Peace, The Johns Hopkins University Press.
Gesink, Indira Falk (2010). Islamic Reform and Conservatism: Al-Azhar and the Evolution of
Modern Sunni Islam, I.B. Tauris.
Gilov, S. (1983). The Nationalities Question: Lenin’s Approach (Theory and Practice in the USSR),
Progress Publishers.
Goldsmith, Arthur Jr. (1968). ‘The Egyptian Nationalist Party, 1892-1919’ in Holt, P. (ed.), Political
and Social Change in Modern Egypt: Historical Studies from the Ottoman Conquest to the United
Arab Republic, Oxford University Press.
Goode, Patrick (ed. and trans.) (1983). Karl Kautsky: Selected Political Writings, Macmillan.
Grafftey-Smith, Lawrence (1970). Bright Levant, John Murray.
320
Bibliography
Gran, Peter (1979). Islamic Roots of Capitalism: Egypt, 1760–1840, University of Texas Press.
Grey, Edward (1925). Twenty-Five Years 1892-1916, Vol. 1, Frederick A. Stokes Company.
Grieves, Keith (2000). ‘Lloyd George and the Management of the British War Economy’ in
Chickering, Roger & Forster, Stig (eds.), Great War, Total War: Combat and Mobilisation on the
Western Front, 1914-1918, Cambridge University Press.
Grovogui, Siba N’Zatioula (1996). Sovereigns, Quasi sovereigns, and Africans: Race and Self-
determination in International Law, University of Minnesota Press.
Gullett, Henry S. (1984). The Official History of Australia in the War of 1914-1918, Volume 7: Sinai
and Palestine, The Australian Imperial Force in Sinai and Palestine 1914-1918, University of
Queensland Press.
Hail, J.A. (1996). Britain’s Foreign Policy in Egypt and Sudan 1947-1956, Ithaca Press.
Haim, Sylvia (1958). ‘Islam and the Theory of Arab Nationalism’ in Laqueur, W.Z. (ed.) The
Middle East in Transition, Praeger.
Haim, Sylvia (ed.) (1962). Arab Nationalism: An Anthology, University of California Press.
Halpern, Manfred (1963). The Politics of Social Change in the Middle East and North Africa,
Hannum, Hurst (1996). Autonomy, Sovereignty and Self-determination: The Accommodation of

Conflicting Rights, University of Pennsylvania Press.
Harding, Neil (2003). ‘The Russian Revolution: an Ideology in Power’ in Ball, Terence & Bellamy,
Richard (eds.), The Cambridge History of Twentieth-Century Political Thought, Cambridge
University Press.
Harding, Neil (2009). Lenin’s Political Thought, Haymarket Books.
Hatina, Meir (2009). Guardians of the Faith in Modern Times: ‘Ulama in the Middle East, Brill.
Hatina, Meir (2010). ‘Ulama’, Politics and the Public Sphere: An Egyptian Perspective, University
of Utah Press.
Heater, Derek (1994). National Self-determination: Woodrow Wilson and his Legacy, Macmillan.
Hedges, Chris (2010). Death of the Liberal Class, Nation Books.
Heyworth-Dunne, James (1939). Introduction to the History of Education in Modern Egypt, Luzac
and Co.
321
Bibliography
Hilmi II, ʿAbbas (tr. Amira Sonbol) (1998). The Last Khedive of Egypt, Ithaca Press.
Hodgson, Marshall G. S. (1974). The Venture of Islam: Conscience and History in World
Civilisation, Vol. 1: The Classical Age of Islam, University of Chicago Press.
Hoff, Joan (2007). A Faustian Foreign Policy from Woodrow Wilson to George W. Bush: Dreams of
Perfectibility, Cambridge University Press.
Holquist, Peter (2002). Making War, Forging Revolution: Russia’s Continuum of Crisis, 1914–
1921, Harvard University Press.
Hottinger, Arnold (1963). The Arabs: Their History, Culture and Place in the Modern World,
University of California Press.
Hourani, Albert (1962). Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age, 1798-1939, Oxford University Press.
House, Edward Mandell & Seymour, Charles (eds.) (1921). What Really Happened at Paris: The
Story of the Peace Conference 1918–1919 by American Delegates, Hodder & Stoughton.
House, Edward Mandell (1921). ‘The Versailles Peace in Retrospect’ in House, Edward Mandell &
Seymour, Charles (eds.), What Really Happened at Paris: The Story of the Peace Conference 1918–
1919 by American Delegates, Hodder & Stoughton.
House, Edward Mandell (1926). The Intimate Papers of Colonel House, Volume I: Behind the
Political Curtain 1912–1915, arranged as a narrative by Charles Seymour, Ernest Benn Ltd.
House, Edward Mandell (1928). The Intimate Papers of Colonel House, Volume III: Into the War
April 1917-June 1918, arranged as a narrative by Charles Seymour, Ernest Benn Ltd.
House, Edward Mandell (1928). The Intimate Papers of Colonel House, Volume IV: The Ending of
the War June 1918–November 1919, arranged as a narrative by Charles Seymour, Ernest Benn Ltd.
House, Jonathan M. (2001). Combined Arms Warfare in the Twentieth Century, University Press of
Kansas.
Howard, Dick (ed.) (1971). Selected Political Writings of Rosa Luxemburg, Monthly Review Press.
Hughes, Matthew (1999). Allenby and British Strategies in the Middle East, 1917-1919, Frank Cass.
Hunter, Robert F. (2000). Egypt Under the Khedives, 1805-1879: From Household Government to
Modern Bureaucracy, American University of Cairo Press.
Jameson, Frederic (1985). ‘The realist floor-plan’ in Blonsky, Marshall (ed.), On Signs, Blackwell.
Jankowski, James (2000). Egypt: A Short History, Oneworld Publications.
322
Bibliography
Johnson, Mary Durham (1979). ‘Old Wine in New Bottles: The Institutional Changes for Women of
the People During the French Revolution’ in Berkin, C.R. & Lovett, C.M. (eds.), Women, War and
Revolution, Holmes and Meier.
Kant, Immanuel (1983). Perpetual Peace and Other Essays, Hackett.
Kautsky, Karl (1910). Der Weg zur Macht (The Road to Power), Berlin.
Keddie, Nikki R., (ed.) (1972). Scholars, Saints and Sufis: Muslim Religious Institutions in the
Middle East since 1500, University of California Press.
Keddie, Nikki R. (1983). An Islamic Response to Imperialism: Political and Religious Writings of
Sayyid Jamal ad-Din “al-Afghani”, University of California Press.
Kedourie, Elie (1961). ‘Saʿad Zaghlul and the British’ in Hourani, Albert (ed.), Middle Eastern
Affairs, No. 2, St Antony’s Papers, No. 11, Chatto and Windus.
Kedourie, Elie (1966). Afghani and ʿAbduh: An Essay on Religious Unbelief and Political Activism
in Modern Islam, Frank Cass and Co. Ltd.
Kedourie, Elie (1970). The Chatham House Version and Other Middle Eastern Studies, Praeger.
Kedourie, Elie (1971). Nationalism in Asia and Africa, Weidenfeld & Nicolson.
Kedourie, Elie (1983). ‘Egypt, the Arab States and the Suez Expedition, 1956’ in Wilson, K.M.
(ed.), Imperialism and Nationalism in the Middle East, Mansell Publishing.
Keown-Boyd, Henry (2002). The Lion and the Sphinx: The Rise and Fall of the British in Egypt,
1882-1956, Spennymoor.
Kerr, Malcolm (1966). Islamic Reform: The Political and Legal Theories of Muḥammad ʿAbduh and
Rashīd Riḍā, University of California Press.
Keynes, John Maynard (1920). The Economic Consequences of the Peace, Labour Research
Department.
Khadduri, Majid (1970). Political Trends in the Arab World, John Hopkins Press.
Khalidi, Rashid (1980). British Policy Towards Syria and Palestine 1906-1914, Ithaca Press.
Khalidi, Rashid (et al., eds.) (1991). The Origins of Arab Nationalism, Columbia University Press.
Kittrie, Nicholas N. (1995). The War against Authority: From the Crisis of Legitimacy to a New
Social Contract, Johns Hopkins University Press.
323
Bibliography
Knock, Thomas J. (1992). To End All Wars: Woodrow Wilson and the Quest for a New World Order,
Oxford University Press.
Koskenniemi, Martti (2005). From Apology to Utopia: The Structure of International Legal
Argument, Cambridge University Press.
Kowalski, Ronald I. (1997). The Russian Revolution 1917–1921, Routledge.
Landau, Jacob M. (1953). Parliaments and Parties in Egypt, Israel Publishing House.
Landes, David S. (1958). Bankers and Pashas, International Finance and Economic Imperialism in
Egypt, (np).
Langer, William (1957). ‘Peace and the New World Order’ in Dudden, Arthur (ed.), Woodrow
Wilson and the World Today, University of Pennsylvania Press.
Lansing, Robert (1921). The Peace Negotiations. A Personal Narrative, Constable.
Laqueur, Walter Z. (1959). The Soviet Union and the Middle East, Routledge K. Paul.
Lederer, Ivo J. (1963). Yugoslavia at the Paris Peace Conference: A Study in Frontier Making, Yale
University Press.
Lee, Stephen J. (2003). Lenin and Revolutionary Russia, Routledge.
Lenin, Vladimir I. (1960-1970). ‘The Socialist Revolution and the Right of Nations to Self-
Determination’ in his Collected Works, 45 Vols, Progress Publishers.
Lenin, Vladimir I. (1968). Collected Works: Notebooks on Imperialism, Vol. 39, Progress
Publishers.
Lenin, Vladimir I. (1970). ‘To Alexandra Kollontai’ in Lenin, Lenin on the United States,
International Publishers.
Lenin, Vladimir I. (1992). ‘Lenin’s comments on the Indian political system and the conviction of
B.G. Tilak’ (1913) in Kumar, Ravindra (ed.), Selected Documents of Lokamaya Bal Gangadhar
Tilak 1880– 1929, Volume II, Anmol.
Lenin, Vladimir I. (1992). ‘Lenin’s remark on the arrest of B.G. Tilak in 1908 (1911)’ in Kumar,
Ravindra (ed.), Selected Documents of Lokamaya Bal Gangadhar Tilak 1880– 1929, Volume II,
Anmol.
Lenin, Vladimir I. (1996). Imperialism: The Highest Stage of Capitalism, Pluto Press.
324
Bibliography
Levin, Norman Gordon (1968). Woodrow Wilson and World Politics: America’s Response to War
and Revolution, Oxford University Press.
Link, Arthur S. (1957). Wilson: The Diplomatist. A look at his Major Foreign Policies, Johns
Hopkins Press.
Link, Arthur S. (1967). Wilson: The New Freedom, Princeton University Press.
Link, Arthur S. (ed.) (1968). The Papers of Woodrow Wilson (PWW), Volume 5, 1885–1888,
Link, Arthur S. (1971). The Higher Realism of Woodrow Wilson and Other Essays, Vanderbilt
University Press.
Link, Arthur S. (ed.) (1974). The Papers of Woodrow Wilson (PWW), Volume 16, 1905– 1907,
Link, Arthur S. (ed.) (1984). The Papers of Woodrow Wilson (PWW), Volume 45, 11 November
1917– 15 January 1918, Princeton University Press.
Link, Arthur S. (ed.) (1984). The Papers of Woodrow Wilson (PWW), Volume 46, 16 January–12
March 1918, Princeton University Press.
Link, Arthur S. (ed.) (1984). The Papers of Woodrow Wilson (PWW), Volume 47, Princeton
University Press.
Link, Arthur S. (ed.) (1986). The Papers of Woodrow Wilson (PWW), Volume 53, 9 November
1918–11 January 1919, Princeton University Press.
Link, Arthur S. (ed.) (1988). The Papers of Woodrow Wilson (PWW), Volume 59, 10–31 May 1919,
Little, Tom (1958). Modern Egypt, Ernest Denn Ltd.
Lloyd, George Ambrose (1933). Egypt since Cromer, Vol. 1, Macmillan.
Lockman, Zachary (1994). ‘“Worker” and “Working Class” in pre-1914 Egypt: A Rereading’ in
Lockman, Zachary (ed.), Workers and Working Classes in the Middle East: Struggles, Histories,
Historiographies, State University of New York Press.
Luxemburg, Rosa (2003). The Accumulation of Capital, Routledge.
MacMillan, Margaret (2002). Paris 1919: Six Months that Changed the World, Random House.
325
Bibliography
Maloney, Joan M. (1979). ‘Women in the Chinese Communist Revolution: The Question of
Political Equality’ in Berkin, C.R. & Lovett, C.M. (eds.), Women, War and Revolution, Holmes and
Meier.
Mamatey, Victor S. (1957). The United States and East Central Europe 1914–1918: A Study in
Wilsonian Diplomacy and Propaganda, Princeton University Press.
Manela, Erez (2007). ‘Dawn of a New Era: The Wilsonian Moment’ in Conrad, Sebastian &
Sachsenmaier, Dominic (eds.), Competing Visions of World Order: Global Moments and
Movements, 1880s-1930s, Palgrave Macmillan.
Manela, Erez (2007). The Wilsonian Moment: Self-Determination and the International Origins of
Anticolonial Nationalism, Oxford University Press.
Marlowe, John (1954). A History of Modern Egypt and Anglo-Egyptian Relations, 1800-1953,
Praeger.
Marlowe, John (1956). Anglo-Egyptian Relations 1800-1956, Frank Cass & Co..
Marlowe, John (1970). Cromer in Egypt, Praeger.
Marples, David R. (2000). Lenin’s Revolution: Russia, 1917–1921, Pearson Education.
Marshall, John E. (1928). The Egyptian Enigma, John Murray.
Martin, Laurence W. (1958). Peace without Victory: Woodrow Wilson and the British Liberals, Yale
University Press.
Mayall, James (2003). ‘Nationalism and Imperialism’ in Ball, Terence & Bellamy, Richard (eds.),
The Cambridge History of Twentieth Century Political Thought, Cambridge University Press.
Mayer, Arno J. (1959). Political Origins of the New Diplomacy 1917–1918, Yale University Press.
Mayer, Arno J. (1967). Wilson vs. Lenin: Political Origins of the New Diplomacy, 1917-1918,
Meridian.
Mayer, Thomas (1988). The Changing Past: Egyptian Historiography of the ʿUrabi Revolt, 1882-
1983, University of Florida Press.
Mazower, Mark (2009). No Enchanted Palace: The End of Empire and the Ideological Origins of
the United Nations, Princeton University Press.
McCauley, Martin (ed.) (1975). The Russian Revolution and the Soviet State 1917–1921:
Documents, Macmillan.
326
Bibliography
McIntyre, John D. (1985). The Boycott of the Milner Mission: A Study in Egyptian Nationalism,
P. Lang.
McPherson, John W. (1983). Bimbashi McPherson: A Life in Egypt, BBC Publications.
Meisner, Maurice J. (1967). Li Ta-chao and the Origins of Chinese Marxism, Harvard University
Press.
Miller, David Hunter (1928). The Drafting of the Covenant, Vols. I, II, Knickerbocker Press.
Milner, Alfred (1894). England in Egypt, Edward Arnold.
Mince, Juliette (1978). ‘Women in Algeria’ in Beck, Lois & Keddie, Nikki (eds.), Women in the
Muslim World, Harvard University Press.
Mitchell, Timothy (1988). Colonising Egypt, Cambridge University Press.
Monroe, Elizabeth (1973). Philby of Arabia, Faber.
Moynihan, Daniel Patrick (1993). Pandaemonium: Ethnicity in International Politics, Oxford

University Press.
Murphy, David (2008). The Arab Revolt 1916-18: Lawrence Sets Arabia Ablaze, Osprey Publishing.
Murray, Archibald (1920). Sir Archibald Murray’s Despatches, J. M. Dent & Sons.
Musgrave, Thomas (1997). Self-determination and National Minorities, Clarendon Press.
Nation, Craig (1989). War on War: Lenin, the Zimmerwald Left, and the Origins of Communist
Internationalism, Duke University Press.
Newman, Major E.W. Poulson (1928). Great Britain in Egypt, Cassell.
Ninet, John (1884). Arabi Pacha, L’auteur.
Norman, Wayne (2006). Negotiating Nationalism: Nation-building, Federalism, and Secession

in the Multinational State, Oxford University Press.
Notter, Harley (1937). The Origins of the Foreign Policy of Woodrow Wilson, Johns Hopkins Press.
O’Brien, Patrick (1966). The Revolution in Egypt’s Economic System: from Private Enterprise to
Socialism 1952-1965, Oxford University Press.
Oppenheim, Lassa (1919). The League of Nations and Its Problems: Three Lectures, Longmans.
327
Bibliography
Owen, Roger (1969). Cotton and the Egyptian Economy 1820-1914: A Study in Trade and
Development, Clarendon Press.
Owen, Roger & Sutcliffe, Bob (eds.) (1972). Studies in the Theory of Imperialism, Longman.
Owen, Roger (1999). A History of Middle East Economies in the Twentieth Century, Harvard
University Press.
Owen, Roger (2004). Lord Cromer: Victorian Imperialist, Edwardian Proconsul, Oxford University
Press.
Page, Stanley W. (1959). Lenin and World Revolution, New York University Press.
Philipp, Thomas (1978). ‘Feminism and Nationalist Politics in Egypt’ in Beck, Lois & Keddie,
Nikki (eds.), Women in the Muslim World, Harvard University Press.
Pieterse, Jan Nederveen (1989). Empire and Emancipation: Power and Liberation on a World Scale,
Praeger.
Pipes, Richard (1990). The Russian Revolution: 1899–1919, Collins Harvill.
Pollard, Lisa (2005). Nurturing the Nation: the Family Politics of Modernizing, Colonizing and
Liberating Egypt, 1805-1923, University of California Press.
Pomerance, Michla (1982). Self-determination in Law and Practice: The New Doctrine in the
United Nations, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers.
Pope, Barbara C. (1979). ‘Revolution and Retreat: Upper-class French Women after 1789’ in
Berkin, C.R. & Lovett, C.M. (eds.), Women, War and Revolution, Holmes and Meier.
Potier, Tim (2001). Conflict in Nagorno-Karabakh, Abkhazia and South Ossetia: A Legal Appraisal,
Kluwer Law International.
Quraishi, Zaheer Masood (1967). Liberal Nationalism in Egypt: Rise and Fall of the Wafd Party,
The Jamal Printing Press.
Read, Christopher (2005). Lenin: A Revolutionary Life, Routledge.
Recchia, Stefano & Urbinati, Nadia (eds.) (2009). A Cosmopolitanism of Nations: Giuseppe
Mazzini’s Writings on Democracy, Nation Building, and International Relations, Princeton
University Press.
Rice, Christopher (1990). Lenin: Portrait of a Professional Revolutionary, Cassell.
328
Bibliography
Richmond, John C.B. (1977). Egypt 1798-1952: Her Advance Towards a Modern Identity,
Columbia University Press.
Rif‘at, Muhammad (1947). The Awakening of Modern Egypt, Longmans, Green.
Robertson, William (1926). Soldiers and Statesmen 1914-1918, Volume 2, Cassell.
Rogan, Eugene (2012). The Arabs: A History, 2nd ed., Penguin Books.
Rogan, Eugene (2015). The Fall of the Ottomans: The Great War in the Middle East, 1914-1920,
Penguin Books.
Rosenthal, Erwin I.J. (1965). Islam in the Modern National State, Cambridge University Press.
Rowbotham, Sheila (1974). A History of Women and Revolution in the Modern World: Women,
Resistance and Revolution, Vintage Books.
Rumbold, Algernon (1979). Watershed in India, 1914-1922, Athlone Press.
Saab, Hassan (1958). The Arab Federalists of the Ottoman Empire, Djambatan.
Safran, Nadav (1961). Egypt in Search of Political Community: An Analysis of the Intellectual and
Political Evolution of Egypt, Oxford University Press.
Salmon, Marylynn (1979). ‘Life, Liberty and Power: The Legal Status of Women After the
American Revolution’ in Berkin, C.R. & Lovett, C.M. (eds.), Women, War and Revolution, Holmes
and Meier.
Schild, Georg (1995). Between Ideology and Realpolitik: Woodrow Wilson and the Russian
Revolution, 1917–1921, Greenwood Press.
Schölch, Alexander (1981). Egypt for the Egyptians! The Socio-Political Crisis in Egypt, 1878–
1882, Ithaca Press.
Schulze, Kirsten E. (2008). ‘The Origins of the Arab-Israeli Conflict, 1900-48’ in Best, Antony
(ed.), An International History of the Twentieth Century and Beyond, 2nd ed., Routledge.
Schwabe, Klaus (1985). Woodrow Wilson, Revolutionary Germany, and Peacemaking, 1918-1919:
Missionary Diplomacy and the Realities of Power, University of North Carolina Press.
Scott, James Brown (1921). Official Statements of War Aims and Peace Proposals, December 1916
to November 1918, Pamphlet Series, Carnegie Endowment for International Law no. 31.
Sedgwick, Mark (2009). Muhammad Abduh, Oneworld Publications.
329
Bibliography
Service, Robert (2000). Lenin: A Biography, Macmillan.
Shaʿarawi, Huda (1987). Harem Years: The Memoirs of an Egyptian Feminist, 1879-1924, Badran,
Margot (trans., ed., and intro.), The Feminist Press at CUNY.
Shaw, Bernard (1907). John Bull’s Other Island and Major Barbara, Brentano’s.
Silvera, Alain (1980). ‘The First Student Mission to France under Muhammad ‘Ali’ in Kedourie,
Elie & Haim, Sylvia G. (eds.), Modern Egypt: Studies in Politics and Society, Frank Cass.
Skinner, Quentin (1969). History and Theory, Vol. 8, no. 1, Wiley.
Skinner, Quentin (1997). Liberty Before Liberalism, Cambridge University Press.
Skinner, Quentin (2002). Visions of Politics: Regarding Method, Vol. 1, Cambridge University
Press.
Skinner, Quentin (2008). Hobbes and Republican Liberty, Cambridge University Press.
Skocpol, Theda (1979). States and Social Revolutions: A Comparative Analysis of France, Russia
and China, Cambridge University Press.
Skocpol, Theda (1994). Social Revolutions in the Modern World, Cambridge University Press.
Slaughter, Anne-Marie (2008). ‘Afterword: Making Democracy Safe for the World’ in Cooper,
John Milton (ed.), Reconsidering Woodrow Wilson: Progressivism, Internationalism, War, and
Peace, The Johns Hopkins University Press.
Smith, Anthony D. (1991). National Identity, Penguin Books.
Smith, Anthony D. (2000). The Nation in History: Historiographical Debates about Ethnicity and
Nationalism, Polity Press.
Smith, Jeremy (1999). The Bolsheviks and the National Question, 1917-1923, Macmillan.
Smuts, Jan Christiaan (1918). The League of Nations: A Practical Suggestion, Hodder and
Stoughton.
Starushenko, Gleb B. (1964). The Principle of National Self-determination in Soviet Foreign Policy,
Foreign Languages Publishing House.
Steppat, Fritz (1968). ‘National Education Projects in Egypt Before British Occupation’ in Holt,
Peter M. (ed.), Political and Social Change in Modern Egypt: Historical Studies from the Ottoman
Conquest to the United Arab Republic, Oxford University Press.
330
Bibliography
Stevenson, David (1988). The First World War and International Politics, Oxford University Press.
Storrs, Ronald (1937). The Memoirs of Sir Ronald Storrs, G. P. Putnam’s Sons.
Strachan, Hew (2001). The First World War: Volume I: To Arms, Oxford University Press.
Suleiman, Yasir (2003). The Arabic Language and National Identity: A Study in Ideology,
Edinburgh University Press.
Tardieu, André (1921). The Truth about the Treaty, Bobbs-Merrill.
Taylor, Alan J. P. (1991). The Origins of the Second World War, Penguin.
Temperley, Harold (1920). A History of the Peace Conference of Paris, Vols. I-III, Henry Frowde
and Hodder & Stoughton.
Temperley, Harold (1921). A History of the Peace Conference of Paris, Volume V, Henry Frowde
Temperley, Harold (1924). A History of the Peace Conference of Paris, Volume VI ,Henry Frowde
Terry, Janice J. (1982). The Wafd, 1919-1952, Third World Centre for Research and Publishing.
Tibi, Bassam (1997). Arab Nationalism: Between Islam and the Nation-State, Palgrave Macmillan.
Tignor, Robert (1966). Modernization and British Colonial Rule in Egypt, 1882-1914, Princeton
University Press.
Tignor, Robert (1984). State, Private Enterprise and Economic Change in Egypt, 1918-1952,
Tilly, Charles (1978). From Mobilization to Revolution, Addison-Wesley.
Trotsky, Leon (1921). ‘Note of Foreign Minister Trotsky to the Allied Embassies in Petrograd
Offering an Armistice’, 21 November 1917, in Scott, James Brown, Official Statements of War Aims
and Peace Proposals, December 1916 to November 1918, Carnegie Endowment for International
Law.
Trotsky, Leon (1925). Lenin, George G. Harrap.
Tucker, Robert W. (2007). Woodrow Wilson and the Great War: Reconsidering America’s
Neutrality 1914–1917, University of Virginia Press.
Tumulty, Joseph P. (2006). Woodrow Wilson as I Know Him, The Echo Library.
331
Bibliography
Vatikiotis, Panayiotis .J. (1961). The Egyptian Army in Politics, Greenwood Press.
Vatikiotis, Panayiotis .J. (1969). The Modern History of Egypt, Weidenfeld & Nicolson.
Vatikiotis, Panayiotis J. (1991). The History of Modern Egypt: from Muhammad Ali to Mubarak,
Weidenfeld & Nicolson.
Wade, Rex A. (2001). The Bolshevik Revolution and Russian Civil War, Greenwood Press.
Wade, Rex A. (2005). The Russian Revolution, 1917, Cambridge University Press.
Wavell, Archibald Percival (1943). Allenby in Egypt, Harrap and Co..
Wehr, Hans (1980). A Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic, Cowan, Milton J. (ed.), Macdonald &
Evans.
Wendell, Charles (1972). The Evolution of the Egyptian National Image: From its Origins to Ahmad
Lutfi al-Sayyid, University of California Press.
White, William Allen (1925). Woodrow Wilson: The Man, His Times and His Task, Houghton
Mifflin.
Wilson, Keith M. (ed.) (1983). Imperialism and Nationalism in the Middle East: The Anglo-
Egyptian Experience 1882-1982, Mansell Publishing Ltd.
Wilson, Woodrow (1919). The State: Elements of Historical and Practical Politics, D. C. Heath
(original 1889).
Wingate, Ronald (1955). Wingate of the Sudan: The Life and Times of General Sir Reginald
Wingate, Maker of the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, John Murray.
Winter, Michael (1992). Egypt Under Ottoman Rule, 1517–1798, Routledge.
Woodward, Llewellyn (1957). ‘A British View of Mr. Wilson’s Foreign Policy’ in Buehrig,
Edward H. (ed.), Wilson’s Foreign Policy in Perspective, Indiana University Press.
Yapp, Malcolm E. (1987). The Making of the Modern Near East, 1792-1923, Longman.
Young, George (1930). Egypt, 3rd Edition, Ernest Benn.
Young, Robert J. C. (2006). Postcolonialism: An Historical Introduction, Blackwell.
Zhuchkov, B. I. (1968). Lenin on the Nationality Problem, Novosti Press Agency Publishing House.
332
Bibliography
Books in Arabic
ʿAbd al-Karim, Ahmad ʿIzzat (1970). Khamsun ʿAman ʿAla Thawrat 1919 [The 1919 Revolution
Fifty Years On], Muʾasasat al-Ahram, Markaz al-Wathaʾiq wa al-Bohouth al-Tarikhiya li-Misr
al-Muʿasira [Al-Ahram Institute, Centre for Historical Documentation and Research on Modern
Egypt].
‘Abduh, Muhammad (1876). ‘Al-Islam al-Youm wa’l Ihtijaj bi’l Muslimeen ‘ala ‘l Islam’ [Islam
Today and the Remonstrance of Muslims Against Islam] in ‘Ammara, Muhammad (ed.), al-A’mal
al-Kamila al-Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh [The Complete Works of the Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh],
Dar al-Sharouk.
‘Abduh, Muhammad (1876). ‘Al-Kitaaba wa al-Qalam’ [The Art of Writing and the Pen] in
‘Ammara, Muhammad (ed.), al-A’mal al-Kamila al-Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh [The Complete
Works of the Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh], Dar al-Sharouk.
‘Abduh, Muhammad (1876). Ta’thir al-Ta’lim fi al-Din wa al-‘Aqida [The Effect of Education on
Religion and Faith] in ‘Ammara, Muhammad (ed.), al-A’mal al-Kamila al-Sheikh Muhammad
‘Abduh [The Complete Works of the Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh], Dar al-Sharouk.
‘Abduh, Muhammad (1956). Risalat al-Tawhid [The Theology of Unity], Mutba’at Nahdat al-Misr.
‘Abduh, Muhammad (1983). Al-Islam wa al-Nasraniyya bayna al-‘Ilm wa’l-Madaniyya [Islam and
Christianity Between Science and the Civil], Dar al-Hadatha.
Abu Zayd, Faruq (1976). Azmat al-fikr al-qawmi fil-sihafa al-misriyya [The Crisis of Nationalist
Thought in the Egyptian Press], Dar al-Fikr wa al-Fann.
Al-ʿAqqad, ʿAbbas Mahmud (1932). Saʿad Zaghlul, Matbaʿat Hijazi.
Al-Kilani, Muhammad Sayyid (1968). Tram al-Qahira [Cairo Tram], Dar al-Firgani.
Al-Lurd Krumir (tr. Iskandar Makarius) (1909). Misr al-Haditha [Modern Egypt], Matbaʿat
al-Watan.
Al-Marsafi, Husayn (1984). Risalat al-Kalem al-Thaman [Treatise on the Eight Words], al-Nahda.
Al-Rafiʿi, ʿAbd al-Rahman (1929-30). Tarikh al-Haraka al-Qawmiyya wa Tatawwur Nizam

al-Hukm fi Misr [The History of the Nationalist Movement and the Evolution of The Regime in
Egypt], Maktabat al-Nahda al-Misriyya.
Al-Rafiʿi, ʿAbd al-Rahman (1932). ʿAsr Ismaʿil [Ismaʿil’s Era], 3 Vols., al-Nahda Publishing House.
333
Bibliography
Al-Rafiʿi, ʿAbd al-Rahman (1955). Thawrat Sanat 1919: Tarikh Misr al-Qawmi min Sanat 1914 ila
Sanat 1921 [The 1919 Revolution: The National History of Egypt, 1914-1921], Maktabat al-Nahda
al-Misriyya.
Al-Rafiʿi, ʿAbd al-Rahman (1959). Fi A’qab al-Thawra al-Misriyya [The Aftermath of the Egyptian
Revolution], Maktabat al-Nahda al-Misriyya.
Al-Rafiʿi, ʿAbd al-Rahman (1962). Mustafa Kamil Ba‘ith al-Haraka al-Qawmiyya: Ta’rikh Misr
al-Qawmi min Sanat 1892-1908 [Mustafa Kamil Instigator of the Nationalist Movement: The
Nationalist History of Egypt 1892-1908], Dar Al-Nahda al-Misriya.
Al-Rafiʿi, ʿAbd al-Rahman (1966). Al-Thawra al-ʿUrabiyya wa al-Ihtilal al-Inglizi [The ʿUrabi
Revolt and English Colonisation], Al-Dar al-Qawmiyya lil- Tibaʿa wa al-Nashr.
Al-Saʿidi, ʿAbd al-Muta‘al (1943). Tarikh al-Islah fi al-Azhar [History of Reform in al-Azhar],
Matba’at al-Itimad.
Al-Sayyid, Ahmed Lutfi (1962). Qissat Hayati [The Story of My Life], Dar al-Hilal.
Al-Shafiʿi, Shuhdi ʿAtiyya (1983). Tatawwur al-Haraka al Wataniyya al-Misriyya, 1882-1956 [The
Evolution of the Egyptian Nationalist Movement, 1882-1956], Dar Shuhdi.
Al-Shaliq, Ahmad Zakariyya (1979). Hizb al-Umma wa Dawruhu fil-Siyasa al-Misriyya [The
Umma Party and its Role in Egyptian Politics], Dar al-Maʿarif.
Al-Tahtawi, Rifaʿa Rafiʿ (1834). Takhlis al-Ibriz fi Talkhis Baris [Paris Diary], Bulaq Press.
Al-Tahtawi, Rifaʿa Rafiʿ (1869). Manahij al-Albab al-Misriyya fi Mabahij al-Adab al-‘Asriyya [The
Roads of Egyptian Hearts in the Joys of the Contemporary Arts], Bulaq Press.
Amal-Shayyal, Jamal al-Din (1958). Rifa’a Rafi’ al-Tahtawi, (np.).
ʿAmmara, Muhammad (1967). Al-ʿUruba fi al-ʿAsr al-Hadith [Arabism in the Modern Age], Dar
al-Katib al-ʿArabi.
ʿAmmara, Muhammad (1968). Al-Afghani: Al-Aʿmal al-Kamila [Al-Afghani: Complete Works],

Dar al-Katib al-ʿArabi.
ʿAmmara, Muhammad (ed.) (1993). Al-A’mal al-Kamila al-Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh [The
Complete Works of the Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh], Dar al-Sharouk.
As-Subki, Jam’ al-Jawami’ fi Usul al-Fiqh, Published by Dar Al-Kotob Al-‘Ilmiyyah.
334
Bibliography
Daghir, Asʿad (1959). Mudhakkirati ʿala Hamish al-Qadiyya al-ʿArabiyya [My Memoirs on the
Margins of the Arab Cause], Dar al-Qahira lil Tibaʿa.
Fahmi, ʿAbd al-ʿAziz (1963). Hadhihi Hayati [This is my Life], Dar al-Hilal.
Fahmi, Mahmud (1915). Al-Bahir al-Zakhir fi Tarikh al-ʿAlim wa Akhbar al-Awaʾil wal Awakhir,
Matbaʿat Bulaq.
Farid, Muhammad (1978). Awraq Muhammad Farid, Vol. I: Mudhakkirati baʿda al-hijra, 1904-
1919 [The Papers of Muhammad Farid, Vol. I: My Memoirs in Exile, 1904-1919], Markaz wathaʾiq
wa Tarikh Misr al-Muʿasir.
Farid, Muhammad (1986). Awraq Muhammad Farid, Vol. II, Part 1: Correspondence [The Papers of
Muhammad Farid, Vol. II], Mustafa al-Nahhas Jabr (ed.), Al-Hayʾah al-Misriyya al-ʿAmma
lil-Kitab.
Fawwaz, Zaynab (1894). Al-Durr al-Manthur fi Tabaqat Rabbat al-Khudur [The Scattered Pearls
amongst the Classes of Secluded Women], al-Matbaʿa al-Kubra al-Amiriyya bi-Bulaq.
Fawzi, Husayn (1968). Sinbad fi rihlat al-hayah [Sinbad on the Journey of Life], Dar al-Maʿarif
Iqraʾ Series.
Ghorbal, Mohammed S. (1952). Tarikh al-Mufawadat al-Misriyya al-Britaniyya [History of Anglo-

Egyptian Negotiations], Maktabat al-Nahda al-Misriyya.
Haykal, Muhammad Husayn (1954). Shakhsiyyat Misriyyah wa Gharbiyyah [Egyptian and Western
Personalities], Dar Ruz al-Yusuf.
Haykal, Muhammad Husayn (1970). Khamsin ʿAman ʿala Thawrat 1919 [The 1919 Revolution
Fifty Years On], Muʾassasa al-Ahram, Markaz al-Wathaʾiq wal-Buhuth al-Taʾrikhiyya li-Misr
al-Muʿasira.
Haykal, Muhammad Husayn (1977). Mudhakkirat fi al-Siyyasa al-Misriyya, 2 Vols. [Memoirs of

Egyptian Politics], Dar al-Maʿarif.
Husayn, Muhammad (1954). Al-Ittijahat al-wataniyya fil-adab al-muʿasir, 2 Vols. [Nationalist

Orientations in Contemporary Literature], Dar al-Maʿarif.
Issa, Salah (1982). Al-Thawra al-ʿurabiyya [The ʿUrabi Revolution], Dar al-Mustaqbal al-ʿArabi.
Khalifa, Ijlal (1973). Al-Haraka al-Nisaʾiyya al-Haditha: Qissat al-Marʾah al-ʿArabiyya ʿala Ard
Misr [The Modern Women’s Movement: The Story of the Arab Woman in the Land of Egypt],
al-Matbaʿa al-ʿArabiyya al-Haditha.
335
Bibliography
Lashin, ʿAbd al-Khaliq Muhammad (1971). Saʿad Zaghlul wa-Dawruhu fi al-Siyasa al-Misriyya
[Saʿad Zaghlul and His Role in the Politics of Egypt], Dar al-Maʿarif.
Lashin, ʿAbd al-Khaliq Muhammad (1975). Saʿad Zaghlul wa-Dawruhu fi al-Siyasa al-Misriyya
[Saʿad Zaghlul and His Role in the Politics of Egypt], Maktabat Madbuli.
Mubarak, ‘Ali (1886–89). Al-Khitat al-Tawfiqiyya al-Jadida li Misr al-Qahira wa Muduniha wa

Biladiha al-Shahira [Tawfiq’s Topography of Victorious Egypt, its Cities and Famous Regions],
Bulaq Press.
Musa, Nabawiyya (1999). Tarikhi bi-Qalami [My History by My Pen], Multaqa al-Marʾah wa
al-Dhakirah.
Musa, Salama (1958). Tarbiyat Salama Musa [The Raising of Salama Musa], Dar al-Katib al-Misri.
Nasif, Malak Hifni (1998). Al-Nisaʾiyat [Women’s Affairs], Multaqa al-Marʾah wa al-Dhakira.
Ramadan, ʿAbd al-ʿAzim (1983). Tatawwur al-Haraka al-Wataniyya fi Misr Sanat 1918 ila Sanat
1936 [The Rise of the Nationalist Movement in Egypt, 1918-1936], Maktabat Madbuli.
Ramadan, ʿAbd al-ʿAzim (2002). Thawrat 1919 fi Dawʾ Mudhakkirat Saʿad Zaghlul [The 1919
Revolution in Light of Saʿad Zaghlul’s Memoirs], Al-Hayʾah al-Misriyya al-ʿAmma lil-Kitab.
Radi, Nawal A. (1977). Adwa Jadida ‘Ala al-Haraka al-‘Ummaliyyah al-Misriyyah, 1930-1945
[New Lights on the Egyptian Labour Movement: 1930-1945], Dar al-Nahdah al-‘Arabiyyah.
Rida, Muhammad Rashid (2005). Tarikh al-Ustadh al-Imam al-Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh [History
of the Master and Leader Sheikh Muhammad ‘Abduh], Dar al-Fadilla.
Rizq, Yunan Labib (1977). Al-Ahzab al-Misriyya Qabil Thawrat 1952 [Egyptian Political Parties
Before the 1952 Revolution], Al-Ahram.
Rizq, Yunan Labib (1984). Al-Ahzab al-Siyasiyya fi Misr 1907-1984 [Political Parties in Egypt,
1907-1984], Dar al-Hilal.
Salim, Latifa Muhammad (1981). Al-Quwa al-Ijtimaa’iyya fi al-Thawra al-‘Urabiyya [The Social
Forces in the ‘Urabi Revolt], al-Hay’ah al-Misriyya al-ʿAmma lil-Kitab.
Salim, Latifa Muhammad (1984). Al-Marʾah al-misriyya wa al-taghyir al-ijtimaʿi, 1919-1945 [The
Egyptian Woman and Social Change, 1919-1945], al-Hayʾah al-Misriyya al-ʿAmma lil-Kitab.
Sayigh, Anis (1959). Al-Fikra al-ʿarabiyya fi Misr [The Arab Idea in Egypt], Matbaʿat Haykal
al-Gharib.
336
Bibliography
Shafiq, Ahmed (1926). Hawliyat Misr al-Siyasiyya [The Egyptian Political Annals], Al-Tamhid,
Vol. 1, Matba’at Shafiq Pasha.
Shafiq, Ahmed (1934-36). Mudhakkirati fi nisf qarn [My Memoirs over half a Century], Matba’at
Misr.
Sidqi, Ismaʿil (1991). Mudhakkirati [My Memoirs], Sami Abu al-Nur (ed.), Madbuli.
Tusun, ‘Umar (1942). Mudhakkirah Bima Sadar ‘Ana Mundhu Fajr al-Harakah al-Wataniyyah Min
1918 ila 1928.
‘Urabi, Ahmed (2005). Mudhakkirat al-Za’im Ahmed ‘Urabi: Kashf al-Setar ‘An Ser al-Asrar fi al
Nahda al-Misriyya al-Mashhora bil-Thawra al-‘Urabiyya [The Diaries of the Leader Ahmed Urabi:
Unveiling the Secret of all Secrets on the Egyptian Renaissance Known as the Urabi Revolution],
studied and edited by Dr ‘Abd al-Mon’im Ibrahim al-Gami’i, 3 Vols., Dar al-Kutub.
Yahya, Muhammad Kamal (1983). Al-Judhur al-tarikhiyya li-tahrir al-marʾah al-misriyya fi al-ʿasr
al-hadith [The Historical Roots of the Liberation of Women in the Modern Era], Al-Hayʾah
al-Misriyya al-ʿAmma lil-Kitab.
Zaghlul, Saʿad (1987). Mudhakkirat Saʿd Zaghlul [The Diaries of Saʿd Zaghlul], Ramadan, ʿAbd
al- ʿAzim (ed.), Al-Hayʾah al-Misriyya al-ʿAmma lil-Kitab.
Zayid, Mahmud (1973). Min Ahmad ʿUrabi ila Jamal ʿAbd Al-Nasir [From Ahmad ʿUrabi to Jamal
ʿAbd Al-Nasser], Al-Dar al-Muttahidah lil-Nashr.
Books in German
Braune, Walther (1944). ‘Die Entwicklung des Nationalismus bei den Arabern’ [The Development
of Nationalism amongst the Arabs] in Hartmann, Richard (ed.), Beiträge zur Arabistik, Semitistik
und Islamkunde [Contributions to Arab, Semitic and Islamic Studies], Harrassowitz.
Braune, Walther (1960). Der islamische Orient zwischen Vergangenheit und Zukunft [The Islamic
Orient between Past and Future], Francke.
Books in French
Abdel-Malek, Anwar (1969). Idéologie et Renaissance Nationale: L'Égypte Moderne [Ideology and
National Revival: Modern Egypt], Anthropos.
Amin, Qasim (1894). Les Égyptiens: Réponse à M. Le Duc d’Harcourt [The Egyptians: Response to
the Duke of Harcourt], Jules Barbier.
337
Bibliography
Berque, Jacques (1967). L’Égypte: Impérialisme et Révolution [Egypt: Imperialism and Revolution],
Gallimard.
Ghorbal, Muhammad S. (1952). Histoire des Négociations Égypto-britanniques 1882-1936, Vol.1

[The History of Egyptian-British Negotiations 1882-1936, Vol. 1], Maktabat al-Nahda.
Ghorbal, Muhammad S. (1986). La Genèse de l’Égypte [The Genesis of Egypt], Maktabat al-Nahda.
Rifʿat, Muhammad (1921). Histoire Politique de l’Égypte dans les Temps Modernes [The Political
History of Egypt in Modern Times], Dar al-Shaʿb.
Sabri, Muhammad (1919). La Révolution Égyptienne [The Egyptian Revolution], Vrin.
Sabri, Muhammad (1924). La Genèse de l’Esprit National Égyptien 1863-1882 [The Genesis of the
Egyptian National Spirit 1863-1882], Librairie Picart.
Vidal, Fina Gued (1946). Safia Zaghloul, R. Schindler.
Yéghen, Fouad (1927). Saad Zaghloul, le « père du peuple » Égyptien [Sa‘ad Zaghloul, The ‘Father’
of the Egyptian People], Cahiers de France.
Unpublished Doctoral Theses
Bishku, Michael Barry, ‘The British Empire and the Question of Egypt's Future, 1919-1922’,
(Unpublished dissertation, New York University, 1981).
Coventry, Donald C., ‘The Public Career of Sir Francis Reginald Wingate, High Commissioner for
Egypt: 1917-1919’, (Unpublished dissertation, American University, 1989).
Crecelius, Daniel, ‘The ‘Ulama and the State in Modern Egypt’, (Unpublished dissertation,
Princeton University, 1967).
Gesink, Indira Falk, ‘Beyond Modernism: Opposition and Negotiation in the Azhar Reform
Movement, 1870-1911’, (Unpublished dissertation, Washington University, 2000).
Hussain, Majid Salman, ‘British Policy and the Nationalist Movement in Egypt, 1914-1924’,
(Unpublished dissertation, University of Exeter, 1996).
Knudsen, Rita Augestad, ‘Moments of Self-determination: The Concept of “Self-determination” and

the Idea of Freedom in 20th and 21st Century International Discourse’, (Unpublished dissertation,
London School of Economics and Political Science, 2013).
Merriam, Kathleen Howard, ‘The Role of Leadership in Nation-Building Egypt, 1922’,

(Unpublished dissertation, Indiana University, 1971).
338
Bibliography
Mirza, Ahmed Mansoor, ‘Between Ummah, Empire and Nation: The Role of the ‘Ulama in the
‘Urabi Revolt and the Emergence of Egyptian Nationalism’, (Unpublished dissertation, London
School of Economics and Political Science, 2014).
Newell, Jonathan, ‘British Military Policy in Egypt and Palestine, August 1914-June 1917’,
(Unpublished dissertation, University of London, 1990).
Rashid, Adnan Hussein, ‘The Press and the Egyptian Nationalist Movement in the Nineteenth
Century with Particular Emphasis on the Role of Al-Nadim’, (Unpublished dissertation, University
of Exeter, 1987).
Ufford, Letitia Wheeler, ‘Milner Mission to Egypt, 1919-1921’, (Unpublished dissertation,

Columbia University, 1977).
Whidden, James Neil, ‘The Egyptian Revolution: Politics and the Egyptian Nation, 1919-26’,
(Unpublished dissertation, University of London, 1998).
Unpublished Conference Papers
ʿAli, Haydar Ibrahim, ‘al-Mujtamaʿ al-madani fi Misr wa al-Sudan’ [Civil Society in Egypt and
Sudan], Paper submitted to a Centre of Arab Unity Studies Conference on ‘Civil Society in the Arab
World and its Role in Achieving Democracy’ in Beirut, January 1992.
339

Ramdani Rise Egyptian Nationalist Movement

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

Ramdani Rise Egyptian Nationalist Movement

Uploaded by

Document Information

Copyright

Available Formats

Share this document

Share or Embed Document

Sharing Options

Did you find this document useful?

Is this content inappropriate?

Copyright:

Available Formats

Ramdani Rise Egyptian Nationalist Movement

Uploaded by

Copyright:

Available Formats

THE LONDON SCHOOL OF ECONOMICS AND POLITICAL SCIENCE (LSE)

The Rise of the Egyptian Nationalist Movement:

The Case of the 1919 Revolution

A thesis submitted to the Department of International History of the

I declare that my thesis consists of <121,963>words.

Introduction: The Arguments of the Thesis and Historiographical Review 8

Structure of the Thesis 39

Chapter One: The Emergence of an Islamic Nationalist Movement in Egypt in

Chapter Four: A New World Order: The Emergence of an “International

The “Wilsonian Moment”: Wilson’s Internationalist and Liberal-Conservative

… a named human population occupying a historic territory or homeland

We will also employ Smith’s definition of nationalism as:

... an ideological movement for the attainment and maintenance of

“War Imperialism” & its Impact on Political Awareness in Egypt

An “International Self-Determination Moment”

Worldwide debates about “self-determination” were increasingly dominated by Wilson’s liberal-

contrary, the Russian’s discourse on “self-determination” had prompted Wilson to internationalise

Wilson’s very personal appreciation of “self-determination” had such influence internationally in

In turn, Wilson’s reaction to Lenin’s theories was to project “self-determination” as a stabilising

Nowadays President Wilson is considered as the “father” of “self-determination”21 and there is no

It was the gradual and selective casting off of temporary additions to

Although there is a consensus in Egyptian historiography on the phrasing of the popular

Journalism was not regarded at first as a profession of much account. It

Nationalism is deeply tinged with Mahomedan fanaticism. There had always

As elsewhere it [British Occupation and intervention] has set in motion

He makes the same point in his conclusion when he asks:

Should we really promote the evolution of the Egyptian people towards

Theories on Egyptian Feminism

Feminism as a by-product of the Western model:

Feminism as a by-product of nationalism:

Feminism as a derivative of the post-revolutionary period:

Thus women’s involvement in extraordinary historical developments such as revolutions can be

The Rise of the Egyptian

How Nationalism Developed in Egypt during the Nineteenth Century

political developments in the period 1866–82 cannot […] be fully

by 1879 they [the constitutionalists] appeared to have achieved a good

The Nationalist and Islamic Character of the ‘Urabi Revolt, 1879-1882

We have limited ourselves to the study of narrow, derivative books

Al-Tahtawi’s French-Arabic translations were of great historical importance to the development of

situation not dissimilar to the pre-Islamic jahiliyya, or backwardness/ignorance.149 Writing in

The Taba Crisis of 1906

The Dinshawai Incident of 1906

It should be made clear to the Egyptian Ministers and Governors of

Denshawai is a little Egyptian village in the Nile delta. Besides the

Shaw further pointed out:

Dinshawai brought the ordinary Egyptian much nearer to the opinions of

Qasim Amin echoes the Khedive’s words, saying:

Lord Cromer’s Departure in 1907

Historian Roger Owen thus assessed Cromer’s legacy in Egypt:

Over one of the world’s first modern green revolutions, in which a

Baring believed that “subject races” were totally incapable of self-

Secular Nationalists: Mustafa Kamil and Ahmad Lutfi al-Sayyid

From “Veiled Protectorate” to Direct British Rule

Wartime Mobilisation of Egyptian Resources

The Breakdown of the Anglo-Egyptian Economic System

Beyond “Drawing Room” Nationalism

The “Leninist Moment”: Lenin’s Radical Socialist Interpretation of Self-Determination

Znaniye, 1917, https://www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1907/agrprogr and Lenin, ‘Critical Remarks on the

“self-determination” meant “the constitutional guarantee of an absolutely free and democratic

Lenin defined self-determination as an overwhelmingly “negative” concept in 1913, saying: