Communist Parties in the Middle East

Home , 14 July Revolution, Abdallah Ibrahim, Adib Shishakli, Arab Parliament, Bijan Jazani, Communist Party of Iran

Since the Russian Revolution, communist parties have undergone great change, affecting the entire Left and its associated social movements. Communist Parties in the Middle East: 100 Years of History aims to cover a century in the lives of these parties, from the moment the communist ideology first reached the region in the early twentieth century, right up to the upheaval caused by the dissolution of the USSR and, more recently, the Arab Spring. The book has been designed to offer a unique, updated and comprehensive study of communist parties in the Middle East. The volume analyses the composition of the communist parties in the Middle East, as well as their role as the vanguard in relation to the objectives of liberation, emancipation, revolution and system change or reform, and their connection to mass or popular movements. It also looks back at the level of autonomy experienced by the region’s communist parties during the Cold War, and the tensions that this generated within them, as well as the search for individual constructions of communism that considered cultural characteristics and the local context of the struggle. Finally, the chapters trace the history of the parties, including – for the first time in the literature – the post-Cold War period and continuing to the current situation, in which communist parties occupy a residual position in the political field, sharing space with other groups on the Left, new programmes adapted to neoliberal advancement in the region, and the mobilizations symbolized by the uprisings of 2010–11. The first section of the book presents the evolution of the communist parties in Algeria, Egypt, Iran, Iraq, Israel and Palestine, Lebanon, Morocco, South Yemen, Sudan, Syria and Turkey. The second section explores some cross-cutting issues that have affected relations between the communist parties and other political sectors: political Islam and the New Left, as well as the arguments around the question of gender in the Arab world and in leftist circles.

Laura Feliu is Senior Lecturer in International Relations at the Faculty of Political Science and Sociology, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona.

Ferran Izquierdo-Brichs is Senior Lecturer in International Relations at the Faculty of Political Science and Sociology, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. Europa Regional Perspectives

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Communist Parties in the Middle East 100 Years of History Laura Feliu and Ferran Izquierdo-Brichs

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Edited by Laura Feliu and Ferran Izquierdo-Brichs First published 2019 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2019 Laura Feliu and Ferran Izquierdo-Brichs The right of Laura Feliu and Ferran Izquierdo-Brichs to be identiﬁed as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced orutilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, nowknown or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identiﬁcation and explanation without intent to infringe. Europa Regional Editor, Middle East and North Africa: Christopher Matthews British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book

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Typeset in Times New Roman by Taylor & Francis Books Contents

List of tables vii Acknowledgements viii List of contributors ix

1 Communist parties in the Middle East and North Africa: An overview 1 LAURA FELIU, FERRAN IZQUIERDO-BRICHS AND FRANCESC SERRA

PART I Communist parties: case studies 43

2 Iran’s communist movement: Reform and revolution 45 YASSAMINE MATHER

3 The Communist Party of Turkey: An instrument of ‘Soviet eastern policy’? 60 BÜLENT GÖKAY

4 The Iraqi Communist Party 74 JOHAN FRANZÉN

5 The Lebanese Communist Party: Continuity against all odds 90 ROSA VELASCO MUÑOZ

6 The Syrian Communist Party: Patrimonialism and fractures 109 ROSA VELASCO MUÑOZ

7 Class and nation: Arab and Jewish communists in Palestine 129 MUSA BUDEIRI

8 The communist movement in Egypt 152 BÁRBARA AZAOLA-PIAZZA vi Contents 9 Communism and organizational symbiosis in South Yemen: The People’s Democratic Union, the National Liberation Front and the Yemeni Socialist Party 168 JOHN ISHIYAMA

10 The Sudan Communist Party: Bolshevize it, O God! 184 ABDULLAHI A. IBRAHIM

11 The communists in Algeria (1920–93) 199 PIERRE-JEAN LE FOLL-LUCIANI

12 The four faces of Morocco’s communists: PCF, MCP, PLS and PPS 216 BERNABÉ LÓPEZ GARCÍA

PART II Context, debates and cross-cutting issues 239 13 Islamists and communists: A history of Arab convergenze parallele 241 LUZ GÓMEZ GARCÍA

14 The New Left in 1960s and 1970s Lebanon and 1917 as model and foil 258 LAURE GUIRGUIS

15 From Marxism to anti-authoritarianism: Egypt’s New Left 268 LAURA GALIÁN

16 Women and left in the Middle East: the voice of the protagonists: How feminist change occurs in Lebanon: an interview with Azza Chararah Baydoun 282 NATALIA RIBAS-MATEOS

Index 299 Tables

12.1 PPS representation in legislative elections from 1977 to 2016 231 Acknowledgements

This publication has been compiled within the framework of the research projects led by Dr Laura Feliu-Martínez and Dr Ferran Izquierdo-Brichs: ‘Popu- lar Revolts from the Mediterranean to Central Asia: Historical Genealogy, Power Cleavages and Identity Factors’, funded by the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitivity (HAR2012–34053); and ‘Transnational Dynamics and Actors in the MENA Region: A Historical Genealogy of Elites and Social Movements in between the Local and Global Level’, funded by the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitivity, Agencia Estatal de Investigación and European Regional Development Fund (HAR2016–77876-P). Contributors

Laura Feliu is Senior Lecturer in International Relations at the Faculty of Poli- tical Science and Sociology, Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. She leads, together with Ferran Izquierdo-Brichs, the research project ‘HAR2016– 77876-P Transnational Dynamics and Actors in the MENA Region’, financed by the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Competitiveness. She has worked and published extensively on international human rights promotion, on international relations of the Middle East and North Africa, and on Spanish foreign policy. Her latest publications in English include: Political Islam in a Time of Revolt (co-authored with Izquierdo-Brichs and Ether- ington, 2017); ‘Transnational Advocacy Networks (TANs) and Human Rights Activism’, in The Routledge Handbook of Mediterranean Politics (ed. Gillespie and Volpi, 2017); and ‘The Western Sahara Members of the Mor- occan Parliament: Parliamentary Diplomacy and Identity Perceptions’ (with Parejo Fernández) in Global, Regional and Local Dimensions of Western Sahara’s Protracted Decolonization (ed. Ojeda, Veguilla and Fernández- Molina, 2016). Ferran Izquierdo-Brichs is Senior Lecturer on International Relations at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. His research is focused on the sociology of power and the Arab world. He has published numerous articles on these issues, and recently the following books: Political Islam in a Time of Revolt (with Etherington and Feliu, 2017); Poder global. Una mirada desde la sociología del poder (with Etherington, 2017); El islam político en el Mediterráneo. Radiografía de una evolución (2013); and Political Regimes in the Arab World (2013). Bárbara Azaola-Piazza is Lecturer in Arab and Islamic Studies at the Uni- versidad de Castilla-La Mancha. She is also a member of the Study Group on Arab and Muslim Societies. Her research deals with the analysis of Middle East and North Africa political systems with a focus on Egypt. Her publications include Historia del Egipto contemporáneo (2008) and ‘The Foreign Policy of Post-Mubarak Egypt and the Strengthening of Relations with Saudi Arabia: Balancing between Economic Vulnerability and Regional and Regime Security’ (2018). x List of contributors Musa Budeiri was born in Jerusalem and taught politics at Birzeit University in the Israeli-ruled West Bank. He has written on the history of the communist and the labour movements in Palestine during the years of British rule, and on the emergence of Palestinian nationalism in the aftermath of the war of 1948. Most recently he has published ‘Emil Tuma’s mea culpa, Palestinian Arab Communists and the Partition of Palestine 1948’ in the Beirut-based Arabic journal Bidayat (2017/18). Azza Chararah Baydoun is a former professor of social psychology at the Lebanese (State) University, a founding member of the Lebanese Associa- tion of Women Researchers (known as BAHITHAT) and was a member of the National Commission of Lebanese Women (CEDAW committee) through the years 2003–16. She is a researcher in women and gender studies. She was awarded the certificate of scientific research excellence from the Centre National de Recherche Scientifique, Lebanon for the years 2001–11. Most of her publications, lectures, interviews, etc. can be retrieved from her blog at www.azzachararabaydoun.wordpress.com. Among many other publications, author of the books: Muwatina la 'ountha [A citizen not a female]. Beirut: Dar Al-Saqi; Cases of Femicide Before Lebanese Courts (Arabic and English), Beirut: KAFA (enough) Violence and Exploitation, 2011; Nisa' yuwajihna al-unuf: dirasa maydaniya [Women facing violence: a field study]. Beirut: KAFA (enough) Violence and Exploitation. Johan Franzén is a historian of the modern Middle East. He joined the Uni- versity of East Anglia in 2009 after finishing a PhD in modern Middle Eastern history at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, where he also completed an MA in Middle Eastern studies. Before coming to England, he read Middle Eastern history and Arabic at Lund University in his native Sweden. Franzén is the author of Red Star over Iraq: Iraqi Communism before Saddam (2011), which in 2012 was shortlisted for the Book Prize of the British Association of Middle Eastern Studies. Laura Galián is a postdoctoral student at the Horizon 2020 project, RETOPEA: Religious Toleration and Peace, funded by the European Commission at the University of Granada. Laura holds a PhD in Arabic and Islamic Studies from the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. Her work has focused on the decolonization theories and movements in the Middle East. She has been a member of the research project Islam 2.0: Cultural and Religious Markers of the Mediterranean Societies in Transformation funded by the Spanish Minis- try of Economy and Competitivity and has also coordinated the project Fighting against Islamophobia funded by the FAMI in the Moroccan Association for the Integration of Immigrants in Malaga, Spain. Bülent Gökay is Professor of International Relations at SPIRE, Keele Uni- versity and the founding editor of the Journal of Global Faultlines. He is the author of A Clash of Empires: Turkey between Russian Bolshevism and British Imperialism (1997), Eastern Europe since 1970: Decline of Socialism List of contributors xi to Post-Communist Transition (2001), Soviet Eastern Policy and Turkey, 1920–1991 (2006), Muslims and Communist in Post-Transition States (with Ben Fowkes, 2011) and Power Shift: The Disintegration of Euro-Atlanticism and New Authoritarianism (with Vassilis Fouskas, 2018). Luz Gómez García is Senior Lecturer of Arab Studies at the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. She was previously professor of Arabic translation at the Universidad de Alicante. Her latest books are Entre la sharía y la yihad. Una historia intelectual del islamismo (2018) and Diccionario de islam e islamismo (2018). Laure Guirguis is Thyssen Junior Fellow, Institute for Advanced Studies, Central European University, Budapest. A graduate in philosophy and in Chinese, Guirguis achieved a PhD at the School for Advanced Studies in Social Sciences, Paris. Her PhD on Sectarianism in Egypt has been published in French (2012) and in English (2016). She is currently researching radical left-wing trends in the Arab world in the 1960s and 1970s, addressing the paradoxical legacy of the revolutionary left. Her latest publications include Copts and the Security State: Violence, Coercion, and Sectarianism in Contemporary Egypt (2016) and ‘La référence au Vietnam et l’émergence des gauches radicales au Liban (1956–1975)’ (2018). Abdullahi A. Ibrahim is Emeritus Professor of African History and Islam at the University of Missouri-Columbia. He has published extensively, in both Arabic and English, on the culture and history of Sudan, including The Mahdi-Ulema Conflict (1968); Assaulting with Words: Popular Discourse and the Bridle of Shari’ah (1994); The Dusk of Marxism: Resistance and Renaissance in the Praxis of the Sudanese Communist Party (in Arabic, 2007); and Manichaean Delirium: Decolonization of the Judiciary and Isla- mic Renewal in Sudan, 1898–1985 (2008). He is currently writing a biography of Abdel Khalig Mahgoub, the secretary of the Sudan Communist Party (1927–71) tragically hanged by President Nimeiry in 1971. John Ishiyama is Distinguished Research Professor of Political Science at the University of North Texas. He is also the former editor-in-chief for the American Political Science Review (2012–16) and was the founding editor of the Journal of Political Science Education. He is currently the principal investigator and director of the National Science Foundation-Research Experience for Undergraduates programme on civil conflict management and peace science. His research interests include democratization and political parties in post-communist Russian, European, Eurasian and African (especially Ethiopian) politics, ethnic conflict and ethnic politics and the scholarship of teaching and learning. He has published extensively on these topics, producing eight books and over 130 journal articles. Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani is a historian and associate researcher at the Université Rennes. His books include Le Camp des oliviers. Parcours d'un xii List of contributors communiste algérien (2012) and Les juifs algériens dans la lutte anticoloniale. Trajectoires dissidentes (1934–1965) (2015). Bernabé López García is Professor of History of the Arab and Islamic World at the Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. He is author, among other works, of Marruecos político. Cuarenta años de procesos electorales (1960– 2000) (2000, translated into Arabic and updated in 2009) and Orientalismo e ideología colonial en el arabismo español (1840–1917) (2011). Yassamine Mather is Acting Editor of Critique. She is an Iranian socialist who joined the Fedayeen Minority. She worked in Kurdistan, becoming editor of the student monthly journal Jahan. At Glasgow University she was deputy director of the Centre for the Study of Socialist Theory and Movements. She is currently working at the University of Oxford. Natalia Ribas-Mateos has been teaching for many years and conducting diverse fieldworks in different places of the world since the early 1990s, most particularly in Mediterranean Europe. In English she is the author of the ‘The Mediterranean in the Age of Globalization’ and ‘Border Shifts: New Mobilities in Europe and Beyond’, and more recently of various col- lections of works related to age, gender and mobilities. She is currently a researcher at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, Spain and is a member of the Fatema Mernissi Chair, Rabat. Francesc Serra is currently Associate Lecturer at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. Among his published work is the monography Rusia, la otra potencia europea (Russia, the Other European Power, 2005) and as editor the books Chechenia, rompamos el silencio (Chechnya, Let’s Break the Silence, 2008) and Poder y regímenes en Asia Central (Power and Regimes in Central Asia, 2018). He has been a visiting researcher at the universities of Buenos Aires, Argentina (2006), Bogazici, Turkey (2009), Miami (2010) and Saitama, Japan (2014). Rosa Velasco Muñoz is a researcher at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona. Her main area of interest and research is the study of Palestinian refugee camps in Lebanon and the modern history of Lebanon which she formalized in published articles and her PhD (2015) on this subject. Cur- rently, Rosa is collaborating in the research project Transnational Dynamics and Actors in the MENA-Region: A Genealogy of Elites and Social Movements between the Local and the Global’ sponsored by the Spanish Ministry of Economy, Industry and Competitiveness. 1 Communist parties in the Middle East and North Africa An overview

Laura Feliu, Ferran Izquierdo-Brichs and Francesc Serra

1 Introduction Despite the dissolution of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), the influence of the Russian Revolution around the world cannot be denied a century later. The twentieth century was distinguished by the Marxist revolutionary force of the revolution and by the occasionally conservative control of the world Left from Moscow. Along with realpolitik and domination by the Soviet nomenklatura, revolutionary solidarity and excitement influenced the activity of communist parties as well as other leftist forces. The entire Left had to position itself with respect to the USSR, whether taking their cues from and being influenced by the dogmatic ideological line of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) or not. The euphoria of the revolutionary moment and the force of the new Soviet power were reflected, among other things, in the proliferation of communist parties that adhered to the orthodoxy emanating from Moscow. The growth in the number of communist parties paved the way for the creation of a new Communist International, the Comintern, in 1919, which in turn provided the impetus for the organization of new parties. In the Arab world and Middle East, this influence arrived more slowly than in Europe,1 and it clashed with other strong ideologies that viewed communism as a threat or as the competition, primarily nationalism and political Islam. However, the organizations, their activists and their ideology all had a strong impact on twentieth-century Middle Eastern societies, and if the modern history of the region is to be understood, the role of communism must also be analysed. Communist parties underwent significant changes and their evolution affected the entire Left and social movements. The impact of the communist parties and their development in the Middle East remains largely unexplored and academic literature on the question continues to be lacking.2 Conse- quently, we believe that the centennial of the revolution in Russia and the bicentennial of the birth of Karl Marx provide a good opportunity for a comprehensive, global look at the topic and, indeed, this volume fills the vacuum. Communist Parties in the Middle East: 100 Years of History looks at a century’s worth of experience, from the arrival of communist ideology in the 2 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra region in the early twentieth century by minority activists and the creation of the first parties and trade unions after the 1917 revolution to the convulsions produced by the dissolution of the USSR and, more recently, the Arab Spring. The result is a comprehensive, unique study of these parties in a vast region that ranges from Morocco to Iran, based both on diverse theoretical frameworks and on empirical studies and historical archives. The volume provides a depiction of the processes undergone by communist parties in the region through the identification of common characteristics and contexts, completing the overall view of the expansion of communism in the world and the vicissitudes of communist parties after the creation of the USSR, while also evaluating the diversity of experiences and the influence of local settings. What follows is, first, an analysis of the tensions faced by communist parties in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region based on the sociology of the power and their competition with ideologies like nationalism and Islamism, and the constant questioning about whether to act as a vanguard for social mobilization or be co-opted into a secondary position by the regimes in power or by Soviet politics. The legacy left by the communists in the region is also the product of these competitions and strains. Finally, the chapter looks at the relationship between the USSR and the region, since this is instrumental in understanding the history of these parties and the men and women who were active in them.

2 The communist parties: political and ideological tensions and debates in the MENA region Our analytical point of departure, the sociology of power,3 argues that when hierarchical organizations are established, social, economic and – obviously – political relations between elites are competitive, always becoming relations of and for power. The primary objective of the elites who control these hier- archies is the ‘differential accumulation of power’,4 of more power than other members of the elite, because if they lose this competition, they cease to control the hierarchy. As a relative competition – the actors have no absolute objectives, but compare themselves with the other actors – these power relations have no end; they are circular and feed off of themselves. In other words, these actors constantly need to use their power to gain a greater power differential with respect to their competitors. The competition is one and only, for power, in which the actors face off, using various resources, according to their abilities, in different accumulation processes. Resources like state control, ideology, capital, coercion, information and the population itself are used in the competition for the accumulation of power. For this reason, an isolated analysis cannot be done for each of these areas since the actors involved in the competition all play against each other in a single game, using each of the power resources at their disposal. This power, of course, is not an abstraction; consequently, the actors involved in a power relation cannot be abstractions or institutions like the nation, Communist parties in MENA 3 Islam, Christianity, the markets, corporations or the state, but must be individuals or social groups understood as a set of individuals. The circular relations established by the elites fighting over the differential accumulation of power are basically conservative, since the main function of the actors is to accumulate, and therefore conserve, power resources. In contrast to circular power relations, processes of change are not brought about by the competition for power, but by the people’sstruggleforbetterliving conditions – aking into account material, cultural, identity, gender factors as well as human rights and freedoms. When the people, as an actor, mobilize to achieve specific objectives related to improving their welfare, a power relation is established that can be called linear. These relations are linear because they begin with raising awareness and creating networks for social mobilization and end when the objective has been achieved or the mobilization defeated. It is, thus, necessary to identify when a power relation is linear or circular. In other words, it is necessary to identify when the actor is the population whose objective is to improve living conditions and when the actors are elites whose main goal is to accumulate power differential. In the former case – the linear relationship – the people can establish alliances with other actors if their objectives and interests coincide or are complementary, or the population itself can be a revolutionary political actor. In the latter case – the circular relationship – the people must be clear that the main objective of the actors does not coincide with their own and that the priority behind the decisions taken by the actors is the differential accumulation of power. In this case, the relationship established by the elites with the majority of the population is one of subject to object, actor to resource, and the population’s position is one of subjugation to the interests of the elites. Thus, for example, the use of ideology to control people is a key element in elite competition and will be reflected in a very harsh competition to impose one ideology or another and to mobilize the people as a resource for the benefit of accumulating power. In this dynamic, social movements confront a permanent tension between being an actor in a linear relationship that mobilizes and demands its rights or being a resource mobilized by elites for their accumulation of power in a circular relationship. Likewise, the leaders of leftist parties and social movements also experience the tension between being at the vanguard of social mobilization (a linear relationship) or letting themselves be co-opted to become secondary elites and compete for the accumulation of more power than the other elites (circular relationship). The various communist parties could not escape these tensions, which were reflected both in domestic dynamics and in their relationship with Moscow. For this reason, it is necessary to analyse when they moved in one dimension or another, since their decisions and capacity to mobilize and influence the system would depend on this. Socialist ideas first entered the Middle East in the late nineteenth century, for example with the Palestinian Jew Joseph Rosenthal, who moved to Egypt and established contacts with trade unions led by Greeks. Some members of minority groups like Jews and Armenians, many of whom were polyglots, 4 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra were more receptive to the influence of European ideas. The first communists reached the MENA region through contact with revolutionary experiences in Europe (Iranian and Turkish emigrants in revolutionary Russia, Turkish emigrants and the Iraqi Husayn al-Rahal in Germany and the Spartacist uprising), through emigrant contact with communist parties in the metropolis (primarily Algerians and Moroccans in France), or through immigration and colonization to Arab countries (as in Egypt, the French in Tunisia, Algeria and Morocco, and Jewish colonists and immigrants in Palestine). These early communists were influenced by the revolutionary drive and excitement generated by the Russian Revolution. Like all movements, they needed to reach an agreement about a proposal for social change, their own conceptual ‘frame’, as it is referred to in current theory on social movements.5 They also had to expand their organization and activist base and to create networks of alliances6 in addition to doing everything possible to raise awareness and mobilize the people to fight to improve living conditions. Nominally, Marxism-Leninism gave them the necessary analytical and conceptual base as well as the organizational orientation to form parties which, in general, had to be done underground. However, the reality facing Middle Eastern societies was quite different from the European and Russian situations, and they soon had to confront contradictions and problems that did not adjust well to the Russian experience and orthodox Marxist analyses that came from industrialized Europe. The first objective of any social movement must be to raise awareness among the people about the social changes required to improve their living conditions. This awareness raising was linked to the dissemination of a frame based on class struggle from a Marxist perspective that had the enormous advantage of the excitement generated by the Russian Revolution, but at the same time had to deal with very deeply rooted ideological and cultural hege- monies. In many early twentieth-century societies in the Middle East and North Africa, especially in the rural world, the main solidarity and identity structures were still based more on clan and clientelistic ties and on Ibn Khaldun’s asabiyyah (Ibn Jaldun, 1987 [1382]) than on class identity and solidarity. Moreover, as the different chapters in this book discuss, throughout the twentieth century, communism in the region had to deal with two competing ideological systems that had enormous power: nationalism and religion. Both the ideological and identity structures reinforced systems of authority control over the population that ran counter to the awareness raising and emancipation sought by the communists. The communists’ analytical and theoretical frame in the less industrialized countries and colonies necessarily clashed with the reality of agrarian economies transitioning to capitalism and a proletariat – theoretically the vanguard of the revolution – that was very small. The social base of the communist parties was largely some trade unions that were generally weak and very localized in the few industrialized areas and also students, intellectuals and professionals.7 In many of these countries, the working class was low in numbers and in some cases, like Communist parties in MENA 5 Palestine and Egypt, closely tied to immigration. Additionally, it was very difficult for communist ideas to penetrate the peasantry and civil service. The sectors closest to Marxism and the communist parties were middle-class intellectuals and students. They were never a majority even in the universities, but their influence over the intelligentsia also gave them influence over many of the politicians and parties on the Left, even if they were nationalist. Therefore, in the 1920s and 1930s and later during the Second World War, first colonial needs and, then, war requirements stimulated the expansion of the proletariat slightly, particularly in connection with the extractive industries, ports and railway services. This allowed for greater communist influence in these sectors, especially through the trade unions. Other sectors attracted to the movement were the marginalized minority groups in different countries. In their defence of social equality, the communist parties found some natural allies in these discriminated sectors (at least until these minorities developed their own forms of identity advocacy, like the Shiite Movement of the Disinherited in Lebanon). The colonial context and the later construction of new independent states made national liberation the primary demand for the immense majority of people, with nationalism being the most mobilizing ideology. With respect to colonialism, the position of the communists largely focused on the struggle against the colonial powers for the liberation of peoples. The fact that a new power like the USSR took the side of colonized peoples also gave prestige to the communist parties. The 1921 friendship treaties between the Soviet Rus- sians (the USSR was constituted the following year) with Turkey, Iran and Afghanistan were done in conditions of equality unknown in the region in their interactions with the great powers and were in and of themselves a rejection of the League of Nations’ mandate system (Ismael, 2005: 9). More- over, the communists were organizationally better prepared to battle while being repressed and thus had greater influence and prestige in the anti-colonial struggle than their low membership would suggest. However, in the Maghreb, where the communists were late in separating themselves from an ambiguous French Communist Party (FCP), an initial unclear position regarding the demand for independence weakened them. In Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia, the difficulty in separating from the FCP took its toll on them. Both Bernabé López García in his chapter on Morocco and Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani writing on Algeria offer examples of this tension. From the mid-1920s to the mid-1930s, the dominant watchword was class conflict, which meant that the communist parties in colonized countries had to fight not only the colonial powers, but also against the nationalist bourgeoisies, which debilitated them. One added factor of tension that sapped the strength of the communist parties was Soviet support for the partition of Palestine and the creation of Israel, which gave rise to major contradictions among Arab communists, in addition to losing them support and provoking or intensifying conflict and repression in the nationalist regimes that had already achieved independence. With respect to nationalism, by associating with the anti-colonial fight, the facet of the national struggle brought communists closer to the nationalist 6 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra movements and parties. However, their discourse was at times ambiguous and it was difficult to reconcile nationalism with class internationalism. Moreover, the communists were often extremely suspicious of alliances with nationalist bourgeois parties and, as noted above, class solidarity clashed with the traditional social structures that were still very much present. The communist parties in the south were anti-colonialist and anti-capitalist, but they were incapable of adopting a discourse and analysis from the south about the specific needs of the south for intellectual reasons rooted in Marxist orthodoxy and political reasons related to the control being exercised from Moscow. Very early on, because of the pressure from nationalist forces and the contradictions facing them, the communists were forced to pose the following question: were the ideological premises of Marxist-Soviet orthodoxy adequate to identify, understand and defend the interests of the people in the south? Ramón Grosfoguel has highlighted the words of Aimé Césaire (Grosfoguel, 2008: 209). Despite coming from a region quite far away, this attack on the abstract universalism of Eurocentric Marxist thinking presents problems quite similar to those of the communists in the MENA region and especially for the communists in the Maghreb:

In any case, it is constant that our struggle, the struggle of colonial peoples against colonialism, the struggle of peoples of color against racism is much more complex – of a completely diﬀerent nature than the struggle of the French worker against French capitalism and can in no way be considered as a part, a fragment of that struggle … I don’t bury myself in a narrow particularism. But I also don’t want to get lost in an emaciated universalism. There are two ways to get lost: by walled segregation in the individual or by dilution in the universal. (Césaire, 18 April 2008 [24 October 1956])

From Iran, Ali Shariati, surely the greatest exponent of progressive Islamism, said in reference to Western and Westernized intellectuals:

As writers and thinkers, we must turn towards those who have concerns like ours; a history, a situation, a fate parallel to ours. Instead of Brecht, we should be familiar with Kateb Yasin; instead of Jean-Paul Sartre, Omar Mowlud … In knowing them, we recognize ourselves, while by moving towards Western intellectuals, we move away from ourselves and even more when understanding them … makes the Eastern intellectual ultrasensitive – in fact sentimental and not sensitive – to the questions posed in Europe, to the very progressive doctrines in vogue in the West and not in the East, they put a distance between the Eastern intellectual and people and their own realities, their specific responsibilities; and finally, despite sincerely believing in serving and instructing, they become factors of decadence and deceit. (Shariati, 1982: 107–8) Communist parties in MENA 7 Of course, in Paris during the early 1960s, Shariati had direct contact with European intellectuals that is, in many ways, reflected in his work, to the point that he has been spoken of as the Marxist theorist of Islamism, although his reference points are clearly Islamic. In fact, he accompanied his criticism of Marxism and his project to renew Islam with some proposals for social change that were directly inspired by the Marxist debate (Shariati, 1980). There is one recurrent theme in the history of the communist parties in the Arab world and Middle East. The difficulty of dissociating themselves from the false universalism denounced by Césaire and the influence and dogmas coming from Europe left the field open to the bourgeoisies and the elites created by the independence movements with their nationalist discourse and to political Islam with its discourse calling for a retrograde interpretation of identity.

The intensiﬁcation of the anti-colonial, anti-imperialist struggle brought with it the emergence of signiﬁcant non-communist socialist nationalistic groups such as Nasserism, Ba‘athism, and the Algerian Front de Libera- tion National (FLN). In their conceptions of socialism, such groups threatened to co-opt the Arab communists’ political programs, and the latter’s potential popular constituency. Moreover, with their nationalism, such groups stood in stark contrast to the internationalist, anti-nationalist Arab communists – and, as such, had far more popular appeal among the fervently nationalist Arab masses. (Ismael, 2005: 21)

Above all, the contradiction was expressed at the moment of independence, when a model of a progressive society was supposed to be implemented or mechanisms of exploitation perpetuated, although they adopted diﬀerent forms. For many activists and intellectuals, Marxism continued to be a basic tool for analysis and social transformation, and abandoning it for the sake of nationalism led to failure. As Maxime Rodinson summarized quite well, it was possible for nationalism to become a threat to welfare and social progress if left exclusively in the hands of the bourgeois nationalist parties:

The march towards socialism … will be linked to the struggle for the realization, preservation and intensiﬁcation of national independence … I know that many contemporary struggles stem from nationalism. I willingly admit that this is a necessary stage when the issue is to defend the legitimate rights of an oppressed, humiliated or threatened nation. But today the world is linked in more ways than ever before. All perpetuation of nationalist ideology in its pure form, which accepts no alternative values to the good of the nation to which one belongs, is liable to lead to immense danger. (Rodinson, 2015 [1972]: 114, 13)

Of course, both Shariati and Rodinson were writing at a time when – although the communist parties were weak –‘Marxism was in the air in the Muslim 8 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra world’, something that contradicted the Orientalist view of the Middle East as hijacked by religious fundamentalism (Achcar, 1972: x–xi). Once independence had been achieved, nationalism turned into an ideology aimed at all the social groups that could not accept other identities or solidarities. By negating class struggle, the relationship between nationalism in power and the communists could only be one of confrontation or co-optation, with the communists abandoning their class objectives. Often, the position of the communist parties depended on instructions from Moscow, which produced clashes and more than one rupture in the party, a result of the inco- herent turns that they had to make. Ideological overlaps with the USSR, which stressed the anti-imperialist discourse during the Cold War, facilitated close cooperation between the Arab socialist governments and Moscow. The Kremlin’s later turn regarding its initial support for the state of Israel, moreover, converted the Soviet power into the great international advocate for the Palestinian cause, making it hugely popular in the region (Ali, 2009: 91–3). Additionally, the nationalist political parties that emerged or came to power in the 1950s, whether Nasserites, Ba‘athists or more moderate groups like the Tunisian Neo-Destour Party, often included a discourse that was easy to assimilate with European socialism, as it stressed anti-imperialism, social progress, secularism, the promotion of the rights of women and the struggle against traditionally privileged elites, especially if they had links to the previous regime and the colonial power. Rodinson highlights the influence of communists on Arab nationalism in the analysis of imperialism and the need for social revolution after the national revolution (Rodinson, 1972: 94). The communist parties in the years after the independences often had to face changes created by strongmen with ‘progressive’ and ‘unifying’ discourses in situations almost comparable to Caesarism in the Gramscian sense of the term (Gramsci, 1971: 219–23). The temptation to fall into co-optation and trasformismo8 – also almost always forced by the threat of the most brutal repression – was strong and often became a reality, with different results in Egypt, Iraq, Yemen, Algeria, Sudan and so forth. At times, whether because of their own analyses or due to pressure from the USSR and the regimes, the parties dissolved and joined the regime party. These approaches to the ‘progressive’ authoritarian regimes were much easier in situations of imperialist threat as in Egypt in 1956, or proximity to power and agreement with policy (such as nationalist economic reforms and some agrarian reforms) carried out by the government as in Iraq, Yemen and Sudan. However, in each case there were tensions and ruptures among the communists.9 The alliances with these regimes also corresponded to Soviet foreign policy needs, and consequently could be imposed from Moscow. This made them easier, even on a theoretical level, since the Soviets had formulated the theory of ‘non-capitalist development’ to justify them. This theory argued that the non-developed economies of the south could, under the influence and with the assistance of the ‘socialist field’, skip the stage of capitalism on its way to a socialist society. ‘Arab socialism’ was presented as an example of this path Communist parties in MENA 9 (Ismael, 2005: 30 and Franzén in this book). As Alain Gresh noted with regard to this period:

During the 1960s, in line with the conclusions reached at the 20th Con- gress of the Soviet Communist Party, Arab Communists attached considerable weight to alliances with Arab nationalists, whose leadership they recognized. The Egyptian Communist party went as far as to dissolve itself, merging with Nasser’s Arab Socialist Union. Even apart from this exceptional case, the Arab Communist parties agreed to play second ﬁddle to the nationalists – as in Damascus restricting their activities and only claiming a modest share of power. They contented themselves with statist economic reforms (in particular, sweeping nationalization measures), limited agrarian reform, and close cooperation with the Soviet Union and other socialist states. (Gresh, 1989: 393)

‘Arab socialism’ was not a real social transformation project, but had another basic function: to ensure the power of the elites who had managed to stabilize themselves at the top of the hierarchy. The construction of the independencies usually occurred in contexts in which the population was mobilized, and the new elites had to respond to popular demands for legitimacy and consolidation in power. Consequently, the progressive discourse and most egalitarian policies were responding to demands from the street and not to future socialist projects. These policies made it possible to reach out to communists and other leftist sectors. However, when the people started to demobilize and the new regimes settled into power, the elites inevitably disassociated themselves from popular legitimacy and demands, redistributive policies weakened and alliances with trade unions, social movements and leftist parties were no longer necessary. As a result, the response could become more repressive.10 Then the communists had to choose between co-optation, abandoning the fight or going underground. In the Arab world, this process took on a special form. After the consolidation of the independence regimes, different dynamics occurred that reinforced each other. Much like Western Europe, after the independences in the 1950s and 1960s, when the people were mobilized and had bargaining power, the new governments were forced to respond to their demands for better living conditions, creating the base for what was called the welfare state in Europe and in the Arab world entailed the construction of services that had not hitherto existed for most of the population. This made it easier for the sectors closest to the Left in the new regimes to come into power and apply ‘Arab socialist’ policies, often based on the nationalization of resources. State control over these would solidify the sovereignty of the independent states and ensure that they remained under the control of the new political elites. These regimes and policies were based on rentierism (Beblawi & Luciani, 1987). However, the economies of the new independent states did not cease to play their role in the capitalist world system, underscoring the 10 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra contradiction between theoretical ‘socialism’ and the reality of an economy that was feeding global capitalism, as well as an elite linked to state control and a bourgeoisie dependent on this elite. Rentier policies, coupled with repression, constituted the response of the elites in the new regimes to the demands of the population and the need to consolidate power. Aurèlia Mañé and Carmen de la Cámara define oil-rentier economies as economies ‘in territories where the management of the hydro- carbon sector is carried out with the – political – objective of obtaining the highest possible rent from the subsoil for the national citizens’ (Mañé & de la Cámara, 2005). Public intervention by the government is based on the income from external rent, meaning that budgetary policies primarily concern expenditures and are aimed at legitimizing the regime. This dynamic leads to the development of a non-productive economy based on rent, which sustains the service and consumption sectors largely on the basis of imported products. The consequence of all of this is the direct dependence of the economy and the regime on oil prices or the ability to obtain external aid and foreign loans. Analyses usually focus on the rents produced by the extraction of resources, but rentier mechanisms can be extended to foreign debt and the assistance received by some states.11 According to Gilbert Achcar, the fact that oil is the main source of rent in the Arab region has produced several secondary sources of rent for non-oil-producing Arab states; the leading oil-producing states are joined by a stratum of second-tier non-oil-producing rentier states (Achcar, 2013b: 56). Debt and assistance allow the Arab regimes in non-oil- producing states to maintain rentier ties with the population, as long as they have debt capacity or can receive aid. Most of the Arab states, both those rich and poor in oil, entered into this rentier dynamic to some extent. The regimes that do not have oil took advantage of the strategic importance of their proximity to the wells to obtain foreign rents, both from countries they want as allies and from those who are willing to pay to avoid being threatened. For this same reason, since oil generates threats and vulnerability, both foreign and domestic, but at the same time makes it possible to increase budgets for the army, police and Mukhabarat, the regimes militarize and become some of the most important clients for the armament industry (Beblawi & Luciani, 1987: 18, 52, 59–60). Above all, their repressive capacity increases. Thus, the state and rent joined together as resources of power in the hands of the elites who could control them. These elites accumulated a power disproportionate when compared to other time periods and to contemporary elites. While foreign rent was copious, the distributive capacity generated was sufficient to control the population and, at the same time, turn groups competing for the accumulation of power into clients. As the regimes became consolidated, the leftist forces and social movements, including the communist parties, began to taper off. The 1970s and 1980s were a time of weakness and demobilization for the people and social movements with links to the Left (the Six-Day War, Black September, Anwar Sadat’s rise to power in Egypt, Bashar al-Assad in Syria, Saddam Hussein in Communist parties in MENA 11 Iraq, Chadli Bendjedid in Algeria, Habib Bourguiba’s change of course in Tunisia, the Years of Lead in Morocco, etc.). The elites believed themselves free from the need to respond to the demands of the people and legitimize their policies and, consequently, redistributive and welfare programmes weakened. In the Arab world, this gave rise to Infitah policies, a sharp increase in corruption and nepotism and the direct appropriation of resources by the elites when the opportunity arose. This process coincided with a crisis in oil prices, which debilitated the rentier mechanisms and forced many governments to once again seek credit from international institutions, which were now focusing on neoliberalism. Pressure from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and financial institutions deepened the dismantling of part of the public sector, the redistributive policies and subsidies for welfare. The priority of the investment ceased to be the creation of jobs and, subsequently, the legitimization of power and deactivation of potential protests, and acquired the theoretical function of generating profits and competing on the market, although the real function was to enrich and accumulate power in the form of wealth for the elites who could compete. Part of the state capitalism constructed by the nationalist parties that was called for by ‘Arab socialism’ became crony capitalism, and control of many public companies and resources, export and import licences and investment was moved from the bureaucratic mechanisms with links to the public sector and their elites to direct appropriation by these same elites or their relations. This dynamic always occurred and occurs with a limited part of the resources and wealth, since control of the rent (primarily oil and gas) continued to belong to the state and, therefore, to the regime. The conjunction of the two dynamics made it possible to unite the concentration of power through control of the state and the accumulation of power through economic mechanisms. The result, of course, was neopatrimonial dictatorships with an enormous concentration of power in the hands of the primary elites (see Achcar, 2013a: 50–67). Despite the pressure from international financial institutions, neoliberal ideology and corruption, the rentier mechanisms could not be completely dismantled, because when living conditions became unbearably strained, the people still maintained some capacity for mobilization. Popular discontent erupted in so-called bread protests (Egypt 1977, Morocco 1981, Tunisia 1983, Algeria 1988, Jordan 1989), although these mobilizations and, subsequently, the bargaining power of the social movements and people were smaller than the battles for independence and their aftermath. During this period, the communist parties and the Left in general – for reasons that will be explored in the chapters in this book – found themselves in a state of extreme weakness, with other groups associated with political Islam becoming the main driving force and vanguard of the mobilizations. The Muslim world is often presented as a region that is incapable of reaching modernity as a consequence of the power of Islam and the tradition at its heart. Particular stress has been placed on the incompatibility of Islam 12 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra with modernity, as if this were some original ‘defect’ that justifies con- servatism and takes for granted the idea that Muslim-majority societies must have authoritarian regimes. However, the falseness of this perspective has been demonstrated both theoretically and historically.12 Islam has produced ideological currents associated with the changes of modernity, and the inability to build modern productive systems and economies has not been due to the religion but to the colonial and post-colonial conditions in these and other societies in the south within the world economic system. In truth, to quote Adam Hanieh, ‘The authoritarian guise of the Middle East state is not anomalous and antagonistic to capitalism, but is rather a particular form of appearance of capitalism in the Middle East context’ (Hanieh, 2013: 24). Even secular ideologies, from nationalism to the Left, have in some way come closer to the ideological traditions linked to Islam, and for decades the power of the religion posed no obstacle to some of these ideologies – most particularly nationalism – gaining hegemonic strength in the region. Finally, on more than one occasion, large transformational social mobilizations and movements with no ties to the religion have arisen, the most recent being the so-called Arab Spring. Some have triumphed, while others have failed in the face of repression, despite having the significant popular support of a people who do not cease to be aware of the need for change just because they are believers. As in other societies, the relationship between communism and other secular ideologies and religion in the MENA region must also be analysed in terms of competition for influence over the people. In this respect, there are two main dimensions: 1) from a Marxist perspective, ideology understood as a system of beliefs that hamper awareness about living conditions; and 2) the capacity for one or another social movement or political group to gain strength using ideology to establish a mobilizing frame. In the first case, as seen above, more than Islam, the communist parties had to deal with nationalism, which had the ability to disseminate an identity- based ideology at the same time that it demanded political changes: independence and the construction of new states. The communists, as the different chapters in this book will explore, operated around the weaker identity of class and demanded much more radical political, economic and social changes, which hindered their ability to reach large masses of people. However, when the nationalisms entered a state of crisis in the 1970s after many had presented themselves as defenders of secularism and the Left – although they were quite distant from and often clashed with the Marxist Left – this crisis was also felt as a crisis of the Left and other secular ideologies in the Arab and Islamic world. As a result, both conservative Islam, with re-Islamization supported by the oil countries, and political Islam had more room to exert their influence. Many Islamist groups took the demands of political Islam and added a frame demanding social responses to the economic crisis and the consequences of the policies imposed by the IMF, and against corruption, which allowed them to lead the social and political mobilization of the bread riots. The communist parties once Communist parties in MENA 13 again found themselves in a position of weakness as they faced the difficulty of spreading their message and expanding their networks while also dealing with harsh repression and direct competition from the Islamists. This was felt deeply in the few strongholds where the Left still had influence and the Islamists were gaining a foothold, like the universities, where the confrontations were often violent. The organization of the communist parties followed the Leninist model, often based on publications that activists could use to raise awareness, win over new members and create networks (Lenin, 1961 [1902]: 114). The Leninist revolutionary model, which was based on a very dedicated though limited number of members, had the virtue of not requiring a large working class – something that was non-existent in most Arab countries – as would have been the case for a mass social movement or party. This model was also a necessity given the almost permanent repression to which the communists were subjected. When compared to other parties, the organization of the revolutionary party strengthened the communists against the waves of repression (Ismael, 2005). Furthermore, the fight for social change also gave them influence among small sectors of workers and intellectuals, allowing them to create networks of alliances and solidarity with trade unions and other organizations. As Le Foll-Luciani discusses in his chapter, the communist parties served as a meeting point that broke down some of the religious, identity, class and gender cleavages that divide societies in the MENA region. People from different communities were able to come together in communist party cells, while women had much more scope for action than in the rest of society. Some of them saw the party as a space of liberation, although the patriarchal burden was still hard to throw off (Le Foll-Luciani, 2016; see also Chapter 16 containing an interview with Azza Chararah Baydoun). However, because of their very organizational structure, the communist parties were small and not deeply rooted; consequently their influence depended on their ability to create and extend networks of alliances with other organizations and associations. This organizational model favoured hierarchization and party discipline,13 in turn subject to directives from Moscow, which made it difficult to have a frame and a strategy of their own when they might clash with Soviet interests. This twofold dimension – a resource in the hands of the Soviet elites and being at the vanguard of social mobilization – was a source of permanent tension within the parties. As a resource, they were subject to both the dynamics of power competition in the USSR and Moscow’s foreign policy, and their leaders acted as secondary elites in the midst of global orthodox communism. As parties of mobilization and resistance, they supported and guided popular grievances. The problem arose when there was some contradiction between the two dimensions. On these occasions, dependence on Moscow usually prevailed, even if this meant the resignation or expulsion of leaders and members who did not agree to abide by Soviet orders. Each time that the directives from the CPSU or Comintern (1919–43) were contrary to the interests of the struggle in each country, popular support, networks and 14 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra influence were all extremely weakened and the parties had to start their work of creating alliances and finding solidarities and trust all over again. The activist and mobilizing impact of the communist parties in Arab societies was limited and in some cases residual, especially when compared first with nationalism and then with political Islam. One demonstration of this is the fact that in the 1920s, the fears of the British and French secret services magnified the communist presence in the Middle East and North Africa. These fears were reproduced by regional elites such that, as René Gallissot observes, anti-communism arrived before communism itself (Gallissot, 1978: 22). This does not mean that the communists and their activity, which was often heroic due to the constant repression, did not have an impact in their societies; simply, the influence was, above all, intellectual. However, particularly starting in the 1980s, the growing weakness of the MENA region parties (as in the rest of the world), combined with the dissolution of the USSR and the crisis of the Left, created five dynamics: 1) a large number of the members ceased to be politically active; 2) some of the parties evolved towards social democracy, more or less co-opted by the regimes; 3) leaders and members focused their efforts on the associative world and social movements, especially non-governmental organizations (NGOs), at times as professionals; 4) others continued to follow the path laid in the 1960s and 1970s towards the New Left; and finally 5) some leaders were co-opted by the regimes. Morocco provides a prime example of the power of co-optation; a long process that began with support for the monarchy regarding the Sahara situation led, step by step, to acceptance of the regime and participation in governments. Only in a very few cases did a communist party with links to orthodoxy continue to exist, and even then limited to a very marginal space, as in the case of the Syrian Communist Party (Bakdash). The NGOization of the political struggle, an option chosen by a number of leftist activists beginning in the 1970s, but particularly in the late 1980s, is an important process that merits examination. In this volume, the personal trajectory of Azza Chararah Baydoun in Lebanon illustrates this channelling of activism through associationism. Generally speaking, the creation of human rights associations with connections to communist groups and parties and the incorporation into existing associations took place in the midst of a lively ideological debate. In the 1960s and 1970s, leftist activists expressed their mistrust with respect to pioneering human rights organizations like Amnesty International, which sent out communiqués about the situation in the region and sent observation missions. The activity of these international NGOs, which also criticized the human rights situation in the East, aroused suspicion on a number of accounts. They were seen as instruments of the West to discredit the socialism of the USSR and other Eastern countries; they were allegedly depoliticized, treating quite ideologically diverse activists equally; they ignored structural factors in human rights violations; and they focused on political and civil rights to the detriment of cultural, social and economic rights. At the same time, however, the human rights networks and work Communist parties in MENA 15 provided an important resource for activists in repressive contexts. At this time, the language of human rights, as presented in the various decalogues, declarations and pacts primarily promoted by the United Nations, was adopted as a ‘minimalist solution’ to policy concerns (Eckel & Moyn, 2013: 105–6). As in other parts of the world, these doubts dissipated as the 1980s advanced in an international climate of ideological revision. In these human rights associations – as in other groups working in defence of various causes – the presence of sectors associated with socialism and/or the New Left differentiated them, producing quite diverse NGOs and moving the political fight and divisions to the associative sector. The Moroccan case is a good example. In 1996, Marguerite Rollinde recorded the words of Abderrahmane Yous- soufi, one year before he became prime minister of Morocco. As an important figure in national and international human rights organizations, Youssoufi explained why he believed that the Moroccan Association for Human Rights (AMDH) was not accepted as a member of the International Federation for Human Rights or the Arab Organization for Human Rights in 1989:

However, the radical tone of their words and their Marxist-Leninist, revolutionary references distanced them [the members of the AMDH] from a whole section of new activists who wish to work in the ﬁeld of human rights without necessarily attacking the regime and in the eyes of the NGOs, they look like political activists instead of defenders of human rights. (Youssouﬁ in Rollinde, 2002: 276)

Whether or not the Left in the Arab world today is heir to its communist parties, it has adopted the defence of democracy and freedom and human rights along with social justice as an essential element of its demands and identity. There are several reasons for this evolution. For some theoreticians, who began to question Stalinism in the 1950s and the USSR in the 1960s (as in Europe), socialism is only possible with freedom. Others are pragmatists, associated with the failures of the alliances between some communist parties and authoritarian nationalist regimes, which not only did not lead to socialism, but became conservative dictatorships that ﬁlled their role in the global capitalist system and very harshly repressed the communists. The ‘democratic way’ was asserted. One of these groups, the Moroccan Voie Democratique (Democratic Way) deﬁned it thus:

The objective of the Democratic Way is the construction of socialism as a society that puts an end to capitalism and to the exploitation of man by man. The achievement of this supreme objective, in the present historical stage, passes through the struggle for the national liberation of the imperialist hegemony and the block of dominant classes at its service and for the building of a democratic society … The Democratic Way is strongly present on the various fronts of struggles: 1) The social struggle …; 2) The struggle 16 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra for human rights …; 3) The struggle for democracy by denouncing the current facade democracy, by actively participating in the boycott of elections, by demanding free and fair elections on the basis of a democratic constitution drawn up by a constituent assembly.14

After the repression of the ‘bread riots’ of the 1970s and 1980s and the Algerian Civil War of the 1990s, it seemed like the only way to confront the dictatorial regimes in the MENA region was to defend democratic changes. In this respect, the evolution of the communists was similar to that of the majority currents of political Islam. Indeed, the Left and some Islamist groups were able to establish alliances in the defence of democratization and some rights and freedoms, joint actions that took form in various initiatives beginning in the 1990s and culminating in the 2011 uprisings. Jamil Hilal summarized the central values of the current Arab Left as follows:

1 Secularism: Many Leftist forces righteously insist on considering secularism as a necessary component of the determinants of Leftist positions and vision … However suggesting secularism as against the policy of Islamizing the state and society makes it necessary for the Left to fully explain that secularism is not meant to be against religion, but rather to prevent the state from interfering in the religion of individuals and preventing religious lea- derships from imposing their own interpretation of religious texts upon the society and state … In this sense, secularism is a condition for democracy. 2 Autonomy: It can be said that the Left is in a weakened and dependent situation. First, they were dependent on the Soviet Union and its satel- lites both for support and ideology. After the downfall of the Soviet Union, these movements became dependent in a way on the current Arab regimes which has been detrimental to their work. Additionally, one of the most important conditions for re-building the Left in our region is its full autonomy from the present Arab regimes, even its condemnation of their repressive nature and practices. 3 Vision of a Unitary Project: The leftist forces in the Arab world are discussing a project for Arab unity. The project is based on several factors, the common linguistic, cultural, and historical elements of the Arab world, its human capacities, and various natural resources. In addition, there is a new connection in the Arab world which is bringing it together, namely the age of globalization. 4 Focus on Intellectual Versus Social Identity: There are two trends within the Left: One which focuses on the priority of the social identity in its program, and the other which focuses on intellectual identity. The ﬁrst one maintains that the failing of the Left lies in its negligence of the various social issues in actuality (not in the texts of its by-laws or social and political platforms). On the other hand, the second trend argues that Communist parties in MENA 17 the crisis of the Left consists in the intellectual retreat and theoretical weakness of the leftist parties and groups, together with alienation from reality. (Hilal, 2013: 16–19)

Laura Galián presents the link between the generation of the 1960s and 1970s and the young people involved in the 2011 uprisings in Chapter 15. She emphasizes how a part of the Left went further, harbouring sentiments of disillusionment towards any structured or organized party politics and adopting anti-authoritarian ideas inspired in part by anarchism.

3 The USSR and communism in the MENA region The Russian Revolution and the USSR’s new foreign policy marked a significant development with respect to the traditional colonial powers: the rejection of colonialism and the policy of mandates and protectorates being imposed by France and the United Kingdom. However, during the Stalin period, Moscow’s relations with the communist parties was characterized by two ground rules: 1) revolutionary action in any part of the world had to be subordinate to the interests of the USSR; and 2) given the inability of the Western proletariat to successfully carry out revolutions, rivalries between the imperialist powers were to be exploited (Claudin, 1975: 387). These rules were applied in different ways depending on the moment, which meant important changes in tactics and relations with the various communist parties, since the contradictions between the tactics and the interests in each region or country created tensions and dissensions. The relationship between the Soviets and the region and its communists evolved in lockstep with the changes occurring in the USSR. According to Rodinson and other authors, it is possible to establish different stages in this relationship (Rodinson, 1972: 85–111):

1 From the October Revolution to 1920, a revolutionary contagion was expected and the main objective was to help the Russian Revolution with national, proletarian revolutions, which either did not take place or failed. 2 The failure of the revolutionary strikes and changes in the elites controlling the Bolshevik Party led to a new policy promoted by Joseph Stalin and Nikolai Bukharin: the united national front against imperialism, with alliances between the communist parties and nationalist bourgeoisies to carry out democratic anti-imperialist revolutions. Despite subordinating strategy to the anti-imperialist struggle and the nationalist alliance, the communist parties did not abandon the social struggle, which was also reflected in the day-to-day activities of the members. 3 In the late 1920s, the stabilization of capitalism and the failure of the policy of alliances with the nationalists in China produced a new policy of frontal attack on the bourgeoisie, class against class, including against 18 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra the social democrats who were presented as treacherous enemies. In Europe, the policy of dividing the Left was a failure that facilitated the Right’s rise to power and, even, fascism. However, in the Arab countries where the Left was practically non-existent, communist parties were able to build themselves around a class discourse while simultaneously demanding national independence, clashing with the bourgeois nationalist movements like the Wafd Party in Egypt, the National Bloc in Syria and the Arab Executive Committee in Palestine, although this completely contradicted the positions argued shortly before.15 4 The disastrous consequences in Europe – above all in Germany – of the policy of confrontation with the reformist Left led to a rectification at the Seventh Congress in 1935 and the endorsement of the tactic of the Pop- ular Front. Fighting fascism became the main objective. In the Arab world, this posed contradictions, primarily in the countries under French influence. On the one hand, the FCP recovered the discourse of unity and the nationalist component. On the other hand, Stalin also supported a strong France. In the Maghreb, Syria and Lebanon, the fight for independence clashed with these objectives and created intense tensions (Rodinson, 1972: 95–100; see also the chapters by Velasco Muñoz, Le Foll-Luciani and López García). When the Popular Front policy was interrupted by the parenthesis of the Molotov-Ribbentrop non-aggression pact between 1939 and the Nazi invasion of the USSR in 1941, this led to a reproduction of the earlier discourse of class against class combined with the anti-colonial struggle, especially against Great Britain and France. However, in June 1941, after the German army entered the USSR, the organization adopted an anti-fascist front policy that continued during the war and the immediate post-war period until 1947. Because of the Soviet alliance with the United States and Great Britain, the communists focused their efforts on the anti-fascist front, leaving anti- colonial nationalism in the background, except in Syria and Lebanon, which were under the control of the Vichy regime; there the communist parties combined the struggle for liberation with the anti-fascist fight. Two years after the Second World War ended, and after the period during which Stalin put the brakes on communist party activities to ensure Eur- opean stability and participate in the division of spheres of influence, North American policies and the tension surrounding the nascent Cold War contradicted the discourse that Stalin had used to justify the earlier collaboration, making a new foreign policy doctrine necessary. Time and again, European policy and Soviet foreign policy set the course to follow. The result this time was Andrei Zhdanov’s doctrine of ‘two camps’ (Claudin, 1975: 387–454). 5 Following Zhdanov’s doctrine, with regard to the colonies, social revolution took a back seat to ensuring that the anti-colonial movements and states emerging from the independences did not join the American camp, which required the leadership of workers and peasants led by the Communist parties in MENA 19 communist parties. However, the centrality of the national and anti- colonial discourse conferred an advantage on the nationalist movements and parties, weakening the communists. Over the next few years, this weakness, the growth of the anti-colonial movement and the fact that many of the new independent states did not fall under the influence of Washington (as exemplified by the 1955 Bandung Conference) brought the states closer to Moscow. 6 After the death of Stalin and the Twentieth Congress of the CPSU in 1956 and with the new doctrines of peaceful coexistence and, then, thaw, Moscow began to lose interest in the Arab communist parties and in ideological solidarity, setting the stage for even greater pragmatism based on the needs of Soviet foreign policy; the Soviets even closed their eyes to the repression exerted by some regimes on the communists. The changes that occurred in the MENA region during these years (Egypt 1952, Syria 1954–6, Iraq 1958, Algeria 1962) facilitated this approach (Ismael, 2005: 21–3). It was concluded that in places where the working class was not sufficiently developed, a National Front led by the nationalist bourgeoisie and movements would have to be formed. This paved the way for alliances and, indeed, submission, with the nationalists taking power. This was made easier because, as discussed above, the Nasserites and Ba’athists portrayed themselves as socialists and Moscow was exerting pressure to maintain alliances with the regimes. In the words of Joel Beinin: Many assert that communist prospects in the Arab world were fatally undermined by support for the establishment of the state of Israel. Far more damaging in the long run was the ascendancy of authoritarian populist nationalist regimes favored by the Soviet Union. The Communist Party of Algeria dissolved itself in 1956 and directed its members to join the National Liberation Front, which became an ally of the Soviet Union after it came to power in 1962. The Egyp- tian communists enthusiastically supported Gamal Abdel Nasser’s Arab Nationalism and Arab Socialism, even as they languished in jail. In 1964 the two principal Egyptian communist parties disbanded. The Soviet Union courted Iraq’s Abd al-Karim Qasim even after he turned on his erstwhile communist allies. The CPI was decimated by a CIA-facilitated massacre during the Baath’s brief rule in 1963. By the 1970s the Iraqi and Syrian communists became appendages of regimes allied to the Soviet Union. The failure of the 1971 coup led by the Communist Party of Sudan and supported by the Soviet Union marked the last serious possibility for communists to achieve significant power anywhere in the Middle East and North Africa. (Beinin, 2004: 627) 7Subsequently,theperiodofrevolutionary exhilaration in the 1960s and early 1970s caused significant ruptures in the communist parties that continued to be bound by theoretical orthodoxy and by their ties to Moscow, although 20 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra these had weakened. The difficulty in joining the revolutionary wave ended up alienating some of the students, intellectuals and professionals who constituted the most loyal membership base. Some of them formed New Left groups that had an anti-authoritarian ormoreradicalMarxistspiritthan the orthodox communist parties. ThebreakbetweenMoscowandBeijing also created some ruptures in the Arab communist parties, although the Maoist groups had always been smaller and less influential (Ismael, 2005: 26). This New Left soon lost support as a result of internal divisions and dynamics like the Lebanese Civil War,thedefeatanddismantlingofthe Palestinian guerrillas in Jordan and Lebanon, repression and even theory- based challenges inside the parties (Bardawil, 2016; see also the interview with Azza Chararah Baydoun in Chapter 16). Nationalism in its different forms was also a weakening, divisive factor. The dynamic of losing support was pronounced in the following yearsbecauseofamorereactionary opposition strand that developed as political Islam gained a presence. Thus, in the late 1980s and early 1990s, when the USSR broke up, the influence of the communist parties was already very limited and the transformation to social democracy was not difficult. 8 Mikhail Gorbachev’s perestroika had a significant impact on the communist parties in the region16 and, as in the rest of the world, ranged from name changes and nationalist turns (Palestinians) to social democratization (Algerians, Tunisians) to reaffirming the more classic orthodox principles (Syrians, Jordanians), passing through partial reconsiderations (Lebanese and Iraqis). Generally speaking, all of these changes occurred in the context of ruptures and contrary positions. One of the premises of the new viewpoint was the democratization of political systems as a condition for their reform. This allowed the communists to rethink opposition to the authoritarian regimes, including ‘progressive’ ones. At the same time, the defence of the market economy also helped to reframe collaboration with regimes carrying out neoliberal and privatizing reforms. The path to social democratization and NGOization had opened, with two consequences: in the future it would be easier to prioritize demands for democratization and respect for human rights (although in some cases with misgivings, given the possibility of an Islamist takeover); and, to the contrary, co-optation by the regimes would also become easier.

3.1 The dissemination of communism beyond the West after the Russian Revolution There is no doubt that communism was created as a liberating ideology with a universal, anti-nationalist vocation whose agenda prioritized the liberation of peoples in the broadest of senses following the theoretical bases of Marx- ism, which advanced a programme to redeem society based on the highest expression of the oppression of man by man: industrial capitalism rooted in the West. The known comments made by Marx and other revolutionary Communist parties in MENA 21 authors regarding slavery, feudalism and ‘Asian’ modes of production provide a historical overview that explains the evolution of the oppression against which the proletariat was to fight. It was a given that, as some states had not yet reached the stage of industrial capitalist production, this fight would end with what survived of the embryos. However, this revolutionary logic had the undesired consequence of prioritizing a view and efforts that concentrated on combating the primary enemy, oligarchical capitalism, by the people suffering from it, the industrialized societies. Thus, the priorities of non-industrialized populations, particularly outside Europe and North America, were set aside, producing a Eurocentric view that would hinder the expansion of communism, especially during the initial phase prior to the Second World War. In actual fact, this view, which could be called ‘Eurocentric revolution’–at least in its modernizing vision – had its logic and seeds in the first great communist revolution. Despite the predictions of Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, the first revolution did not take place in the highly industrialized Germany or England, but in Russia, a country with a low level of industrialization that had only just left the feudal mode of production behind. Even so, the revolution did not only triumph politically, but also found and created large social sectors that adjusted to the needs of the Marxist model, more or less adapted to the historical circumstances of the time. The 1917 Russian Revolution did not benefit from great masses of the industrial proletariat, which scarcely existed in Russia, but its modernizing project drove that very industrialization in the country and spurred immense creativity consistent with the interests and vision of Marxism. However, it was in the very space of the newborn Soviet state that the revolution ran up against its first contradictions. One of these was how to adapt a socioeconomic project designed to satisfy the needs of the industrial proletariat to a pre-industrial society. Although this was applied with some success in Russia, which had at least a low level of embryonic industrialization, it would be much more difficult to apply in Asiatic societies where systems of production were rooted in clan-based and patriarchal cultures and the economy was not always perceived as a relationship between the oppressors and the oppressed. In Central Asia, the first consequences of what today would come to be called the cultural clash between the revolution and traditional social environments were seen. These were not only traditionalist or religious elements like the Basmachis, which are loosely comparable to other recalcitrant movements in the European societies within the new Soviet state. They also included societies that based their cohesion and culture on systems of production that were often communal and were threatened by the new regulations of the revolution. The consequences were important for the region: firstly, thousands of herders on the Kazakh steppes and small farmers in the Fergana Valley fled to China to protect their traditional way of life. Additionally, a division occurred in the societies that would affect the Central Asian republics from the time of the revolution to the dissolution of the USSR. The communist parties and, therefore, the administration in these 22 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra regions were basically controlled by the European sectors of these societies, while the indigenous population developed outside the system or created assimilated elites cut off from their original societies in a clear model of a colonial society. This original defect of communism was reflected in the global structure of the movement.17 At the First Congress of the Third International in 1919, only one non-Western communist party – the Japanese – participated, along with some independent delegates from China and Korea.18 This gathering focused its attention on European problems, but did not forget the colonies, although the perspective was still a colonial one, something that would cause tensions until the end of the USSR:

To an unprecedented extent the populations of the colonies were drawn into the European war. Indians, Arabs, Madagascans battled on the Eur- opean continent … Liberation of the colonies can come only through liberation of the working class of the oppressing nations … Capitalist Europe has drawn the backward countries by force into the capitalist whirlpool, and socialist Europe will come to the aid of the liberated colonies with its technique, its organization, its spiritual inﬂuence, in order to facilitate their transition into the orderly system of socialist economy. Colonial slaves of Africa and Asia! The hour of triumph of the Proletarian Dictatorship of Europe will also be the hour of your liberation! (Manifesto of the First Congress of the Comintern, March 1919)

This perspective continued the Marxist tradition, which was still profoundly Eurocentric at this time.19 Later, non-European Marxist thinkers and some contemporary Europeans would pave the way towards a Marxism with less Eurocentric views and, as this book shows, to debates about the relationship between Marxism and nationalism, liberation movements, Islam and so forth. The Second Congress in 1920 featured some global expansion, with delegates from India, Indonesia, Korea and, for the first time, Middle East representation from the Communist Party of Persia, in addition to a Chinese delegation without voting rights. The position at the Second Congress was already more nuanced, giving a more important role to the peoples under colonial control. The influence of Mirsaid Sultan-Galiev20 in the CPSU21 and M. N. Roy, a Bengali living in Mexico at that time, in the Comintern suggested that the defence of the USSR and the revolutionary victory in Europe were also related to national liberation and solidarity with all peoples oppressed by imperialism (Claudin, 1975: 248; Young, 2016: 129–30). Out of this concern would come the Comintern’s call to hold the First Congress of the Peoples of the East in Baku in September 1920. The Turkish and Persian delegations were numerous, but only between three and six Arab delegates attended (depending on the source).22 This was not only a meeting of communists; anti-colonial fighters also participated, raising the question of whether the relationship with anti-colonial nationalist bourgeois parties should prevail over creating and promoting communist parties. Communist parties in MENA 23 The debate over whether the communist parties should collaborate with the nationalist bourgeoisie had already been brought up at the Second Comintern Congress and in Baku. Lenin defended collaboration, while Roy argued that the goal of the fight should be liberation from all types of exploitation and that the anti-colonial struggle needed to be led by revolutionary parties whose objectives were anti-colonial, social revolutionary and aimed at liberating the peasantry, taking advantage of the weakness of the national bourgeoisies. This meant that the first task had to be to promote the foundation of communist parties. The compromise between the two would be to leave collaboration with the nationalists in the hands of each country (Comintern, 1920a, 1920b; Roy, 1921; White, 1974; Young, 2016: 131–2). However, the tension between the two positions remained and deeply affected the communist parties in the region.23 In the future it would be decisive that a European power for the first time positioned itself in the anti-colonial, revolutionary camp, offering alliances to liberation movements and fomenting the creation of communist parties. Although Moscow prioritized realpolitik and alliances favourable to its foreign policy, the impact of the creation of the Comintern and the Baku Congress would be significant, since they resulted in greater assistance being given to the organization of communist parties in Arab countries. The Com- munist University of the Toilers of the East, created by the Comintern in 1921, also helped to train cadres and extend Soviet influence beyond Europe.24 However, the 21 conditions established at the Second Congress in August 1920 for a party to be recognized as a communist party also lay the foundations for profound sectarianism and control from Moscow. To cite Fernando Claudín,

the aim of the ‘21 Conditions’ [was] a model of sectarianism and bureaucratic method in the history of the working-class movement … A large number of socialists and trade-unionists who wanted to join the Comintern because they were in sympathy with the Russian Revolu- tion … disagreed with it on certain points, especially where structure and methods or work were concerned … The ‘21 Conditions’ shut the doors of the Comintern to all these elements … At the same time, numerous elements who had no connection with the masses … were able to stand forth as ‘good Communists’ by the mere fact of showing neophytes’ zeal in relation to the new catechism. Under the inﬂuence of the ‘21 Condi- tions’…a sectarian and dogmatic spirit began from the very beginning to clear a way for itself in the Communist parties. (Claudin, 1975: 107–8)

Additionally, since the beginning, the pragmatism of Moscow’s diplomatic relations influenced its support for groups in the affected countries. For the USSR, in need of recognition, the establishment of diplomatic relations with other countries was usually accompanied by the requirement not to intervene 24 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra and not to support revolutionary groups (White, 1976: 178–80). This tension between revolutionary needs and Soviet foreign affairs would continue until the end of the USSR. In many cases, Moscow did not hesitate to establish relations with political regimes that repressed communists25 (the cases analysed in the book include some examples of this). Communism propagated quickly in the West, where the example of the Soviet revolution engendered admiration and aspiration among the working classes and an intelligentsia that saw its hopes materialized, but it had little impact outside Western cultural circles, at least initially. The new Soviet state, in turn, was in the midst of a phase of consolidation and reconstruction that left little room to organize an international expansion. Moreover, the revolutionary enthusiasm of the Leninist phase gave way to an era of diplomatic pragmatism with Stalin. Leon Trotsky, the main proponent of expanding the revolution, began to lose power in 1925 until he went into exile in 1929. The concept of ‘socialism in one country’ defended by Stalin and Bukharin rapidly translated into a renunciation of immediate world revolution, enshrined in the opportunis- tic diplomacy represented by the Treaty of Rapallo (1922) and the Comintern’s decision to abandon its expansionist strategy after the Fifth Congress in 1925. The communist parties already established in the West entered into a phase of resistance and, later, participation in various popular fronts. In other parts of the world, the parties continued in an embryonic phase or waiting for a more conducive time to expand, but without any real support from Moscow. Communism in the Middle East and North Africa began in a situation marked by serious contradictions given the modern, European character of the ideology and the colonized nature and low industrialization of the societies where it was expected to spread at first. The earliest communist parties in the region contained enormous incongruities that are difficult to understand, even with historical perspective (Haslam, 2011: 152–6). The first phase of existence of the USSR and its influence in the MENA region allows for only a rather limited assessment. On the one hand, unlike the West, the few parties that responded to the Soviet call were circumscribed both geographically and socially, created by groups with little stability in Middle Eastern societies, although with a notable cosmopolitan, intellectual and – disproportionately – interethnic component. On the other hand, after the initial enthusiasm and especially after the death of Lenin and marginalization of Trotsky, the USSR lost interest in expanding the revolutionary process, particularly outside of Europe. Although Moscow continued to be interested in the activities of the strong parties in various Western countries, especially through the Comintern, the idea of promoting the communist movement around the world lost momentum. Almost all of the contacts between the communist movements in the MENA region and the CPSU were through delegations sent to the USSR by these parties or through often demanding instructions from the Comintern. The contradictions between social mobilization and the requirement to accept the instructions arriving from Moscow created numerous tensions in Communist parties in MENA 25 the communist parties. With the exception of the Communist Party of Sudan, the parties in the region had come into existence with very close ties with Moscow. Theoretical debates, such as over the anti-colonial struggle, nationalism, non-capitalist development, the repertoire of revolutionary action and so forth, were often guided by the pragmatic needs of Soviet foreign policy, which hampered coherence. This had direct consequences that weakened the communist parties, in some cases to the point of disappearing. For example, positions that were difficult to accept for most of the population, like the recognition of Israel, had to be defended. Or, as discussed above, changes in discourse and alliance tactics followed the needs of Moscow and not the local reality. Additionally, as occurred in many other communist parties, the disenchantment with Stalinism and some of the Soviet realities that became public, as well as the purges, led to defections and clashes that decreased membership in the parties and produced divisions and ruptures.26

3.2 Soviet influence in the Middle East during the Cold War After the Second World War, the communist movements in China, Indonesia, Vietnam and even India, whose presence was marginal before the conflict, took on leading roles in the resistance to Japanese expansionism and, coher- ently, the European colonial presence in Asia and the traditional oppressive social and economic systems. The victory of Mao Zedong in China in 1949, the stabilization of communist regimes in North Korea and North Vietnam and the emergence of strong revolutionary movements in southeast and southern Asia created a new scenario that the Soviet Union did not fail to take advantage of. The framework of the Cold War brought new opportunities for the Soviet Union to expand its influence, facilitated by the presence, activity and, occasionally, power of similar political groups around the world. These were still parties that followed the old pattern of strict obedience to the dictates of the Soviet Union and to the spirit of the Leninist revolution, with a limited, but growing social base and a strong intellectual presence (Fontana, 2011: 181–90). However, the Soviet Union changed its attitude after Stalin’s death and, especially, after the revolution led by Gamal Abdel Nasser in 1952. Now Moscow no longer tried to extend its power through organizations strictly loyal to and controlled by the CPSU, but opened up to the new indigenous movements arising from the anti-colonial struggle or autonomously, without necessarily defining themselves as communist forces (Ismael, 2005). The 1955 Bandung Conference, one of whose key promoters was Nasser himself, established a setting for what was at that time considered a ‘third way’: condemning Western imperialism and capitalism, while keeping a distance from Soviet influence. The Baghdad Pact, which formed a few weeks before Ban- dung, was seen as a direct threat in the Middle East. The old colonialism represented by Great Britain joined forces with the new North American colonialism, which supported both the former colonial powers and Turkish 26 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra influence in the region. For many Arabs, especially the Syrians, this constituted a direct threat to Syria and the heart of the nascent pan-Arabism. The neutrality of Bandung was a manifestation of an anti-colonial intention and the demands for sovereignty in the Third World, but it was also a way to foster rapprochement with the Soviet Union which, generally speaking and unlike the colonial powers, was not seen as a direct threat in the Middle East. In the words of Rodinson:

the Arab bourgeoisie did not feel threatened by any Soviet menace on the foreign policy level, as perhaps the Iranian and Turkish bourgeoisies did. At home the fact that the communist movements stressed almost exclusively national demands reassured it … The many bitter experiences of the past put Britain and France in the worst possible light, and the same applied to the USA, to the extent that the latter supported the former. The Soviet Union, on the other hand, generally had backed Arab demands. (Rodinson, 1972: 64)

Moreover, the Soviet Union made a decisive change in its attitude towards the Palestinian conflict. After having supported the United Nations partition plan in 1948 and begun to reach out tenuously to the state of Israel, Moscow became aware that Tel Aviv was clearly and strategically tilting towards the West. The Arab world reacted with unity and dynamism, while at the same offering ideological common ground that could be exploited, particularly after Nasser rose to power. The Kremlin backed Nasser in the 1956 Second Arab-Israeli War and from that moment supported the Arab cause over Israel, without ever completely breaking with Tel Aviv. In 1957, after Nasser’s nationalizations and the withdrawal of United States investment, the USSR cooperated in the construction of the Aswan Dam, thus establishing a platform for collaboration with ‘Arab socialism’ (Alexander, 2005: 43–69). The other great Soviet alliance in the region that went well back was Syria, specifically under the presidency of Shukri al-Quwatli (1955–8). The threat of Turkish and other pro-Western countries’ intervention in Syria in 1957 eli- cited a protest from Nikita Khrushchev and the threat of Soviet intervention in the case of conflict. At the same time, Nasser deployed Egyptian forces in Syria to prevent an invasion. This event reaffirmed Arab and especially Syro- Egyptian solidarity to the point that in the following year, the two countries were federated into the United Arab Republic (UAR) with Soviet support. 1958 also witnessed the 14 July Revolution in Iraq, which brought Nasserite forces to power and overthrew the monarchy (Kamrava, 2005: 72–80). The role of the Soviet Union in these movements was crucial. Not only did it support the new ‘progressive’ Arab nationalist leaders diplomatically, but it also provided generous technical and, above all, military support to Egypt, Syria and Iraq. The paradox is that the Nasserite governments fought and even retaliated against the communist parties in Egypt and Syria, despite the fact that these groups had contributed to the victories of the respective Communist parties in MENA 27 revolutions. In Iraq, on the other hand, the revolutionary government allowed the reconstruction of the communist party in the country, but its role in the new regime was marginal. In any case, historical events enormously favoured the identification of the Arab world with Soviet leadership, even beyond ideology. When the Federal Republic of Germany established diplomatic relations with Israel in 1965, the new Arab states cut off relations with Bonn and initiated a diplomatic alliance with the German Democratic Republic and, therefore, with the Eastern bloc. Western support for Israel in the wars of 1967 and 1973 led a large number of Arab societies to view the Soviet Union with a mixture of admiration and desire for protection. Given this situation, the Kremlin acted cautiously, without demanding that its most zealous supporters be in power and respecting local leadership, but at the same time offering much appreciated assistance and protection. Later on, the governments of Somalia and South Yemen would also identify with the Soviet model. The dissolution of the UAR in 1961 and later takeovers of Iraq and Syria by Ba’athist factions in 1963 did not alter the strategic presence of the USSR in the area. The skilful Soviet diplomacy did not make many demands during the political evolutions of the Middle East and knew how to handle the internal battles between communists, Nasserites and Ba’athists, offering necessary logistical and strategic support to any government that was advantageous to Moscow’s foreign policy and advocated an ideological discourse that did not totally contradict Kremlin policy.

3.3 Beyond ideology: the strategic role of the Middle East for the USSR Although the ideologies of Arab socialism stressed neutrality and non- alignment with the two great powers, this did not hide the clear political, diplomatic, economic and even military presence of the USSR in these countries. This influence extended to Algeria after the 1965 coup d’état led by Houari Boumédiène, to Yemen after the creation of the People’s Republic of Southern Yemen in 1967, to Libya after the 1969 coup led by Muammar Gaddafi and to Somalia after the coup there that same year (Primakov, 2009). Soviet military forces had sporadically used the Tunisian bases at Sfaz and Bizerta since 1963 and, later, the port of Algiers. Moreover, the Soviet navy established a base on the Yemeni island of Socotra in the Indian Ocean in 1971 and used the Somali port of Berbera starting in 1972, in addition to the Yemeni port services at Aden and Hodeida. In the eastern Mediterranean, Moscow established military bases in Tartus and Latakia, Syria in 1971, used the Egyptian ports in Port Said and Alexandria after 1956 and regularly operated out of Tripoli in Libya beginning in 1977. After the Six-Day War in 1967, the search for military collaboration between Arab countries and the USSR heightened. In 1969, massive military contingents began to arrive in Egypt, somewhere between 15,000 and 20,000 before 1972, when Anwar Sadat ordered them to leave. Soviet forces continued to use the military installations 28 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra at Mersa Matruh in that country between 1974 and 1975, before formalizing a total withdrawal from Egypt at the time of the pro-Western turn that followed the death of Nasser (Kober, 2005). The states that were ideologically most closely aligned with Soviet communism, Somalia and Yemen, did not withstand the fall of the USSR. South Yemen abandoned its socialist ideology to embrace unification with the North in 1990, while a coup d’état in Somalia in 1991 sent President Mohamed Siad Barre, who had been faithful to Moscow for 22 years, into exile. In some cases, the Russia that emerged from the dissolution of the USSR was able to maintain a certain influence in the region. The Russian fleet regularly used the Libyan port of Tripoli until Gaddafi’s fall in 2011 and Moscow maintains bases in Syria to this day.27 However, little or nothing remains of the former ideological influence of Soviet communism in the area. Soviet opportunism yielded solid returns for the Kremlin’s strategic vision during the Cold War. Despite the neutrality and anti-imperialism professed by the Arab socialist regimes, all of whom firmly backed the Non-Aligned Movement, the Soviet Union could count on diplomatic support at practically any time. These countries benefitted from heavy economic and military investments from the USSR and often allowed, as seen above, the establishment of Soviet troops on their territory. In exchange, Moscow respected some ideologies that had adapted to local societies and permitted strong leadership, the result of the revolutionary processes in each country. Only in marginal cases (Yemen and Somalia, among the least influential countries in the region) were the governments constituted, at least in part, by forces under the more or less direct control of the Kremlin, and even then, Soviet interference was minor. In the other cases, following directives from Moscow, local communist parties supported the regimes allied with the USSR or limited themselves to a marginal and often marginalized existence. The weakness of the USSR paralleled the weakness of these types of regimes. At this time, Russian support in the area, which is limited to Syria and, occasionally, Sudan is devoid of ideological reasoning and has very different characteristics.

4 The structure of the volume Several issues are examined in this work. When the Russian Revolution took place, the Middle Eastern region as a whole was under colonial control. This meant taking decisions related to the relationship between the class struggle and the national struggle and the need to ‘Arabize’ or indigenize the communist movements, whose early membership included a large number of minorities of European origin. The composition of the communist parties in the Middle East is also analysed as is their role as the vanguard – understood in the broad sense of the word – in relation to the objectives of liberation, emancipation, revolution and system change or reform, and their connection to mass or popular movements. At the same time, the perspective in this work allows for a different outlook regarding the processes of constructing the new Communist parties in MENA 29 independent states, contrasting the social, political and economic projects of some largely conservative nationalist leaders with some minority sectors made up of the urban working classes and the young intelligentsia proposing radical structural change. Furthermore, the volume looks back at the dependency or autonomy of communist parties during the Cold War and the tensions that this generated in them, as well as the search for individual constructions of communism that took into account cultural characteristics and the local context of the struggle. In this respect, one of the recurring themes in the work is the relationship between communist activism and the sectors that mobilized in the name of nationalism or political Islam. Finally, the chapters trace the history of the parties, including –for the first time in the literature – the post-Cold War period and continuing to the current situation, in which communist parties occupy a residual position in the political field, sharing space with other small groups from the real Left, new programmes adapted to neoliberal advancement in the region and the new mobilizations symbolized by the uprisings of 2010–11. The legacy of these communist parties today may seem meagre, but looking at the history of the Arab world – and particularly its social movements – carefully and applying perspective, it becomes clear that it is richer than it appears at first sight. The progressive intellectual currents of the twentieth century were profoundly influenced by Marxism and by the men and women who fought in communist organizations and disseminated the philosophy, from the political Islam of the Iranian Ali Shariati to the Moroccans of the Democratic Way, or to the anti-authoritarianism of the Egyptian Samih Said Abud. With respect to both what was accepted and what was rejected regarding the frame, the repertoire of activism, the organizational model and even current social movements, they cannot deny that, in addition to other influences, they are heirs to the communists that preceded them. To address all of these elements, this collective work edited by Laura Feliu and Ferran Izquierdo-Brichs brings together historians, sociologists, political scientists and experts in the region from other disciplines to analyse both the evolution of some of the main communist parties in the region and also some cross-cutting issues. The volume is divided into two parts. The first presents several case studies by country, revealing the diversity of experiences and results and the influence of local contexts. The different chapters try to answer common questions: How did the parties adhere to the Marxist-Leninist Soviet ideological doctrine? What was the relationship between a specific communist party and the USSR like? Did the party develop its own analysis of the social and political situation in the country, its ‘own path’ that could be considered independent from the CPSU? How did its ideas evolve and what political strategy did it put forth? Was the party a vanguard movement? How did its relation to power evolve? What were its relationships with the popular movements like? How did the party position itself with respect to specific uprisings (anti-colonial liberation, 30 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra anti-imperialist, socioeconomic)? After looking at these questions – more or less applicable according to the case – the different studies offer an evaluation of the impact of each of these parties on their surroundings, highlighting the primary contributions and weaknesses. In her chapter, ‘Iran’s communist movement: reform and revolution’, Yas- samine Mather looks at the communist movement in Iran in the early twentieth century when the first communist party was established and the Tudeh Party (‘of the Masses’) in the 1930s and discusses the relationship between both parties and the CPSU from the early twentieth century to the 1980s. The long geographical border shared by Russia and Iran and the influence of Russian communism on Iranian migrant workers gave special meaning to Soviet policy towards Iran. Mather explores Soviet support for the creation and later dismantling of the Communist Party of Iran in favour of a broad front, the Tudeh Party (Party of the Masses of Iran), Soviet condemnation of Mohammad Mossadegh and the role of the Tudeh Party in the 1953 CIA coup d’état. She also analyses the rebellion of the communist intellectuals and students, especially the fedayeen, against the Tudeh Party and the weaknesses of their failed efforts. Mather’s chapter also explores some dramatic changes that took place in the party: the shift from uncritical support for Mossadegh to opposition and accusations that he was working with Western security agencies, for instance, or how the party’s support for Ayatollah Khomeini and the Islamic Republic as the embodiment of anti-imperialism in the early 1980s became opposition, expressed in calls for his overthrow. In his chapter on ‘The Communist Party of Turkey: an instrument of “Soviet eastern policy”?’, Bülent Gökay analyses the weakness of the Com- munist Party of Turkey, which was totally dependent on political and financial support from Moscow and controlled by elements that responded to its directives. The party’s peculiar existence was subject to the priorities of Soviet foreign policy and its leaders demonstrated little independence. For the author, the communist movement inside Turkey had no meaningful organic relationship with the workers and peasants, at least until the second half of the 1970s. Only after the reorganization campaign in 1973 did the party take significant steps to influence the trade union movement and the broader Left agenda in the country. However, even then, the party leadership remained strictly within the limits of the requirements of Soviet foreign policy, frustrating thousands of party members and activists who were trying to provide effective responses to the increasingly radical demands of the workers, peasants and students in the country. Later, changes in Soviet foreign policy priorities deeply affected the activities of the Turkish communists. In his chapter on ‘The Iraqi Communist Party’ (ICP), Johan Franzén explains the evolution of the ICP, founded in 1934. This party played an important political role in the 1940s and 1950s, especially after the revolution that overthrew the country’s monarchy in 1958. During most of the monarchical period, the ICP was fiercely repressed by the authorities and many of their cadres ended up behind bars in the late 1940s. However, after the revolution, Communist parties in MENA 31 the situation improved thanks to the conciliatory policies adopted by the new Iraqi leader Abd Al-Karim Qasim. This interlude was brief, as Qasim himself was overthrown in 1963 by a constellation of Ba’athists and Arab nationalist army officers, and repression once again beat down on the party. After the Ba’ath Party’s second period in power began in 1968, relations between the ICP and the Ba’athists went back and forth between repression and cooperation, briefly culminating in the creation of a National Progressive Front between the two parties in 1973, although the situation once again deterio- rated in the mid-1970s. When Saddam Hussein took power in 1979, repression returned and the ICP went back underground. The party spent the 1980s and 1990s in ‘internal exile’ in Iraqi Kurdistan and was gradually eclipsed by the Kurdish nationalist movement. Due to its long repression under Saddam, the party decided to support the American invasion in 2003, since which time it has re-emerged and run in successive elections. In ‘The Lebanese Communist Party: continuity against all odds’ and ‘The Syrian Communist Party: patrimonialism and fractures’, Rosa Velasco Muñoz studies the communist parties in Lebanon and Syria from their beginnings when the visible leaders of Syro-Lebanese communism began to openly involve themselves in trade unions and strengthen the foundations of the embryonic communism that would result in the Syrian-Lebanese Communist Party in 1925. Velasco Muñoz then examines the events that led to the creation of two separate parties: the Lebanese Communist Party and the Syrian Communist Party. The history of the former is inevitably the product of the torturous history of Lebanon, with all its tensions, contradictions and struggles. In the Syrian case, the conflicts and ruptures were directly linked to cue taking and loyalty to the USSR, an alliance with the Assad family and, above all, the cult of personality centred around Khalid Bakdash, one of the most influential figures in Middle East communism. Musa Budeiri analyses the communist movements in Palestine and, later, Israel and Jordan in his chapter ‘Class and nation: Arab and Jewish communists in Palestine’. After the Sykes-Picot division of the Ottoman inheritance, the communists pledged to fight against the dominant imperialist powers in the region, Great Britain and France, and to find a non-nationalist solution for the unrest in the region. They held the belief that the peoples suffering under the domination of Anglo-Saxon and French colonialism had much in common and that theirs was a unique struggle against a common enemy. They opposed Zionism, while at the same time detecting a community of interests among Arab and Jewish workers. While the nationalists called for the establishment of an Arab state in Palestine, the communists demanded the creation of a democratic state for all the inhabitants there, Arabs and Jews. However, Budeiri observes how communism could not overcome the national division in Palestine, where members were wrapped up in the confines of their own communities. Communist parties continue to exist in both Palestine/ Israel and Jordan; they share little or nothing with their predecessors and their political lexicon owes nothing to the vocabulary of class struggle, the 32 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra proletarian revolution or the ideals of internationalism, but rather they present themselves as the legitimate descendants of the attempts by Arab and Jewish workers with class consciousness to try to build a more just and egalitarian world in the first half of the twentieth century. In her chapter, ‘The communist movement in Egypt’, Bárbara Azaola analyses the history of the communist movement in that country, its contributions and the contradictions faced by the different currents of the Egyp- tian Left. The origins of the communist movement in Egypt are tied to the workers’ movement of the 1920s, when the first, short-lived Egyptian Com- munist Party (ECP) was created. The successive ECPs were characterized by their weakness in circumstances of illegality, their limited influence in the political arena and their proximity to the regime compared with other factions of the Egyptian communist movement. For this reason, Azaola opts to examine the broader role played by the Egyptian communist movement as a whole instead of limiting her analysis to the particular role played by the communist party. In this examination, the author shows how, after the communist movement appeared, it progressively distanced itself from the working class, with the lack of connection with this social sector constituting one of its primary weaknesses. Indeed, the ECP’s difficulty in attracting what was a predominantly peasant, conservative and religious society explains why the group found it difficult to become a national political party. This leads to an analysis of the party’s relations with university, intellectual and working sectors as well as important cultural figures. Despite the fact that the slogans and demands of the 2011 revolution represented the long-standing demands of the Egyptian Left (social justice, dignity, liberty, etc.), the Left has not been able or known how to play an important role in the latest process of political transformation, primarily due to its fragmentation and lack of connection with the rural community. In ‘Communism and organizational symbiosis in South Yemen: the Peo- ple’s Democratic Union, the National Liberation Front and the Yemeni Socialist Party’ (PDU, NLF, YSP), John Ishiyama examines the evolution of the PDU and its influence over the NLF and YSP. The YSP was founded in 1978, conceived as a vanguard party for the Yemeni revolution and the only party in the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen (PDRY). The PDU maintained an institutionalized existence within the YSP and controlled a large part of the ideological education and training. The YSP, one of the two parties in the Islamic world to embrace Marxism-Leninism and emerge as a governing party, established a single-party regime. The communist party in Yemen, the PDU, was a very small organization that, despite its size, had enormous influence over the NLF and YSP in the policies of the PDRY. The relationship between the PDU and YSP was symbiotic for three reasons: firstly, the NLF tried to obtain the support of the Soviet Union, not only in the anti-colonial struggle, but also to consolidate its hold in South Yemen. The most direct channel to Soviet assistance went through the PDU and its connections with Moscow. Secondly, the PDU exercised great influence due to Communist parties in MENA 33 the personal connections of its leaders, in particular the brothers Ba Dhib and Abd al-Fattah Ismail and Ali Nasir. Finally, the PDU’s control of the party school in Aden gave it influence through the YSP cadres. After unification, the YSP abandoned Marxism, although it continued to be the only leftist party in Yemen and its secular ideology is still attractive to some intellectuals and women. Moreover, it is still a national party in South Yemen, with strong support there, something that has bolstered its position in the government of Abdrabbuh Mansour Hadi. In ‘The Sudan Communist Party: Bolshevize it, O God!’, Abdullahi A. Ibrahim examines the tumultuous and ambivalent politics behind relations between the CPSU and the Communist Party of Sudan (SCP) to explain the lack of Soviet collegiality towards a partner in the fight for socialism. Throughout the chapter, the author highlights the situations where the Suda- nese party made an effort to find a balance between its nationalism and its internationalism, and the difficulties this created for its relationship with the CPSU. The author, who was active in the SCP in the 1960s, believes that the party was destined to be a unique experiment in socialism, if the Soviets had allowed it. As a living example of the vernacularization of Marxism, the SCP’s roots in history, the nation, culture and class are analysed, as is the party’s role as a guide for the social and political rebirth of a people during post-colonial construction. Ibrahim underscores the legacy of the SCP in upholding the right to imagine the nation. In ‘The communists in Algeria (1920–93)’, Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani reveals how, as in the rest of the Arab world, the Algerian communists’ fight was inevitably hard since they first had to deal with the colonial authorities and then the Algerian regime. They also clashed with other political movements, both French (fascists, colonialists, ‘ultras’) and Algerian (nationalists, Islamists). Out of 73 years of existence, the Algerian communists spent 37 years underground, at times during intense repressive waves. These shocks and clashes were inescapably determined by the targets of their battles – anti- colonialists, anti-fascists, trade unionists and, after 1962, socialists, democrats and then anti-Islamists. However, these targets also allowed them to build more or less long-lasting alliances. This did not occur without contradictions, mainly because of foreign pressure, first from the FCP and then from Moscow. In his chapter, Le Foll-Luciani also discusses how the party space could be a space of encounter between communities and a space of freedom to escape from social pressure, for example for women. Finally, Bernabé López García closes the first part of the volume with ‘The four faces of Morocco’s communists: PCF, MCP, PLS and PPS’, a chapter that details the evolution of the communist party in Morocco under different acronyms. The Moroccan Communist Party (MCP) was marginal in the years prior to independence and its ambiguities about the national cause created consequential ruptures within the party, as this position gave the initiative to parties like Istiqlal. The MCP was excluded from consultation about the formation of the first independent government in the country and the nucleus of 34 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra the future national army. The greatest difficulty for the MCP after independence lay in how to find its niche alongside the other political groups. The party became fully legal in November 1958, but this did not last long, as in September 1959 it was suspended. Although the party was able to participate in elections through independent candidates, its influence continued to be marginal in the political sphere, beyond its moral and ideological influence. In July 1968, the party presented the statutes of a new party, the Party of Lib- eration and Socialism (PLS), which later transformed into the current Party of Progress and Socialism (PPS). The subsequent co-optation and presence of the party in the government brought it close to the administration. The party gradually lost its urban roots and began to establish small rural fiefdoms controlled by influential figures that have nothing in common with the original ideology and project of the PPS to this day. The second section explores some cross-cutting issues that have affected relations between the communist parties and other political sectors: political Islam and the New Left. Through the testimony of some leading figures, it presents the arguments around the question of gender in the Arab world and in leftist circles as well as an example of the evolution of a female leftist activist, some contradictions and the prominent debates from the most convulsive years to the present. In ‘Islamists and communists: a history of Arab convergenze parallele’, Luz Gómez García identifies the main elements of what would become a twisted relationship between Islamists and socialists/communists during the twentieth century in an article by Muhammad Rashid Rida published in 1919 entitled, ‘Socialism, Bolshevism and Religion’. Neither the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 nor the post-Islamist bargaining of young Muslims in the twenty-first century have dismantled the common imaginary that has shown itself to have performative solidity, although it has been protested by both parties. The author is reminded of what Aldo Moro in 1960s Italy called ‘parallel convergence’: two political projects that advance down different, parallel paths but are also fated to meet. The chapter analyses this imaginary of convergence between Islamists and communists and their actions during the last century. Drawing on an analytical framework proposed by Maxime Rodin- son, who showed how it is possible to submit Islamism and communism to a common analytical paradigm (Rodinson, 1972: 130–80), Gómez García examines some of the Arab Islamist/communist actions over the course of a century and reformulates Rodinson’s Hegelian framework, adding to his three types of relationship (shock, reconciliation and coexistence) a fourth that goes beyond the dialectic: the defection of communism to Islamism. Here, the parallels from Aldo Moro’s metaphor converge more clearly than ever. In ‘The New Left in 1960–1970s Lebanon and 1917 as model and foil’, Laure Guirguis analyses the reframing of meanings and strategies at a time – the 1960s and 1970s – when the decline in pan-Arab political projects and the extended discrediting of Arab communist parties gave rise to a radical Left. The Arab defeat in 1967 and, even earlier, the failure of the first UAR in 1961 Communist parties in MENA 35 had nurtured a deep sense of loss, triggering a turn to the Left among nationalist movements and strengthening the desire of Arab activists to find alternative models. However, 1917 continued to be a critical year and played a paradigmatic role, considered the symbol of a historical event, a theoretical corpus and an organizational model. The New Left that emerged in Lebanon during the 1960s defined itself against the pan-Arab movements in their Nasserite and Ba’athist versions, but also against the Arab communist parties and the USSR. By situating itself in a transnational frame of reference, alluding to the founding event of 1917, and reinterpreting the Marxist- Leninist corpus, the New Lefts in Lebanon tried to rise to two challenges. Infused with a revolutionary urgency, they wanted to respond to local challenges and strategic questions. However, at the same time, they sought to provide universally valid analytical tools and to construct universally shared knowledge and values. In this respect, they accepted the challenge of forging a path between the conception of universalism as a tool of Western domination and demands for cultural relativism. Guirguis’ case study provides an opportunity for in-depth consideration of the construction of specific, historical figures from the universal. In her chapter, ‘From Marxism to anti-authoritarianism: Egypt’s New Left’, Laura Galián looks at the emergence of an Egyptian New Left after the period of disillusionment of the 1970s. This disillusion emerged from Arab socialism and Marxism during the important political events of 1967, the social politicization of this generation (Duboc, 2011) and the failure of the Arab Left to meet the expectations of the decolonization process. Galián focuses her analysis on Samih Said Abud (1956–2018), considered the father of leftist anti-authoritarian theories in Egypt and, by extension, the Arab- speaking world. This choice provides the opportunity to examine several key points, including the traditional dichotomy between theory and practice, the relationship between the generation of 1970 and political activism and the changes in attitudes among young Marxists and communists towards anti- authoritarian policies in the 1980s, which resulted in the construction of an Egyptian New Left. Samih’s theoretical and political history sheds light on a generation that sought a solution to the problems of the Left, on the one hand, and economic, political and social problems, both international and national, on the other, through anti-authoritarian ideals and, ultimately, anarchism. Samih’s work is a clear example of the need to reformulate a political Left that was destroyed by the Nasser regime and later co-opted by Sadat, equitable to the ravages suffered by the global Left after the fall of the USSR and the emergence of the New Left. The figure of Samih Said Abud reveals both the local experience of the Egyptian New Left and the local experience of anarchism, which was deeply connected to the global events of the era. Finally, the chapter ‘Women and Left in the Middle East: the voice of the protagonists’ features an interview by Natalia Ribas-Mateos with the Leba- nese academic and activist Azza Chararah Baydoun that presents the life 36 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra journey, from among many possibilities, of a feminist woman who was a member of a small communist political party in her youth, the Communist Action Organization in Lebanon. With the perspective of several decades, the interviewee looks back at gender relations, the civil war, activism in NGOs and the main challenges facing feminism in Lebanon. Azza Chararah Bay- doun’s biography introduces the perspective of gender into this work and shows one of the possible paths for a communist activist who chose to become actively involved in associative movements in the context of their NGOization.

Notes 1 Iran: Justice Party (Ferqa’ye ‘Eda-lat) (1917); Communist Party of Iran (1920); Tudeh Party of Iran (1941); Palestine: Socialist Workers Party (1919–22); Palesti- nian Communist Party (1922–3)/Communist Party of Palestine (1922–3), both merged into the Palestine Communist Party (1923); Communist Party of Turkey (1920); Algerian Communist Party (1920 as an extension of the French Commu- nist Party; became a separate party in 1936); Egyptian Communist Party (1921; 1975); Syrian–Lebanese Communist Party (1925), split after Lebanese independence to Lebanese Communist Party and Syrian Communist Party (1944); Iraqi Communist Party (1934); Tunisian Communist Party (1934, before was the Tuni- sian Federation of the French Communist Party (1920)); Moroccan Communist Party (1943); Communist Party of Sudan (1946); Jordanian Communist Party (1948); Saudi Arabia: National Renewal Front (1954); National Liberation Front (1958); Communist Party in Saudi Arabia (1975); Bahrain: National Liberation Front (1955); Yemen: People’s Democratic Union (1961). 2 There are very few general studies on the communist parties in the region as a group. Works by Tareq Y. Ismael (2005) and Karim Mroué and Samir Amin (2006) are among the most important. The book by Fadi A. Bardawil (2010) tracks the personal and intellectual journeys of some of the key figures in the movement. 3 For an in-depth presentation of this analytical perspective, see Izquierdo Brichs, 2008; Izquierdo-Brichs & Lampridi-Kemou, 2013; and Izquierdo-Brichs & Etherington, 2017. 4 Michal Kalecki introduced this perspective with his analysis of the role of the ‘armament-imperialist’ complex in competition with large corporate capital in the North American economy (Kalecki, 1972: 90–4, 109–12. Later Jonathan Nitzan and Shimshon Bichler developed the concept of differential accumulation in Nitzan & Bichler, 2002. 5 See Benford & Snow, 2000; Williams, 2004. 6 See Lenin, 1961 [1902]; Tarrow, 1998. 7 At no time did the communist parties (CPs) in the Arab world have a high membership. Without citing sources, Laqueur says that the number of CP members in the mid-1950s never surpassed a few thousand, with the exception of Iran. According to Laqueur, CP membership was approximately as follows: Egypt 7,000–8,000; Israel 4,000–5,000; Lebanon 8,000–10,000; Syria 10,000; Jordan 1,000–2,000; Iraq 3,000–5,000; Sudan 1,000–1,500; Turkey 3,000 (Laqueur, 1956: 276). Based on North American intelligence reports, Halpern provides the following figures for 1963: in Iran the Tudeh decreased from 40,000–80,000 members in 1953 to fewer than 2,000 in 1963; Syria 1,500; Iraq, Egypt, Tunisia and Morocco had approximately 1,000 each (Halpern, 1963: 169). However, both Halpern and Communist parties in MENA 37 other authors note that their influence was greater than their membership size would suggest (Ismael, 2005). 8 Gramsci, 1971: 58. ‘Trasformismo worked to co-opt potential leaders of subaltern social groups. By extension trasformismo can serve as a strategy of assimilating and domesticating potentially dangerous ideas by adjusting them to the policies of the dominant coalition’ (Cox, 1983: 166–7). 9 See Beinin, 1987; Gresh, 1989: 393; and Azaola-Piazza, Franzén, Ishiyama, Velasco Muñoz and Ibrahim in this book. 10 This inevitable dynamic is analysed by the sociology of power. See Izquierdo Brichs, 2013; Izquierdo-Brichs & Etherington, 2017; Feliu & Izquierdo Brichs, 2016; Lampridi-Kemou, 2012; Farrés Fernández, 2012. 11 An analysis of rentier states from the sociology of power can be seen in Izquierdo Brichs, 2007 and Izquierdo-Brichs & Lampridi-Kemou, 2013. 12 On this debate, see the chapter by Luz Gómez García as well as Rodinson, 1972. 13 The structure and discipline of the communist parties were guaranteed by the ‘21 Conditions’ that they had to accept before joining the International. In organizational terms, 12 and 13 were clear: ‘12. The parties belonging to the Communist International must be built on the basis of the principle of democratic centralism.In the present epoch of acute civil war the communist party will only be able to fulfil its duty if it is organised in as centralist a manner as possible, if iron discipline reigns within it and if the party centre, sustained by the confidence of the party membership, is endowed with the fullest rights and authority and the most far-reaching powers. / 13. The communist parties of those countries in which the communists can carry out their work legally must from time to time undertake purges (re-registration) of the membership of their party organisations in order to cleanse the party systematically of the petty-bourgeois elements within it’ (Comintern, 1920c). 14 ‘Présentation d’Annahj Addimocrati’, https://web.archive.org/web/20120419063420/; www.annahjaddimocrati.org/index.php/en/presentation-de-la-voie-democratique (accessed 23 March 2018). 15 In 1928, the Sixth Comintern Congress established distance with respect to the bourgeois nationalist parties: ‘23 … Consequently it is necessary, by means of correct communist tactics, adapted to the conditions of the present stage, to help the toiling masses in India, Egypt, Indonesia and such colonies to emancipate themselves from the influence of the bourgeois parties … / Egypt 37. In Egypt, the Communist Party will be able to play an important role in the national movement, but only if it bases itself on the organised proletariat … The greatest danger to the trade-union movement in Egypt at the present time lies in the bourgeois nationalists getting control of the workers’ trade unions. Without a decisive struggle against their influence, a genuine class organisation of the workers is impossible. One of the essential defects of the Egyptian communists in the past has been that they have worked exclusively among the urban workers. A correct setting out of the agrarian question, the gradual drawing into the revolutionary struggle of the wide masses of agricultural workers and peasants, and the organisation of these masses, con- stitutes one of the most important tasks for the party. / Northern Africa 38. In the French colonies of North Africa, the communists must carry on work in all the already existing national-revolutionary mass organisations in order to unite through them the genuine revolutionary elements on a consistent and clear platform of a fighting bloc of workers and peasants … it is necessary to guarantee the leading role of the revolutionary proletariat … In the agrarian question, it is necessary to be able to direct the growing hatred of the village population … The communist organisation in each individual country must attract into its ranks in the first place native workers, fighting against any negligent attitude towards them’. Comintern, Sixth Congress (17 July–1 September 1928), Theses on the 38 Feliu, Izquierdo-Brichs and Serra Revolutionary Movement in the Colonies and Semi-Colonies, www.revolutiona rydemocracy.org/archive/ColNatQ6.htm 16 See Jaber, 1998. 17 An analysis of how the colonial question was handled in the Comintern can be found in Claudin, 1975: 242–71. 18 During the first years of the revolution, the Arab world was not a priority for the USSR, which had no coherent policy regarding the region (El-Amin, 1996: 39–44). 19 On this debate, see (among others): Said, 1979; Turner, 2014 [1978]; Molyneux & Halliday, 1984; Ahmad, 1994; Achcar, 2013a; Young, 2016. 20 As Sultan-Galiev commented after the revolutionary failures in Germany and Hungary, ‘However grievous this is, one must admit that up to this time all the measures which we took in the business of the establishment of correct mutual relations between Soviet Russia and the East were, until recently, too accidental and palliative in character … [We are compelled] to accept the simple truth that without the participation of the East it is impossible for us to accomplish the international social revolution’ (Sultan-Galiev, 1982 [1919]: 5–6). 21 For Sultan-Galiev and the CPSU, the most important relationships were with the Muslim regions that neighboured Russia, which would become republics within the USSR, but this inevitably meant looking towards the East. 22 ‘Baku Congress of the Peoples of the East: Composition of the Congress by Nationalities’, www.marxists.org/history/international/comintern/baku/delegates.htm 23 This debate, which ties in with the debate over evolutionism in the different stages of Marxism, would be central to the leftist ruptures of the late 1960s. In her chapter, Guirguis cites Socialist Lebanon in this respect: ‘And perhaps the most significant position premised on evolutionism is the one that calls for the support of the national bourgeoisie because the history of the society in which the communist party is militating hasn’t passed through all the required stages … feudalism, capitalism, socialism … It is clear that the Manifesto does not adopt this style of thinking at all’ (Socialist Lebanon (Lubnan Al-Ishtiraki), 1969). 24 For example, Khalid Bakdash, who would become secretary of the Syrian Com- munist Party from 1936 until 1995, the Palestinian Muhammad Najati Sidqi and Yusuf Salman Yusuf (‘Fahd’), who would be secretary of the Iraqi Communist Party from 1941 until his death in jail in 1949. 25 Many examples exist dating quite far back. As early as 1921, relations were established with Reza Pahlavi in Iran (1921), Mustafa Kemal in Turkey (1921) and King Amanullah in Afghanistan (1921) (El-Amin, 1996: 32–3). 26 For example, Stalinism played an important role in the defections that took place in the Syrian-Lebanese Communist Party, with the expulsion of Fuad Chemali, the leader who had increased the party’s influence among workers. 27 Russia has extensively used its bases in Syria to support the regime of Assad since 2015, with great military and strategic success.

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(2005) ‘Rusia: ¿hacia una economía petrolero-rentista?’. Revista de Economía Crítica, 3. Molyneux, M. & Halliday, F. (1984) ‘Marxism, the Third World and the Middle East’. MERIP Reports, 120. Communist parties in MENA 41 Mroué, K. and Amin, S. (2006) Communistes dans le monde arabe, Paris, Le Temps des Cerises. Nitzan, J. & Bichler, S. (2002) The Global Political Economy of Israel, London, Pluto Press. Primakov, Y. (2009) Russia and the Arabs: Behind the Scenes in the Middle East from the Cold War to the Present, New York, Basic Books. Rodinson, M. (1972) Marxisme et monde musulman, Paris, Éditions du Seuil. Rodinson, M. (2015 [1972]) Marxism and the Muslim World, London, Zed Books. Rollinde, M. (2002) Le mouvement marocain des droits de l’Homme: entre consensus national et engagement citoyen, Paris, Karthala Éditions. Roy, M. N. (1921) ‘Theses on the Eastern Question. July 12, 1921’, www.marxists. org/archive/roy/1921/roy03.htm Said, E. (1979) Orientalism, New York, Vintage. Shariati, A. (1980) Marxism and Other Western Fallacies: An Islamic Critique, Berkeley, CA, Mizan Press. Shariati, A. (1982) Histoire et Destinée, Paris, Sindbad. Socialist Lebanon (Lubnan Al-Ishtiraki) (1969) ‘Madkhal li qira’at al-bayan al-shuyu’i (Introduction to reading the communist manifest’. Dirasat ‘arabiyya, 5, 7. Sultan-Galiev, M. (1982 [1919]) ‘The Social Revolution and the East’. Review (Fernand Braudel Center), 6, 1. Tarrow, S. (1998) Power in Movement: Social Movements, Collective Action and Politics, New York, Cambridge University Press. Turner, B. S. (2014 [1978]) Marx and the End of Orientalism, Abingdon, Routledge. White, S. (1974) ‘Communism and the East: The Baku Congress, 1920’. Slavic Review, 33, 3. White, S. (1976) ‘Colonial Revolution and the Communist International, 1919–1924’. Science and Society, 40, 2. Williams, R. H. (2004) ‘The Cultural Contexts of Collective Action: Constraints, Opportunities, and the Symbolic Life of Social Movements’. In Snow, D. A., Soule, S. A. & Kriesi, H. (Eds), The Blackwell Companion to Social Movements, London, Blackwell. Young, R. (2016) Postcolonialism: An Historical Introduction, Oxford, Blackwell. This page intentionally left blank Part I Communist parties: case studies This page intentionally left blank 2 Iran’s communist movement Reform and revolution

Yassamine Mather

This chapter looks at the communist movement in Iran in the early 1900s when Iran’s first communist party was established, the formation of Tudeh (Mass) Party in the 1930s as well as the relationship of both parties with the Soviet Communist Party from the early 1900s to the 1980s. Russia’s extensive geographical border with Iran and the influence of Russian communism on Iranian migrant workers gave a special significance to Soviet policy towards Iran. Studying the history of Iran’s communist movement gives an insight into the role of the Soviet Union in the ‘East’. This chapter will explore Soviet encouragement for the setting up and then dismantling of Iran’s Communist Party in favour of a broad front (the Tudeh or Mass Party); the Soviet condemnation of Mossadegh and the Tudeh Party’s role during the CIA’s coup in 1953. The chapter also discusses the rebellion of communist students and intellectuals, especially the Fedayeen, against the Tudeh Party and the short- comings of their ultimately unsuccessful efforts.

1 Emergence of the communist movement In the nineteenth century and early part of the twentieth century British imperialism and tsarist Russia dominated every aspect of political and economic life in Iran. Although the country was not a colony of the British Empire, the Anglo-Persian Oil Company, a British Corporation, controlled one of Iran’s main sources of income, the oil fields in the southwest of the country. The corrupt, autocratic Gajar dynasty was being challenged by intellectuals and movements such as the political group formed in 1898 by Ali Monsieur in Tabriz. However, it was Iranian immigrants working in the oil fields of Baku and other Russian Asian countries who became influenced by social democracy. One of the most prominent activists amongst them was Heidar Amou Oghlu (who became one of the leaders of the Constitutional Revolution in 1905). Iranian workers in Baku set up the first revolutionary social democratic group in Iran, Hemmat (Aspiration) in 1904. In the same year, leaflets and pamphlets published by the Baku, Tbilisi and Tabriz branches of the Social Democrat Workers’ Party of Russia (Bolsheviks) were distributed by Ali Monsieur not only in Azarbaijan and other areas of Iran, but 46 Yassamine Mather also after translation into Arabic, in the Iraqi cities of Baghdad and Kaze- mein. Between 1901 and 1902, the central organ of the Bolshevik Party, Iskra, was sent to Baku from Berlin via Tabriz. The operation was organized by Lenin himself. In 1908, following the discovery of large oil fields in the southwest of Khuzistan province, the Anglo-Persian Oil Company was set up. Between 1912 and 1933 alone, the company made profits of 200 million, of which only 16 million was paid to the Iranian government in royalties. Resentment against British intervention played a role in increasing Russian social democracy’s popularity amongst Iranian workers and intellectuals. In 1912 the socialist Adalat (Justice) party led by an Armenian Iranian called Avetis Mikaleian, also known as Ahmad Sultanzadeh, was established. Sul- tanzadeh had joined the Bolshevik Party in 1912 while he was studying in St Petersburg. The party had 6,000 members and was the only one in the region led by a communist belonging to a religious minority. It was renamed the Communist Party of Iran in 1920.

2 Jangali movement and the Soviet Republic of Gilan There is considerable controversy about Iran’s Jangali (Forest) movement. According to one point of view, Mirza Kuchak Khan, the leader of the Jan- gali movement, was a nationalist and a democrat rather than a socialist. It is true that earlier in the twentieth century Kuchak Khan had connections with Ottomans who had pan-Islamic tendencies. However, at the time he got involved with the left there were no such connections. Adalat joined an alliance with the Jangali movement which led to the establishment of the Soviet Republic of Gilan that lasted from June 1920 until September 1921. Iranian socialists were convinced that following the Bolshevik Revolution in Russia, Iran would witness the next revolution and setting up the Soviet Republic was part of this plan. Major disagreements within the republic led to defeat. Kuchak Khan had tried to get the Russians involved by writing a plea to Lenin, however, international politics was moving on and by 1921 the Soviet Union and Britain had reached an agreement that marked the end of Russian support for the Gilan Republic. Iran’s new ruler Reza Khan crushed the forces of the new republic. The leader of Iran’s communist party Sultanzadeh (Avetis), who was a delegate to the Second World Congress of the Communist International in 1920, had been elected to the Council for Action and Propaganda in the East (Riddell, 1993: 208–9). He was considered a leading voice on the left wing of the international communist movement and opposed collaboration with nationalist leaders (Chaqueri, 1984: 218). He lost his position as Adalat Party’s general secretary in the organization’s 1923 congress and moved to the Soviet Union as a banking official. He was arrested in January 1938 and jailed for five months before being tried and shot as an alleged spy. Iran’s communist movement 47 The Communist Party of Iran helped to found the Union of the Oil Workers in 1925, when Reza Shah took power and two years later, under increasing pressure from the police, was forced to take the trade union underground. Women’s and youth organizations were established as a result of the activities of Iranian communists. In 1923 Peyk-e Saadat-e Nesvan (Messenger of Women’s Prosperity) was formed and in 1926 the women’s group Bidarye Ma (Our Awakening) was established. With the intention of ending the growth of these movements in the country, Reza Shah stepped up the suppression and in 1929 passed a bill through the Iranian parliament, banning all communist activity in Iran. These years are also marked by the appearance of Dr Taghi Arani in the leadership of the Communist Party of Iran. The new party leadership, which was endeavouring to unite the ranks of the organization, launched a theoretical journal, called Donya (The World) in early 1932. A year later, by the decision of the central committee of the party, Donya became the official organ of the Communist Party of Iran.

3 Tudeh Party in the 1930s There is little information about the plight of party members and activists who were in the Soviet Union during the purges; however, we learn something of their situation in Cosro Shakeri’s research. Shakeri quotes a letter from the Cadres Section of the Comintern to Iranian leftist author Noushin: ‘most Ira- nian Communists had perished in the purges; a few such as the Communist poet Lahouti, had been living in exceptional comfort in Moscow or in the Asiatic republics, no doubt due to their collaboration with the Soviet secret police against their compatriots persecuted by the NKVD’ (Chaqueri, 1999: 1).

3.1 The rise of fascism in Iran and plans for a united front In 1936 the Reich Cabinet, advocating the common Aryan ancestry of the two nations, issued a special decree exempting Iranians from the restrictions of the Nuremberg Racial Laws. This was done on the grounds that they were ‘pure blooded Aryans’.1 In various pro-Nazi publications, lectures, speeches and ceremonies, parallels were drawn between the Shah of Iran and Hitler, and the charisma and virtue of the führerprinzip was highly praised.2 By 1941, Reza Shah was entering into an alliance with Nazi Germany and, consequently, on 25 August 1941, the Allied Forces entered Iranian territory. The north of Iran was occupied by the Soviet Union and the south by British and American forces. Reza Shah was forced into exile and the British brought his son, Mohammad Reza Shah, to power. In the first years of his reign, while his grip on power remained weak, a large number of political prisoners were released. These included communists in Dr Arani’s group (also known as the Group of 53), who adhered to socialist ideology but appeared to be unaware of the plight of their comrades in Russia. The basis for the establishment of the Tudeh Party of Iran was laid 48 Yassamine Mather down with Soviet encouragement. On 29 September 1941, the founding conference of the party was held in Tehran under the chairmanship of Soleiman Mohsen Eskandari. There are conflicting opinions about the role of the Soviet Union in forming the Tudeh Party. Historian Cosro Chaqueri has summarized these debates in his article ‘Did the Soviets Play a Role in the Founding of Tudeh?’ (Chaqueri, 1999). Chaqueri quotes a report by Brigade Commis- sar Il’ichev, Colonel Seliukov of the Red Army Intelligence division, about his meeting with Solyan Mirza Eskandari on 29 September 1941. They discussed setting up a ‘national-democratic party’ to ‘obtain democratic liberties and an easier life for the Iranian people’.3 It is clear from further reports sent by Seliukov to the Soviet Union that details of the new party’s programme, Eskandari’s previous political activities and the offer of financial help from the Soviet Union were discussed at subsequent meetings. According to Chaqueri’s research, the Red Army intelligence officer told Eskandari that the new party’s programme was in accordance with ‘our’ opinion at a meeting on 10 October 1941, but he seemed to hesitate regarding the request for legalization of the party (presumably because of Anglo-Soviet relations at the time). Eskandari and Seliukov had monthly meetings during which every aspect of activists’ preparations for the new party was discussed. Opponents of the ‘united front’ bourgeois-democratic, anti-fascist party were also contacting Moscow, seeking support. The author Noushin wrote to Moscow about rebuilding the Iranian Communist Party, whilst Avanessain and Rousta, recently released from prison, were in favour of further communist initiatives. Historical archives make it clear that Dimitrov informed Stalin and his associates (Beria, Molotov and Malenkov). They approved Tudeh’s united front initiative in Iran and were against any Avanessain–Rousta communist initiatives. Iranian communists were instructed ‘to work in the Popular Party of Soleyman Mirza … At the present stage [they] must not display socialist and Soviet slogans; [they] must not abandon the framework of democratic platform.’4 At the same time, the Comintern embarked on a plan of setting up ‘united, anti-fascist fronts’ not only in Iran, where the Tudeh Party was set up as such a front, but also in neighbouring countries. For the execution of the plan in Iran, groups of cadres were designated by the Executive Committee of the Communist International to go to Iran. One task was to organize lines of contact with the communist parties of (1) Arab countries (Syria, Palestine, Egypt and Iraq) and (2) India, through any of the following: Basra or Iraqi territory; the Iranian ports of the Persian Gulf; Afghanistan; or British Baluchistan (now Pakistan). They also had to organize direct relations with Iran and establish their own radio transmitter, while assisting Iranian communists in the creation of mass organizations and eventually the re-establishment of the Iranian Communist Party. In 1942 the Tudeh gained official recognition and launched its paper ‘Siasat’ (Politics). The worsening economic situation helped the party recruit activists in a short time. Party cells and trade union organizations were Iran’s communist movement 49 formed in industrial centres in many provinces. County organizations were set up in Azerbaijan, Esfahan, Golan, Mazandaran and Khorasan. Chaqueri concludes that Tudeh was a creation of the Soviet Union and that it was primarily set up to suit Moscow’s interests in Iran. The documents Chaqueri produces concur with this conclusion; however, it should not be forgotten that Iranian communists who had survived prison in Iran and those left alive after Stalinist purges supported the establishment of this particular ‘united front’.

4 The democratic republics of Azerbaijan and Kurdistan On 26 November 1945, the Soviet troops occupying northwestern provinces of Iran prevented the Iranian army from reaching Kurdistan and Azerbaijan, where Soviet-backed groups had taken control and declared independence. The declaration of two independent republics in Kurdistan and Azerbaijan headed by left nationalists (Ghazi and Pishevari) took Tudeh members by surprise, although one assumes those members of the leadership close to Red Army intelligence had some prior warning of the impending independence. In response to a complaint submitted by Iran, Andrei Vishinski, the Soviet representative to the United Nations, asked the Security Council not to interfere with ongoing bilateral talks (a reference to the Soviet Union and United Kingdom, whose Anglo-Russian 1907 entente had already divided Iran between two spheres of influence, installing puppet regimes in the oil-rich areas). The Soviet proposal offered the recognition of the independent state of Azerbaijan by Iran, the acquisition of north oil concessions and Soviet military presence in a buffer zone consisting of five major provinces north of Iran. By early 1945, the Tudeh had gathered considerable support with an estimated 2,200 members and tens of thousands of sympathizers in its student and women’s organizations. The party claimed to have 100,000 sympathizers in affiliated trade unions. Its main newspaper, Rahbar (Leader), boasted a circulation of more than 100,000, triple that of the ‘semi-official newspaper’, Ettela’at. British ambassador Reader Bullard called it the only coherent political force in the country and the New York Times reckoned its allies could win as much as 40 per cent of the vote in a fair election. However, since its inception the Tudeh had portrayed itself as the champion of patriotism and constitutional liberties against foreign imperialism and the threat of royal dictatorship. It was forced to change tack and support the partition of northern Iran and oil concessions to the Soviet Union. Predictably, many members resigned. In Azerbaijan and Kurdistan, the Tudeh Party branches were dissolved and party members were instructed—presumably by the Soviet Union—to join either Firqua Democrat Azerbaijan or Firqua Democrat Kurdistan (left nationalist organizations). Although Pishevari had joined the Tudeh in the early 1940s, he had independent links with Moscow and did not obey party discipline. In April 1946 the Iranian government of Prime Minister Ghavam signed an oil agreement with the Soviet Union and agreed to appoint Tudeh 50 Yassamine Mather ministers to the government in exchange for a promise of Soviet troop with- drawals from Iran’s northern provinces (in a reversal of policy, Moscow now favoured the Tudeh once again). Partly as a result of pressure from the United States and Britain, Soviet troops withdrew from Iranian territory. Ghavam took three Tudeh members into his cabinet. Later the same year, however, he was able to reclaim his concessions to the Soviet Union, using the excuse of a tribal revolt in the south to dismiss Tudeh cabinet members. When Ghavam and the Shah’s troops arrived in Azerbaijan in December 1946, the Firqua Democrat government, deprived of Soviet support, collapsed and Pishevari fled to the Soviet Union. Stalin’s letter to Pishevari sheds light on aspects of their disagreements:

May 8th, 1946 To comrade Pishevari, It seems to me that you misjudge the existing situation, inside Iran as well as in the international dimension. First, you wanted to meet all revolutionary demands of Azerbaijan right now. But the existing situation precludes realization of this program … There is no profound revolutionary crisis in Iran. There are few workers in Iran and they are poorly organized. The Iranian peasantry still does not show any serious activism. Iran is not waging a war with external enemy that could weaken Iran’s revolutionary circles through a military failure. Consequently, there is no such situation in Iran that could support the tactics of Lenin in 1905 and 1917. Second, certainly, you could have counted on a success in the cause of the struggle for the revolutionary demands of the Azerbaijani people had the Soviet troops continued to remain in Iran. But we could no longer keep them in Iran, mainly because the presence of Soviet troops in Iran undercut the foundation of our liberationist policies in Europe and Asia. The British and Americans said to us that if Soviet troops could stay in Iran, then why could not British troops stay in Egypt, Syria, Indonesia, Greece, and also the American troops – in China, Iceland, Denmark … Third … What do have now in Iran? We have a conflict of the government of Qavam with the Anglophile circles in Iran who represent the most reactionary elements of Iran. As reactionary as Qavam used to be in the past, now he must, in the interests of self-defence and the defence of his government, carry out some democratic reforms and seek support among democratic elements in Iran. What must be our tactics under these conditions? I believe we should use this conflict to wrench concession from Qavam, to give him support, to isolate the Anglophiles, thus, and to create some basis for the further democratization of Iran … Fourth, you, as I found out, say that we first raised you to the skies and then let you down into the precipice and disgraced you. If this is true, it surprises us … Had you not run far ahead, you would not have had a chance in the current situation in Iran to achieve these demands Iran’s communist movement 51 ‘concession’ that the government of Qavam has to make now. Such is the law of revolutionary movement. There could not be even mention of any disgrace for you. It is very strange that you think that we could have let you down in disgrace. On the contrary, if you behave reasonably and seek with our moral support the demands that would legalize essentially the existing factual position of Azerbaijan, then you would be blessed both by the Azeris and by Iran as a pioneer of the progressive democratic movement in the Middle East.

The dismantling of the Communist Party in Iran in favour of the Tudeh followed by the adventures of the Stalinist regime in Azerbaijan and Kurdistan and then the support for nationalist separation resulted in confusion, anger and frustration amongst the ranks of Tudeh, the two Firquas and communists and socialists in Iran. In Azerbaijan, Firqua Democrat made some progress towards land reform and ﬁghting corruption amongst civil servants, but its rule was short-lived and the Shah’s army ensured a speedy reversal of these policies. There are contradictory reports about the level of local support for Pishevari and his government; however, there can be no doubt that military occupation encouraged the growth of right-wing royalist and later funda- mentalist tendencies in the region, particularly around Orumiyeh. In 1948 the Tudeh Party faced a large split under the leadership of Khalil Maleki, who blamed the central committee for the Azerbaijan crisis.

5 Tudeh and the 1953 CIA coup The party’s indecision vis-à-vis a range of issues during Mossadegh’s premiership and the CIA coup of 1953 had disastrous consequences for Iran and the left. When Mossadegh came to power in 1951, his first proposal was the enforcement of the Oil Nationalization Bill to terminate British ownership of Iran’s oil industry. The British reacted by issuing a lawsuit against Iran in the United Nations Security Council and the Hague International Court. The Hague Court voted in favour of Iran. The Anglo-Iranian Oil Company was dissolved and the 1933 oil agreement between Reza Shah’s government of Iran and the British was declared void. The National Iranian Oil Company, the first national oil company in the Middle East, was established on 19 March 1951. Throughout this period, the Tudeh’s policy towards Mossadegh fluctuated from one extreme to another: first they attacked him as ‘an agent of Amer- ican imperialism’, and then they gave him support during and after the July 1952 uprising. The Tudeh supported nationalization of the British Anglo- Persian Oil Company oil fields, or ‘southern oil fields only’, but opposed nationalization of the northern oil fields owned and operated by the Soviet Union. On 15 August 1953, an attempted coup against Mosaddegh was thwarted thanks in part to information uncovered by the Tudeh Party’s military network. Some believe demonstrations called by the Tudeh two days 52 Yassamine Mather later to pressure Mosaddegh to declare Iran a democratic republic inad- vertently helped to destabilize the nationalist government. Mosaddegh reacted to these protests by calling on troops to suppress the demonstrators. Ironically, the party demobilized late the next day, just as the CIA coup was unfolding. On 19 August, the democratically elected government of Iranian prime minister Mohammad Mosaddegh was overthrown in a coup by the intelligence agencies of the United Kingdom and the United States. The code name was Operation Ajax. CIA agents worked with pro-Shah military officers led by Fazlollah Zahedi, bribing thugs, clerics and politicians to take part in a propaganda campaign against Mosaddegh. A pro-Shah mob mar- ched to the prime minister’soffice. According to the CIA’sdeclassified documents, some of Tehran’s most feared mobsters were paid by Zahedi and the CIA to stage pro-Shah riots. Others were brought into Tehran on buses and trucks, and took over the streets of the city (Zulaika, 2009). Mosaddegh was arrested, tried and convicted of treason by the Shah’smilitarycourt.On 21 December, he was sentenced to three years in jail, and then placed under house arrest for the remainder of his life (Abrahamian, 1982: 280). Zahedi became prime minister of a military government following a royal decree dismissing Mosaddegh (Gasiorowski, 1991: 237–9, 243). Supporters of Mosaddegh were rounded up, imprisoned, tortured or executed. After the coup, Pahlavi ruled as an authoritarian monarch for the next 26 years, until he was overthrown in 1979. If the coup marked the end of the nationalist government, it also destroyed the Tudeh, which was by then the largest ‘socialist’ party in the Middle East. Its networks were smashed and most of its cadre were arrested or forced to flee to the Soviet Union. Of course the perceived threat of the Tudeh and the possibility of Iran’s rapprochement with the Soviet Union was part of the rationale behind the coup. In his book Iran between Two Revolutions, Ervand Abrahamian analyses the Tudeh’s conduct prior to and during the 1953 coup, pointing out the historic political differences between the party and the National Front. He also questions the size of the party and whether the Tudeh military officer corps were in a position to change the course of events. According to CIA reports, on the eve of the coup the Tudeh had a core membership of around 20,000 and a network of officers within the Iranian armed forces organized by Sazman Nezami Hezb. The party acted as a semi- legal political force, publishing three daily papers and organizing supporters under the banner of the Iranian Society for Peace (Jamiyat Irani Havadar-e Solh). Regarding the history of the Tudeh’s military organization, Maziyar Beh- rooz points out that officers in the military organization did act independently of Party leadership:5

Iranian Marxists have blamed the Tudeh and its military organization for inaction during the 1953 coup. Many believe that, even if – as party loyalists argue – defeat was inevitable, it would have been preferable for Iran’s communist movement 53 Tudeh oﬃcers and the party to be defeated resisting the coup. They condemned the passivity shown by both groups. (Behrooz, 2001: 367)

On the other hand, some in the officer corps have disputed the claim that Tudeh’s military organization was too weak to make any difference. Fireidun Azarnur, a high-ranking officer, believes that Tudeh allies occupied important military posts during the coup and estimates that 491 Tudeh military personnel had the ability to aid the party in defeating the coup.6 Ervand Abra- hamian notes that none of the Tudeh officers were in the ‘crucial tank divisions around Tehran’ that could have been used for a coup d’état and that the Shah had screened them carefully: ‘Ironically, a Tudeh colonel had been in charge of the Shah’s personal security – as well as that of Vice President Richard Nixon when he visited Iran. The Tudeh had the opportunity to assassinate the Shah and the U.S. Vice-President but not to launch a coup.’ The officer corps’ other main task was to protect the party. Its decimation in 1954 rendered it useless regarding this task. Irrespective of the debates regarding the strength and weakness of the party, it is clear that the Tudeh (and by extension the Soviet Union) did not come out of this period well. Throughout the early 1950s, party leaders appeared confused about their attitude towards the nationalist government. The Tudeh’s labelling of Mossadegh as a CIA agent and opposition to the nationalization of the northern oil fields, as well as its passive attitude to the coup, led to charges of its being ‘khaen’ (treacherous). The party was commonly referred to as ‘Hezb Khaen Tudeh’. After the coup, the party faced a serious crackdown with mass arrests and the execution of some 40–50 leaders: ‘Between 1953 and 1957, Iranian security forces tracked down the whole Tudeh underground and more than half the party membership’ (Abrahamian, 2008: 122). Following the Sino- Soviet split, a Maoist group broke away from the Tudeh in the early 1960s. Another smaller faction left in 1965. In 1966, several party members, including Ali Khavari and Parviz Hekmatjoo of the central committee, as well as Asef Razmdideh and Saber Mohammadzadeh, were arrested and sentenced to death. This sparked international outcry from sister parties and forced the government to reduce the sentences to life imprisonment. Throughout the 1960s, the Tudeh remained a constitutionalist, reformist party that parroted Soviet dogma about ‘peaceful coexistence’ and even went so far as ‘detecting’ progressive aspects in line with the ‘non-capitalist road to development’ in some of the Shah’s policies.

6 Frustration with Tudeh and the birth of Fedayeen The Fedayeen organization was formed through the merger of two groups on the Iranian left, both opposed to the Tudeh. One was led by Massoud Ahmadzadeh. His politics were a combination of Maoism and the espousal of 54 Yassamine Mather guerrilla warfare. One of his closest allies was Amir-Parviz Pouyan, someone influenced by the events in Europe in 1968 and armed struggle. Ahmadza- deh’s book Armed Struggle: Both Strategy and Tactic was for many years the bible of the Fedayeen. Amir-Parviz Pouyan also wrote a book called The Necessity of Armed Struggle against the Theory of Survival. The ‘theory of survival’ referred to the passive line of the Tudeh Party, against which the Fedayeen were rebelling. Since 1953, Tudeh had advocated a policy of survival, refraining from taking offensive action in order to avoid arrest and imprisonment. Puyan argued that this was tantamount to accepting defeat: ‘We must demonstrate that the theory of “let us not take the offensive in order to survive” is in fact no more than saying “we shall allow the police to destroy us in embryo without the slightest resistance”’7. Ahmadzadeh also destroyed the illusion that the national bourgeoisie could have a revolutionary or progressive role: ‘Struggle against imperialist domination—i.e. world capitalism—has some elements of the struggle with capitalism and therefore some elements of the socialist revolution are born in this struggle’. On the role of the proletariat he wrote: ‘The proletariat [in Iran] is numerically weak, but its special qualities and capabilities to organise are stronger than any other class’.8 Bijan Jazani was another leading figure. He came from a different tendency (the youth organization of the Tudeh Party) but he rebelled against Tudeh and agreed to bring his small forces into the new organization. To summarize the politics that influenced the Fedayeen in this period, one can say that a unique version of guerrilla-ism dominated. There was also a very simplistic attitude to the Soviet Union, just a critique of ‘revisionism’, which in fact did not go beyond a critique of ‘peaceful coexistence’. The Fedayeen’s founders were against the changes brought about by the 22nd Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union and adopted a line claiming to be independent of both Russia and China. In reality, however, they remained very much influenced by Stalinism. In debates with Communist Unity, a middle-of-the-road student organization, the Fedayeen were very clear on where they stood regarding the Soviet Union. Their position was that, until 1962, the Soviet Union was 65 per cent good and 35 per cent bad, which is a Maoist view. However, as China adopted the theory of social imperialism and later the ‘three worlds’ theory, the Fedayeen and other Iranian left-wing groups distanced themselves from Maoism only to end up being soft on the Soviet Union. Those who lost their lives in the Siahkal uprising in 1971 had considerable impact on the youth and student movement in Iran. It was not quite what Ahmadzadeh had predicted, however. The small motor did not make the large motor move and the whole country rebel, but the student movement became very sympathetic to this new, emerging left and was heavily influenced by it, as were many young workers. The years 1971–9 shaped the political thought of the generation that came to the Iranian revolution as leaders of the Fedayeen. For this reason, it is an Iran’s communist movement 55 important period. As an organization, it was mainly underground, preparing for armed warfare and organizing occasional bank robberies. Its activities were sporadic but there were losses, particularly because, as an armed organization, members of the Fedayeen could simply be killed in the streets. This denied the Fedayeen a mass base and endangered anyone who supported them, such as university students. Supporters were regarded as part of the armed movement by association. Around 370 left wingers were executed in this period, of whom 60 per cent were Fedayeen. Fedayeen members debated issues such as united fronts, intervention in working-class struggles and the advantages and disadvantages of armed struggle while in prison. Jazani moved away from some of their original positions. In his book United Front against Dictatorship, Jazani clearly rejects earlier positions taken by Ahmadzadeh and Pouyan (some argue that he was moving back to the Tudeh’s stances). In another book, Capitalism and Revolution in Iran, Jazani provides a valuable analysis of the Shah’s regime. Jazani was killed in Evin Prison in 1975. It is therefore difficult to assess whether some of the writings and ideas attributed to him were truly his own opinions. The people around him became leaders of the Fedayeen on their release from prison. By 1979, there was a mass revolutionary movement in Iran and members of the Fedayeen were released from prison, many during the February uprising, when people broke down the doors of the jails. During this period the Fedayeen had become a real force amongst students and young people, gaining popularity as a result of its past actions (although some of it was actually populist myth). However, the organization was now very divided, with Jazani’s supporters following one political line and Ahmadzadeh supporters another. There were two debates going on over the armed struggle. Jazani’s supporters contended that the armed struggle line, as both strategy and tactic, was mistaken. In that they were right, as it had separated the Fedayeen from its potential mass base. On the other hand, some supporters of Jazani were now excusing Soviet foreign policy and even saw a positive role for the national bourgeoisie. Throughout this period there was very little done in terms of theoretical work. The book that everyone read, and which gave them ‘everything’ according to a Fedayeen elder, was Lenin’s What Is to Be Done? It gave the Fedayeen their stance against sectarianism, economism, syndicalism and anarchism. Their entire analysis was based on it. However, they did not necessarily understand it properly, especially given the problematic Farsi translation by the Russian Academy of Sciences, which emphasizes centralism over democracy. In addition, the Fedayeen had failed to make any headway in the working class or Iranian society as a whole. In the universities, however, it had a great deal of support, as became clear during the revolution. Amongst the intellectuals and especially the poets (some of them famous), there was an amaz- ing amount of praise for the Fedayeen. One thing is clear: they had no strategy about what to do when the revolutionary situation arrived. That was the problem of February 1979. 56 Yassamine Mather While the clergy used the period of economic crisis (1974–9) to build its base, make propaganda and mobilize, the imprisoned Fedayeen debated in very abstract terms such questions as the united front against the dictatorship. In addition, the Shah showed more leniency towards the religious groups than he did towards the left, for whom building a mass organization was much more difficult. They attempted to go to the factories, but all they could do was distribute leaflets and then disappear. It is not, therefore, a question of the February Revolution being hijacked, more that the left was simply not prepared for it. In a sense it is a good thing that the left did not come to power, as it had no plans, no politics, no strategy and definitely no theory about what to do. The oil workers were crucial in the February Revolution. It was their strikes that broke the back of the Shah’s regime. The Fedayeen had some influence amongst them, but they were hampered by their lack of experience of working with the class. There was no plan about what to do with the strike or how to move it forward. Nevertheless, the first rally called by the Fedayeen in Tehran after the overthrow of the Shah attracted 500,000 people. Despite reservations, they stood in the elections to what was a sort of constituent assembly and received a couple of million votes.

7 Splits The splits in the rest of the Iranian left, including amongst the Fedayeen and the smaller Trotskyist groups, in the post-1979 period, often stemmed from disagreements regarding their views on the Soviet Union. In 1979–80, the majority of the central committee held the view that the principle contradiction of the period was one of imperialism versus socialism, as represented by the United States and the Soviet Union! On Iran’s regime they said that, although it was Islamic, the government was objectively moving Iran towards the ‘socialist camp’ and therefore should be supported. They were called the Fedayeen Majority only because they constituted a majority on the central committee, although it soon became clear that they did not have majority support in the country. Things became much more tense after the spring of 1979, with the Islamic government strengthening itself and assuming an ideal position to impose repression on opposition forces. For this reason, a number of events occurred, not least the takeover of the United States embassy by students. This was hailed by the pro-Soviet groups, Fedayeen Majority and Tudeh, as well as most of the left outside Iran, as an anti-imperialist act. By the radical left in Iran it was seen as a deliberate diversion aimed at stopping the wave of political strikes and opposition to the Islamic regime. The embassy incident was also significant in that the government declared that anyone who did not support it must be a counter-revolutionary or a CIA agent. Counter-revolutionaries could be arrested and even executed: a Iran’s communist movement 57 situation that intensified once the Iran–Iraq war, which the government portrayed as a war against imperialism, started. Both the Majority and Tudeh Party supported the government in repres- sing the rest of the left. By now the Majority was following the Soviet line and very close to the Tudeh Party. Their message to the workers was ‘Produce more – this is an anti-imperialist war and a war economy, and Iran is moving towards the socialist camp’. The Fedayeen Minority told workers that, while they fought imperialism, they also had to fight the Islamic government. It should be noted that Iranian Trotskyist groups were divided along very similar lines.

8 The Iranian left under the Islamic Republic Since the February uprising of 1979 the Iranian left has been seriously weakened by the repression imposed by successive governments in Iran’s Islamic Republic. First came repression against the groups calling for the overthrow of the Islamic Republic: Fedayeen, Peykar, Rahe Kargar and Kpmaleh. Their members and supporters were arrested or executed in the early 1980s. By 1985, when repression hit Tudeh and the Fedayeen Majority, there was no one left to defend them. Many leading members of Majority (Fedayeen) and Tudeh were arrested. It was the beginning of the end for these two organizations inside Iran; now the remains of them survive in exile. By 1982, leading oil workers, who had gone with the Majority or Tudeh in the period of debate over whether the government was revolutionary or counter-revolutionary, had left both organizations. As for the Fedayeen Minority, they were forced to move most of their leading members to Kurdistan. The organization needed a great deal of strength to survive the hardship. The winters were terribly cold and the summers very dry. Later, as the government mounted its offensive, the Fedayeen Minority had to move from bases in villages to more mountainous areas, where the people were much more tribal and there were no villages. In addition, in Kurdistan, the Fedayeen Minority as well as other left-wing Iranian groups faced the corrupting influence of Iraqi Kurdish groups, already contaminated by imperialist funds. Jalal Talebani’s group in Kurdi- stan (Talebani later became president of post-occupation Iraq) was one of those that controlled not just Iranian Kurdistan, but neighbouring areas in Turkish Kurdistan and part of Iraqi Kurdistan. What are the main lessons we can learn from the history of the Iranian left? First, one has to remember that it is easy to criticize all of this in retrospect, just as it is easy to underestimate the repression of the Shah and the Islamic Republic. The influence of the Fedayeen in the birth of the new left and in the Iranian Revolution is historic and cannot be taken away, although a very heavy price was paid for it. However, there were many mistakes, too: as far as Tudeh and Majority are concerned these included reformism, reactionary class collaboration, following Moscow’s lead without considering the meaning 58 Yassamine Mather and consequences of such treacherous policies for the future of the Iranian and Middle Eastern left. As far as the Fedayeen Minority or other smaller groups of the radical left are concerned, the mistakes were return to Stalin- ism, centralism, the culture of the heroic guerrilla and the professional revolutionary. For all the heroism of February 1971, the shadow of the Tudeh’s Stalinism haunted the organization that took up the struggle against the Tudeh. Today, it is sad to see that at a time there is the possibility for a revival of a new revolutionary movement inside Iran, some activists of the left lament the absence of ‘existing socialism, however bad it was’. Tudeh and Fedayeen Majority have survived as political organizations outside Iran, in contact with some supporters inside the country. Although the current line of Tudeh is in opposition to both factions of the regime (moderates and conservative Islamist factions), there is no serious analysis of the past, no explanation of dramatic changes in policy from giving uncritical support to Mossadegh to opposing him and accusing him of working with Western security agencies, from supporting Khomeini and the Islamic Republic as the embodiment of anti-imperialism in the early 1980s to becoming an opposition calling for its overthrow.

Notes 1 Lenczowski, 1949: 160. Quoted at http://world-news-research.com/ngerm.html (accessed 5 October 2011). 2 Rezun, 1982: 29. Quoted at http://world-news-research.com/ngerm.html (accessed 5 October 2011). 3 Transcriptions of conversations with Solayman Mirza, 8 November 1941, Rossiiskii Tsentr Khraneniia. Izucheniia Dokumentov Noveishi 495/74/192. 4 Letter by Dimitriov, 15 December 1941 to Artashes, Avanessian, RtsKhIDNI 495/ 74/192. 5 ‘During 1944–1946, the Military Organisation was involved in two episodes which led to an attempt at its disbanding and the Tudeh’s severing of ties. First, in August 1944, around twenty army personnel in the Khurasan division of the army rebelled and attempted to reach the Turkman areas of west Khurasan and east Mazandaran in order to stage war against the central government. The rebellion was led by Major Eskandani and Colonel Azar. Many of the personnel involved in this venture, including Eskandani, were killed before they reached their destination and others, such as Azar fled to the Soviet Union. Second, the Military Organisation sent aid and officers to Azerbaijan while the province was rebelling against the central government. The defeat of the Azerbaijan movement caused the party’s leadership to attempt to disband the Organisation and, at any rate, cut all contacts with it. The Military Organisation was not disbanded as the party desired and officers such as Ruzbih resigned their party membership in order to keep the Mili- tary Organisation alive. The party asked the Organisation back into its ranks in 1948, as a result of active Soviet pressure, and the reunion was finalised the following year’ (Behrooz, 2001: 367). 6 Fereydoun Azarnour in conversation with Hamid Ahmadi, www.youtube.com/wa tch?vSKk9ca3lNvI 7 Pouyan, 1980. 8 Ahmadzadeh and Mossalahaneh, 1970. Iran’s communist movement 59 References Abrahamian, Ervand (1982) Iran between Two Revolutions, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press. Abrahamian, Ervand (2008) A History of Modern Iran, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Ahmadzadeh, Massoud and Mossalahaneh, Mobarezeh (1970) ‘Armed Struggle: Both a Strategy and a Tactic, Ham Strategy Ham Tactic’, Fedayeen Publications. Behrooz, Maziar (2001) ‘Tudeh Factionalism and the 1953 Coup in Iran’. Interna- tional Journal of Middle East Studies, 33, 3. Chaqueri, Cosroe (1984) ‘Sultanzade: The Forgotten Revolutionary Theoretician of Iran: A Biographical Sketch’. Iranian Studies, 17,2–3. Chaqueri, Cosroe (1999) ‘Did the Soviets Play a Role in Founding the Tudeh Party in Iran?’ Cahiers du monde russe, 40, 3. Gasiorowski, Mark J. (1991) US Foreign Policy and the Shah: Building a Client State in Iran, Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press. Lenczowski, George (1949) Russia and the West in Iran, 1918–1948, Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press. Pouyan, Amir-Parviz (1980) ‘Against the Theory of Survival’, Fedayeen Publications. Rezun, Miron (1982) The Iranian Crisis of 1941: The Actors, Britain, Germany, and the Soviet Union, Wien, Böhlau. Riddell, J. (Ed.) (1993) To See the Dawn: Baku, 1920–First Congress of the Peoples of the East, New York, Pathfinder. Zulaika, Joseba (2009) Terrorism: The Self-Fulfilling Prophecy, Chicago, IL, University of Chicago Press. 3 The Communist Party of Turkey An instrument of ‘Soviet eastern policy’? Bülent Gökay

1 Introduction When the Ottoman Empire, the ‘sick man of Europe’,oﬃcially ceased to exist at the end of the First World War in October 1918, the chances of survival for a sovereign Turkey seemed to be very remote. The British Empire, as the leading Allied power, imposed a settlement on the lands of the Ottoman Empire which detached a substantial part of Ottoman territory, severely limited national sovereignty and preserved the pre-war capitulatory regime of extra-territorial rights for Western powers. This period witnessed the birth and swift growth of a Turkish resistance movement in Anatolia, which found major international support from the young Bolshevik state. Both Turkish nationalists and Russian Bolsheviks found themselves threatened by the Western imperial powers. Common struggle against the Western imperial powers led to a mutually advantageous collusion between Moscow and Ankara. Mainly due to the initial promising atmosphere of friendship between the Bolsheviks and anti-imperialist Muslims, a number of left- leaning Muslim groups had gained momentum in Anatolia in the 1920s. Most signiﬁcant among these was the Green Army Association (Yesil Ordu Cemiyeti) that was a popular grass-roots radical movement in Anatolia. The association was founded in Anatolia during the early stages of the Turkish War of Independence in the spring of 1920 ‘to liberate Asia from the penetration and occupation of European imperialism’ (Nadi, 1955: 11). The political wing of the Green Army Association set up a group among the deputies of the Turkish Grand National Assembly called the People’sGroup(Halk Zumresi). There were also socialist and communist groups in Anatolia emerging in this period. The most important among these was the Communist Party of Turkey (Türkiye Komünist Partisi; TKP) organized and led by Mustafa Suphi who had been in Russia since the beginning of the First World War (Gökay, 1997: 104–6).

2 ‘Soviet eastern policy’ and Turkey The East is a revolutionary cauldron capable of putting a revolutionary torch to all of Western Europe. (Sultan-Galiev, quoted in Lazic´ & Drachkovitch, 1972: 379) The Communist Party of Turkey 61 The 1920s were the heyday of anti-imperialist revolution for the Bolsheviks. An alliance with the nations with majority-Muslim populations could be made on the basis of a joint eﬀort both to overthrow the power of the West in the Muslim world and to transform Muslim society. This was considered possible because Islam could be interpreted in such a way as to stress its social justice aspect. On 7 December 1917, almost immediately after achieving power, the Bolsheviks issued their Appeal to the Toiling Muslims of the East, which assured the Muslims of Russia that ‘your beliefs and customs, your national and cultural institutions, are free and inviolable’ and called on the Muslims of the east to ‘overthrow the imperialist robbers and enslavers’ of their countries.1 At the Comintern’s Second Congress, in 1920, Lenin oﬃcially introduced the new eastern orientation, the so-called ‘Soviet eastern policy’. Lenin went so far as to suggest that, with ‘the aid of the proletariat of the advanced countries’, it might be possible for Asia to skip the capitalist stage and ‘go over to the Soviet system, and, through certain stages of development, to communism’.2 ‘It must be remembered,’ he told a Japanese journalist at this time,

that the West lives at the expense of the East; the imperialist powers of Europe grow rich chieﬂy at the expense of the eastern colonies, but at the same time they are arming their colonies and teaching them to ﬁght and by so doing the West is digging its own grave in the East.3

As part of Comintern strategy, pro-Soviet communists offered solidarity with the anti-imperialist national liberation movements in the East. For the Bol- sheviks, the October Revolution had built a bridge between the ‘enlightened’ West and the ‘enslaved’ East, which provided the basis for an appeal by the Soviet leadership to the colonial peoples at the Comintern-sponsored Con- gress of Peoples of the East in Baku, Azerbaijan, in September 1920. After that, the Comintern set up a Council of Propaganda and Action of the Peo- ples of the East with its location in Baku. As a consequence, numerous links were established by the Bolsheviks with the Muslim peoples of the East, and the Communist University of Toilers of the East was set up, at which many Asian revolutionaries were trained. All of this had profound consequences for the West (White, 1974). In the context of the early 1920s international relations, the Soviet government found an area of common interest with the nationalist government of Turkey. Force of circumstance impelled Soviet Russia and Kemalist Turkey to arrive at a rapprochement. The two were drawn together by mutual fear as a result of the plans and activities of the Western powers in the region. But it was not all plain sailing. At one level one can explain this in old-fashioned power political terms. Soviet Russia was heir to imperial Russia and certainly had no intention of abandoning the Caucasus to other powers whether Western or Eastern. When Bekir Sami, Turkish envoy, came to Moscow in July 1920, he was confronted 62 Bülent Gökay with a proposal from Georgy Chicherin, Commissar for Foreign Affairs, that Turkey relinquish Van, Bitlis and Mus to Armenia and engage in an exchange of populations so as to restore the Armenian population to those territories. Bekir Sami replied that Turkey would not surrender an inch of territory.4 Curiously, this did not prevent Lenin from receiving Bekir Sami in person, and did not stop the signing of the Draft Treaty of Friendship on 24 August.5 Later the Soviet–Turkish Treaty was signed, against the wishes of Chicherin, on 16 March 1921. In its preamble, it committed both countries to the ‘struggle against imperialism’.Thiswasareflection of Moscow’spositionthataTurkishalliance against British imperialism was far moreimportantthansparingthesuscept- ibilities of Armenian and Georgian communists (Cebesoy, 1955: 61–2, 141–51). Thus began the long era of Soviet–Turkish friendship, officially confirmed by the December 1925 treaty. It would appear completely unaffected by the ups and downs of the Turkish government’srelationswithitsindigenouscommunists. Aid to or an alliance with a local government or a ‘bourgeois’ national movement aimed against ‘imperialists’ always posed the danger that the non- communist ‘client’ might turn against the local communists. There was no real escape from this dilemma. Local communist organization TKP, although politically and financially supported by Moscow throughout, was a loser in the midst of this reel politics conundrum even at its birth. This dilemma would torment the relations between Moscow and the Turkish communists until the end of the Soviet Union and the TKP.

3 The Communist Party of Turkey Marxist ideas began to penetrate Turkey towards the end of the nineteenth century. During the First World War many Turkish socialists were in Ger- many and became close to the Spartacus League. Another group of Turkish socialists was in Russia and became witness to the Russian Revolution. The TKP, one of the oldest political parties in Turkey and among the oldest communist parties in the Middle East, was founded in September 1920 in Baku. The proximity of the Russian Revolution had led to a Leninist organization in Turkey before most other countries. Turkish communists played an active part in Comintern affairs. Sefik Husnu, one of the leaders of the party, was a member of the executive committee of the Comintern until 1936. In September 1920, soon after its foundation, the leadership of the TKP decided to shift the centre of its activities to Turkey. In late 1920, Mustafa Subhi and the other leading members of the party left Baku, and set out for Anatolia. They went quite openly to their country. It was sheer bad timing! The group could not proceed further than Trabzon. On 28 January 1921, Mustafa Subhi and 15 other leading communists were put in a boat and sent back to Batum, Georgia. Immediately after they embarked, another boat left the harbour and overtook the first one. Following this, all that is known is that no one on the first boat survived. It was a classical, Ottoman-style elimination (Tunçay, 1967: 231–3). The Communist Party of Turkey 63 The available documents confirm that the Ankara government had a substantial role in this incident. It is clear that K. Karabekir, one of the most prominent nationalist army commanders, and Hamit Bey, a very important local representative of the Ankara government, put the plan together. It is also clear in the documents that Mustafa Kemal asked them to stop the group of communists and confirmed the ‘plan’ prepared in Trabzon. It is, however, still a mystery whether the ‘plan’ included ‘murder’, or whether it was improvised on the spot (Gökay, 1993). When the news arrived in Moscow, the Soviet Politburo forwarded an official statement to inform the members of the Soviet Communist Party. The central theme of the statement was the ‘dangers of left-wing and adventurist initiatives’. Moscow, apparently, did not share the optimism and the decision of the Turkish communists.6 This incident did not make a serious impact upon Turkish–Soviet relations. It was noted and put aside by both sides in a businessman-like fashion. The experience is, however, significant and rich in lessons. The murder of the leading Turkish communists in the early days of 1921 represents the first example of the failure of a peculiar Soviet dilemma in the East: to support the anti- communist leadership of a national liberation movement, and at the same time to sponsor and organize local communist groups against the nationalist leadership of the country. When the Kemalist leadership openly started to root out all communist activities in Turkey, protests were made at world communist gatherings, but it did not hinder the good diplomatic and economic relations between Moscow and Ankara. The Soviet government chose to continue its official policy of cooperation with Ankara, regardless of the fate of the local communists loyal to Moscow. For the first time, the interests of Soviet foreign policy actually involved the existence of a communist party. During the 1920s, the communists and socialists were weak and were denied any part in the new Turkey. The Turkish government, under Mustafa Kemal, pursued a cat-and-mouse policy towards local communists. Sometimes they were tolerated, sometimes suppressed. Usually they were repressed. Mustafa Kemal banned the party in 1925, and after that the TKP was forced into illegality during most of its history and faced a large number of mass detentions. The activities of these early communists could hardly aim at revolution. The Bolshevik leadership in Moscow had no illusion about this.7 Sultan- Galiev, one of the top Muslim communists in the Soviet hierarchy, openly acknowledged in 1920 that: ‘Turkish communists consist of a group of underground workers, former Turkish prisoners of war in Russia. This group is not particularly large, but works very intensely.’ Another leading Bolshevik, the Soviet expert on Turkey Pavlowitch, said in 1921: ‘the Turkish people, due to historical reasons of adherence to religion, cannot at this moment accept the communist programme’.8 At the Third Comintern Congress, Suleyman Nuri declared that though he condemned the Black Sea incident he thought Mustafa Kemal should still be supported ‘to the extent that he fought against imperialism’.9 64 Bülent Gökay The Sixth Comintern Congress, held in 1928, was the scene of a dispute between the Turkish delegate, who stated that Mustafa Kemal had gone over completely to the camp of the counter-revolution, and Otto Kuusinen, one of the top officials in the Comintern apparatus, who said in his draft theses that Kemal’s struggle against imperialism was still a progressive factor. Like the Turkish question Kuusinen’sofficial theses were attacked by the Persian delegate, Sultan Zade, who said that Riza Shah was not a representative of ‘nationalism and progress’ as Kuusinen claimed, but the representative of the ‘reactionary forces in Persia’. Neither of these complaints had much effect. The fundamental strategic requirement – to support the national movement against Western imperialism, whatever its domestic character – was upheld until the dissolution of the Comintern in 194310 and later in the 1960s and 1970s. The Soviet leaders, however, continued to support Turkish communists almost until the end of the Soviet Union, financially and politically. At the same time they knew, at least until after 1960, that there was no chance of a communist revolution, even a significant left-wing presence, in Turkey. The Soviet leaders knew that conditions were not ripe for a true revolution, probably never would be. They were also careful not to provoke a British counter- move, or sacrifice good relations with the nationalist government in Ankara. That was a sensitive balancing act throughout. The TKP was one of the most loyal to Moscow. It was always closely controlled by elements responsive to Moscow. The party did not attempt to formulate its own strategy and tactics based on the conditions of Turkish state and society. To start with, it had very little contact with the Turkish people. It was brought together by a scattered group of self-converted communists. The party’s small number of members was almost entirely middle class. The party attracted many Turkish intellectuals, among them Nazim Hikmet, the best-known poet of Turkey. Its leadership was comprised of declassed intellectuals with university-level education. The TKP’s mind was the mind of the Western-educated Turkish middle-class intellectuals. A clear example of this is the fact that ethnic problems in Turkey were ignored by both the local communists and the Soviet government. The 1925 Kurdish revolt, led by Sheikh Said, was described as a ‘reactionary feudal movement’. Even though its mobilization, propaganda and symbols created the impression that it was a religious rebellion, the Sheikh Said revolt was essentially for Kurdish national independence. It took for the Turkish government a full-scale operation to put it down. Tens of thousands of Kurdish people were killed and driven into exile. More Kurdish uprisings happened in the following years. In 1930, the Soviet government assisted the official regime in Turkey in the suppression of another Kurdish rebellion by allowing Turkish troops to use Soviet railways and by closing their borders to Kurdish refugees. Turkish communists’ stand with respect to Kurdish rebellions remained closely in line with the official Soviet line for most of its history (van Bruinessen, 1984). During the Second World War, the TKP carried out propaganda activities against the war and fascism. The party plenum in 1943 adopted a document The Communist Party of Turkey 65 entitled ‘Struggle Front against Fascism and Profiteering’ (Güzel, 1995: 127). After the war, communist activities were resumed in Turkey. The party continued to act although its activities were seriously suppressed. With the beginning of the Cold War the reactionary trend in Turkish politics reached its peak. One of the first undertakings of the centre-right Demokratic Party government was to deploy 5,000 Turkish soldiers to the Korean War to fight communism (Brown, 2008). It is the period in which subservience to the United States became the law of the land and Anatolia became the site of American military bases. Turkey became a satellite of the American Cold War empire. During this period there was a big mass detention of the party members in the years 1951 and 1952. Almost all key members of the party were arrested, tortured and sentenced to heavy terms of imprisonment. The effect of this turned out to be fatal for the party’s organization in Turkey in the 1950s. After 1953 the activities of the party were mainly limited to the activities conducted from abroad.11

4 A new opening: 1960s The serious social, economic and political crisis that occurred under the centre- right regime of the 1950s led to a coup d’état on 27 May 1960. This and the adoption in 1961 of a more democratic and liberal constitution marked the beginning of a new period in the country. For the first time in decades, suppressed ideological and political trends were permitted to take part in the political life of the country. Workers in Turkey acquired for the first time the right to form trade unions as well as the right to strike, and a new period was opened for general democratic rights with the coming of relative democratization in both political and social life (Arcayürek, 1989: 43). While certain articles in the Turkish Penal Code continued to forbid an openly communist party, the new constitution specifically allowed for the creation of a socialist party. In February 1961, some leaders of the Istanbul trade unions took the opportunity to establish a legal socialist party, the Workers Party of Turkey (Türkiye Isçi Partisi; TIP). In this way, for the first time since the 1920s, a legal left-wing movement appeared that encompassed a variety of leftist, radical left, social-democratic, trade unionist and Marxist elements. This party differed from earlier illegal socialist parties in that it was formed not by intellectuals but by elected representatives of the workers. For the first time in Turkish history proletarian politics was now on the agenda (Yerasimos, 2001: 1673–80). The emergence of the TIP as a unitarian socialist party was partly due to the situation in the international workers’ movement at the time of its creation. The official Soviet attitude toward foreign communist parties had undergone a striking change after the death of Stalin in 1953. The new Soviet leadership started to refrain from issuing direct public orders to foreign communist parties. On the other hand, Khrushchev’s de-Stalinization had not yet divided world communism, and the Cuban and Algerian revolutions were still 66 Bülent Gökay in their ‘heroic’ stages. Interestingly, this was the time when socialist and communist ideas started to find new channels in Turkey. The legal working- class party, the TIP, was the result of this new culture. The TIP contained a panorama of ideas, attitudes and priorities. It was socialist and pro-Soviet in a general sense (Belli, 1970: 212). The platform of the TIP called for the redistribution of land, nationalization of industry and financial institutions, the exclusion of foreign capital and urged closer cooperation with the Soviet-bloc countries. At first, the legal socialist party attracted the support of only some trade union leaders and leftist intellectuals. In its first year of existence, the party did very little as its leaders lacked experience and had no clear-cut political views. Only in Feb- ruary 1962, with the election of a new leadership under the prominent lawyer Mehmet Ali Aybar, did the party become more active. In addition to trade unionists, the new leadership now included lawyers, academics, publicists and teachers. In 1964, the First Congress of the TIP approved the party programme, which was clearly pro-Soviet and based on a non-capitalist path of development (Aybar, 1968: 515–16). In the October 1965 general parliamentary elections, the party won approximately 3 per cent of the total votes and gained 15 seats in Parliament, taking advantage of the more democratic election system designed with the 1960 coup. Encouraged by their success, the party leadership decided to shift the general direction of the party from the struggle for democratic transformation to the attainment of open socialist goals, and thus the promotion of the non-capitalist path was replaced by the call for the struggle for socialism (Aybar, 1968). The events in Czechoslovakia during August 1968 had a great effect on the members of the TIP. The Soviet invasion led to fierce debates within the party and then to an internal crisis. Aybar protested against the occupation of Cze- choslovakia and made comments highly critical of the Soviet Union. He argued that Turkish socialists should not limit themselves to the study of Marx and Lenin, but acquire a wider grasp of socialism by reading Kautsky and Rosa Luxembourg. The Third Congress of the party, in November 1968, was dominated by this issue, and it became apparent that three different factions existed within the communist/socialist movement of Turkey: one was Aybar’s group, the most powerful and influential at that time, with a critical view of Soviet policies in Czechoslovakia; a second group led by two prominent socialists, Behice Boran and Sadun Aren, who were defending Soviet policies and criticizing Aybar’s position severely; and a third group led by Mihri Belli, calling itself the Proletarian Revolutionaries, supporting ideas of national democratic revolution – an anti-imperialist and anti-feudal movement (Yerasimos, 2001: 1675–91). The TKP supported the legal socialist platform represented by the TIP unconditionally, and many leading members of the TKP took an active part in the organization of the legal socialist party. The majority of the leaders and key members of the TIP were either members of the TKP or sympathizers of the party line, and the radio of the TKP, based in East Berlin, consistently supported the activities and policies of the TIP. Like calls by the leaders of The Communist Party of Turkey 67 the TIP, the TKP took the line that to be truly democratic Turkey should detach itself from NATO and join the group of non-aligned states led by Tito and Nehru. Different from the TIP, on Czechoslovakia and other international issues, the TKP consistently supported Moscow. In August 1963, the TKP hailed the nuclear test ban treaty as a victory for the Soviet policy of peaceful coexistence, and castigated the Chinese Communist Party for seeking to provoke war (Göksu & Timms, 2006: 310). During the 1960s, the anti-imperialist youth movement achieved mass character around anti-American and anti-NATO sentiments. Massive anti- imperialist demonstrations against the United States Sixth Fleet practically banned that fleet from Turkish waters. That ban was effective for over ten years. It was only after the military coup of September 1980 that the American warships dared to enter Turkish ports. The dramatic student politics of 1968 made a great impact on the Turkish left. As soon as word reached them of the Sorbonne takeover, in Istanbul students began to occupy their campuses too. There was one important difference, of course. In the West, May 1968 signified the beginning of something consciously unorthodox, revolutionary, but not communist. In Turkey, by contrast, there was no such sense of unorthodoxy, nor the feeling of a break with Sta- linism. There was a profound sense of continuity and the revolutionary tradition coming from the 1920s. Many young communists from the TKP played an active role in these movements. Fikir Kulupleri (Idea Clubs) were the leading student movement in the universities in organizing anti-American protests, and among the leaders of the Fikir Kulupleri there were prominent communists. When in June 1968 the news about the arrival of the Sixth Fleet of the United States Navy to Istanbul harbour was announced, massive student protests took place in Istanbul. Thousands of students attacked American soldiers and officers of the Sixth Fleet and a number of American soldiers were thrown into the sea. This action became the symbol of the anti-imperialist spirit and of 1968 in Turkey (Feyizog˘lu, 2004: 51, 58, 71).12

5 1973: a great leap forward After the military coup of 1971, the left in Turkey was strongly suppressed, with the only legal socialist party, the TIP, banned from July 1971. Ideologi- cally and politically, there were two main tendencies among the left after 1971: the traditional pro-Soviet left tendency, led by the TKP, that aimed at organizing among the working class and trade union movement and followed the line of the official Communist Party of the Soviet Union; and the revolutionary populist tendency, which was organized mainly among the university students, youth and petty bourgeois layers of towns and provinces. The political line of this second tendency was reflected in Maoism and urban guerrilla activism. The suppression of the legal party, the TIP, and other left-wing organizations provided a new and heightened mission to the members of the TKP, as many leading left-wing organizers were either killed, put in prison or forced 68 Bülent Gökay to escape abroad – Mahir Cayan and his comrades were killed in Kizildere; Denis Gezmis, Yusuf Aslan and Huseyin Inan were sentenced to death and hanged; Ibrahim Kaypakkaya, the leader of the Maoist TKP-ML (Commu- nist Party of Turkey/ Marxist-Leninist) was killed in Diyarbakir Prison under torture; the leading cadre of another important Maoist group, Proleter Dev- rimci Aydinlik (Proletarian Revolutionary Enlightenment) were put in prison for long terms; all leading members of the TIP were sentenced and put in prison; and many other left-wing activists had to leave Turkey (Hale, 2000: 159–62). In this new atmosphere, the first practical step taken to fill the gaps created by the oppression was the emergence of a new type of communist youth movement. Sosyalist Genclik Orgutu (Socialist Youth Association) started to organize small illegal cells called Egitim Gruplari (Education Groups), after similar cells that had existed in Lenin’s Russia before the Bolshevik Revolu- tion. The Egitim Gruplari thus offered the first steps towards the popular reorganization of the TKP in the early 1970s.13 At a meeting in 1973 the Politburo of the TKP decided, along with some cadres from the 1968 youth movement, to make a new attempt at a breakthrough in Turkey. A new programme was drafted, a central committee publication, Atilim (Progress), was established and a new and more effective radio station, TKP’nin Sesi (Voice of the Communist Party of Turkey) started broadcasting from Leipzig. All this accounted to ‘a great leap forward’ for the TKP, and even without legal status it enjoyed a rapid and improving popularity all around the country. As a result, the TKP for the first time became an effective political force in Turkey.14 In 1977, the party held a conference in Moscow, its biggest organizational gathering since its 4th congress in 1932. In the second half of the 1970s, the entire balance of influence within the Turkish left was shifted when the party secured almost all key posts within the trade union movement, professional organizations and other legal mass organizations. There were also many legal youth, teacher, technical, apprentice and women’s organizations, with hundreds of thousands of members, that were founded directly under the party’s control. Added to this were thousands of secret party cells composed of workers in factories all over Turkey. Between 1970 and 1980, the growth in the working-class movement was unprecedented and socialist ideas were rapidly spreading among workers. Under the direction of the TKP, DISK (Revolutionary Confederation of Labour Unions) for the first time organized a mass rally in 1976 to celebrate May Day. The May Day celebrations had been prohibited for the past 50 years, but in 1976 at least 200,000 people joined the rally in Istanbul and openly shouted the name of the illegal communist party –‘TKP’ye Ozgurluk’ (Freedom to the TKP). Following its successful May Day celebration in 1976, DISK organized a bigger May Day demonstration in the following year, to be held in Taksim Square in Istanbul. By the time the DISK general chairman, Kemal Turkler, delivered his May Day speech, all the roads leading to Taksim were still full The Communist Party of Turkey 69 of people marching all day trying to reach the Taksim square. The DISK chairman was about to finish his speech when snipers on surrounding buildings started firing at the crowd. First there was stillness, and then a deadly pande- monium broke out and the crowd of almost 1 million fled in panic. Altogether 36 people died, and hundreds were wounded. While some said that the incident was a provocation by right-wing militants, carried under the direction of the CIA-controlled Turkish contra-guerrillas, the police and the right-wing press advanced the idea that the incident had been sparked by extreme leftists.15

6 The military coup of 1980 and the end of the party The 1980s began with a shock not only for the communists, but also for the wider left, liberal and social-democratic constituency in Turkey. The military coup on 12 September 1980 initiated an extensive campaign of persecutions and arrests against all democratic organizations, legal and illegal parties and movements, particularly the TKP, with thousands of its members arrested or sentenced to prison on the basis of articles 141 and 142 of the Turkish Penal Code taken directly from the legislation of fascist Italy. The Constitution and Parliament were abolished. All political parties, trade unions and other professional and youth organizations were closed and leading members and activists were put in prison. Some 30,000 people were reported to have been arrested in the first few weeks after the coup. Over 50,000 people were forced to migrate to European countries as political exiles; 700 death sentences were demanded, 480 of them sentenced to death; 216 were suspended by Parliament; and 48 were hanged (Gemalmaz, 1989: 20, 53).16 The heavy oppression that followed the military coup pushed all communist and left-wing activities underground again. Such harsh conditions and illegality also encouraged divisions among the communists: even among the pro-Soviet left there were at least three illegal communist parties and many more factions within each, all that spent most of their energy fighting one another. All this infighting drew the left further and further away from reality, creating an introverted world of crippled politics. The era of perestroika and the subsequent collapse of the Soviet Union deprived the official communist parties of the guide they had looked to for many decades. More than any internal debate, it was Gorbachev and his perestroika during this period that eventually affected developments within the TKP. The ‘new political thinking’, Gorbachev’s foreign policy counterpart to domestic perestroika, was radically different from previous Soviet foreign policy. In many respects, the ‘new political thinking’ had direct implications for the world communist movement because it insisted that military means alone would not achieve security, and therefore a wide range of political means had to be considered, including political cooperation with other left-wing and even social-democratic parties and movements as essential alternatives. In line with the ‘new political thinking’, the TKP and the TIP announced at a press conference in Brussels on 7 October 1987 that they were going to 70 Bülent Gökay merge under the name of Turkiye Birlesik Komunist Partisi (TBKP), the United Communist Party of Turkey. The general secretaries of both parties, Haydar Kutlu and Nihat Sargin, returned from political exile to Turkey on 16 November 1987 in order to legally set up the TBKP in Turkey. However, they were arrested immediately upon their arrival and detained until April 1990, leaving the 1988 founding congress of the TBKP to be held abroad. In January 1990, a group of founders applied for legal status of the party. While waiting for a decision from the Constitu- tional Court of Turkey, a legal congress of the party was held in Ankara, where a decision was accepted to merge with other left socialist parties. A united left party emerged, called Sosyalist Birlik Partisi (Socialist Unity Party), in line with similar developments in the Soviet satellite states of Eastern Europe. On 22 July 1991, the Constitutional Court in Turkey, however, made a decision which in effect prohibited the legal communist party in Turkey.17 After 1991, TKP, or any of the new groups/parties emerging from it, ceased to be an effective political organization. What happened to all those tens of thousands of people who supported communist ideas in Turkey? Many leading members of the Socialist Unity Party eventually ended up, after a series of subsequent mergers, joining Ozgurluk and Demokrasi Partisi (Freedom and Solidarity Party). However, there were several other relatively small groups/ factions in Turkey that claimed to represent the historical TKP:

1 Part. of the TKP separated in 1979 and became known after the periodical Is¸çinin Sesi (Worker’s Voice) which they issued in London. Remain- ing members of this group, no more than a few hundred, still exist and contribute to intellectual debate but are not active in Turkish politics. 2Anewparty,thePartyforSocialistPower,foundedin1993,adoptedthe name of the TKP in 2001. This TKP, which has no organizational link with the original TKP, exists in Turkish politics but only as a very marginal group. 3 A group of some dissident members of the TBKP who held a ‘rebirth meeting’ in 1993 started to publish the TKP periodical Ürün Sosyalist Dergi (Harvest Socialist Magazine) with the aim of giving out the voice of TKP through the journal (the ﬁrst issue of Ürün emerged in 1997). In 2012, the group oﬃcially announced itself as the re-establishment of the TKP. This TKP has participated in parliamentary elections in Turkey since 1999 but has never achieved more than 0.26 per cent of the vote.18

7 Conclusion For most of this period, the TKP was weak and entirely dependent on political and financial support provided by Moscow, and was always controlled by elements responsive to Moscow. Its peculiar existence was subject to the priorities of Soviet foreign policy, and leaders of the Turkish party expressed little independence in making their own decisions or judgements to make any The Communist Party of Turkey 71 influence in the domestic situation of the country. Within Turkey, the communist movement had no significant organic link with the workers and peasants, at least until the second half of the 1970s. Only after the reorganization campaign of 1973 did the party take significant steps to influence the trade union movement and the wider left agenda in the country. Even then, the party leadership remained strictly within the boundaries of Soviet foreign policy requirements, frustrating thousands of militants and party activists who were trying to fashion effective responses to the increasingly radical demands of the workers, peasants and students in the country. For the Soviet Union, a socialist revolution in Turkey was never an option. The Soviet leadership had always approached Turkey as a security concern measured against the dominant role played by the British Empire in the Near and Middle East after the First World War. When the United States replaced the British as the dominant regional superpower in the Middle East and the leader of the capitalist world, the Soviet leadership focused all its efforts on counter-balancing the increasingly close links between the United States and Turkey, and the American-sponsored efforts to erect anti-Soviet ‘collective security’ agreements in the region became a particular concern. In the course of 74 years of Soviet history, security considerations dominated Soviet behaviour in international affairs, and similarly became the primary dimension of Soviet policy toward Turkey. Thus, the Soviet leadership pursued a reasonable, pragmatic and non-ideological policy towards Turkey, and instruments of Soviet policy towards Turkey were those traditionally used by great powers in their relations with a lesser power – economic, technical and military assistance, trade, diplomacy, propaganda and the use of military force, or at least the threat of it. Of these, economic and technical assistance were particularly important, and from the mid-1960s onwards the Soviet Union became one of Turkey’s principal trading partners. The overall goal of Soviet policy was to increase Soviet influence in Turkey at the expense of the Western powers – mainly the British Empire before the end of the Second World War, and the United States thereafter. When Turkey became a member of the Western alliance system and increasingly dependent on the hegemonic control structures of the United States global hegemony, Soviet policy began to look more like a desperate effort to limit the extent of American influence in the country. In this wider framework, direct Soviet influence over the communist movement in Turkey was important, first as a means of diplomatic pressure, and second Turkish communists provided Moscow with vital information on the fast-changing situation in the country. The Soviet leadership was using its close control over the Turkish party in order to put pressure, when required, on the bourgeois government of Turkey, as well as on Western capitalist states. For this reason, some official statements by the Soviet leadership attempted to create the impression that the communist movement in Turkey was a powerful political force, even though in their internal discussions they admitted that the Turkish party was very small and ineffective. In this way, Turkish communists were useful as conduits 72 Bülent Gökay for Soviet propaganda that duly reported to Moscow on the local political situation. The Soviet Union was able to influence the communist movement in Turkey primarily through financial aid and propaganda support. This influence was very strong most of the time, which explains why the TKP was extraordinarily loyal to Moscow’s policies on almost all key issues. Even after the party started, for the first time, to enjoy mass support among workers and the youth in the second half of the 1970s, this loyalty to Moscow and Soviet foreign policy requirements stopped the Turkish party from providing more realistic and radical alternatives to the increasingly fragile and desperate political situation in Turkey. Shifts in the priorities of Soviet foreign policy and the changing agenda of the ‘Soviet eastern policy’ closely affected Moscow’s interests in the activities of the Turkish communists. Therefore, the support given to and influence exercised on the TKP provide a good illustration of the fabric of the motiva- tional sources of Soviet behaviour in its foreign relations, particularly in the Third World, with respect to the ‘Soviet eastern policy’.

Notes 1 https://books.google.es/books?id=Z14EAQAAIAAJ; Riddell, 1993: appendix 2, p. 259. 2 Lenin, 1967: ‘Report of the Commission on the National and Colonial Question’, Lenin Selected Works, vol. 3, p. 459. 3 Lenin, 1971: ‘Interview with K. Fusse, Correspondent of the Japanese Newspapers Osaka Mainichi and Tokyo Nichi-Nichi (4 June 1920)’, Lenin Selected Works, vol. 42, p. 196, www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1920/jun/04.htm 4 Bekir Sami to Chicherin, 4 July 1920, Moscow: AVP, Fond: Ref about Turkey, Op.: 3, D.: 3, Pap.: 2. 5 Statement from the Central Committee of Russian Communist Party, July 1920, Moscow, AVP, Fond: Near East, Op.: 3, Por.: 1, Pap.: 2. 6 Internal Party Report, RCP(B), 20 February 1921, Moscow, TsPA, Fond:5, Op.:2, D.:2. (On 31 January 1951, however, Pravda vociferously attacked the murder of M. Subhi, ‘the true son of the Turkish people’.) 7 From Zinoviev to Lenin, Trotsky, Radek and Bukharin, 14 November 1921; Moscow, TsPA, Fond:5, Op.:3, D.:141. 8 Report on the communist movement in Turkey, from Pavlowitch to Lenin, for the year 1921, Moscow, TsPA, Fond:5, Op.:3, D.:213. See also Pavlowitch, ‘Greek- Turkish Communists’, Kommunisticheski Internatsional, 17, 4427–8. 9 Protokoll des dritten Kongresses der Kommunistischen Internationale (Moskau 22 Juni bis 12 Juli, 1921, Hamburg, 1921), 998–9. 10 The Comintern apparatus was not simply dissolved, it was transformed into the Foreign Section of the Russian Communist Party, and it continued to intervene in the aﬀairs of the other communist parties. (Dimitrov’s record of a conversation with Stalin. on 20 April 1941. (Politbiuro TsK RKP (b). Dokumenty, 505, 794–5). 11 YENI ÇAG˘ . Komünist ve Is¸çi Partilerinin Teori ve Enformasyon Dergisi (1976) no. 12, 1111–14. 12 Cumhuriyet, 11 June 1968. 13 Based on my March 2004 interview with Zulﬁkar Erdogan, who was a member of the Socialist. Youth Association. in Istanbul in 1970. 14 YENI ÇAG˘ . Komünist ve Is¸çi Partilerinin Teori ve Enformasyon Dergisi (January 1978), 1, 71–87. The Communist Party of Turkey 73 15 K. Atay, ‘1 Mayis 77 Neden ve Nasil Kana Bulandi’, Bianet, 1 May 2013, https:// bianet.org/bianet/toplum/146248-1-mayis-1977-neden-ve-nasil-kana-bulandi (accessed June 2017); R. Arslan, ‘1 Mayis 1977’, 30 April 2014, BBC Turkish, www.bbc.com/turkce/haberler/2014/04/140430_1_mayis_1977 (accessed June 2017). 16 Gemalmaz, 1989: 20 and 53. 17 E. Ozkok, ‘Kutlu ve Sargin’iHatirladinizmi?’, Hurriyet,22April2004,www.hurriyet. com.tr/kutlu-ve-sargini-hatirladiniz-mi-219569 (accessed June 2017); ‘4Haziran1990: Türkiye Birles¸ik Komünist Partisi (TBKP) resmen kuruldu’,http://marksist.org/icerik/ Tarihte-Bugun/4738/4-Haziran-1990-Turkiye-Birlesik-Komunist-Partisi-TBKP-resm en-kuruldu (accessed June 2017). 18 ‘TKP-sip oyununa devam ediyor!’, Istanbul Indymedia, 9 September 2005, http:// istanbul.indymedia.org/comment/247698 (accessed June 2017); https://urundergisi. com/index.php (accessed June 2017); ‘TKP’de miras kavgası: 10 yarali’, Haberturk, 5 April 2012, www.haberturk.com/yasam/haber/731394-tkpde-miras-kavgasi-10-ya rali (accessed June 2017).

References Arcayürek, Cüneyt (1989) Darbeler Ve Gizli Servisler, Ankara, Bilgi Yayinlari. Aybar, Mehmet Ali (1968) Bag˘ımsızlık Demokrasi Sosyalizm, Istanbul, Gerçek Yayımevi. Belli, Mihri (1970) Yazılar 1965–1970, Ankara, Sol Yayınları. Brown, Cameron S. (2008) ‘The One Coalition They Craved to Join: Turkey in the Korean War’. Review of International Studies, 34, 1. Cebesoy, Ali Fuat (1955) Moskova Hatiralari [Moscow Memoirs], Istanbul, Vatan Nesriyat. Feyizog˘lu, Turhan (2004) Deniz, Istanbul, Ozan Yayincilik. Gemalmaz, Mehmet Semih (1989) Human Rights, Istanbul, Arnac. Gökay, Bülent (1993) ‘The Turkish Communist Party: The Fate of the Founders’. Middle Eastern Studies, 29, 2. Gökay, Bülent (1997) A Clash of Empires: Turkey between Russian Bolshevism and British Imperialism, 1918–1923, London, I. B. Tauris. Göksu, Saime & Timms, Edward (2006) Romantic Communist: The Life and Work of Nazim Hikmet, London, Hurst Publishers. Güzel, M. S¸ehmus (1995) ‘Capital and Labor during World War II’. In En Quataer, D. & Zurcher, E. (Eds), Workers and the Working Class in the Ottoman Empire and the Turkish Republic, 1839–1950, London, I. B. Tauris. Hale, William (2000) Turkish Foreign Policy 1774–2000, London, Routledge. Lazic´, Branko M. & Drachkovitch, Milorad M. (1972) Lenin and the Comintern, Stanford, CA, Hoover Institution Press, Stanford University. Lenin, V. I. (various years) Lenin Selected Works., Moscow, Progress Publishers. Nadi, Yunus (1955) Çerkes Ethem Kuvvetlerinin Ihaneti, Istanbul, Sel Yayinlari. Riddell, J. (Ed.) (1993) To See the Dawn: Baku, 1920–First Congress of the Peoples of the East, New York, Pathﬁnder. Tunçay, Mete (1967) Türkiye’de Sol Akımlar 1908–1925, Ankara, Iletis¸im Yayinlari. van Bruinessen, Martin (1984) ‘Popular Islam, Kurdish Nationalism and Rural Revolt: The Rebellion of Shaikh Said in Turkey (1925)’. In En Bak, J. M. & Benecke, G. (Eds), Religion and Rural Revolt, Manchester, Manchester University Press. White, Stephen (1974) ‘Communism and the East: The Baku Congress, 1920’. Slavic Review, 33, 3. Yerasimos, Stefanos (2001) Azgelis¸mis¸lik Sürecinde Türkiye, Istanbul, Belge Yayınları. 4 The Iraqi Communist Party

Johan Franzén

Founded in 1934, the Iraqi Communist Party (al-Hizb al-Shuyu’i al-’Iraqi, ICP) played a significant political role in the 1940s and 1950s, especially following the revolution that overthrew the country’s monarchy in 1958. Under the leadership of the iron-fisted ‘Comrade Fahad’ (1941–9), the ICP developed into a clandestine organization, firmly organized on Marxist-Leninist principles. For most of the monarchical period, the ICP was ferociously suppressed by the authorities, and much of its cadres ended up behind bars by the late 1940s. However, following the revolution, a brief honeymoon ensued, prompted by the conciliatory policy adopted by Iraq’s new leader, 'Abd al-Karim Qasim. This interlude was brief, though, and when Qasim himself was toppled in 1963 by a constellation of Ba'thists and Arab nationalist army officers, repression was again the party’s fate. Following a second spell in power by the Ba'th Party from 1968 onwards, a brief rapprochement developed – culminating with the signing of a National Progressive Front between the two parties in 1973 – only to deteriorate once more from the mid-1970s onwards. When Saddam Hussein seized ultimate power in 1979, he brought back outright repression, and the ICP returned to the clandestinity of its origins. The ICP spent the 1980s and 1990s in ‘internal exile’ in Iraqi Kurdistan, gradually being overshadowed by the Kurdish nationalist movement. Due to its long repression at the hands of Saddam, the party decided to support the United States invasion in 2003, following which it has re-emerged into the open and has campaigned in successive elections.

1 Capricious beginnings The spread of Communist thought in Iraq during the early years of the twentieth century is a process largely veiled in mystery. Undoubtedly, dissemination of ideas is a fluctuating and incremental process, one not always caught by the annals of history. The full story of the movement that culminated with the establishment of the Communist Party in 1934 may therefore never be fully known. Yet, fragments have survived, which allow us to recre- ate some of the journey to shed light on the importance of personalities, organization and chance in the diffusion of a clandestine ideology in a traditional society. The Iraqi Communist Party 75 The first stirrings of socialism in what was then the Ottoman Empire occurred in cosmopolitan cities like Cairo, Beirut and Istanbul. Indeed, due to the large community of European workers and ex-pats, Egypt became a hotbed of oppositional ideologies from the late nineteenth century onwards – ranging from reckless anarchism to radical socialism, and anything in between (e.g. the moderate socialist nationalism of Salamah Musa). Follow- ing the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917, and the subsequent establishment of the Communist International (Comintern), a more determined and metho- dological dissemination of communist ideas was undertaken throughout the region. Coupled with the efforts of Socialist Zionist Jews in Palestine, who had joined the waves of colonialist settlers in that country, the Comintern effort was producing results in neighbouring Lebanon and Syria as well.1 In Iraq, however, progress was slower. During the war, parts of northern Iraq had been under Russian occupation and, as is well known, revolutionary ideas were brewing within the ranks of the imperial army. When the Russian war effort collapsed in 1917, the revolution broke out at home, followed by years of civil war, which eventually led to the establishment of Soviet Socialist republics in nearby Armenia and Azerbaijan, and extensive communist influence in neighbouring Iran. Through travel, commerce and pilgrimage, the new radical ideas spread far afield, reaching Mosul, Baghdad and Iraq’s other large cities. Socialist ideas had been strong even prior to the Bolshevik Revolution amongst minority groups, especially Jews and Armenians. In fact, the Hunchak (Hentchak), an Armenian social democratic movement founded in the late nineteenth century by Armenian exiles in Europe, played a very important role in the early socialist movement in Eastern Anatolia. In 1914, the organization plotted with another oppositional party to carry out a coup d’état against the Ottoman government, ostensibly to prevent its genocidal plans to deport the Eastern Anatolian Armenians to another part of the empire. However, their plans were discovered and the party was forcibly broken up by the police. Twenty leading members were hanged, but one of the leaders, a young Iraqi by the name of Arsen Kidour, managed to escape. Kidour, a 26-year-old history teacher from Baghdad, would later play a significant role in the development of the Iraqi communist movement. Inciden- tally, Kidour was helped to escape from prison by Rashid cAli al-Gilani, who at the time was his colleague at the Sultaniyyah School in Baghdad, and who would later become one of the most prominent figures in the Iraqi nationalist movement (Batatu, 2004: 373). One of Kidour’s students at the time was an 11-year-old boy by the name Husayn al-Rahhal, who a decade later would go on to sow the seeds of the political process that led to the formation of the ICP in 1934. While originally belonging to the wealthy class of chalabis, or merchants, Husayn’s father had hit bad luck and his extensive commercial business that traded in the Gulf and with India had collapsed, forcing him to take up employment in the Ottoman army. He quickly emerged through its ranks, and as a senior officer, 76 Johan Franzén he was dispatched to various places – always accompanied by his son. It was during one such séjour, in post-war Germany, that Husayn first encountered communist ideas in practice, as he witnessed first-hand the uprising led by the Spartakusbund in January 1919. Kidour himself went into hiding in Najaf and had in 1917 become a Russian interpreter for the British army that was making its way up the Tigris and Euphrates. From that position, he came into contact with the Russian troops stationed in Khanaqin and Bacqubah, and ended up accompanying them to Armenia when they withdrew from Iraq. Following the establishment of the Independent Armenian Republic after the war, Kidour returned to Baghdad as its consul – a position he retained even after its collapse and the establishment of the Armenian Soviet Republic in 1920 (Batatu, 2004: 389–92). What the exact influence of Kidour on Husayn al-Rahhal was is difficult to ascertain, but it is beyond doubt that the combination of a socialist history teacher and first-hand experience of the revolutionary turmoil in Europe, along with a year-long stint in India where he came in contact with Indian revolutionaries, sufficiently influenced him to create the first ‘Marxist’ study circle in 1924. Together with a group of like-minded people, some of whom would go on to play significant political (and literary) roles (e.g. Mahmud Ahmad al-Sayyid, cAwni Bakr Sidqi, and Mustafa cAli among others), Husayn published a journal called al-Sahifah (‘the newspaper’) in 1924–5 and again in 1927. This publication was the first of its kind in the country, as it was wholly devoted to the dissemination of new ideas, and, although the word Marxism was never mentioned, its substance was clearly of a Marxist nature. Some of these ideas, however, were too radical for Iraqi society of the 1920s – especially its critique of religion – and the journal was eventually shut down by the authorities. Husayn was also part of a group that founded the Soli- darity Club (Nadi al-Tadamun) in 1926. This club was founded on a patriotic platform and attracted mostly young students. Though existing only a short while, the club’s significance is that it drew together many of the future leaders of the communist and nationalist movements, such as Zaki Khairi, cAsim Flayyeh, cAbd al-Qadir Ismacil, Husayn Jamil and cAbd al-Fattah Ibrahim. Thus, although Husayn soon tired of politics and withdrew to lead a life of comfort, his real contribution lay in having created the first platform from which communism grew (Batatu, 2004: 393–403). At the same time, another communist movement was gradually building in the south of the country. This was largely the result of the efforts of one man: Petros Vasili (known by the Arabs as Butrus Abu Nasir), an Assyrian from Tiflis, Georgia. Petros was a professional revolutionary who travelled around Iraq in the 1920s and 1930s to spread the communist creed – until finally banished in 1934. According to his police file, Petros’ family stemmed originally from cAmadiyyah in northern Iraq, but the family had migrated to Georgia during the late Ottoman period. He spoke several regional languages, including Russian, Georgian, Syriac, Persian, Turkish and Arabic. During his time in Iraq, he moved about frequently, living for a while in The Iraqi Communist Party 77 Basra, Baghdad, Bacqubah and Sulaymaniyyah, before settling in Nasiriyyah in the south. It was there that he met Yusuf Salman Yusuf, a fellow Assyrian (albeit Arabized) who would later go on to lead the ICP in the 1940s under the nom-de-guerre ‘Comrade Fahad’. It is unclear exactly when Petros came to Nasiriyyah. According to Batatu, the first southern circle was formed in Basra in 1927 – with or without Petros’ help – and the following year another study circle was formed in Nasiriyyah by Yusuf Salman, his brother Dacud and their friend Ghali Zuwayyed – with the assistance of Petros (Batatu, 2004: 404–6). However, in cAbd al-Jabbar Ayyub’s account, who claims to have been a close friend of the Salman brothers, and to have rented out a magazine for Petros’ tailoring business in Nasiriyyah, Petros did not arrive in the town until 1929 (Ayyub, 1958: 6). Both accounts cannot be correct.2 The story is further complicated by cAbd al-Hamid al-Khatib’s claim to have been the real founder of the Basra study circle, and that he was the person who introduced communism to the Salman brothers and Ghali Zuwayyed. Since al-Khatib later became a police informer and agent provocateur, his story is not entirely believable. Nevertheless, in a police statement, he claimed to have personally deposited photos of the above-named persons in the Soviet Con- sulate at Ahwaz – ostensibly to approve their admission to ‘the Communist Party’ (which did not yet exist) (Batatu, 2004: 405). It is, however, quite likely that al-Khatib’s account is an attempt to enhance his own role. In 1930, al- Khatib was sent as the first Iraqi representative to receive training at the Communist University for the Toilers of the East (KUTV) in Moscow, but something clearly was not to his liking for upon his return in 1933 he became apoliceinformer(al-Kharsan,2001:18–19). Following the expulsion of Petros Vasili from Nasiriyyah in 1930, Yusuf Salman and Ghali Zuwayyed worked hard to spread communist ideas in the south, and to link up with other groups in Baghdad.3 Their publications came from the communists in Baghdad by means of Jamil Tuma, a railway engineer who worked on the Baghdad–Nasiriyyah–Basra line. Thus, from 1930 until the founding of the ICP in 1934, cooperation and coordination between the different communist circles gradually improved (Ayyub, 1958: 11–12). By the end of 1933, the Nasiriyyah and Basra circles – the latter now led by Ghali Zuwayyed – counted some 60 members. In Baghdad, three loose groups had taken shape; one was led by the famous tailor cAsim Flayyeh, who had also received training at the KUTV between 1931 and 1934, together with Qasim Hasan and Mahdi Hashim. A second group was centred around Yusuf Ismacil, Nuri Rufacil and Jamil Tuma. The third was led by Zaki Khairi, who as may be remembered had been one of Husayn al-Rahhal’s disciples. Despite the varied and meandering routes that communist ideas had thus travelled, it is clear that their ultimate source was the Bolshevik Revolu- tion and especially the creation of the Comintern. As we have seen, the influence of these two sources took either an indirect route, as in the case of Zaki Khairi – via the Tadamun Club, Husayn al-Rahhal, Arsen Kidour and the left wing of the Armenian Hunchak Party – or a more direct one through 78 Johan Franzén Comintern propagandists such as Petros Vasili and through the influence of neighbouring communist parties in Syria and Lebanon, the training of select individuals at the KUTV in Moscow (Batatu, 2004: 411–12). Eventually, all these currents came together to lay the foundations of a single communist organization. However, although the party later decided that 31 March 1934 was the founding date, no documentation has survived to prove this, and in the existing literature – both primary sources by activists involved with the party at the time and the secondary literature in Arabic and English – there is no consensus. Some even claim that the founding did not take place until 1935. Nevertheless, in the account of cAbd al-Fattah Ibrahim, a meeting took place at Qasim Hasan’s house in Bab al-Shaykh, a Baghdad neighbourhood, additionally attended by cAsim Flayyeh, Yusuf Ismacil, Nuri Rufacil, Yusuf Matti, Hasan cAbbas al-Karbasi, cAbd al-Hamid Khatib and others. Whether or not this was the founding meeting, and Ibrahim provides no date for when it took place, it seems reasonable to assume that it was important – by virtue of bringing together people from the various groups – in forming the first nucleus of the ICP.4 According to Batatu, another meeting took place in Racs al-Qarya, Baghdad, on 8 March 1935, led by cAsim Flayyeh, who, since his return from Moscow in August 1934, had assumed the leadership of the Baghdad communists. This meeting was attended by some of the above-mentioned persons and saw the foundation of a new organization – Jamciyyat Didd al-Isticmar (Association against Imperialism).5 In his view, this was therefore the actual foundational meeting – although the name of the Communist Party was not mentioned at the meeting (Batatu, 2004: 431–2). What is undisputed, however, is that in July 1935, the first issue of Kifah al-Shacb (The People’s Struggle) was issued, carrying under its heading the inscription ‘official organ of the Central Committee of the Iraqi Communist Party’ (al-Musawi, 2011: 53). The new organization was, however, a far cry from the communist vanguard Lenin had envisaged in What Is to Be Done? – made up mostly of ill- disciplined ‘coffeehouse intellectuals’ whose favourite pastime seemed to be grand philosophical debates and rhetorical orations rather than the more mundane task of grassroots organization. With a few exceptions, their backgrounds and life experiences had been those of the relatively comfortable middle classes of Iraqi society; they were lawyers, teachers, civil servants, students and professionals. Thus, while they undoubtedly witnessed poverty, squalor and hardship surrounding them, this suffering had not been experienced first-hand. They were young men who liked to meet in cafés and debate and argue. Discipline, subordination and chains of command did not exist in the new organization. Consequently, arguments soon led to bickering; disagreements led to splits. Following the incorporation of Zaki Khairi’s group in March 1935, Yusuf Ismacil, Nuri Rufacil and their supporters withdrew from the organization a month later. The remaining group, led by cAsim Flayyeh, Mahdi Hashim and Qasim Hasan, and joined by Khairi and Yusuf Matti, decided that the main task was to publish a paper, hence the The Iraqi Communist Party 79 publication in July of Kifah al-Shacb. As a sign of the new party’s close association with international communism, it was also decided to despatch Qasim Hasan to attend the Seventh World Congress of the Comintern that took place in Moscow during the late summer that year (Batatu, 2004: 434–5). Although Yusuf Salman was not part of the Baghdad groups that founded the ICP, it is clear that he and the southern communists were in close contact with them. In fact, Yusuf himself travelled frequently to Baghdad in 1933, took part in their meetings and exchanged information and new publications (Habib & al-Dacudi, 2003: 131). Still, it is also evident that the founding of the party was largely the affair of the Baghdad communists, in particular cAsim Flayyeh, who took control of the new party. Whether Yusuf was dis- gruntled by this is not clear, but he decided to leave Iraq and embark on a journey of exploration of the neighbouring Arab lands. He left Nasiriyyah for Basra in late August 1934, and from there he travelled to Kuwait. Later he visited the emirates of the Gulf, before eventually coming to Syria, where he met with the secretary of the Syrian Communist Party, Khaleid Bakdash. According to Ayyub’s account, which is not entirely believable as he assumes a generally hostile attitude to the communists, Yusuf fell out with Bakdash – ostensibly because he wanted Bakdash to support him to become secretary of the ICP whereas Bakdash preferred cAbd al-Qadir Ismacil (Ayyub, 1958: 20– 2). Be that as it may, other sources suggest that the Central Committee of the ICP had actually decided to send Yusuf, or ‘Sacid’, which was his party name at the time, to Moscow to study at the KUTV (Habib & al-Dacudi, 2003: 137). In late 1934 or early 1935, however, before reaching Moscow, he met in Beirut with Mahmud al-Atrash, who was the Arab representative on the executive committee of the Comintern. Yusuf reached Moscow sometime during 1935, and pursued studies there until 1937, before ultimately returning to Iraq in January 1938. Undoubtedly, the experience of studying at the KUTV had a profound impact on someone like Yusuf who was already a committed communist, but whose understanding of Marxism-Leninism, as well as the strategy and tactics of the popular struggle and the intricacies of organizing a party, was somewhat limited. In Iraq, very few Marxist books were available, and those that existed were mostly not translated into Arabic. In Moscow, however, Yusuf was exposed to the full library of Marxism- Leninism, and he was an eager student (Habib & al-Dacudi, 2003: 158–9).

2 Iron-fist discipline, setbacks and revolution Back in Iraq, the new party was showing signs of progress, despite the bickering. When in October 1936 a military coup led by General Bakr Sidqi overthrew the government (the first such incident in the Arab world), the ICP reacted swiftly. Since the coup had the support of the leftist al-Ahali group, and because Sidqi formed a new government of mostly left-leaning civilians, the ICP decided to support the move. The party took its followers to the streets and joined in the popular demonstrations in support of the new 80 Johan Franzén government, and urged its members to join the newly created Association of People’s Reform (Jamciyyat al-Islah al-Shacbi). Despite some limited reform and elections during the winter of 1936–7 that saw the election of two people, cAbd al-Qadir Ismacil and cAziz Sharif, who were close to the party, things soon took a turn for the worse. In the spring of 1937, Bakr Sidqi suddenly attacked communism as a creed and declared that his government would ‘crush any movement’ that was against the monarchy. Eventually, the progressive elements in the government resigned, and Sidqi himself was later assassinated – thus ending this first experiment of ‘people’s power’ (Batatu, 2004: 439–44). Soon, however, new disagreements led to further splits. Zaki Khairi, who by now had taken over the leadership, left the party along with his followers. At the same time, the communists, impressed by the swiftness with which the army had taken power the previous year, now began to work actively to spread communist ideas within the army. A struggle between Khairi’s group and the remainder of the ICP now ensued, especially in the Radiomen Regiment (Fawj al-Mukhabarah). In that regiment, the split was most plain to see; on one side was Corporal Ismacil, supported by Khairi and his followers, and on the other was Corporal cAli cAmer, supported by the rest of the party. Due to the open rivalry between the two groups, the clandestine activity was discovered, and the cells, which numbered some 400 soldiers and non-commissioned officers throughout the army, were broken up. cAli cAmer, along with sergeants cAbd al-Rahman Dacud and Dahi Fajr, were sentenced to death for their involvement (although this was later commuted). Khairi himself received two and a half years in prison (Ayyub, 1958: 13; Batatu, 2004: 445–6). The remnants of the two groups eventually came together under the leadership of cAbdallah Mascud, a Shici from the south. Although Yusuf Salman returned to Iraq in early 1938, he never remained in one place for very long, and what was left of the party continued under Mascud’s helm for some time. In 1940, however, a deal was struck to pay Yusuf a monthly allowance in return for him settling permanently in Baghdad and actively helping the party. This allowed Yusuf to become a professional revolutionary who devoted himself wholeheartedly to the life and death of the party (Batatu, 2004: 447–9). When Mascud was arrested the following year, the leadership of the ICP naturally landed in Yusuf’s lap (Batatu, 2004: 492). From then to his death on the gallows in 1949, he would lead the party with an iron fist under the nom-de-guerre ‘Comrade Fahad’. Over the coming years, Fahad pains- takingly carried out a complete overhaul of the party organization. He weeded out those he deemed to be mere ‘coffeehouse communists’ and replaced them with loyalists – even if they had no previous association with the party. This caused much resentment and resistance within the ranks, but through sheer determination (and indirectly aided by the occasional arrest of dissidents by the police) he created an organization with strict discipline, subordination and a chain of command. By the time of the party’s First Conference in 1944, the process had been largely completed. This could additionally be seen at the party’s First Congress, held in February 1945, The Iraqi Communist Party 81 which attested to the strength of his leadership (Franzén, 2011: 39–41). Around him, Fahad gathered a close-knit group of people he trusted: Zaki Basim, a Sunni from a humble background who became Fahad’s protégé; Muhammad al-Shabibi, the son of a Najaf calim (religious scholar) who between 1944 and 1946 was in charge of the whole southern party administrative area; cAli Shukur, a Sunni proletarian from Baghdad; and Ahmad cAbbas, the son of a Sunni fellah (poor peasant) (Batatu, 2004: 509–10). What made these men stand out were not just their comparatively modest backgrounds – with the exception of Muhammad al-Shabibi – but the fact they had not previously held important positions in the party. They therefore owed their positions to Fahad, and showed an absolute devotion to his leadership. The establishment of a strong ICP under Fahad coincided with a brief period of political liberalization during and immediately after World War II. Anti-communist police repression had been somewhat relaxed during the war to appease the Soviet Union, and after the war, the liberalization was extended to the political system in an attempt to stave off revolution. Inflation, profiteering and smuggling during the war had led to a post-war situation where a small group of wealthy shaykhs who controlled most of the agricultural lands that grew crops, and the merchants producing consumer goods for the British army had grown enormously rich, whereas the rest of the population was considerably poorer than before the war. Since the arrival of the British during the First World War some economic changes had started to happen, although in general the country remained undeveloped and poor. British policy had empowered tribal shaykhs who, coupled with legislation brought in by the Ottomans in the nineteenth century to protect private property, had become wealthy landowners as they took over previously col- lectively owned tribal lands. There existed in Iraq little in terms of a national industry, although the country had been gradually incorporated into the global capitalist market as an exporter of grain, and from the 1930s onward, of oil. Revenues from oil soon became Iraq’s main source of income, although the production and sale of oil was controlled by the Iraq Petroleum Company (IPC), owned by foreign interests. A small indigenous working class eventually developed, mostly employed in the oil sector and a few other industries. However, in 1951 only about 8 percent of Iraq’s production came from the industrial sector, and the vast majority of Iraqis still depended for their livelihoods on the agricultural sector (Farouk-Sluglett & Sluglett, 2003: 35). Under the brief premiership of Tawfiq al-Suwaydi (February to May 1946), a liberal experiment took place with free elections, lifted press censorship and licensing of political parties and trade unions. This created an unprecedented outburst of political activity. The communists were quick to utilize the situation and soon the ICP was involved in demonstrations and trade union activity throughout the country. Much of the communist activity focused on the large-scale enterprises that were foreign-owned, such as the IPC, or foreign-managed, such as the railways and the port of Basra, which were operated and controlled by the British. Following much work to organize the 82 Johan Franzén railway workers, especially at the railway workshop at Schalchiyyah, a license for a railway union was eventually granted on 7 September 1944. Soon, a third of all railway workers had become members of the new union – almost entirely due to the efforts of the ICP. To try to improve the poor conditions of its members, the union’s president, cAli Shukur (Fahad’s right-hand man), ordered a national strike on 15 April 1945, which was met with all-out repression by the authorities. Eventually, the pressure on the workers became too great and they reluctantly returned to work, with the result that the union split into factions and was not revived until after the 1958 revolution. A similar story happened in Basra, where the party had campaigned for a Port Workers’ Union, which was finally licensed on 15 August 1945. That union quickly drew ca. 60 percent of the port workers as members, but following a major strike in May 1947, and others in April and May of the following year – met with fierce repression as well – the union eventually petered out. It was in the oil sector, however, that the communists focused most of their attention (and met the greatest resistance by the authorities). They gradually built cells of communist workers and sympathizers at oil installations throughout the country, but due to the opposition of the all-powerful IPC, they were never able to obtain a license for a union. In July 1946, the communists ordered a national strike, which was heeded by some 5,000 oil workers. On 12 July, in Gawurpaghi outside Kirkuk, demonstrating oil workers were set upon by mounted police, who killed at least ten and injured a further 27 workers. Following the incident, the oil company announced it would increase wages for the workers and generally improve conditions, but the killings had forever changed labour relations in the country (Batatu, 2004: 616–24). Terri- fied by the strength demonstrated by the ICP, the regent, cAbd al-Ilah, eventually ended the liberalization experiment and appointed the hardliner Arshad al-cUmari as the new prime minister. He promptly brought back martial law and severe repression of the political parties (Franzén, 2009: 83). During the new suppression drive, Fahad and his disciple Zaki Basim, along with other leaders and members, were arrested in January 1947. In June, they were brought to trial – accused of having ‘foreign sources of income’, contacts with ‘a foreign state’ (the Soviet Union), incitement to armed insurrection and propagation of communism among the armed forces (which since 1938 had been punishable by death). A few days later, following a shambolic pretence of due process where one of the defence lawyers, Kamil Qazanchi, was arrested after pleading on behalf of the accused, Fahad and Zaki Basim were sentenced to death. Ibrahim Naji Shumayyel, the Jewish apothecary in whose house they had been apprehended, also received the same verdict. Eventually, however, the death sentences were commuted (Batatu, 2004: 537–41). When a major outburst of popular protests broke out in early 1948 – known as al-Wathbah (‘the leap’) – the ICP therefore missed its leader and most capable cadres. As a result, the demonstrations that protested the signing of a new Anglo-Iraqi Treaty at Portsmouth in January were initially dominated by other political parties. Soon, however, the Communists could The Iraqi Communist Party 83 regroup and gradually took charge of the protests. The Wathbah culminated in late January with the regent’s refusal to approve the new treaty. Protests did not subside, however, and the police proceeded to massacre hundreds of unarmed protesters in cold blood. The prime minister, Saleh Jabr, fled for his life to escape the angry masses. The regent appointed a Shici sayyid and veteran nationalist leader, Muhammad al-Sadr, as the new prime minister to appease the crowds. Eventually this calmed the situation and over the coming weeks and months protests petered out. For the ICP, the Wathbah was a stern test. On the one hand, it had demonstrated that the communists, by virtue of their superior organization, easily could take over and lead popular protests. On the other hand, it created a new radicalism that stretched the already depleted organization to its limits. Following the arrest of Fahad and most of the leading cadres, the party simply was not in a position to lead an all-out assault on the monarchy.6 By the end of 1948, the party’s radical adventure almost caused it to be completely crushed by the authorities. The leading cadres and organizers were captured by the police. When new cells were established, they too were broken up before they could achieve anything. The clandestine printing press was found and destroyed. Party registers and correspondence were discovered, leading to new arrests. Breakdown of individual communists through severe torture eventually revealed all the party secrets. Hundreds of communists, including almost every senior leader, were captured. Those that avoided arrest fled the country or gave up political activity altogether. With the new evidence that was uncovered, Fahad and Zaki Basim – along with another Politburo member, Muhammad al-Shabibi – were brought before a court martial. The accusation this time was that they had led the party, and therefore the protests during the Wathbah, from inside the prison. Once more, they were sentenced to death, and this time there was no commutation. On 14 and 15 February 1949, they were hanged in different Baghdad squares and were left hanging for hours to deter future would-be communists (Batatu, 2004: 567–8). It now looked as if the communist movement in Iraq had been defeated once and for all. Nevertheless, over the coming decade the ICP bounced back. The few remaining communists who were not behind bars gradually rebuilt the bat- tered party. To begin with, they were only a handful of youngsters – minors even – but through determination and riding on the general revolutionary wave sweeping the country the party’s fortunes soon changed for the better. To no small degree was this achievement down to the leadership of a young Kurdish communist by the name Bahac al-Din Nuri, who led the ICP from mid-1949 until he was arrested in 1953. The revolutionary turmoil of the Wathbah was repeated in late 1952 when an Intifadah broke out following the regent’s refusal to reform the political system, and also inspired by the revolution in Egypt during the summer that year. The ICP took a leading role during the protests that erupted, and when leaders of other political parties were arrested in government clampdowns, the party’s clandestine nature proved its worth, as most of the communists were able to avoid arrest. As 84 Johan Franzén during the Wathbah, the authorities responded heavy-handedly to the protests, killing several protesters. Eventually the Intifadah was defeated when the regent appointed the Kurdish chief of staff, General Nur al-Din Mahmud, as the new prime minister. He declared martial law and deployed the army to clamp down on the protests and carried out mass arrests (Franzén, 2011: 61– 3). Almost 3,000 were arrested, and 958 persons were sentenced to prison and two to death (Sibahi, 2003: 70). A few years later, another Intifadah broke out. Again, Egypt was the inspiration when during the so-called Suez Crisis in 1956 it was invaded by Israeli, British and French forces. This ‘tripartite aggression’, as it became known in the Arab world, caused much consternation throughout the region. Iraqis, along with Arabs everywhere, rallied around Egyptian president Gamal cAbdel Nasser’s leadership to resist the invasion. For the ICP, the attack came at a crucial time. Earlier in the year, the pivotal Twentieth Con- gress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union had adopted the ‘peaceful road to socialism’ thesis that theoretically had opened up the possibility of a non-violent revolution and a gradual transition to socialism. In September, the ICP held its own conference. This took place after a successful reunification of the party’s ranks, following a split a few years earlier. The party was now led by a troika consisting of the new first secretary Husayn Ahmad al- Radi (known by his party name, ‘Salam cAdel’–‘just peace’), Jamal al- Haydari and cAmer cAbdallah.7 At this Second Conference, the new Soviet line was unanimously adopted. Despite the violent nature of recent popular protests, the ICP now thought that peaceful revolution was possible in Iraq. Within a few weeks of the conclusion of the conference, the Suez Crisis broke out, however, showing how erroneous that assumption had been. The party leadership now made a U-turn, and wholeheartedly supported Egypt’s resistance of the invasion forces. Off the back of the popular demonstrations in support of Egypt, the Iraqi communists went on to organize a popular uprising in the small town of al-Hayy, managing to hold it throughout December. Following the brutal suppression of the uprising by the army, and the execution of two local communists, cAli al-Shaykh Hamud and cAta Mahdi al-Dabbas, the party issued a self-criticism to acknowledge that its stance supporting peaceful revolution had partially been wrong in light of the Suez Crisis (Franzén, 2011: 70–7). In general terms, though, the ‘peaceful road’ line was not abandoned, but rather became a central tenet of ICP’s new outlook. At the centre of the new theory was its reassessment of the so-called ‘national bourgeoisie’, which now was seen as an essentially progressive force. The role of the communist party in the colonial world would henceforth be to support this class in ‘democratic revolutions’ against colonialism/imperialism. When Iraq erupted in revolution on 14 July 19588 – following a coup carried out by a group of military men calling themselves the ‘Free Officers’ (emulating the Egyptian ‘Free Officers’ that took power in 1952) – the new line was slavishly followed. The ICP leadership quickly identified the leader of the coup, Brigadier cAbd al-Karim The Iraqi Communist Party 85 Qasim, as a representative of said ‘national bourgeoisie’–and the coup was construed as a ‘democratic revolution’ (despite a conspicuous lack of actual democracy). During the next few years, the ICP – by virtue of the support it rendered to the new regime – would play a pivotal role on the Iraqi political scene.

3 ‘Arab socialism’, authoritarianism and the ‘non-capitalist road’ to disaster The Qasim years (1958–63) marked a watershed moment in Iraqi history. For the first time, the country had broken free from imperialism and foreign control and embarked on its own national path. The year following the revolution was arguably the most politically exuberant in Iraq’s modern history. Political parties and groups – communists, leftists, liberals, Kurdish nationalists, Iraqi nationalists, pan-Arabists, Nasserists and Bacthists – fought in the new political space that had opened up with the revolution. Iraq’s future was at stake; in which direction should it head? Two broad strands gradually consolidated; those who rallied around Qasim and his generally progressive ideology of social justice, sovereignty and Iraqist nationalism. On the other side stood those who favoured a pan-Arabist future – whether as part of a wider Arab union under the leadership of Nasser or with Iraq at the helm. The ICP very quickly came down on Qasim’s side, and during the first year of the revolution provided a valuable support to his regime – arguably helping it to survive. Tensions developed, and soon differing political visions gave birth to violence. ’Abd al-Salam ’Aref, Qasim’s brother-in-arms, broke away and became a rallying point for the pan-Arabist forces. Following a plot to overthrow Qasim in December, ’Aref and other officers were arrested and sentenced to death (albeit eventually commuted). In March 1959, a big showdown took place in the city of Mosul. There a planned coup – supported by Nasser – was set to take place. The ICP, however, sniffed out the plans and brought their supporters to the city, and all-out street fighting ensued in which the communists were triumphant.9 Following Mosul, Qasim clamped down in earnest on the nationalists and created an irreparable chasm between himself and the pan-Arabists, and an impossible position for the communists who from then on were branded anti-nationalists, or Shu’ubis. For the ICP, the choice to support Qasim was natural following the revolution. Adhering to the theory of ‘democratic revolution’ under the leadership of the ‘national bourgeoisie’, he seemed to fit the bill. The problem, though, was that the party, due to its countrywide and cross-sectarian support – which had been augmented manifold since the release of political prisoners following the revolution – was the strongest political force in the country, and yet it deliberately chose to play second fiddle to Qasim. Moreover, when the ICP demanded political representation in the government, following its invaluable support at Mosul, Qasim responded by turning on the party. From mid-1959 86 Johan Franzén onwards, Qasim deliberately targeted the communists, and eventually he began releasing nationalists from prison to achieve a power balance. Despite this dramatic change, which by the latter stages of Qasim’s rule amounted to outright persecution of communists, the ICP stuck to defending the regime to its end – at least theoretically. This meant that when Qasim was finally overthrown in a Ba’thist coup in February 1963 (carried out together with ’Abd al-Salam ’Aref whom Qasim had released in line with the above policy), the communists were virtually defenceless against the nationalist onslaught. In the months following the coup, thousands of communists and Qasim supporters were rounded up, tortured and killed by Ba’thist ‘National Guards’–as revenge for Mosul.10 Once more, the ICP was on the verge of being crushed. Many of its senior cadres – including the first secretary, Salam ’Adel – were captured and killed. The rest fled to Kurdistan in the north, or abroad to Eastern Europe (Franzén, 2011: 126–31). In November 1963, the Ba’thists themselves were overthrown by ’Aref and his supporters. Over the coming years, ’Aref proceeded to resume some sort of normality in Iraqi politics. Despite earlier being an avid Nasserist, negotiations with Egypt to form a federated state came to nought. ’Abd al-Salam ’Aref died suddenly in a helicopter crash in 1966, but was succeeded by his brother, ’Abd al-Rahman ’Aref. The ICP, whose leadership by now mostly resided abroad, cautiously decided to support the ’Aref regime – largely because it had ended the Ba’thist terror.11 The key to this support was the Soviet theory of ‘non- capitalist development’. In short, this theory argued that Third World countries might bypass the capitalist stage on their route to socialism – due to the influence of the ‘socialist camp’. In the Middle East, the pivot of this way of thinking was the changing role of Egypt under Nasser. With increasingly close relations between the Soviet Union and Egypt, Nasser was re-envisioned as representing a particular brand of Middle Eastern socialism –‘Arab socialism’. Thus, despite falling out with Nasser back in 1959 when he had tried to overthrow Qasim, the ICP now made a U-turn and came out in support of him, declaring that Egypt had embarked on a ‘non-capitalist path’ to socialism. Iraq under ’Aref also had the potential of ‘non-capitalist’ development – as argued in the seminal pamphlet Hawla al-Tatawwur Ghayr al-Ra’smali fi l-’Iraq (On Non-Capitalist Development in Iraq), written by the Central Committee member ’Aziz al-Hajj in February 1965 (al-Hajj, 1965). This assessment, however, created a deepening division within the party. The rank-and-file who continued to live and operate inside Iraq resented the new line. In their view, ’Aref was just as bad as the Ba’thists. Eventually, these disagreements came to a head, and by 1967 led to a full-scale split in the party, and the formation of the central command group (al-Qiyadah al-Markaziyyah), which launched an armed rebellion in 1968 (Franzén, 2011: 147–83). In July 1968, the Ba’thists once more seized power, and this time they would hold on to it. Over the period 1968–73, the Ba’thists pursued a stick- and-carrot tactic against the ICP. At times, there would be relentless persecution with communists being murdered in the streets, and at other times The Iraqi Communist Party 87 there were reconciliation attempts. Eventually, these attempts resulted in the signing of a ‘National Front’ between the ICP and the Ba’th Party in 1973. This came after improved Soviet–Iraqi relations – with Saddam Husayn heading a delegation to the Soviet Union in 1972 that led to a ‘Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation’ being signed in April. The Ba’thists also nationalized the Iraqi oil industry in the same year, again with Soviet assistance. Thus, despite the fractious relationship between the Ba’th Party and the ICP, the Iraqi communists eventually re-evaluated the regime and entered a period of cooperation that would last between 1973 and 1979 (Franzén, 2011: 206–15). Gradually, however, this relationship crumbled, and when Saddam Husayn in 1979 became president, following the resignation of Ahmad Hasan al-Bakr, all-out repression and terrorization of the communists resumed – on the same lines as the dark days of 1963. Once more, the communists were forced to go into hiding – either in exile abroad or in Iraqi Kurdistan. The party continued to offer resistance to the regime throughout the 1980s and 1990s, but since political activity in the Arab parts of Iraq was virtually impossible, this resistance was inconsequential. When the United States and Britain invaded Iraq in 2003, the ICP joined the group of exile parties supporting the invasion and the removal of Saddam’s regime. Since then, the ICP has tried to re-establish itself on the Iraqi political scene and has taken part in elections. However, in the increasingly sectarian climate of Iraqi politics, and the irrelevance of communism following the end of the Cold War, its support base is miniscule.

4 Conclusion The ICP played a pivotal role in modern Iraqi history. Not only did it draw support from all corners of society and channelled this support through a cross-sectarian ideology of resistance to outside influence in the country and notions of a better future, but it was also able to organize people of different backgrounds and classes into political activity in a country that was said to be perennially dominated by tribal strife and sectarian infighting. While the ICP’s origins undoubtedly can be traced back to the attempts by the international communist movement (the Comintern in particular) to spread communism across the Middle East, it is also indisputable that the party developed far beyond being simply a Moscow-led organization. Due to circumstances of geography and strategic importance, Iraq was never at the fore of Soviet thinking, and so the Iraqi communists were left to fend for themselves most of the time. This was both a blessing and a curse. On the one hand, it allowed the Iraqi communists to develop their own organization as they saw fit, becoming a significant political force in the process by interact- ing with the people and reflecting their ideas and responding to them. On the other hand, the lack of international support meant the ICP was on its own in times of crisis. Thus, for instance, when the Ba’thists massacred thousands of its members and supporters in 1963, the Soviets only cursorily censured them, 88 Johan Franzén and again, in 1979, when Saddam clamped down on the party, this resulted in very little Soviet action. Still, the ICP was ideologically in the thrall of the Soviet Union, as seen in its decision to back the various military leaders that seized power after the 1958 revolution, and ultimately this dependency became its downfall as it was unable to steer an independent course that might have enabled the party to play a more significant role and/or save itself. This ideological shackle, more than the brutal suppression the party faced, was the ultimate cause of the party’s demise and journey into obscurity.

Notes 1 For a more extensive account of this process, see Franzén, 2017. 2 Batatu claims Yusuf Salman first met Petros Vasili in Basra in 1927, but provides no evidence to support it (Batatu, 2004: 489–90). 3 According to the police files perused by Batatu, Yusuf spent the summer of 1930 travelling on foot to neighbouring Arab countries to acquaint himself with ‘the life of the peoples’, including visits to Khuzestan (in Iran), Kuwait, Transjordan, Syria and Palestine (Batatu, 2004: 490). 4 As quoted in al-Musawi, 2011: 53. 5 No doubt inspired by the Comintern front organization the League against Imperialism (Ligue contre l’impérialisme et l’oppression colonial), founded in Bel- gium on 10 February 1927. It should also be noted that in some accounts the new organization was called Lajnat (or ’Usbat) Mukafahat al-Isti’mar wa l-Istithmar – Committee (or League) for Combatting Imperialism and Exploitation (al-Musawi, 2011: 51). 6 For an in-depth account of the Wathbah, see Batatu, 2004: ch. 22. 7 Remarkably, all three came from religious backgrounds. Husayn al-Radi hailed from a family of Najafi Shi’i sayyids. Jamal al-Haydari, a Kurd, also stemmed from a religious background. His uncle was ’Asim al-Haydari, a former Minister of Awqaf (religious endowments). ’Amer ’Abdallah, like al-Radi, came from a family of sayyids, albeit Sunnis. Moreover, his father was a mu’azzin (caller to prayer) (Batatu, 2004: 672–4). 8 That it was a revolution and not merely a coup could be seen in the changes it prompted – most notably the overthrow of the monarchy, the killing of the royal family, the end of British influence and the establishment of a republic. 9 For an in-depth analysis of the Mosul events, see Batatu, 2004: ch. 44. 10 For a fuller account of the Ba’thist measures against the communists, see Sibahi, 2003: 552–8. 11 The policy became known within the party as the ‘August Line’ (as it had been decided at a Central Committee meeting in August 1964), see al-Kharsan, 2001: 124–5.

References al-Hajj, ’Aziz (1965) Hawla al-Tatawwur Ghayr al-Ra’smali fi l-’Iraq: Mulahzat Shakhsiyyah, Baghdad, al-Ghadd. al-Kharsan, Salah (2001) Safahat min Ta’rikh al-’Iraq al-Siyasi al-Hadith: al-Harakat al-Markisiyyah 1920–1990, Beirut, Matba’at al-’Arif li l-Matbu’at. al-Musawi, Kazim (2011) al-Mitriqah wa al-Minjal fi al-’Iraq: Qira’ah fi Kitabat wa Mudhakkirat Qiyadat Shuyu’iyyah, Beirut, Dar al-Farabi. The Iraqi Communist Party 89

Ayyub, ’Abd al-Jabbar (1958) Ma’a al-Shuyu’iyin fi Sujunihim: Haqa’iq Matwiyyah Tanshur li-Awwal Marrah, Baghdad, Matba’at al-Ma’aref. Batatu, Hanna (2004) The Old Social Classes and the Revolutionary Movements of Iraq: A Study of Iraq’s Old Landed and Commercial Classes and of Its Communists, Ba‘thists and Free Officers, London, Saqi (first published by Princeton University Press in 1978). Farouk-Sluglett, Marion & Sluglett, Peter (2003) Iraq since 1958: From Revolution to Dictatorship, London, I. B. Tauris (first published by KPI in 1987). Franzén, Johan (2009) ‘Development vs. Reform: Attempts at Modernisation during the Twilight of British Influence in Iraq, 1946–1958’. Journal of Imperial and Com- monwealth History, 37, 1. Franzén, Johan (2011) Red Star over Iraq: Iraqi Communism before Saddam, London, Hurst & Co. Franzén, Johan (2017) ‘Communism in the Arab World and Iran’. In Naimark, N., Pons, S. & Quinn-Judge, S. (Eds), The Cambridge History of Communism: Volume 2, The Socialist Camp and World Power 1941–1960s, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Habib, Kazim & al-Da’udi, Zahdi (2003) Fahd wa l-Harakah al-Wataniyyah fi l-’Iraq, Beirut, Dar al-Kunuz al-Adabiyyah. Sibahi, ’Aziz (2003) ’Uqud min Ta’rikh al-Hizb al-Shuyu’i al-’Iraqi, Damascus, Manshurat al-Thaqafah al-Jadidah. 5 The Lebanese Communist Party Continuity against all odds

Rosa Velasco Muñoz

1 The history of communism in the Levant Walter Laqueur dates Russia’s attempts to gain a foothold in the Middle East back to before the October Revolution, given that they formed part of the tsar’s imperial desire to rule the Holy Land and Ottoman Greater Syria (Laqueur, 1957). However, Great Britain and France were the powers that successfully realized their ambitions to supplant the Turkish Empire in the region, through the discretionary distribution of the Arab territories in accordance with the Sykes-Picott Agreement (1916). This agreement, devised in secret and with the consent of tsarist Russia, was however later publicized and denounced by Trotsky, and it was declared null and void by the Bolsheviks only a month after their victory in the October Revolution. Later on, the Communist International (Comintern) – once it had come to terms with the failure of the revolutions in Europe – discussed the idea of gradually influencing the ‘awakening’ that the Middle East was experiencing, and how to rechannell the colonized peoples’ calls for independence. As a consequence, the Comintern was critical of the League of Nations, complaining that the body had been responsible for legalizing and helping to shape the ‘imperialist goals’ of the European powers (De Ausburgo, February 1956: 161). Thus the Communist Party, echoing Lenin, did not hesitate to define the organization as an ‘Association of international criminals entrusted with sanctioning every one of the imperialist bandits’ victories’ (Daoud, 1999: 266).1 However, communist policy did not play any kind of effective role until after the Baku Conference in 1920,2 aside from Comintern’s declarations, which merely linked the anti-colonialist upheavals and ‘Eastern’ trade unionism with the revolutionary movement that was ‘exclusively’ represented by communism. In this respect, we should add that the inertia of building ‘representations’ had endured in the Soviet Union (USSR), and especially in what was perceived as a backward, lifeless East, instead of observing it in a framework that was coming to the boil and thus favourable for the search for transformation.3 Halim Barakat claims that scientific socialism and Arabism had different origins; however, the fact that they both featured a need for liberation from The Lebanese Communist Party 91 colonialism meant that they converged at some points, albeit from non-unified standpoints. With regard to the ‘meeting’ between nationalism and Marxism, the Lebanese Shibli Shumayyil (1850–1917) and the Syrian Farah Antun (1874–1922) are considered to be the first Arab intellectuals to present socialism as a feasible ideology evolving through nationalism, as well as one that was capable of taking root among poor workers without any rights.4 How- ever, not only were the people unable to organize themselves as a unified mass in favour of independence, the group of ‘disinherited peoples’ also failed to unite in the revolutionary vanguard; it was men from the educated bourgeoisie who led and influenced both nationalism and socialism, ‘the two basic tenets of Arab revolutionary culture’ (Barakat, 1993: 172). After the capture of Damascus (1920),5 the climate of resistance in the French Levant did not disappear, though it ended up splitting, with limited or localized objectives. After the border had been drawn up between Syria and Greater Lebanon, nationalism was forced to redefine itself in order to cope with the petite politique that Paris had created for the two countries.6 In that respect, Agwani points out that France’s presence and its fixation with maintaining its imperial privileges led to a faction of ‘hothead’ Arab nationalists resorting, to some extent, to fascism-Nazism as a refuge from the metropolis. Meanwhile other, more ideologized local groups consciously embraced the prestige of Soviet communism in their search for independence and historical transformation (Agwani, 1968).7 With regard to the Lebanon that had been devised by Paris, it included the introduction of a discriminatory system that was clearly focused on social inequality, where the private sector prevailed absolutely over the public, and which was firmly controlled by the socio-economic interests of a minority who, in turn, did not hesitate to use all necessary political manoeuvres to maintain their position, while avoiding any inclusion resulting from open competition, or based on social advancement. Thus the French-Lebanese establishment secured the system by constraining it through religious divisions or by forming a societal-sectarian mosaic (in eterno). Society became fragmented into two extreme halves: the unprotected popular masses without any social rights, and the beneficiaries and upholders of the agreement, who were ever vigilant and focused on maintaining their class privileges. Thus, the new country legislated towards political-social-sectarian issues without considering that the fracture might continue to widen, until it finally exploded into civil confrontations in 1958 and 1975 (both of which were disparate, complex and permeated by outside interference).

2 The Syrian-Lebanese Communist Party: creation and rifts Soviet policy was not really interested in the French Levant until after the Congress of the Peoples of the East (Baku, September 1920), which witnessed fervent, fiery speeches by speakers who claimed that the advance of the revolutionary movement was converging towards the ‘great river of international 92 Rosa Velasco Muñoz revolutionary action against capitalism and imperialism’ (Gallissot, 1978: 22). Even so, the Soviet official line continued to lie discreetly dormant until 1924, since it was focused on promoting more immediate geostrategies (tactism) and on ‘the salvation’ of the Soviet revolution. With regard to the earliest socialist voices in the Levant – Antun and Shumayyil – they formed part of the intellectual faction that advocated transformational ideas from committed personal stances, with a structured- moralistic viewpoint (Barakat, 1993: 250) imbued with utopian, liberal and indeed romantic overtones. The fact that when the League of Nations Man- dates were defined (1922), neither of the most closely identified members lived in Lebanon or Syria (owing to the repression being exerted by the Ottoman authorities) did not prevent their influence and prestige from spreading among certain figures living in the French Levant. As for the October Revo- lution, the same free-thinking intelligentsia were monitoring it in Lebanon. These were polyglot intellectuals who were already alert to the practical advances of the Bolsheviks. Though they were mostly Christians (and consequently, ostensibly close to the establishment), they enthusiastically welcomed the universalist idea of a people’s rebellion: action from below to change the system and the living conditions of an exhausted, illiterate population. However, as Gallissot (1978) points out, there was no effective contact link between these first autonomous communists (Rodinson, 1972) who began to proliferate in Syria and Lebanon in the early 20th century and the working- class trade union movement groups. Gallissot described the latter as ‘fragments or islets’ owing to their intrinsic weakness, given that no significant industrial fabric existed, nor any kind of structured proletarian base (Agwani, 1968). It was in 1924 that the visible heads of Syrian-Lebanese communism began to involve themselves openly in the unions, and to strengthen the foundations of embryonic communism. However, the attempted launch of Syrian-Lebanese communism came up against an extra difficulty, given that the native peoples regarded it with distrust, considering it to be something unrelated to them – something ‘from outside’, and at the same time linked to European colonialism and the out- landish foreigners who inhabited the region, such as the immigrant Jews or Zionist colonists who had settled in Palestine (Gallissot, 1978; Flores, 1980b).

2.1 The Lebanese People’s Party Following the beginnings of the unity that had been called for by the National Syrian Congress for the Levant (Palestine, Syria, Lebanon), in 1922 the Lebanese journalist Iskander al-Riashi brought out the first newspaper in Arabic, with the romantic title of The Errant Journalist (Al-Sahafi al-Ta’eh). Based in the city of Zhale (Bekaa), Al-Riashi imbued the newspaper with his own partisan spirit, influenced by the Egyptian Communist Party, with the aim of exposing the poverty and hardship experienced by tobacco workers in the Bekaa area. This area soon became the epicentre for the most energetic The Lebanese Communist Party 93 trade unionism, which the journalist also supported. And so, thanks to Riashi and his contributors, a link was created between the incipient communism in the country and a highly educated unionism. It was important that the newspaper should give a voice to intellectuals who were already viewing the Russian Revolution as the example to follow, in order to bring an end to the system that had been imposed and the local economic elites. While they were not eminent Marxist-Leninist theorists themselves, they did not hesitate to debate the Soviet praxis, and the objective of the proletariat taking power. Consequently, they advocated the creation of a strong political movement that would be situated in the vanguard, and which would bring together exploited workers with a society that was unhappy with colonial imposition. The newspaper became an intellectual-dissident reference point, with the editors’ approach of limiting it to a select Christian minority (Kaminsky & Kruk, 1984: 18). And on 24 October 1924, it was contributors to the newspaper The Errant Journalist, headed by Youssef Ibrahim Yazbek and Fuad Chemali,8 who founded the first party in Lebanon with communist leanings – the Lebanese People’s Party (LPP). The connection between the new party and the newspaper was made clear in this declaration by Yazbek:

We can safely say that this newspaper and its owner were two important factors in organizing my way of thinking. The initial stage of com- mencement of the Marxist, and particularly the communist intellect, should be called the al Sahafi al-Taéh stage. It was our first school for the theoreticians of the communist movement in Lebanon. (Ismael & Ismael, 1998: 5)

As for the absence of the term ‘communist’ in the party’s title, this was owing to the practical distance of the USSR and to its passivity towards the French Levant, though it was also due to the views of Yazbek, given that he decided to distance himself, or not to create a dependency with the Palestine Com- munist Party (PCP), which was now established and led by European Jewish immigrants. Following the creation of the new party with communist leanings, Moscow decided to take a practical approach with the aim of bringing the new organization under its wing, given that the new party’s Levantine leaders made no secret of the admiration and sympathy they felt for the October Revolution. Thus, in November 1924, Joseph Berger, one of the PCP leaders and a spe- cialist in political-socialist movements in the region (and who was thus well aware of the ideology of The Errant Journalist’s columnists) travelled to Beirut. Though he initially introduced himself as a Polish journalist, in fact he had an express mandate from the Comintern that the new LPP should agree to merge with communism, with all the corresponding nomenclature, though not on an independent basis, but as a branch of the PCP (Flores, 1980b; Ismael & Ismael, 1998: 7,8,230; Kaminsky & Kruk, 1984: 18–24). Yazbek and Chemali’s initial reaction was a ﬁrm desire to maintain the independence 94 Rosa Velasco Muñoz of the Lebanese party, while adhering to the materialist principles set by the USSR.9 The LPP’s principles are expressed thus by the party’s creators:

We have founded a party under the name the Lebanese People’s Party with the aim of helping, by all possible means, to develop industry, agriculture and trade in the Lebanon, to propagate the spirits of fraternity among the Lebanese nation, to stop the clergy from using their inﬂuence at the expense of the public good, to support national schools and unify the secular education programme, to bring together workers and farm workers in trade unions to defend their common interests, to use all our inﬂuence to make sure that capital and inheritance are duly taxed, to ensure that Waqf assets are viewed as national assets under the control of the government, and to promote women’s emancipation. (Couland, 1969: 105)

2.2 The launch of the Syrian-Lebanese Communist Party In 1925, while French military power deployed all its strength against the Druze-led resistance, the Comintern remained inactive. This was basically because of the priority that the ‘China question’ represented at that time, whilst acknowledging the importance of the liberation movement directed at the anti- colonial struggle (Kaminsky & Kruk, 1984). Meanwhile the LPP, strengthened by the impetus of the Druze Mountain uprising, was gaining supporters and Chemali was given the task of bringing the strongest and most revolutionary sector of the union movement into the organization. Later on, in a self-criticism that was probably excessive, Yazbek declared that while the elite who had launched communism in the French Levant had ‘the Marxist revolution’ as their objective, their practical work in this respect was being implemented without rhyme or reason (‘We were going on haphazardly’ (Ismael & Ismael, 1998: 9)). To some extent, in the early days of their political activities, these activist-intellectuals advocated the enthusiastic Hegelian image that ideas could change the world, though they were soon brought down to earth, to involve themselves in the problems of exploited workers. In 1925, Yazbek also revealed the variances and ambiguities of the movement in its early days:

Some of us have participated in the establishment of the ﬁrst Arab-led communist party in the East. But was there among us somebody who scientiﬁcally and truly understood Marxism? Was there any of us who read Lenin? Or who has at least read his eternal directive study What Is to Be Done? (Ismael & Ismael, 1998: 9)

Meanwhile, we should mention a group of Armenian activists who, in the early 1920s, began championing socialist ideas, using the Bolshevik Revolution as a The Lebanese Communist Party 95 benchmark. These young men, who were mainly based in Beirut, formed part of an Armenian league which was linked together under the name of Sparta- cus. Led by Artine Madoyan and Aram Yératzian, in January 1925 they dissolved the movement to join the ranks of the LPP, after jointly celebrating May Day. This led to the creation of a new, joint political party – the Communist Party of Syria and Lebanon (CPSL).10 The party’s central committee established its statutes in Beirut at the organization’s ﬁrst conference, on 10 Decem- ber 1925 (Kaminsky & Kruk, 1984: 19). Youssef Ibrahim Yazbek was chosen as the party’s secretary-general. Years later, the workers’ leader Chemali declared that the objective of the new party had been to promote a radical economic transformation for Syria and Lebanon (and their unity), under the transformative praxis of USSR communism.

We called it the Syrian Lebanese Socialist Party … Based on the Third International, the party aims at handing over as early as possible, when- ever there is an opportunity, the ruling power to the proletariat and farmers. This is the cornerstone of our principles. We are nothing but the spokesman of the oppressed working class. (Ismael & Ismael, 1998: 7)

The CPSL supported the uprising in Syria led by the Sultan Pasha al-Atrash, and their communiqués on the subject (broadcast in Arabic, French and Armenian) stated that the rebellion was taking place in coordination with ‘the international communist movement’ in support of ‘the great Syrian revolution’ ((Ismael & Ismael, 1998: 14; Barakat, 1993: 174). But after the uprising had been brutally put down by General Maurice Sarrail, the communists were persecuted, their newspaper was closed down and the leading figures were imprisoned or sent into exile (until the 1928 amnesty law). However, the party became effective at operating underground, and it kept its rank-and-file members on the alert. It even succeeded in holding a secret conference that was attended by leaders of the PCP, loyal supporters of the Soviet official line. It was in 1928, now headed by the resourceful trade union leader Fuad Chemali, that the CPSL publicly joined the Comintern, which to some extent granted it a certain amount of independence from the PCP, though they continued to have close relations for a while (Ismael & Ismael, 1998: 19; L’Orient Le Jour,5 February 2007). The acronymic union of Lebanese and Syrian communists had been promoted by Moscow through the PCP and the actions of Joseph Berger and Paole Sîon, who, thanks to their Marxist-Leninist discourse (with full awareness and perfectly structured), succeeded in moderating the intellectual Yazbek’s reservations about the Palestinian communist leaders.11 Meanwhile, Chemali, who was much more practical (a veteran of Egypt) and who had a ground-level ideological vision that was linked with the rank-and-file of the workers’ organizations, was much more open to the idea of receiving support and guidance from the Pales- tinian communists. And so in 1931, both parties – the Syrian-Lebanese 96 Rosa Velasco Muñoz Communist Party and its Palestinian counterpart – held a joint congress to declare to the world, with one voice, their unwavering adherence to the rulings of the 6th International Communist Congress. Moscow’s directives did not allow ambiguity or apathy, as a result of which the joint proclamation by the congress participants (and which was very much to Chemali’s liking) focused on the obligation to carry out an active struggle against the national bourgeoisies by means of a common front of ‘workers and farmers, to defeat capitalism and imperialism’. All this was to be carried out within a regional united framework, so as to also solve ‘the Arab national question’ (Kaminsky & Kruk, 1984: 19; Gallissot, 1978: 24–5). During Chemali’s tenure as secretary-general (1926–32), the CPSL evolved towards the Bolshevik re-education of its members, the numbers of which had increased thanks to class unionism. This produced new cells that were particularly active in Beirut, Tripoli and Damascus, and within the socio-economic context of the Great Depression. The alliance between unionism and the party was particularly visible at the demonstrations in March 1931 to protest against high electricity prices. Thanks to the mobilization of the CPSL, working together with the affected workers, a 40 percent reduction in energy prices was finally achieved (Yehya, 2015: 257). Chemali’s time at the head of the party came to an end when the Syrian Kurd Khalid Bakdash took power, supported by a group of young men whom Moscow rapidly re-educated in Marxist-Leninist ideology, at the same time as they were properly screened by the prevailing Stalinism. Thus in November 1932, Fuad Chemali was uncompromisingly expelled from the party. Tareq and Jacqueline Ismael (1989) argue that his expulsion marked a turning point for the party, and led to a break between the communists in Syria and Lebanon. Without doubt, Chemali had succeeded in opening up the party and making it an organization that was visible not only to the proletariat but also to a part of Levantine society that refused to accept either the outdated colonialism or the liberalism that existed to serve the ruling elites. Meanwhile, Yazbek’s highly attractive intellectual-idealistic touch (or aura) had persisted during Chemali’s period of leadership thanks to the party press. At the age of just 20, after having spent two years in Moscow immersing himself in Marxist-Stalinist revolutionary principles, Khalid Bakdash ejected Chemali from the party. Bakdash was an important actor in the party’s split in 1944, and later on he gained absolute leadership of the Syrian Communist Party, where he would undergo several major upheavals, including his confrontation with Nasser and the latter’s conception of the United Arab Republic. During Bakdash’s time at the head of the CPSL, the party began to disengage from the PCP (which was, in turn, in conflict and heading for a split), to look towards the French Communist Party, in addition to adopting the Moscow directives. Undoubtedly Bakdash believed at the time that his French counterpart would use his influence in Paris to bring about the disintegration of the Mandates;12 however, this division of his affections (along a Paris–Moscow The Lebanese Communist Party 97 axis) resulted in some serious conflicts, to the point of certain changes of course. For example, in September 1939, when, after Hitler and Stalin had signed their Nonaggression Pact, the CPSL found itself obliged to ‘understand it’ (for the moment), while at the same time it condemned ‘French imperialism’. Thus, a critical situation took place in the party – it was banned, its organ of communication propaganda was shut down and its most visible leaders were arrested (Nehmé, 1984; Kaminsky & Kruk, 1984; Yehya, 2015: 301). While Léon Blum’s rise to power in the Popular Front (1936–8) led the CPSL towards an ailing bipolarity that was difficult to maintain (before either Paris or Moscow), it was soon consolidated in an unconditional alliance with Russian communism. Meanwhile, during the harsh years of repression by the ruling power, the party maintained its visibility among the urban strata, which turned it into a resistance benchmark against colonialism. And following the creation of the Antifascist League (1938), the Lebanese-Syrian communists succeeded in approaching important non-affiliated figures who gave it their support. However, during the period of pro-French expectation (or alliance with the French Communist Party), the Levantine communists, headed by Bakdash, clashed with the nationalist movements which, for their part, were still calling for independence from the metropolis. What is more, in Lebanon’s national election in 1937, the party did not obtain any seats, despite being relatively well established and the respect it had garnered.

3 Two countries, two parties: the Lebanese Communist Party and the Syrian Communist Party In the Lebanese elections in 1943, none of the four communist candidates managed to gain a seat, despite having run an electoral campaign that was rather mild or ambiguous, in the sense that it presented itself as an organization that sought to introduce moderate democratic reforms, and without resorting to such strategies as nationalizing foreign companies (Dutra Junior, 2014: 345). During this election, progressive voters proved reluctant to trust a party that had flirted with France via the Popular Front, albeit only briefly and under the assumption that it would help to bring about independence for the nation. But above all, what weighed on the party was its image of an organization that was firmly established within Moscow communism. The understanding shown by the party’s leaders for the Berlin–Moscow Pact had not been forgotten, though in fact it had been purely contextual. This was all explained in great detail by its communication organ, which subsequently started launching attacks on ‘Hitler’s minions’ in Lebanon and calling for a ‘defence of democracy’ against Nazism-fascism (Nordbruch, 2009: 124; Yehya, 2015: 301). Thus it could be said that, to some extent, the term ‘communist’ was one that weighed particularly heavily against the party. In 1943 a Soviet embassy was opened in Beirut, after which contact between the two countries increased significantly. In that same year, Lebanon 98 Rosa Velasco Muñoz gained formal (if not real) independence from France, at the same time as Great Britain increased its meddling in an attempt to wrest territorial power from its European competitor in the region. And in the following year, the CPSL split into two organizations, though the indefatigable Bakdash continued to be ‘Moscow’s eye on the Arab world’ (AbuKhalil, 2009).13 During the new phase of separate patriotism, Levantine communism had to fit into a traumatized environment following the creation of the new ‘arti- ficial’ state, which included the involvement of the major powers and Israel. Meanwhile, the Cold War policies that were transposed onto the region caused fresh rifts in the social fabric of each of the independent countries, and the political parties experienced the pressures of this situation of ideological confrontation.14 Thus, the split between the Syrian-Lebanese communists took place in a context of independence, and through a formal proposal of constant future collaboration between their respective secretariats. Bakdash15 maintained his position as leader of the PCS, and Farajallah el-Helou became secretary-general of the LCP, until 1946, when he was ousted by Nicolas Shawi. The latter was duly replaced by the historic figure Georges Hawi, who was assassinated in Beirut in 2005.

4 The Communist Party and its adaptation to the context of Lebanon The LCP was defeated in the 1947 legislative elections, after social acceptance had failed to translate into support from voters. The party’sofficial pro-USSR orientation led it once again into critical situations that were hard to explain to the Lebanese people and to Arabs in general. Stalin’s active support at the United Nations for the partition of Palestine, and months later the immediate recognition of the State of Israel, placed the Lebanese communists in a rather schizophrenic situation. While they respected the Soviet ‘pro-Zionist’ stance, at the same time they made an effort to maintain their commitment to their previous position, that Arabs and autochthonous Jews should coexist together in one single Palestine state, and they attributed all those who opposed the idea to an imperialist-Zionist conspiracy (specifically, to ‘divide and weaken the Arabs’). After that, while helplessly putting up with the USSR’s pro- Israeli stance in the 1948 war, the LCP’s most visible line was the condemnation of the flare-up, while presenting it as a plot devised by King Abdullah (together with his British allies) to prevent an independent state from being established in the Arab part of Palestine (Yehya, 2015: 346; Suleiman, 1967: 88). And now, in what represented a definitive onward headlong rush, the LCP declared that the Palestine issue was in fact a struggle against Anglo-American imperialism together with the reactionary Arab regime stooges, as a result of which they sent out a call to join forces to push for the withdrawal of Arab troops in Palestine. With this shift that was so visible for the population, the Lebanese communist leaders placed themselves on shaky ground, which even time and their categorical rectification has not eliminated completely. According to Agwani The Lebanese Communist Party 99 (1968), the party has been dogged by the ‘stigma’ of this mistake. Never- theless, we should also include a few clarifications in reference to Farajallah el-Helou (1906–59), who stood down as secretary-general of the LCP in 1946. In the eyes of all Lebanese communists today, el-Helou unquestionably stands for values that are particularly symbolic and emotive, as well as for political rationale. To some extent, the party is currently clinging onto this leader’s stub- born attitude in order to come to terms with and explain a few fragments of its history that do not fit into the most current practical-ideological situation. Indeed, when Farajallah el-Helou became leader of the LCP, he did so without concealing his differences in thinking with the Stalinist Bakdash and the followers of the latter’s political line within the LCP. Though these rifts were not overtly aired for the sake of the party, they were localized in the links that had to be maintained with the Soviet regime. While Syrian communism and a significant branch of the Lebanese party were in favour of following every one of Moscow’s directives to the letter, el-Helou wanted containment, to some extent returning to the original principles of Marxism-Leninism. Later on, during the internal debates on the partition of Palestine, and subsequently with the quand- ary of the first Arab-Israeli war, el-Helou tried without success to make his voice heard in Damascus and Beirut. Meanwhile, he reminded his comrades (drawing on earlier addresses) that the struggle against colonial Zionism was a national- Arab question, and thus the communists in the region should adopt an aligned stance, distancing themselves even from the official directives from Moscow. However, el-Helou’s advice was not heeded, and Lebanon’s communists kept to the Soviet official line, though at least one specific sector of the party (including Hawi) did not accept it completely. As for el-Helou’s personal stance, in his opposition to Bakdash with respect to the partition of Palestine territory and the resulting Arab-Israeli war, there has been speculation (or explanations) about a possible link between the Lebanese politician’s autonomy and his assassination in Damascus in 1959. Voices from within his own party have even claimed that Bakdash and the USSR were linked in some way to el-Helou’s death, despite the fact that it was organized and carried out at the time by the union of more interests (Nasserism).16 In 1953, the USSR – led by Khrushchev – began relocating in the Middle East, with shows of greater involvement and support for the Arabs (Flores, 1980a: 24). This gave the LCP a little breathing space, as the party was now free to criticize Zionism-imperialism along with all the despotic regimes in the region. However, in the late 1950s the party began gaining support in Leba- nese society, and numbers of sympathizers began to increase slightly. The party started to gradually detach itself, to some extent, from the working- class aura that Chemali had so deeply instilled in it, to make room for an educated middle-class minority who had social concerns and a politically international outlook.17 By the mid-1960s, groups of workers originating from Lebanese developmentalism had joined the party. Meanwhile, in the Lebanese crisis in 1957–8, the LCP (the views of which were in line with those of the USSR) did not hesitate to oppose the Baghdad 100 Rosa Velasco Muñoz Pact, the Eisenhower Doctrine and President Chamoun’s shift towards the West. However, the party was not officially part of the national agreement drafted by Saeb Salam and Rachid Karami (Dutra Junior, 2014; Ismael & Ismael, 1998), even though the party’s activists joined in with resistance activities against the presence/influence of the United States. Then at one point in the flare-up (1958), the party became involved to defend independence and national cohesion, declaring that the issue over the short term was not about establishing a communist or socialist system. The party’s objective was to liberate the country from foreign rule influence, and to establish a real parliamentary system in which freedoms would be guaranteed for all – citizen equality based on social justice. In 1965, Nicolas Shawi reiterated this approach by emphasizing the party’s route toward socialism through actions that were possibilist and crucial for the Lebanese people: progressive reforms in the economic, administrative and political sphere (Dutra Junior, 2014; Rabushka & Shepsle, 2008; Suleiman, 1967). In the words of the leader Arabi Andari, the 1968 Congress signified ‘the party’s splitting from past dependencies’ to link its future with the ‘rugged’ free spirit of Farajallah el-Helou, ‘the martyr’.18 And the fact is, in the previous year the LCP had undergone a major internal crisis owing to its dependence on the USSR, when a group of young men led by George Hawi expressed resistance to the old guard. In the end the situation was redressed, though the USSR accused the rebel of being a ‘CIA agent’, and subsequently reduced its ‘financial aid’ to the party, though said funding had never been particularly generous (Mroué, 2007). Until 1975, the LCP – despite having been outlawed and spending periods of time in the political shadows – managed to infiltrate its thinking into society beyond its traditional circles. However, it only managed to do so once it had reacted to the trauma of the Arab defeat in 1967, and after carrying out a certain amount of self-criticism, vowing to become involved in the ‘Arab national problem’ and expressing updated social commitments to Lebanon (Nahas, 1980: 8). The intellectual debate took on greater importance. Thus, during the years leading up to the great war of 1975, the communists showed their pioneering leadership against the agencies of the religious, unsupportive state. The LCP informed the people about the union of interests that existed between the ruling elites and Christian right-wing parties, which jointly attacked Palestinian organizations via the national army – an army which, meanwhile, never took action when the country was being attacked by Israeli forces. However, within the complex ideological fabric of the Left, controversies continued to arise, some of them between the communists (as the established, traditional power) and a nouvelle gauche that was highly critical or keen to bring about changes without depending on the past (Nahas, 1980: 8). The political debates that took place up until the armed outbreak enriched the movement, though at the same time they revealed its weaknesses as a bloc at a critical stage when there was a need for consensus. After the Civil War The Lebanese Communist Party 101 broke out (April 1975), all the attention of the parties and their respective militias (including the Palestinians) was focused on the actual war and on the need to increase their military arsenals. One more immediate result was the fact that ideological debate and all those enthusiastic aspirations about politics as a way of transforming or breaking with the system were forgotten. And changing alliances and opportunities replaced critical thinking. The USSR was able to take a broader, more strategic view, while continuing to support or control communism in the Arab Levant. The Soviet leaders saw certain groups as being potentially favourable for their aspirations; groups which, while they claimed to be seeking alternative routes through a ‘new socialism’ or via an autochthonous nationalism-patriotism, represented out- posts against the neoliberal establishment. In this respect, years later Marie Nassif-Debb19 stressed the importance of Soviet support in developing protest movements. She also noted that bilateral relations had been reached between these emerging groups and the Communist Party to the point that Soviet theorists in Khrushchev’s time submitted specific proposals on the possibility of achieving change in the region by following a new strategy based on the general idea of ‘the path to non-capitalist development’.20 After the Palestinian Liberation Organisation was established in the country with the aim of bringing together ideologically disparate forces, Moscow began discussions with each of the Palestinian organizations separately, according to each specific Lebanese or regional context, within the overall framework of the Cold War and maintaining close, supportive links with the most like-minded militias, such as the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, headed by George Habash, one of the LCP’s loyal ideological and military allies. With regard to resistance to Israeli aggression, it is worth noting that the LCP was a pioneer in organizing itself as a defensive organization with local citizen forces, when it became involved in 1968 in creating what was known as the Popular Guard, an armed militia set up to deal with Tzahal attacks in the south of the country. Furthermore, these southern combatants of Shi’ite origin, who had suffered greatly from Tzahal’s discretional onslaughts, aligned themselves with the communists out of necessity, given that they had become isolated from any other political parties. Though the other communities now had several organizations claiming to both defend and represent them, the Shi’ites had been abandoned, and were now mired in poverty and marginalization. Thus, the LCP offered the most immediate respite for their difficulties. According to Andari, the party was not only there to fight Israel (‘it defended them’), it also espoused social justice and economic changes (‘they were poor, and they viewed the LCP as the party of the poor’). How- ever, as a result of the strong leadership of the cleric Musa Sadr (Movement of the Disinherited) and later on the resounding emergence of Hezbollah, the community closed in on itself. Even so, there are still some secular Shi’ite activists who remain loyal to Lebanese communism.21 The party was also part of the Lebanese National Movement (Muslims- Progressives-Palestinians), and during the great invasion of Beirut in 1982, it 102 Rosa Velasco Muñoz was the first political group to commence effective armed resistance against the occupying Israeli army. In this respect, we should mention the renowned ‘Bustros Pharmacy operation’ in the Sanayeh district, followed by other, interlinked operations, such as the one at Ayyub service station in Blat Zuqaq (Mermier, 2010). Georges Hawi as secretary-general of the LCP and Mohsen Ibrahim of Communist Action Organisation in Lebanon announced the creation of a Lebanese National Resistance Front, separate from the Palesti- nian militias that had previously been expelled from the country. They emphasized its secular nature and called on the patriotism of the Lebanese people to fight under one single flag of resistance against occupation by the ‘Israeli enemy’.

5 The Lebanese Communist Party after the Lebanese war The end of the Lebanese war and the collapse of the USSR happened almost simultaneously. And in light of this doubly expectant new situation, the LCP was cast adrift in a crisis from which it could not free itself. The party firmly continued to uphold the flag of secularism in a political context dominated by religious division and having to deal with major internal dissent. Examples of the latter include the long-standing leaders Georges Hawi and Elias Atallah in the year 2000, and then Munir Barakat five years later. The rebel factions, whose ideologies were rather vague but who declared themselves to be ‘reformist’ (L’Orient-Le Jour, 17 September 2007), demanded that the party should be steered towards true ‘democratization’, to leave behind its ‘sclerotic orthodoxy’ and the reflex actions of the past, defined as a supposed ‘Stalinist or hard line’ (Nassif, 2000; Diab, 2012). In 2005, while Lebanese society maximized its sectarian identity into antagonistic blocs, the LCP experienced a certain bewilderment when it came to clarifying its position on the two dominant axes: on one hand, there was ‘Harirism’ (Hattar, 2014), an enemy of Damascus and an ally of the Arab States of the Persian Gulf and Western capitalism-imperialism led by the United States and France (the 14 March Movement); and on the other, there was the Shi’ite religious-political group headed by Hezbollah, which was in favour of maintaining the presence/influence of Syrian Baathism and of actively continuing the armed resistance to Israel (the 8 March Movement). Up until the following year, after Tzahal’s aggressions against the country, the communist leaders opted to distance themselves from the 14 March Movement, at the same time as they aligned themselves with Hezbollah as a necessary national resistance force.22 This alignment continued until 2008, when the communist leaders refused to allow themselves to be dragged into battles of political Shi’itism. In the end, they described the two antagonistic blocs as ‘similar’ (Hattar, 2014) in the sense that they both aspired to perpetuate the ‘sectarian- unsupportive state’, with the help of their respective foreign allies.23 Specifically in relation to the ‘Cedar Revolution’ (2005), we should add that the LCP did not allow itself to be dragged into the explosive euphoria that The Lebanese Communist Party 103 swept through the country. From the outset, the party showed a certain restraint, given the danger that ‘spontaneous’ mobilizations were being managed by imperialist interests seeking to anchor the country within the bloc of the United States and its affiliates in the region. With regard to Syria, the LCP showed a consistent approach, calling for an end to the tutelage of Damascus, while reminding the people that its troops had in fact arrived in Lebanon on request from the president (Suleiman Frangie), and that they had done so to contain the progressive-Palestinian forces of which the LCP formed an active part (1976). It was specifically in May 2005 that the leader Marie Nassif-Debb sent out a warning about the country’s future, declaring that no sooner had they done away with Syria’s economic-political-military presence, ‘we find ourselves on the point of pulling ourselves apart, but now under the watchful eye of our new American, Saudi and French guardians’; powers which, in her view, were pressing to ensure that the religious- unsupportive system carried on undisturbed. Similarly, we should add that the LCP, as well as traditionally having supported unionism, has also defended the rights of the Lebanese. Marie Nassif- Debb continues to call for greater intervention by women in the fight against the national ‘elitocracy’, though from areas of power from which they ‘have until now been shut out’.24 In this respect she admits that her party still has a few outstanding issues: ‘We must also point out that the role of females in our party has only partially improved, which impacted negatively on the role of female communists within municipal councils’.25 And now finally, as a side note, we should mention the concurrence mém- orielle between the LCP and the Syrian Social Nationalist Party (Mermier, 2010), the old rivalry between the two parties who had been allies during the war and in the insurgency front of 1982 against Israeli occupation. Though they were fighting on the same side, they sometimes clashed regardless in the complex or ‘whimsical’ context of alliances in the Lebanese wars (1975–90). The memory of those ‘little wars’ persists today, never completely silenced. It was even present in September’s commemorative events organized to pay homage to the martyrs of 1982.

6 The position of the Lebanese Communist Party in a turbulent regional context We are convinced that the succinct reply (‘complicated’) given by the leader Arabi Andari to the question about the party’s current relations with the Hezbollah militia organization sums up perfectly the hidden workings and contacts between the two parties. And the first discrepancies can be found in the most normal of everyday situations: in the way of life. While progressive communist ideology calls for personal free will, Shi’ite clerics advocate enclosing all the individual’slevels of existence (public and private) within his own dwelling and religion. With regard to the other Lebanese parties, the communists take a firm stance regarding championing the dismantling of the sectarian state, as a 104 Rosa Velasco Muñoz result of which they are often excluded from the political-religious game that presides over the country. With regard to economic issues, while specific groups adopt neoliberal-radical postures and others a calculated ambiguity (the game of ‘no position’, as Andari puts it), the LCP calls for in-depth transformations to the capitalist system and promoting radical social justice for ‘all citizens’. If we discreetly investigate the LCP’s views on the conflict in Syria, we will likewise receive complex responses, though the party’s attitude has nevertheless evolved since 2011, when it rejected the repression exerted by the ‘dictatorial Baathist’ regime, highlighting the ‘disastrous economic policy’ introduced by Bashar al-Asad in favour of ‘neoliberalism’ and which included significant restrictions on unions.26 Since then, before the protraction of the conflict and its militarization, the party leaders have enlarged upon their explanations, admitting that the newly incorporated groups were creating ‘doubts’ for them, as a result of which now they are openly in favour of defeating Islamist terrorism (Jabhat al Nusra and Daesh) (they qualify their statements by saying ‘careful about interfering in Syria’). They subsequently admit that the Hezbollah militia has managed to safeguard the Lebanese border, adding that communist activists from the Bekaa area are also collaborating in its defence. Though at the same time, they specify that Hezbollah is losing its exclusive halo of ‘Lebanese resistance’, given that it is showing an excessive alliance with Iran and with the defence of the al-Asad regime. Thus they claim that Hezbollah is even running the risk of being perceived as an ‘invading’ force while it attempts to take advantage of the old Shi’ite–Sunni split. However, the point on which Lebanese communists agree unreservedly with Hezbollah is to defend the nation by means of firm resistance and with vigilance toward the ‘Zionist state’. The Palestinian cause is a common struggle for both, though the Shi’ite organization often operates a little more opportunistically, or according to its immediate interests, against the ‘Israeli enemy’. With reference to the ‘temporary’ presence of Palestinians in the country since 1948, the veteran Maurice Nohra (a passionate historian), advocates legalizing this through the most essential form of justice, by granting refugees ‘all social rights’. The question of nationality, he adds, is something very different, given that the Palestinians support them, and that they themselves are calling for the right to return, as a result of which the LCP continues to demand (as do the refugees themselves) compliance with international law in this respect. Nohra concludes with two specific synopses: a warning that Lebanon’s current problem is linked with other refugees, those arriving from the war in Syria; and secondly, a call for communists to adopt as their objective ‘one single’ national-Lebanese patriotism, a patriotism that is authentic, secular, supportive and without religious flags of power. In closing, we could say that Lebanon’s communists remain faithful to the axiom of their comrade ‘martyr’ Mehdi Amel: ‘You are not defeated as long as you are resisting’ (Al-Saadi, 2014). And even though dissenting sectors The Lebanese Communist Party 105 accuse the party of having lost the initiative and of simply reacting to events in the political-social setting, the leaders maintain that the party is still firmly behind all oppressed workers, ‘as it always has been’, as well as being on the frontline in support of all citizens’ protest movements.

Notes 1 The USSR finally became a member of the League of Nations in 1933. 2 The Baku Conference (or the ‘Congress of the Peoples of the East’ (1920)). Out of the more than 2,000 participants, only three were Arabs; no record exists as to whether or not they spoke at the event (Chabrier, 1985; Broué, 1997). 3 Edward Said quotes a comment by Marx, ‘They cannot represent themselves, they must be represented’, and goes on to add that certain types of ‘orientalism’ can be found in Flaubert, Victor Hugo, Renan, Conrad and in the works of Marx himself (Said, 2004: 45). 4 We can find a connection between the thinking of these first ‘socialists’ from the Levant and that of the magazine Al-Muqtataf. Created in Beirut in 1876 by two great intellectual-scientists, Fares Nimr and Yacoub Sarrouf, and linked with the American University of Beirut (Centre for Freedom of Thought). 5 In July 1920, General Gouraud quashed the revolt against French rule and occupied Damascus (the Battle of Meysalum). 6 Gérard Khoury shows how France went from deploying a grand politique of entente cordial with the Turkish Empire and its spatial-political designs for the Middle East to involving itself in the formation of isolated spaces under its direct control: the creation of Greater Lebanon, or a territory that was ‘Christian-protected’ from the advance of Arab nationalism (Khoury, 1993). 7 In his dissertation on Arab nationalism and Marxism, Maxime Rodinson speaks about colonialism, describing its ‘significant events’ which had a ‘positive’ effect on colonial impact; he declares that Marxism was one of the most important expressions (critical thought) against the established order of the colonized countries (Rodinson, 1972). Rodinson (1941–7) gave courses on Marxism to Syrian-Lebanese communists. 8 Chemali was expelled by the English authorities from Egypt in August 1923 for his activism in the Egyptian Communist Party and for his trade union work in Alexandria involving Lebanese workers in the city. 9 Later, under a new acronym, Berger would be responsible for connecting the Lebanese-Syrian communists with the Comintern. 10 On 15 May of that year, the CPSL published its first newspaper, Al-Insaniyah (Humanity), to be used for the purposes of propaganda and awareness-raising. The header included the following line: ‘Al-insaniya is your diary, worker, read it and have it read’. The French authorities soon shut the newspaper down under the auspices of a new law (1937–9) (Couland, 1969: 60; Flores, 1980b; Dutra Junior, 2014: 231–2). 11 According to Agwani (1968) and Flores (1980b), the leaders of the PCP were all Jews. The party’s activists were also predominantly Jewish (Ismael & Ismael, 1998). 12 The promise of independence was reaffirmed when the USSR recognized Free France. 13 Bakdash became the first communist to gain representation in an Arab parliament (Damascus 1954). 14 Agwani (1968) summarizes the main participants in the partisan-regional ideological conflict thus: ‘Baath’s socialism, Nasserism, communism and Islamic resurrectionism’. 106 Rosa Velasco Muñoz 15 The indefatigable Bakdash managed to maintain the leadership of Syrian communism until his death (1995), even though the party underwent a schism led by Yusuf Faisal in 1985. The latter, who aligned himself with Mikhail Gorbachev, gave voice to a new organization: the Syrian Communist Party (Unified). After Bakdash’s death, he was succeeded as secretary-general by his widow, the long-standing activist Wissal Farha Bakdash, until her death (2012). Finally, their son, Ammar Bakdash, followed in his parents’ footsteps to become leader of the Syrian Communist Party. 16 We should point out that the events mainly presented here refer to the fact that Farajallah el-Helou was called upon by Bakdash to take over as head of the Syrian party, given that Bakdash had to go into exile because he was being hounded by Nasser’s intelligence services. No sooner had he arrived in Syria than el-Helou was spotted by the state secret services, imprisoned and tortured to death. Speaking on this subject, Maurice Nohra, a long-standing figure from the LCP, spoke with great emotion of how Farajallah remained fearless during interrogation, refusing to give away any of his comrades. He only became agitated when he noticed the presence of his comrade Rafik Reda, whom he declared to be ‘the traitor’ who had communicated Farajallah’s arrival in Syria to ‘the Baathist-Nasserist intelligence services … He simply looked at him disdainfully and spat on the floor’ (from a conversation with Maurice Nohra in Beirut, LCP headquarters, October 2016). 17 Suleiman (1967: 76) estimates that 50–70 percent of the party’s supporters were not typically working class. 18 Taken from conversations with Arabi Andari at the LCP headquarters (October 2016). Andari is a member of the politburo. 19 From 1970 to 1979, Marie Nassf-Debb formed part of the LCP leadership in the Greater Beirut region; she was head of youth affairs and a journalist for the newspaper ANNIDA and the magazine Al Akhbar. She also took part in the creation of a union for secondary school teachers (1974). 20 From a speech by Marie Nassif, deputy secretary-general of the PCL, at the ‘L’Avante’ festival in Portugal (8 September 2012): http://lepcf.fr/La-lutte-et-les-de fis-des-peuples. 21 Omar Deeb (a member of the politburo) claims that the party maintains its secular principles to the letter. Party membership is communist above all, regardless of a person’s local or family sense of belonging. He also stated: ‘It is Lebanese patriotism that holds members together, in addition to communist ideology’ (from an interview at LCP headquarters, Beirut – 2016). 22 Khaled Hadade, then (2014) secretary-general of the PCL, declared that the break with the movement led by Hariri was owing to the latter’s ‘suspect position’ (Hattar, 2014) during the attacks by Israel in 2006. 23 Andari also claimed that the Shi’ite party of Nabih Berri (Amal) represents ‘corruption’ par excellence (interview in Beirut, October 2016). 24 Nassif-Debb in a Barcelona conference on ‘Arab revolutions: democracy, social rights, secularism and the role of women’ (9–11 May 2011). 25 Lecture by Marie Nassif-Debb in Brussels: ‘On the role of communists in the struggle for the parity and emancipation of women’ (26 March 2010): http://focu sonsocialism.ca/random.asp?ID=401. 26 Andari (interview in Beirut, October 2016).

References AbuKhalil, A. (2009) ‘Arab Communism: Some Reasons for Its Fall’. Al-Akhbar, 26 May. Agwani, M. S. (1968) ‘El conﬂicto ideológico en el Oriente árabe’. Foro Internacional, 8, 4(32). The Lebanese Communist Party 107

Al-Saadi, Yazan (2014) ‘Mahdi Amel’s Revival Manifests Ache for Local Revolution- aries’. Al Akhbar, 9 April, http://english.al-akhbar.com/node/19362 Barakat, Halim (1993) The Arab World: Society, Culture, and State, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press. Broué, Pierre (1997) Histoire de l’Internationale communiste, 1919–1943, Paris, Fayard. Chabrier, Édith (1985) ‘Les délégués au Premier Congrès des peuples d’Orient. Bakou (Ier–8 septembre 1920)’. Cahiers du monde russe et soviétique, 26, 1. Couland, Jacques (1969) ‘Mouvement syndical en situation coloniale: le cas du Liban’. Le Mouvement social, 68. Daoud, Zakya (1999) Abdelkrim: une épopée d’or et de sang, Paris, Séguier Editions. De Ausburgo, O. (1956) ‘Tres meses de política internacional, 01-01-1966 Ediciones Cultura Hispánica, Madrid’. Cuadernos Hispanoamericanos, 74. Diab, Afif (2012) ‘Munir Barakat: Stories from Lebanon’s Communist Divide’. Al Akhbar, 30 November, http://english.al-akhbar.com/node/14190 Dutra Junior, José Ailton (2014) O Líbano e o nacionalismo árabe (1952–1967): o nasserismo como projeto para o mundo árabe e o seu impacto no Líbano, São Paulo, Universidade de São Paulo, Faculdade de Filosofia, Letras e Ciências Humanas. Flores, A. (1980a) ‘The Arab CPs and the Palestinian Problem’. Khamsin, 7. Flores, A. (1980b) ‘The Early History of Lebanese Communism Reconsidered’. Khamsin,7. Gallissot, R. (Ed.) (1978) Mouvement ouvrier, communisme et nationalismes dans le monde arabe, Paris, Les Editions ouvrières. Hattar, Nahed (2014) ‘The Lebanese Communist Party: The Secret to Constant Fail- ure’. Al Akhbar, 24 October, http://english.al-akhbar.com/content/lebanese-comm unist-party-secret-constant-failure Ismael, Tareq Y. & Ismael, Jacqueline S. (1998) The Communist Movement in Syria and Lebanon, Gainesville, FL, University Press of Florida. Kaminsky, Catherine & Kruk, Simon (1984) ‘L'émergence du mouvement communiste au Proche Orient. Études chronologiques: 1919–1948’. Communisme : revue d’études pluridisciplinaires, 6. Khoury, Gérard (1993) La France et l’Orient arabe: naissance du Liban moderne, 1914–1920, Paris, A. Colin. Laqueur, Walter (1957) Comunismo y nacionalismo en el Cercano Oriente, Méjico, Costa-Amic. Mermier, Frank (2010) ‘Commémorer la résistence à Beyrouth ouest’. In Mermier, F. & Varin, C. (Eds), Memoires de guerres au Liban (1975–1990), Paris, Arles, Sind- bad/Actes Sud/Ifpo. Mroué, Karim (2007) ‘Réflexions sur le marxisme aujourd’hui et le communisme arabe du XXe siècle. Entretien réalisé par Anne Jollet’. Cahiers d’histoire. Revue d’histoire critique, 101. Nahas, Charbel (1980) Le Confessionnalisme au Liban: du fonctionnement discursif et idéologique vers la position objective du problème, Paris, Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales. Nassif, Daniel (2000) ‘Dissidents in Communist Party Revolt against Damascus’. Middle East Intelligence Bulletin, November, 2, 10. Nehmé, Majed (1984) ‘Le Parti communiste syrien: de la stratégie internationaliste à la contestation nationaliste’. L’Afrique et l’Asie modernes, 144. Nordbruch, Götz (2009) Nazism in Syria and Lebanon: The Ambivalence of the German Option, 1933–1945, London, Routledge. 108 Rosa Velasco Muñoz Rabushka, Alvin & Shepsle, Kenneth A. (2008) Politics in Plural Societies: A Theory of Democratic Instability, New York, Pearson Education. Rodinson, Maxime (1972) Marxisme et monde musulman, Paris, Éditions du Seuil. Said, Edward (2004) Orientalismo, Barcelona, Debolsillo. Suleiman, M. W. (1967) Political Parties in Lebanon, Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press. Yehya, Houssam (2015) La protection sanitaire et sociale au Liban (1860–1963), Nice, École doctorale Droit et sciences politiques, économiques et de gestion. 6 The Syrian Communist Party Patrimonialism and fractures

Rosa Velasco Muñoz

The rise of the Syrian Communist Party (SCP), as we saw in Chapter 5, was connected to the Syrian-Lebanese political group, until they split. Chemali’s tenure as secretary general of the Syrian-Lebanese Communist Party (SLCP) ended once the Syrian Khalid Bakdash took absolute control of the organization (1932). At the same time, Bakdash adopted a firm-handed approach to shift the party’s focus towards the prevailing Stalinist principles of that time.1 This produced inconsistencies in governance and ideologies that were hard to explain, especially to Lebanese leaders who were inclined towards taking a softer line and distancing themselves more from Moscow. Nevertheless, while they were together, the Syrian-Lebanese communists were highly active in political, social and literary initiatives; particularly worthy of note is their involvement in the forming of the Antifascist League (1943) which, while it was also backed by other political groups, the party was responsible for setting up and managing. Thus the union of Levantine communism came to an end in 1944; ‘Two countries, two parties’ was the slogan for the rupture, which was perfectly accepted by both movements.2 However, as secretary general of the SCP, Bakdash became the leading figure of communism in the region, and in 1954 he gained a seat in the parliament in Damascus. His forceful personality, together with his versatility in times of need (as he himself put it) enabled him to revive the party and to transpose his influence onto a society with expectations for the future. However, the communist leader initially had to overcome the bad name he had gained as a result of his unquestioning support for the Soviet Union (USSR) in the debates over the creation of the State of Israel in historic Palestine.

1 The SCP in independent Syria Syria gained its independence from France in 1946, though it would continue to be affected by the complex meddling of other external actors. Especially when, the following year, the country had to face a specific threat – the creation of Israel as a new ‘colonialist’ regional dysfunction, and which was supported from its very inception by the old European powers, the United States 110 Rosa Velasco Muñoz (USA) and the USSR. Damascus declared this threat to be a ‘new form of imperialist expansion’ that represented a direct attack on Syrian territory and interests, and which would prevent the future construction of a great Pan- Arab state with uninterrupted territory. Thus, the ‘struggle for Syria’ was prolonged during the entire Cold War, a lengthy period during which time Washington and Moscow competed throughout the region to reaffirm their hegemony through the modern ‘state system’ (Quilliam, 1997; Sapag, 2017). At the same time, after it had overcome the League of Nations mandate, this Levantine country was based on a predominantly agricultural-large landowners economy3 which was in need of a national democratic revolution, given that during the French period, the ‘social question’ had been subordinated to the ‘national question’ of independence4 (Schad, 2005). While this prioritizing of liberation tended to unify national solidarity, it was led by powerful persons and landowners who made every attempt to contain any social protest or outcry in the rural areas under their control. However, earlier (in the 1920s), a kind of associationism had been successfully developed which was closer to the system of traditional guilds than to the trade unions of the Western world (Schad, 2005). This consisted of small groups of artisans and workers, who while they were initially conditioned by the bourgeois ideology of the economic elites, called for better wages, improved health conditions in the workplace and the right to strike. The subsequent rise in mobilizations led Paris to attempt to control the movement, and thus in 1935 a decree was enacted that was aimed at regulating the formation of professional associations which grouped business owners together with workers.5 From that point on, under the provisions of the ambiguous law decreed by the metropolis, new workers began joining the officially established organizations, though they also joined unions that had been declared illegal, and which espoused a Marxist-Leninist ideology. Then immediately after the Second World War, a minor industry emerged that was linked with large-estate landowner agriculture, cotton, glass, phosphates and soap. As a direct result, the still emerging working classes based particularly in Damascus and Aleppo (Seale, 1988) began to gain visibility when they joined together in independent unions that protested for workers’ rights, and which resulted in the SCP expanding its proselytism as it made itself a rallying point for the workers’ protests (Gallissot, 1978).

2 The SCP and its connections with the USSR To begin with, it should be mentioned that Russia’s strategic interests in Syria dated back a long way into the past. In fact, they began to take shape in the ninth century, through the cultural-religious expansion of Orthodox Chris- tianity (Laqueur, 1957; Pichon, 2013, 2014; Sapag, 2017), while during the Ottoman age the czarist regime tried unsuccessfully to realize an old ambition of expanding into the Middle East through Greater Syria. After the Revolu- tion in 1917, the new USSR only tried to gain a foothold in the region by The Syrian Communist Party 111 means of a series of weak communist parties that were beginning to emerge, and which Russia tried to keep under her stewardship. But it was after the death of Stalin6 when Soviet diplomacy came to the forefront and began to compete openly and influence Arab pro-independence movements. This included the bourgeois nationalism/pan-Arabism that prevailed in the region, the proponents of which did not hesitate to take a utilitarian approach towards Moscow, and using the following continuist mantra: ‘We want your weapons, but we renounce your ideas’ (Pichon, 2013). As for the SCP leader Khalid Bakdash, it is worth noting that during the time of Stalin (until 1953) he acquiesced, either out of conviction or discipline, to the USSR’s (questionable) designs towards the Middle East. As a result of this, he unhesitatingly accepted the idea of Moscow becoming involved in the creation of the State of Israel, under the Stalinist vision which would serve Moscow’s interests through the links that existed with Jewish-Russian leaders.7 However, Israel’s rapid connection with the USA soon revealed that Stalin’s policy had failed (Ulianova, 2005), at the same time as it left the Arab communist parties in a position of weakness and disrepute, and especially Bakdash, the ‘eloquent Kurd’ (Seale, 1988), as their leading representative in the region. Khrushchev’s rise to supreme power represented (as he said himself) ‘an interesting challenge’ after the Kremlin’s decision to interact on an equal basis with the ‘bourgeois states’, and specifically to strengthen the international influence of the new USSR in her mission in the Middle East, even though it was announced via the rhetoric of helping the people to throw off ‘the yoke of their servile dependence on their colonialist masters’ (Kruschef, 1970: 438). How- ever, there is no doubt that the connections between the USSR and Syria have resulted from alliances of interests that have been reaffirmed over the course of time, albeit despite the Stalinist decision to distance itself and to intercede to help found Israel in historic Palestine (Pichon, 2014). As for the Syrian communists, in 1954, together with rebel soldiers and the Ba’ath Party, they actively collaborated in the overthrow of the conservative colonel and president Adib Shishakli. This led to the SCP leaders and activists who had been imprisoned or forced into exile returning to political activity, and they joined forces with the other perpetrators of the coup to create a National Front that had nationalist tendencies and rejected any interference by the West. Moscow’s diplomats immediately grasped the new situation, realizing that the Cold War in the Levantine nation could shift in their favour. Washington, meanwhile, became immediately concerned by the progressive pro-Soviet feeling in the country and the advance of the specific communism led by Khalid Bakdash.8 Indeed, by 1955 the status of the USSR had made great gains in Syria, and Bakdash, its leading representative, had become the region’s first communist member of parliament, after having won a seat in the Syrian parliament the previous year by a margin of 11,000 votes (Heikal, 1978: 48). This result showed the prestige that the leader enjoyed among the people, just like the ideology he represented. We should add that the SCP’seffective strategy 112 Rosa Velasco Muñoz consisted of cautiously aligning itself with the nationalist parties in order to establish a joint anti-imperialist force that rejected the West, though without the party renouncing its Marxist-Leninist principles, with a view to the future. One might say that Bakdash was skilled in the deployment of a highly per- ceptive tactical Machiavellism; while he presented himself as a man of the state who was open to dialogue and was also able to play down the imme- diacy of scientific Marxism (international goal), he also joined forces ‘with all true nationalists’ to find common ground and to collaborate exclusively in Syria’s interests (national goal). The USSR, meanwhile, on the same fre- quency as the Syrian communist leader, remained lukewarm with respect to the expansion of Marxist orthodoxy, in order to promote the implementation of economic and military projects in the region. Thus the USSR took advantage of the opportunity that benefited the main objective of her foreign policy at the time: to gain territory and weaken the enemy Western powers (Buss, 1970; Ismael & Ismael, 1998; Kruschef, 1970; Pichon, 2014). Bakdash’s nationalist proposals, emphasizing the innate specificity of each country, are expressed in one of his speeches at that time:

Our program (our grand aims) … to strengthen the foundations of independence and sovereignty … to participate in strengthening world peace; and to challenge imperialist conspiracies … to spread democracy and strengthen it; to liberate our economy and work to improve it; to reform our agriculture; to raise the standard of living of workers, peasants and all toilers. After the achievement of national democratic liberation, we open the door to a higher stage of scientiﬁc socialism … admits that the road of each nation toward socialism must be consistent with the characteristics of each nation and with its historic evolution, economic conditions and the other national speciﬁcities of the society. (Bakdash in parliament in Damascus in 1955; Ismael & Ismael, 1998)

The scope of the Baghdad Pact, which was rushed through by the USA, and the USSR’s involvement in Egypt, which Khrushchev declared was to ‘aid the Nasser government and the Arab people’ (Kruschef, 1970),9 led the SCP to continue with its ambiguous position, claiming that both specific Arab socialism and nationalism could contain revolutionary potential, at the same time as the party welcomed the idea that the national bourgeoisie was moving away from the dominant imperialism (Agwani, 1968). With that in mind, when in 1958 the Syrian Ba’ath Party (backed by the armed forces) and the Egyptian president Abdel Nasser agreed on an alliance of mutual interests (regional/ anti-communist) and a union between Egypt and Syria in the form of the United Arab Republic (UAR), the Syrian communists found themselves caught in a trap, while being well aware of the way the Nasser regime was suppressing their Egyptian comrades. As a result, they felt obliged to put up stiff opposition (now operating from underground) to this unequal union for Nasser’s exclusive benefit, and which they believed should never have taken place. The Syrian Communist Party 113 Even prior to this, Bakdash had distrusted the Egyptian ruler, in spite of the aura of victory that had radiated from him since the Suez crisis, and he did not hesitate to brand Nasser as a ‘US agent and a pawn of Egyptian big business’, while describing his political system as ‘pharaonic imperialism’10 (Abdel-Malek, 1966). Meanwhile, Bakdash emphasized the polarization of no return that existed between the bourgeois Arab movement (‘a petty bourgeois conglomerate’) and the radical liberation movement, or ‘scientific’ model of communism of the USSR (Buss, 1970 (Agwani, 1968). Inevitably, the SCP leader had to go into exile, where he remained until 1966, when the radical wing of the Ba’ath Party came to power.

3 The SCP and its links with Ba’athism The period when the SCP expressed a certain deference toward the bourgeois parties (which, Bakdash claimed, were plagued by ‘subjective idealism’ (Buss, 1970)), ended at the same time as the persecution of the party and its leaders began to worsen. But at the same time, after the creation of the UAR, and as a consequence of Nasser’s iron grip (Agwani, 1968; Seale, 1988), the Ba’ath Party was rerouted into ineffectiveness with the consent of its main leaders and co-founders, Salah Bitar and Michel Aflaq. However, they soon came to see Nasser as an ambitious absolutist who would not agree to any form of power sharing, while he considered Syria to be a mere islet under Egyptian rule. Thus in 1959, in a situation of tension and growing resentment, sectors of the Syrian army staged a frustrated and inconsequential uprising, as a result of which the UAR only managed to limp on for another two years, by dint only of Nasser’s determination. This situation lasted until a triumphant coup backed by political parties (including the Ba’athists and the SCP) led to the dismantling of the UAR, and with it the definitive demise of the dream of unity ‘of millions of Arabs’ (Corm, 2016). With regard to Syria, at home they did not hesitate to blame the inept political elites for the failure of the unity project, but not the ‘great Nasser’. Even so, two years later an attempt was made to create a new ephemeral entelechy: the tripartite union between Egypt, Syria and Iraq. From that point on, the great nationalists (called thus because they were in favour of a global unified Arab plan) inevitably ceded power to the more pragmatic regionalists, or to those who held the view that the Syrian nation was an independent entity, operating alone (and one of whom was Hafez al-Assad). We should add that for the SCP, and for Khalid Bakdash, Arab unity was never a priority objective, though he would sometimes use it to explain his view of the great bourgeois nationalisms. At the same time, he always considered them to be chauvinist and mediocre owing to their reluctance to collaborate with the USSR and the other socialist countries (Nehmé, 1984). Meanwhile, the USSR under Khrushchev (1955–64) did not hesitate to provide support in the form of arms to Arab governments that had come to power through petty bourgeois-nationalist movements (Buss, 1970), and 114 Rosa Velasco Muñoz whom, once they were established in government, focused their energies on suppressing the national communist parties. The Soviet leader did not consider this contradiction to be of any importance, given that the armed rein- forcing of the Arab countries signified a weakening of ‘the colonialists’, whilst expanding the USSR’s sphere of influence in the region (Kruschef, 1970). But without doubt the glory days of the Syrian communists was when their secretary general took his place in parliament in 1954–8; a unique moment, when Bakdash enjoyed the support of the influential colonel Afif al-Bizri and the prime minister Khalid al-Azm. This was due to the fact that he had revealed the real threat that Israel and Western imperialism represented to Syrian society, and even more so after the shift towards the political left that took place after the Suez crisis (1956). The SCP also benefited from its entente cordiale with the Ba’athists, as a result of which the party’s acceptance and prestige grew within the country (Isaac, 2009). However, in the end this unexpected growth in the SCP’s popularity led the Syrian Ba’ath Party to distrust and to be on the defensive with regard to the communists. Undoubt- edly, this anti-communist pre-emption helped to bring about the temporary alliance between Nasser and the leaders of Syrian nationalism, who were mindful of the progress the communists were making. Following the demise of the UAR (1961) the SCP was in a position of great weakness, with only a few hundred disconcerted party members and their leader abroad in forced exile. The new government that had been established after the 1963 coup, consisting of a ‘tricky’ coalition of Ba’athists and nos- talgic Nasserites (Seale, 1988), kept the SCP persecuted and forced to operate from underground. Khalid Bakdash only succeeded in returning to Damascus after a new radical military uprising three years later, now supported by a Ba’athist sector that opposed the governing Ba’athists (Buss, 1970). But he was able to return thanks to direct pressure from Moscow on the Ba’athist leaders, and under very strict conditions that he should not return to political activity11 (Ramet, 1990; Seale, 1988). The communist leader was obliged to accept this without objection owing to his faithful adherence to all Soviet rulings. And above all bearing in mind the fact that the USSR was making definite progress in Syria (its client state), as it had become clear that the Soviets would unhesitatingly support Ba’athism economically and militarily, even if it were only out of cold pragmatism: in order to gain control over the country’s various mechanisms of power. Furthermore, over the course of time, even though Damascus continued to distrust the Syrian communists, Moscow even gave its unquestioning support to the Ba’athists in a scenario of growing economic and military partnerships (Sapag, 2017: 132), especially after Egypt’s shift (under Sadat) towards Washington’s policies in the region. And this was despite the fact that Ba’athism showed itself to be ambiguous and contradictory in the way it linked ‘Arab socialism’ (‘a utopian conglomerate’, according to Bakdash) with the ‘scientific socialism’ rhetorically proclaimed by the Soviet leaders (Buss, 1970). Thus, the USSR continued to act with a view to its rivalry with Western powers, which meant that Syria’s The Syrian Communist Party 115 strategic position was the key, situated as it was on the eastern side of the Mediterranean and representing a point where three continents converged (Quilliam, 1997; Laqueur, 2016). Certainly, the USSR never considered the possibility that its regional power strategy might include a certain amount of disdain or lack of consideration towards its sister party, which in turn was unfailingly loyal to Moscow. Once authorized to return to Damascus (1966), Khalid Bakdash became aware of the rapport his party had developed with the Ba’athist leaders in power (al-Baker, 2011), as well as the latter’s attempts to align with certain socialist practices aimed at eliminating the power of the bourgeoisie and the defeated Ba’athist old guard. Thus the communist leader supported the regular meetings between SCP members and radical Ba’athists, in the hope that they would be able to create, in accordance with the latter’s views, one single vanguard party that could defeat the entrenched bourgeois powers. He even went so far as to request that Soviet policies should be introduced (undeviatingly) for agriculture and defence. And virtually at the same time, in the debates at the 13th Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) Congress (March–April 1966) on the subject of how communists should interact with the bourgeois nationalists, Bakdash openly stated his mistrust and repudiation of those whom he considered to be Soviet ‘optimists’ or ‘revisionists’ for defending at all costs their cooperation with what he called ambiguous Arab governments, and while claiming that petty bourgeois elements could pave the way to scientificsocialism(Buss, 1970). Without any doubt, in this period, the communist leader showed that he had no qualms and would make no concessions whatsoever, just like the orthodox Leninist he had always presented himself as. At the same time, he warned of Moscow’s shift towards the bourgeoisie in power which was leaving the communists as nothing but mere observers and with no capacity for active response. The Syrian leader, after definitively shelving his brief slogan of ‘alliance with the national bourgeoisie’,12 advocated disowning this alliance, or eliminating the excessive support for petty bourgeois-nationalist regimes, and instead to talk up the Arab communist parties as the indisputable vanguard, which had often been suppressed in the region by their own privileged Moscow partners.13 Nevertheless, when he expressed his ideas in writing, Bakdash always maintained his due composure and respect toward the USSR and its respective supreme leaders.14 Consequently he ended up by clarifying that Arab nationalists should be supported, but only by adopting a critical approach and vigilance:

Even though the Soviet Union and other socialist countries pursued a policy of alliance with some of the newly free countries in Asia and Africa, this does not mean that the communist parties and the democratic forces generally must under all circumstances support their governments and renounce the ﬁght for democratic freedoms … We must be on our 116 Rosa Velasco Muñoz guard against attempts to justify such alliances by spurious theories repudiating the role of the working class. (Text published in the magazine Problems of Peace and Socialism, December 1965; Heikal, 1978; Laqueur, 2016)

4 The evolution of Syrian communists in the face of changes in power in the country From 1966 to 1970 the SCP enjoyed a period of realistic expectation, as a consequence of the Ba’athist leaders in power introducing a ‘socialist transformation programme’ (Picard, 1996; Trentin, 2013). The Syrian communists, in perfect accord with Moscow, agreed with the Ba’athist government’s new political praxis to elevate the Syrian state above the interests of the ruling bourgeois actors, though even so, the sui generis idea of blurring the social classes into a whole as an unspecified Syrian society kept Khalid Bakdash on his guard. And he continued to maintain this approach after he was permitted to indulge in a little written political proselytizing following the legalisation of the newspaper Sawt al-Arab. The new Ba’athist regime, meanwhile, did not appear to be worried about the fact that its state economy was entirely dependent on Russian services, and thus the massive Soviet aid plan that the regime called ‘the basis of our socialist economic system’ was presented as if it were a cooperation agreement in several different fields and between two governments of equal status (Karsh, 1991). But this situation of subordination to the USSR soon aroused misgivings in the country, paradoxically at the same time as the Soviets admitted that their connections with the dominant or ‘revolutionary’ Ba’athism would not be as permanent as had been supposed. In the same way, Russian ideologues perceived that in the extreme ideas exhibited by the regional Ba’athist parties (from their outright anti-communism to their radical-economic programmes of a socialist nature), what they revealed were the ‘internal contradictions’ imposed by the successive leaders. And even after the military coup in Syria in 1966, the most radical victorious Ba’athists maintained an attitude that was challenging and differentiating (on certain occasions) toward their Soviet patrons15 (Buss, 1970; Karsh, 1991). Meanwhile, while Khalid Bakdash, as we have seen, was given authorization to return to Damascus just 15 days after the coup d’état,16 and subsequently a comrade of his (A. Qouatli) was appointed transport minister within the National Front government, the SCP was forced to follow a continuist policy. This was, furthermore, with the express consent of Moscow, which continued to prioritize its geos- trategic interests in the global context of the Cold War, while eschewing any internal distortion that might erode the precarious balance within the Syrian revolutionary government.17 Without any doubt, the period considered to be the glory days of the SCP was the mid-1950s, when Bakdash was in parliament and enjoyed the support of Khalid al-Azm (dubbed the ‘red’ prime minister), but it was never because The Syrian Communist Party 117 of his identification with the Soviets nor to any alleged support from Moscow within Syria (Picard, 1996). In 1966, Bakdash’s intention of collaborating with the Ba’athist regime ‘to develop and consolidate its progressive orientation’ toward socialism18 resulted in sectors of the military alerting the defence minister Hafez al-Assad about an excessive communist influence within the government, on top of the state’s disproportionate economic-military dependency on the USSR. In light of this, Hafez al-Assad reassured his colleagues, while he prepared to impose his own change, under the general title of Corrective Movement (Karsh, 1991). In 1967, Bakdash actively participated in the criticism of the Arab armies after their humiliating defeat by Israel. The communist, necessarily assuming that his country’s own armed forces had been among those defeated, declared that Syria had drifted towards an abyss in her inevitable confrontation with Israel, at the same time as he indirectly blamed the government for making empty statements (Mann, 2013). Likewise, he spoke out as a staunch defender of the Palestinian cause, and against the Israeli imperialist aggressor, which was now occupying Syrian territory. But the great defeat of 1967 also had direct consequences for the Syrian communists: during a period of generalized depression and conflict within the country, sectors of the SCP began to question their relations with the Soviets, and thus what had until then been considered to be ‘Bakdash’s party’ ended up splitting and consequently weakened, and thus becoming virtually irrelevant in terms of activism.

5 The much anticipated split of Khalid Bakdash’s SCP While the Ba’athist government of 1966–70 and the SCP maintained relations of coexistence and complicity, a situation developed which meant that internal self-criticism movements led by revisionists began to emerge within the party, at the same time as spontaneous revolutionary coalitions were being formed which brought together the young people who had mobilized after the 1967 disaster against Israel. Amid this climate of debate and agitation, when Syria supported Jordan’sPalestinianmovementinitsclasheswithKingHussein’s army in 1969–70, communists of all stripes unquestioningly supported the idea of their army intervening in support oftheFedayeen.Nevertheless,Hafez al-Assad, as defence minister and man of power within the military, played an ambiguous game while containing the military forces in non-intervention, and even ordering them to act as a barrier on the border to prevent hundreds of Arabian volunteers from joining the PLO’s resistance militia. Meanwhile, the USSR had avoided coming into direct confrontation with the USA in the June 1967 war, but after the conflict was over, Moscow communicated to Damascus ‘that they would no longer agree to independent policies which dragged the Soviet Union into unnecessary international conflicts’ (Mann, 2013). This sparked an increase in Syrian mistrust of their communist ally and arms supplier. However, Moscow immediately became busy with keeping the revolutionary movements that were simmering at that 118 Rosa Velasco Muñoz time under its influence, and above all with trying to contain the revisionists led by Riad al-Turk, in order to prevent the schism of the SCP, though they failed to do so. Even so, the USSR summoned the various Syrian communist cadres to Moscow to ask them to settle their internal differences in the presence of the Soviets, with the aim of keeping the ideological conflicts and power struggles within the SCP under Moscow’s strict control. At the 3rd SCP Congress (1969), the rebel sectors questioned both Bakdash’s personality cult and the extent to which the party’s relations with the Soviets should go (Picard, 1996). The ideological-internal split was just as patent in the text written by five members of the SCP Politburo, in which they requested, in an official com- muniqué, an explicit rapprochement with the Arab nationalist groups so they could work together to deploy a radical policy against Israel. At the same time, they suggested that the party should start distancing itself more from Moscow’s directives on the Middle East. In contrast, Bakdash and his followers firmly upheld the idea of preserving the status quo, a position that was actively supported by the CPSU. But in spite of the enormous pressure that was brought to bear on the dissidents, the Soviets did not manage to heal the wounds of Syrian communism. According to declarations by Riad el-Turk, the protagonist par excellence of the communiqué, it was because Soviet conclusions and their commitments on Syria were ‘wrong and inaccurate’,19 just as he considered the National Progressive Front20 which the SCP had joined to be ‘overly bureaucratised’, which to his mind prevented the communists from becoming a vanguard ‘people’s movement’ (Baron, 2013). In the end, Bakdash’s powerful personality and his rejection of any kind of populist venture that he considered utopian, in addition to his categorical belief that communism should only be guided by the Marxist-Leninist principles represented by the USSR, all led up to the split that took place in 1973. They divided into two communist parties with the same acronyms, led by Bakdash and al-Turk, respectively (though the latter did add the nomenclature ‘(Political Bureau)’ to his party’s name). Meanwhile, the struggles within the Ba’ath Party that had begun after 1967 were worsening, though the SCP maintained its loyalty and support for a government that it considered to be a transformer of bourgeois society, and with which it maintained frequent ideological debates regarding orientation towards a genuine socialism with a Soviet or Chinese influence. Nevertheless, the forceful Hafez al-Assad, who opposed Marxist radicalism in these discussions, managed to appease the passionate Bakdash and his personality cult after the latter had returned from exile, despite the contempt and scorn that he generally felt for the Arab communist parties (Picard, 1996). Al-Assad the military man was able to keep things in balance and to deploy the necessary strategies at all times to achieve his desired aims. In particular, he managed to emerge unscathed from the war with Israel by deflecting the criticism over the defeat onto Salah al-Jadid, the general and Ba’athist strongman who had led the radical coup of February 1966 and who, in 1969–70 (and complying with The Syrian Communist Party 119 orders from his government), made an attempt to aid the Palestinian movement that was being cornered and massacred by King Hussein of Jordan. But al-Assad, who already had some powerful allegiances in the army, not only failed to support and contained this initiative, but after the Palestinian organizations’ debacle, he blamed al-Jadid for the defeat, and later used this as an opportunity to oust him. Thus, predictably, all the Ba’athists’ power ended up in the hands of the defence minister, which meant that when the latter’s new coup d’état took place it was bloodless and produced no social backlash. Furthermore, his strategically distant attitude toward the Palestinians in the conflict with Jordan, when the uprising took place, helped to grant him a regional and international blessing. Even so, he would go a lot further in his own country, and the Ba’athism he exclusively represented ended up becoming a way of life for generations of Syrians (al-Baker, 2011; Karsh, 1991). If there is one thing Hafez Al-Assad knew how to do almost to perfection during his lengthy military-political career, it was to negotiate in accordance with his interests. Specifically in March 1969, al-Assad publicly declared that the ‘communist-type regime’ that existed in the government was leading the country towards economic disaster, as well as keeping it isolated on a regional level. And at the same time as he was making these declarations, the military police he controlled was carrying out arrests of communist activists and alleged dangerous pro-Soviet individuals within the army. However, he still maintained contact with Moscow, and emphasized the need to strengthen relations between the USSR and Syria (Karsh, 1991: 64–5). The relationship between al-Assad and the Soviets was an almost immediate success, and most importantly, it was maintained smoothly during the rest of his life. The first thing the USSR agreed to do (on the urging of this Syrian army officer) was to neutralize the Syrian communist leader. Khalid Bakdash, who had previously warned of the danger that the power struggles in the governing party represented, was called to Moscow to be instructed on the discre- tion the SCP should show regarding the internal confrontations the Ba’athists were experiencing, as well as in the events that were to follow. According to Karsh, once Bakdash had accepted the imposed ruling, ‘Assad generously reciprocated this Soviet gesture. He reportedly agreed to leave some of his rivals in their positions and to ease the pressure on pro-Soviet elements in Damascus, first and foremost on the Communist Party’ (Karsh, 1991). After the rise to power of the new Ba’athists, in the form of Hafez al-Assad with his Corrective Movement (November 1970), the entire country embarked on a new period of continuity in which Bakdash’s SCP never challenged the power, though at certain times some of the party’s members who resisted al- Assad’s centralized power were imprisoned or forced into exile.21 In 1971, the SCP Central Committee debated a series of principles aimed at defending the Palestinian people and discussing the praxis of its political- militia movement with regard to Israel, and the question of the liberation of the territory. The disagreements within the party, which was already de facto 120 Rosa Velasco Muñoz split in two, were plain to see. Bakdash’s rigid stance once again restated Soviet tenets, and consequently he declared that the Palestinian militias’ struggle should end in the liberation of all the territories occupied by Israel in the 1967 war, and the subsequent return of those who had been expelled from their homes. The al-Turk rebels, meanwhile, went much further in their demands: they called for unceasing struggle against the Zionist enemy until ‘the liberation of all Palestine’ had been achieved, including the territory granted by the United Nations to a Jewish state, with the USSR voting in favour. Bakdash continued to argue that his opponents had set an extremely simplistic objective with regard to the Zionists, under the slogan of the ‘liquidation of Zionist institutions or something of the kind’ (Flores, 1980). Khalid Bakdash, with the party apparatus under his control, managed to keep most of the members of the Politburo on his side. But the dissenting faction headed by al-Turk, which in turn enjoyed the support of the Lebanese Communist Party (LCP) (and which had also distanced itself from Bakdash) was forced to admit defeat on this point in light of the fact that the secretary general enjoyed the ideological-material support of the CPSU (Flores, 1980). And it was specifically under directives from Moscow when, shortly afterwards, the man who was still the leader of the only SCP issued an ultimatum to the dissidents, accusing them of closing their eyes to proletarian internationalism. Bakdash demanded that al-Turk declare his unconditional alignment with Soviet communism, at that specific moment in the process of rapprochement and cooperation with the Palestinian political-military movement. But above all, Moscow had become Syria’s ‘most loyal and active friend’ according to Hafez al-Assad, who now strategically absolved Moscow from any interested interference in the country’s internal affairs and national media (Karsh, 1991: 69). As we have already seen, after its disagreements the party split into two: there was the Khalid Bakdash wing, which kept the party’s name, and then Riad al-Turk’s party, which was also known as the Syrian Communist Party, though with the addition of ‘(Political Bureau)’ to its title. This irreconcilable split developed out of conflict, as well as from the personality differences between the two leaders. Bakdash’s group survived for the next few years within the National Progressive Front led by al-Assad’s Ba’athists. However, al-Turk became known as the opponent, owing to the fact that in 1980 he clashed – directly – with President al-Assad, whom he declared to be a dictator. As a consequence he spent years in prison (1980–98). In 2005, al-Turk stood down from the post of secretary general and his party, now led by Ghias Youn Soud, embarked on a social democratic path, and was ultimately renamed the Syrian Democratic People’s Party. At the same time, other communist-leaning organizations emerged which never achieved any great importance, and consequently were of no significance to the Ba’ath Party in power. Bakdash’s SCP upheld the Moscow line and kept the same personalism, to the extent that after Bakdash’s death, his widow and subsequently his son The Syrian Communist Party 121 took on the leadership and power over the organization. And it was specifically as a result of this personalist usurpation that in 1986, the SCP experienced yet another rift, under the protection of Mikhail Gorbachev’s glasnost. Yusuf Faisal decided to withdraw and form a new communist organization that would also retain the acronym SCP (Unified). Even so, it carried on within the National Progressive Front.

6 The SCP with al-Assad’s Ba’athists in power In November 1970, al-Assad formed a national unity government that included two communists (Quilliam, 1997). The following year, in March 1971, the Syrian president created the National Progressive Front, and the SCP agreed to join it, again with two of its members. In fact, what Bakdash was doing was following the Moscow line, which was heaping praise on the Ba’athist regime that al-Assad personified: ‘The Syrian people are firmly advancing along the road of economic independence and social progress22 … Of the deep social and economic transformation of the Syrian society’23 (Karsh, 1991). Indeed, as Karsh notes, even Brezhnev spoke out in defence of al-Assad when he compared Syria with Egypt, which at that time was still the USSR’s leading ally in the Third World24 (Karsh, 1991). But shortly afterwards, after the October War with Israel (1973) and the political deviation of President Anwar el-Sadat, Russian military aid proved definitive for the reconstruction of the Syrian army, despite the fact that in 1970 the most enthusiastic phase of economic socialization carried out by the most radical or socialist Ba’athists came to a definitive end (Quintana & Garza, 1980). In our view, the pragmatic and flexible approach of President Hafez al- Assad (Quintana & Garza, 1980), who succeeded in placing himself above party differences, both communal and sectarian, generated an atmosphere of support and calm within the country, as well as an ideological entente within the National Progressive Front. Meanwhile, the SCP under Bakdash was feeling equally comfortable, since it had realized that its political activities would be tolerated and harnessed to this new phase of Ba’athist power, and that the dominance of the state sector (following the nationalization of mixed enterprises and large infrastructures) would lead to a ‘socialist’ system, even though it might be a system specific to al-Assad’s way of doing things,25 and in the knowledge of the president’s innate mistrust of communists in general and their ideology. Under al-Assad’s absolute power, the SCP under Bakdash became virtually irrelevant,26 not to mention an expendable ally for the nation’s president, though Bakdash’s tireless relationship with Moscow kept him close to power as a loyal or critical-ambiguous force at certain times. These contradictions became clear, for instance, when, following the call from President Suleimán Frangie in 1976, the Syrian army stormed into Lebanon in support of the Christian right-wing faction, and consequently against the natural and ideological allies of the SCP. There was also a marked absence of any ‘communist’ 122 Rosa Velasco Muñoz discourse at the times when Syria, out of what was described as national interest, accepted some of Henry Kissinger’s manoeuvres against Palestinian organizations, at the same time as a broader strategy directed at the region.27 Unlike the leaders of the LCP who, once in isolation carried out a self- criticism of their support for the partition of Palestine (1947–8), the SCP was never able to rectify its positions; even though its discourse ended up shifting towards the most common rhetoric, its basic objective was to eliminate ‘the consequences of Israeli aggression supported by US colonialism’, subsequently and inevitably acknowledging the right ‘of the Palestinians to return and to self-determination’. And always, as we might expect, upholding the official Moscow line:

So can any of us condemn the attitude of the USSR to the Palestine partition proposal? Can any of us condemn its present attitude as regards the solution to the Palestine problem? … If you will permit me, I want to say in a completely brotherly way that all talk to the eﬀect that we are friends of the USSR but that we diﬀer from it as regards the strategic objective, is not communist talk … The elimination of Israel as a state, under the slogan either of the liberation of Palestine or the liberation of their usurped homeland, or under the slogan of the liquidation of Zionist institutions, or something of the kind. Such talk is not only at variance with the decisions of the Seventh Congress of the Communist International, which called for identity of objectives; it’s also at variance with proletarian internationalism; it is at variance with the class attitude and, consequently, with the interests of the Arab people and with our interests as a party.28

In the eyes of the USSR, and viewed through the context of the Cold War, their relations with Hafez al-Assad’s Syria counterbalanced to some extent the USA’s close links with Egypt following the Camp David Accords. As for Damascus, support from the USSR meant thatitcouldachievestrategic-military parity with Israel, and consequently become indispensable to any regional negotiations (Pichon, 2013). As for the communist parties at home, they would exist within legality depending on whether or not they chose to accept the Ba’athists’ indisputable hegemony and their internal and regional policies. After Mikhail Gorbachev came to power in 1985, it became clear that there was going to be a change in the Soviet contribution of arms to Syria. The USSR, which at that time was being dismantled, lacked the necessary resources to maintain efficient, competitive military support. In view of this, the pragmatic al-Assad chose to redirect his strategy, by now focusing his diplomacy on the USA, with its massive power of arbitration in the region. This would also contribute to the containment and/or destruction of the Ba’athists’ enemy, Iraq. And thus during the 1990s, Damascus became gradually closer to Washington, the European powers and the monarchies in Saudi Arabia and Qatar (Pichon, 2013), though the ephemeral alliance was brought to an end by the USA when it included Syria in its simplistic ‘axis of The Syrian Communist Party 123 evil’. Finally, in 2003–4, the legacy of the USSR naturally adapted itself to Vladimir Putin’s Russian Federation. Now in a regional context of new recriminations towards the USA, the Syrian president found it profitable to renew his country’s traditional friendship with Russia, clearly out of a need to break Syria’s isolation and restock supplies for the country’s armed forces. During all these years, the Syrian communist parties were divided and largely irrelevant, though in the year 2000 Bakdash’s SCP suffered yet another rift, once again caused by personal rivalries and struggles for control of the organization, which was now in the hands of the former secretary general’s widow. The opposition, now led by Qadri Jamil, declared that it aimed to ‘rejuvenate and unite the Party through fostering change from below against what was perceived as an ideologically ossified and fractured leadership’. However, Jamil ended up forming a new communist party: the Unity of the Syrian Communists (Hinnebusch & Imady, 2018). We will finish here by adding that in 2011 the communist parties began adopting positions in support of Bachar al-Assad’s government. At first, the Syrian Left was divided between those who considered that a legitimate revolution was taking place, and that al-Assad was rapidly leading the country into economic neoliberalism but without having liberated the country’s political world in the least,29 and the official communist organizations that continued to support the system and its army, at the same time as they sent out warnings about the dangers of radical-terrorist Islamism, regional conspiracies and meddling by imperialist foreigners.30 To close this chapter, I would like to add a few official declarations from the communist parties with regard to the war that has blighted Syria since 2011. In June 2011, the SCP (Unified) published a communiqué ‘in light of the serious events’ that were taking place in the country:

the protests and demonstrations are shared by the masses, who stand against colonialism and all forms of external intervention in Syrian matters. Our party has demanded that the violence be brought to an end … We would also like to issue a warning about the fact that some conspirators might try to make use of the popular protests to inﬂame the ethnic struggles and destroy the national unity of the Syrian people, in an attempt to spread chaos fuelled by external circles opposed to Syrian national policies … It should be noted that we appreciate the ﬁrm, positive stances of Russia and China, who have lent their full support to Syria in this crisis.31

Some months later, on 12 December 2016, a new communiqué added: ‘The international laws do not allow any country to interfere in the internal aﬀairs of any other country, what the terrorists and their supporters do in Syria, demanding the president Assad to step down whereas this is an aﬀair decided only by the Syrian people.’32 124 Rosa Velasco Muñoz Ammar Bakdash declared in Rome in 2013:

Syria rejects the dictates of the United States and Israel for the Middle East, and supports the Iraqi and the Lebanese resistance and the national rights of the Palestinian people … We communists have been working with the government uninterruptedly since 1966. Syria could not have resisted with the support of the armed forces alone. Syria has resisted because it has had the support of the people. Furthermore, Syria has had the support of its alliance with Iran, China, Russia … The most effective way to end the Syrian massacre is, firstly, to halt the external aid and support to the armed opposition from reactionary, imperialist countries. Once this external aid is halted, we can bring all the military operations to an end, including those of the Syrian government. Then we can restart a democratic process with legislative elections and political reforms, something that is obviously not possible at this stage of the armed conflict.33

In an antagonistic sense, and now taking a social democratic view, we have the Syrian Democratic People’s Party (named thus in 2005, though previously it was the SCP-Political Bureau, headed by Riad al-Turk), which has been leading a complex coalition that opposes al-Assad’s government. Al-Turk took part in the creation of the Damascus Declaration (2005) at the same time as he led the party away from Marxist Leninism and maintained his critical stance towards the Ba’athism in power. Since the creation of the Syrian National Council (October 2011), al-Turk and his party have called for both al-Assad’s resignation and for external military intervention to supply arms to what they call the ‘democratic opposition’.

Notes 1 We believe that at that time, Bakdash was an unconditional supporter of mother USSR, and so his submission to the Stalinist line should be understood in this light. 2 We should point out that the two parties remained connected to some extent until the 1960s, when their disconnection was carried out drastically (Kardahji, 2015: 137). 3 ‘Syria was a predominantly agricultural country, its backbone being two million peasants out of a then population of about 3.5 million, inhabiting some 5,500 villages built mostly of mud and mostly lacking piped water, sewerage, electricity, tarred roads or any other’ (Seale, 1988). 4 According to Seale, Syria’s geographical expanse shrank from 300,000 km2 in the Ottoman age to 185,190 km2 in 1946 (Seale, 1988). 5 According to Schad, there is a problem with the terminology here which suggests ‘the hybrid nature’ of these organizations (Schad, 2005). The French text describes them as ‘associations’, while the Arabic text uses the term ‘niqabat’ or union (instead of ‘jam’iyyat’, the preferred term for ‘association’). 6 In 1950, the USSR created its ‘International Aid Fund’ which could send funds every year to political organizations in capitalist countries and to national The Syrian Communist Party 125 liberation parties/movements, but until 1955 the fund did not designate any sums to Arab communists. The still unified SLCP received $40,000 but the Palestinian Communist Party received $10,000 more, despite the fact that the SLCP was a better interlocutor in the region through the Syrian Khalid Bakdash (Ulianova, 2005). 7 Several Jewish associations created in Russia prior to 1948 later became public organizations in the State of Israel (Ulianova, 2005). 8 The USA was not prepared to accept this political shift any further in Syria. As a result, between 1946 and 1957, the CIA attempted to stage a number of coups in the country. In March 1957, Allen Dulles, the CIA director, issued a report on the situation in Syria, in which he stressed the ‘growing trend towards a decidedly left- wing, pro-Soviet government’ (Blum, 2005). 9 In 1956 Khruschev was equally direct when he spoke of ‘the cynical relations’ of realpolitik between the two countries: the USSR supported Nasser, he said, despite the fact that Nasser ‘was even imprisoning communists’ (Ginat, 2013). 10 Achcar’s description –‘The Nasserite military-bureaucratic dictatorship’–is, in our opinion, an accurate one (Achcar, 2013: 149). Agwani, meanwhile, notes that Nasser soon dashed the expectations of the Syrian Ba’ath Party, as he was con- centrating all his efforts on subjugating the new republic (UAR) to his power and influence (Agwani, 1968). 11 According to Ramet, Bakdash managed to return to Syria thanks to the deal brokered by Moscow: his return in exchange for the construction of the River Euphrates dam (Ramet, 1990). 12 Éric Rouleau, ‘Le parti communiste syrien est décidé à aider le régime de Damas à développer et consolider son orientation progressiste DÉCLARE AU “MONDE” M. KHALED BAGDACHE’, Le Monde, 13 July 1966. 13 Undoubtedly, Bakdash was thinking of Nasser’s open hostility towards communism. Specifically, after a friendly visit to the USSR (1955), the Egyptian president declared: ‘Our anti-communist principles would not be dimmed by the trip’, and emphasized his intention to continue to arrest communists and put them on trial (Ginat, 2013). 14 Khrushchev was deposed by the CPSU Central Committee in October 1964. During his period in power, certain critics within the CPSU, such as Zhukov, and those known as the ‘pessimists’, declared that the communist leader’s condescen- sion towards nationalist Arab regimes was exaggerated, giving the example of the clear failure of the UAR (Buss, 1970). 15 The Ba’athist government expressed to the USSR its radical opposition to Mos- cow’s vote, at the United Nations Security Council, in favour of solely Resolution 242 being used as the basis for ‘a just solution’ to the Arab-Israeli conflict. 16 Bakdash had attempted to return to Syria several times, but he was prevented from doing so by his failure in his conversations with the different governments. When he gained permission to return from the leaders of the 1966 coup, the decision was highly criticized by Arab and Western governments, though on this occasion pressure from Moscow, in exchange for the Euphrates dam, proved effective for gaining permission for Bakdash to return. 17 Heikal notes that Bakdash was sent a clear message of containment (Heikal, 1978), based on the idea that the Marxists must support the left-wing bloc without speaking out against them. 18 From an interview with Khalid Bakdash (Éric Rouleau, ‘Le parti communiste syrien est décidé …’, Le Monde, 13 July 1966). 19 For example, the Soviets stressed to the Syrian communists that with regard to ‘the Palestinian question’, their slogan should definitely not be calling for the destruction of the State of Israel: ‘Neither the Soviet Union nor any friend of the Arabs will support such a slogan’. Taken from New Times, 30 June 1972. 126 Rosa Velasco Muñoz 20 The National Progressive Front was a coalition of parties under Ba’ath control that was created in 1972. 21 Here we should mention the communist writer Yassin al-Haj Saleh, who in 1980 was arrested and imprisoned. He remained in prison for 16 years, and he published his personal experiences in the book Bilkhalas Ya Shabab. According to al-Haj, the methods used for torturing the prisoners from the Muslim Brotherhood or the Iraqi Ba’athists were much more sophisticated and cruel than the ones used on communists like himself. 22 Pravda (22 May 1971). 23 TASS (May 1971). 24 Brezhnev’s report to the CPSU 14th Congress (30 March 1971). 25 As from 1973, some 2,500 advisers from the USSR operated in the Syrian army, which for the leader of the SCP indicated that President al-Assad was moving in the right direction. Though at the same time, Bakdash appeared to be unaware that ‘petty bourgeois socialism’ was being established through a bourgeoisie associated with the regime. 26 Communist influence had been reduced to small groups of the poorest rural workers. 27 In 1974, with United Nations mediation, the Golan Agreement was signed on disengagement between Israel and Syria in the Golan Heights that were occupied by Israel in the 1967 war (Security Council Resolution 350, 31 May 1974). Meanwhile, Nixon visited Damascus in May 1974. 28 Speech by Khalid Bakdash (November 1971), Journal of Palestine Studies, 2, 1 (Autumn, 1972). 29 The ‘National Coordination Committee for Democratic Change in Syria and Abroad’ is made up of known opposition figures, including both independent politicians and others from the many different left-wing parties that exist, and including Abdul-Aziz Khair’s Communist Labour Party and the Democratic People’s Party. 30 At the beginning of the conflict, some regional progressive sectors criticized the official communist parties for staying firmly by the side of al-Assad’s government. However, as a result of the devastating effects produced by clashes in the country, these criticisms have lessened, in favour of an insistence on the need to defeat the terrorist Islamist forces. Even after the Lebanese militia Hezbollah entered the conflict as a combatant force, some personalities and media from this country that are considered to be left wing have moved closer to supporting al-Assad. In July 2011, the ‘Popular Front for Change and Liberation’ was formed, made up of Qadri Jamil’s communists, Ali Haidar’s Syrian Socialist Nationalist Party (Inti- fada) and several other figures not belonging to any political organization. They proposed the creation of a broad front to protect the country and to progress towards change with a development plan that would enable balanced progress throughout the Syrian territory, especially in the rural areas, and which would offer job opportunities and sustainable development in infrastructures (al-Bunni, 2013). Both of the leaders came to form part of the al-Assad government (in 2018, Haidar continued in his post as minister of state for national reconciliation affairs). 31 The full communication is online: https://almacenindependenciaysocialismo.wordp ress.com/2011/06/15/comunicado-del-partido-comunista-sirio-unificado-a-los-parti dos-comunistas-y-obreros/;http://syrcomparty.com/ 32 The complete text is online: www.solidnet.org/syria-syrian-communist-party-uni fied/syrian-cp-unified-from-syrian-communist-party-unified-07122016-en 33 Interview with Ammar Bakdash in the newspaper Le Grand Soir, 28 August 2013: www.legrandsoir.info/entretien-avec-ammar-bagdash-secretaire-du-parti-communi ste-syrien.html The Syrian Communist Party 127 References Abdel-Malek, Anouar (1966) ‘Problématique du Socialisme dans le monde arabe’. L’Homme et la Société, 2. Achcar, Gilbert (2013) The People Want: A Radical Exploration of the Arab Uprising, Berkeley, CA, University of California Press. Agwani, M. S. (1968) ‘El conflicto ideológico en el Oriente árabe’. Foro Internacional, 8, 4, 32. al-Baker, Basheer (2011) ‘Uncovering Syria (II): We Are All Baathists’. Al-Akhbar,2 September, https://english.al-akhbar.com/node/477 al-Bunni, Akram (2013) ‘An Analysis of the Syrian Left Realities’. Rosa Luxemburg Foundation, www.rosalux.de/fileadmin/rls_uploads/pdfs/sonst_publikationen/RLS-on line-pub_syrian-left_al-Bunni.pdf Baron, Xavier (2013) Aux origines du drame syrien: 1918–2013, Paris, Tallandier. Blum, William (2005) Asesinando la esperanza, Santiago de Cuba, Editorial Oriente. Buss, Robin (1970) ‘Wary Partners: The Soviet Union and Arab Socialism’. Adelphi Paper, 73. Corm, Georges (2016) Pensée et politique dans le monde arabe: contextes historiques et problématiques, XIXe–XXIe siècle, Paris, La Découverte. Flores, Alexander (1980) ‘The Arab CPs and the Palestinian Problem’. Khamsin, 7. Gallissot, R. (Ed.) (1978) Mouvement ouvrier, communisme et nationalismes dans le monde arabe, Paris, Les Editions ouvrières. Ginat, Rami (2013) Egypt’s Incomplete Revolution: Lutfi al-Khuli and Nasser’s Soci- alism in the 1960s, London, Routledge. Heikal, Mohammed (1978) The Sphinx and the Commissar, New York, Harper & Row. Hinnebusch, Raymond & Imady, Omar (2018) The Syrian Uprising: Domestic Origins and Early Trajectory, London, Routledge. Isaac, Steven (2009) ‘The Ba‘th of Syria and Iraq’. In Ness, I. (Ed.) The International Encyclopedia of Revolution and Protest, Malden, MA, Wiley-Blackwell. Ismael, Tareq Y. & Ismael, Jacqueline S. (1998) The Communist Movement in Syria and Lebanon, Gainesville, FL, University Press of Florida. Kardahji, Nick Chafic (2015) A Deal with the Devil: The Political Economy of Lebanon, 1943–75, Berkeley, CA, University of California. Karsh, Efraim (1991) Soviet Policy towards Syria since 1970, New York, Palgrave. Kruschef, Nikita (1970) Kruschef recuerda, Madrid, Prensa Española y Santillana. Laqueur, Walter (1957) Comunismo y nacionalismo en el Cercano Oriente, Méjico, Costa-Amic. Laqueur, Walter (2016) The Struggle for the Middle East: The Soviet Union and the Middle East, 1958–68, London, Routledge. Mann, Joseph (2013) ‘Syria, Precipitator of the Six Day War’. Middle Eastern Studies, 49, 4. Nehmé, Majed (1984) ‘Le Parti communiste syrien: de la stratégie internationaliste à la contestation nationaliste’. L’Afrique et l’Asie modernes, 144. Picard, Élizabeth (1996) ‘Fin de partis en Syrie’. Revue du monde musulman et de la Méditerranée, 81, 1. Pichon, Frédéric (2013) ‘La Syrie, quel enjeu pour la Russie?’. Politique Etrangère, 1. Pichon, Frédéric (2014) Syrie: Pourquoi l’Occident s’ est trompé, Monaco, Editions du Rocher. 128 Rosa Velasco Muñoz Quilliam, Neil Mason (1997) Syria: Adjusting to the New World Order, Durham University, doctoral thesis. Quintana, Santiago & Garza, Humberto (1980) ‘La economía política de Siria’. Estudios de Asia y Africa, 15, 4, 46. Ramet, Sabrina P. (1990) The Soviet–Syrian Relationship since 1955: A Troubled Alliance, Boulder, CO, Westview Press. Sapag, Pablo (2017) Siria en perspectiva. De una crisis internacionalmente mediatizada al histórico dilema interno, Madrid, Ediciones Complutense. Schad, Geoffrey D. (2005) ‘Colonial Corporatism in the French Mandated States: Labor, Capital, the Mandatory Power, and the 1935 Syrian Law of Associations’. Revue des mondes musulmans et de la Méditerranée, 105–106. Seale, Patrick (1988) Assad of Syria: The Struggle for the Middle East, London, IB Tauris. Trentin, Massimiliano (2013) ‘La République démocratique allemande et la Syrie du parti Baas’. Les cahiers Irice, 1, 10. Ulianova, Olga (2005) ‘Medio Oriente en la política soviética durante la guerra fría’. Revista de Estudios Árabes, 1. 7 Class and nation Arab and Jewish communists in Palestine

Musa Budeiri

1 Introduction Since its founding congress in 1889, the 2nd International had proclaimed the right of nations to self-determination and its opposition to colonialism. At its Stuttgart congress in 1907, however, it became apparent that the participants held divergent views. Socialist opinion framed the issue in terms of the struggles of oppressed nationalities in the Austro-Hungarian and Russian Empire, not addressing the material reality of peoples in the far-flung pos- sessions of the imperial powers in Africa and Asia. European revolutions and the breakup of the three central empires in the aftermath of world war brought to the fore the different perceptions held by socialist leaders. While no socialist party argued openly in favour of colonialism, distinctions were made between different kinds of colonial rule, and nobody would entertain the idea that the colonies could be freed from colonial subjugation through the efforts of their own peoples; the argument centred on whether the victorious proletariat would have to continue holding on to the colonies and lead their peoples to freedom, progress and development, or whether the successful anti-capitalist revolution in the metropole would automatically signal the liberation of the colonies. The outbreak of the Bolshevik Revolution was deemed to herald the fast-approaching worldwide (read European) anti- capitalist revolution. Consequently, struggles of colonial peoples came to assume strategic importance. Liberation struggles, in tandem with the working class of the capitalist metropoles, would play a significant role in bringing down the world capitalist order. The establishment of the Communist International (Comintern) in 1919 was the outcome of two events; the success of the Bolshevik Revolution and the failure of anti-capitalist revolution elsewhere in Europe. The immediate task facing European revolutionary communists was to establish the rules for partnership with their prospective allies in the colonial and national liberation movements. An early indication of the direction the Bolsheviks were taking was the convening of the Baku Congress in September 1920 which brought together numerous delegates from Asia, who rallied under nationalist and anti-imperialist banners.1 The Comintern proclaimed the national 130 Musa Budeiri liberation movements of the colonies objective allies in the struggle against a common enemy. The second Comintern congress (July–August 1920) adopted the ‘conditions of admission to the communist international’, known as the 21 conditions aimed at establishing a tight-knit organization of revolutionary communists.2 It is instructive to examine these ‘conditions of admission’ and what they inform us about the autonomy allowed to future member parties. They stipulated that it was necessary for communist parties of imperialist countries to support liberation movements ‘not only in words but in deeds’ (Articles 5 and 8), fostering the spirit of international solidarity in the ranks of the workers of the imperialist metropole, and carrying out political work among their country’s own soldiers against the oppression of colonial peoples. A united front was to be formed between proletariat, peasantry and the national bourgeoisie, and all communist parties were enjoined to extend support to the bourgeois-democratic liberation movements. This was later amen- ded to accommodate objections made by M. N. Roy and other delegates opposed to the idea of an alliance with the bourgeoisie and who wanted instead to support the establishment of independent communist parties in the colonial countries.3 Acceptance of these 21 conditions was a prerequisite for any party which wanted to affiliate to the newly established Comintern. They set down rules for the exercise of democratic centralism, called for the drawing up of new party programmes ‘in accordance with the decisions of the communist international’, and stipulated that the programme of every member party must be subject to the approval of the Executive Committee of the Comintern.

2 Joining the ranks of the Comintern Among the ranks of Jewish immigrants who had left Central and Eastern Europe to colonize Palestine and whose numbers began to swell after the British occupation of the country and the demise of Ottoman rule, the dominant activist trend proclaimed itself ‘socialist Zionist’. Within this, socialist groups of various shades vied for the loyalty of recently disembarked Jewish labourers who had only recently left Europe behind. A large number had been active, or at least familiar with left-wing ideas in a Europe which had just witnessed both the victory of the Bolshevik Revolution and the defeat of numerous socialist revolutions, primarily in Germany and Hungary. Despite this, for many, international revolution was still on the agenda, and the immediate task for socialists was to organize the working class for the coming cataclysm. In the particular case of Palestine the task was to organize the Jewish working class and embark on the struggle against both Jewish capitalists and British imperialism. The indigenous Arab population, perceived as inert and dominated by a religious cum feudal leadership, played no part in their plans. Liberation would come once the socialist revolution was victorious. Class and nation 131 At the extreme end of the spectrum among the small immigrant community was the Poali Zion party (Workers of Zion, Left) which called for the establishment of a Jewish socialist state in Palestine. The group had been affiliated to the Second International, and proclaimed its adherence to ‘proletarian Zionism’, an amalgam advocated by Ber Borochov, a socialist Zionist native of the Ukraine who died in 1917. Poali Zion applied to the Comintern for membership and was rejected. From 1919 to 1923 dissident members of the group metamorphosed into a number of factions splitting and later reuniting, until they came together in July 1923 as the Palestine Communist Party (PCP) and gained recognition by the Comintern in February 1924 (Offenberg, 1975). It was clear to Comintern officials in Moscow that this was a party based exclusively on Jewish immigrants with no connection to the Arab inhabitants of the country. The very first instructions transmitted from Moscow and which served as a condition for membership was that the party should transform itself into a territorial party, i.e. a party reflecting the national composition of the country, rather than remain ensconced in the small world of the Jewish labour movement. For the next 20 years, this was to remain the main focus of the party and a bone of contention in its relations with the Comin- tern. As far as the Comintern was concerned the main tasks the party had to undertake were among the Arab peasantry and in its relations with the Palestinian Arab national movement. The position on Zionism was quite simple and clear. The Comintern was opposed to the colonizing project which was viewed as a tool of British imperialism, and opposed to the Zionist ideology which called for Jewish immigration to Palestine and the establishment of a Jewish national home. This created a problem for the fledgling party. It was a party made up of immigrants who had arrived in Palestine with the aim of participating in the Jewish colonizing project. Their natural field of activity remained that of fellow Jewish workers. Nevertheless, not all Jewish immigrants who arrived in Palestine remained. Some grew disillusioned with the Zionist project and left, while others were deported by the British as a result of their anti-imperialist activity. The party was constantly haemorrhaging while at the same time under pressure from Comintern officials to exit its natural milieu and enter what was to its European members an alien and uncharted world. The next 20 years of activity is a record of its attempts to do just that, with numerous failures and some success. While it generally acceded to the Comintern’s directives, it found it possible to point out the impossibility of some by appealing to other ideological requirements, thus at one stage, ‘bolshevization’ was used to point out the difficulties inherent in implementing a rapid policy of elevating recently recruited Arab members to positions of leadership within the organization. At the same time the absence of a modern industrial Palestinian Arab working class was highlighted to explain the party’s predominant activity in the ranks of immigrant Jewish workers. At a later stage, the proclivity of Haj Amin al Husseini, the foremost Palestinian national leader, to Italian and German blandishments 132 Musa Budeiri was underlined to point out growing fascist tendencies within the ranks of the Palestinian traditional leadership and the need to withhold support from the armed struggle which erupted in 1936–9 and continued until the opening phase of World War 2.

3 Creating an Arab Jewish party The members of the newly established party, having pledged their adherence to the conditions of accession to the Comintern, were now shouldered with new tasks which went beyond what had until then appeared to them to constitute their main political activity, namely the organizing of the small community of Jewish workers in their struggle to win their economic rights vis à vis their employers, and to radicalize them in the political sphere to enrol in the struggle against British imperialism. They found themselves in a situation unlike the familiar one prevailing in Europe where there was a capitalist economic order employing tens of thousands of workers, distinct social and economic differentiation and the existence of a large trade union movement and social democratic parties which competed for the loyalty of the working class. The job of the communists in Europe was to prepare for the approaching revolution, which despite initial setbacks, and the isolation of the Bolsheviks as a result of the siege imposed on them by the European powers afraid of the infection of revolution spreading to their own working classes, was still regarded as the main arena of struggle. Defence of the nascent workers’ state was high on the agenda. Periodically the Comintern would set the tone through its evaluation of the current stage of development of the world capitalist economy and the concomitant role the communists should play. Increasingly this would come to echo the perceived twists and turns of Soviet state policy. The Comintern adopted tactics which pertained to the main arenas of struggle, and applied them across the board. Whether it was the ‘Third Period’ at the Sixth Congress 1928, or the ‘Popular Front’ at the Seventh, whether it was the decision to discontinue the New Economic Policy, the reaction to the defeats of the Chinese communists or the need to combat the rise of Nazism and fascism, the conclusions drawn by the Bolshevik leadership now consolidated under the unchallenged leadership of Stalin, after the defeat of Trotsky and his exile in 1928 to Alma Ata and expulsion from the country in 1929, would apply across the board. Palestine, a peasant-based economy supporting a largely undifferentiated population, was a British colony in all but name, with an aggressive Jewish colonization movement guided by the watchword of exclusive Jewish labour and conquest of the land. The Zionist movement was in Palestine not to exploit natural resources or to wrest surplus value from the native inhabitants, but to build a separate economy and national existence, under the protective rule of the occupying colonial power. The Comintern had instructed the party, and indeed made compliance a necessary condition of acceptance within its ranks, to establish itself among the native population, i.e. the Arab Class and nation 133 peasantry, while continuing its work among Jewish workers and combating Zionism. The tools at hand were rather few. The party resorted to two methods in its attempts to reach out to the ‘native inhabitants’. First, the written word, publishing leaflets and distributing them among the peasant masses on occasions of nationalist gatherings, i.e. the Nebi Musa annual festival, or in the event of nationalist protest demonstrations. Most of the party literature was badly formulated and written in broken Arabic, reflecting the absence of an Arab cadre, not to mention that it was directed, at least in the case of the peasantry, to a largely illiterate group. The second was to recruit members willing to travel to Moscow, to enrol in the University of Toilers of the East, and undergo training both political and clandestine. In the latter they achieved a measure of success, though the results were mixed. The offer to travel/study abroad attracted people from various backgrounds; labourers barely glimpsing class consciousness, illiterate peasants, adventurers, nationalists and a sprinkling of educated bourgeois youth. On their return some of the party members enrolled in the struggle and shouldered the tasks entrusted to them, while others deserted the party either voluntarily or as a result of police repression.4 Despite the Comintern’s repeated exhortations the party proved more successful at attracting Jewish recruits than Arab ones, perhaps understandably considering the background of Jewish workers in contrast to that of Arab peasants. Yet the rate of attrition continued to be high. The mandate authorities were relentless in their pursuit of subversive elements, and any person arrested who did not possess Palestinian citizenship was prone to immediate expulsion from the country. Indeed there were always suspicions that party cadres allowed themselves to fall into the hands of the police in order to secure transport out of the country. Having lost their faith in Zionism they had little incentive to remain in Palestine. Even in the mid-1930s, a number of Jewish cadres who opposed the party’s political line in support of the Arab national movement preferred to volunteer and travel to fight for the republican cause in Spain rather than languish in British jails.5 An early attempt to appoint Arab members who had received their training in Moscow to the leadership of the party in 1930 was thwarted as a result of police activity and the arrest of the party leadership at the conclusion of the 7th party congress in December 1930.6 It was not until 1934 that Radwan al Hilu, a Moscow- trained long-serving party member, was appointed to the leadership of the party, a position he occupied until the party’s disintegration in 1943. Yet, despite the apparent success of the policy of ‘Arabization’, the party continued throughout its existence to boast a majority Jewish membership.7

4 Wrestling with the national problem Even before the General Arab Strike, which broke out in 1936, and the armed revolt which succeeded it, the party had to wrestle with the numerous outbreaks of violence which pitted the two communities, Arab and Jewish, 134 Musa Budeiri against each other. The party characteristically laid the blame for the violence on nationalist leaders on the Arab side and the Zionist leadership of the Jewish settler community on the other, while the British were held to be playing both sides in the usual ‘divide and rule’ fashion. Already in August 1929, when violence between the two communities was sparked by disagreements over possession of Haet Al Buraq (the Western Wall), the party initially fell in line with the Jewish community in characterizing the events as a pogrom,8 but later reconsidered its position and described the events as an anti-imperialist uprising, in accordance with the pronouncements of both Arab nationalist leaders and Comintern evaluations. The main culprits were the British colonial authorities themselves, whose actions abetted and inflamed nationalist feelings and who allowed the rampaging mobs to carry out their tasks, only intervening after blood had been spilt and the gulf between the two communities had become even wider.9 When in 1935 the Comintern’s 7th congress gave its assent to a policy of cooperation with social democratic and national bourgeois parties in an attempt to stave off the rising Nazi and fascist menace in Europe, this was translated in Palestine into support for the Arab national movement. Even before the advent of the popular front era, the communists in Palestine had been trying to figure out a radical wing within the so-called national bourgeoisie. The Istiklal Party, a Pan-Arab party opposed to the leadership of Haj Amin al Husseini, the head of the Palestinian Arab national movement, was deemed to fit the bill. Within that party, a young guard gathered round a Gaza journalist, Hamdi al Husseini, was characterized as an incipient left wing. Already Hamdi al Husseini had collaborated with the communists and at one stage was the Palestinian representative to the League against Imperi- alism, had participated in its congresses and had made the trip to Moscow where he was received by Stalin himself.10 The new policy, which in fact had been in place since 1933, guaranteed Moscow’s assent to the party’s support of the Arab General Strike and subsequent armed rebellion, which broke out in September 1936 and which was to last, with faltering momentum, well into 1939 and the advent of World War 2. The party’s immersion in the struggle of the Palestinian Arab national movement against its twin enemies, the British mandate and the Zionist colonization project, was the period when the party became well and truly Arabized. Indeed, at least among the Arab membership of the organization, this was regarded its ‘golden age’.11 Arab party membership expanded and new members assumed leading positions. The party’s attempts to participate in the ongoing armed struggle, however, would later bring charges from Jewish party members of an ‘Arab nationalist deviation’. Even at the time questions were raised about the wisdom of some of the acts committed by party members.12 The difficulties created by the situation and the fact that the two communities in the country, Arabs and Jews, led separate lives, militated against joint activity, and the party decided to set up a ‘Jewish section’ to carry out party activity within the Jewish working class. In effect the Class and nation 135 leadership of the party was in the hands of Radwan al Hilu, who in addition to his position as general secretary of the party acted as the head of the Arab membership while Simha Tsabari headed the Jewish membership.13 This would eventually lead to the growth of numerous factions which began to question the correctness of the party line and the adoption of divergent politics. The decision by Stalin to abolish the Comintern in 1943 was the signal which led to the disintegration of the party and the establishment by the membership of separate national organizations.14 The larger part of the Arab membership would re-establish itself in an Arab nationalist framework, the National Liberation League (NLL), whereas the main body of the Jewish members would continue under the name of the Palestine Communist Party. Additionally, several groups of Jewish party members would establish small factions (e.g. HaEmet (The Truth) and the Jewish National Communists; their members would eventually be absorbed within the PCP or abandon political activity altogether). The two prominent leaders of the party for the previous ten years, Radwan Al Hilu and Simha Tsabari, would bow out of the political scene.

5 National communism on the eve of partition When partition came in 1948 neither Arab nor Jewish communists appear to have anticipated its approach, despite warning signs of a shift in the Soviet position as early as April 1947.15 Circumstances and unwavering loyalty to Moscow allowed them nevertheless to quickly adapt to the changing political environment. Already in the aftermath of the German attack on the Soviet Union in June 1941 the party adopted a popular front strategy within the Jewish community in Palestine, calling for the unity of anti-fascist forces and agitating for the opening of a second front to alleviate pressure on Soviet troops who bore the main brunt of the German war machine. The independence which accrued to the Jewish communists after 1943 with the dissolution of the Comintern would facilitate this task and allow them to function as a legitimate component of the Jewish community in the country. In Palestine and neighbouring Syria/Lebanon, anti-fascist committees were established by Arab communists whose raison d’être was the linkage between anti-fascism and anti-imperialism. For the rump of Arab communists now reconstituted as a national party with a younger leadership which had found its way to its ranks during the years of the Arab revolt, the primary task was to organize Arab labourers. The war years had witnessed a swelling of their numbers as a result of the establishment of civilian military work camps to meet the demands of British armies in the Middle East after lines of communication with the United Kingdom had been blocked. They were to prove remarkably successful in the task of building a new Arab labour movement, carrying the name the Arab Workers Congress, which marshalled within its ranks tens of thousands of Arab workers from all parts of the country. Alongside this, attention was paid 136 Musa Budeiri to the growing ranks of an Arab intelligentsia which found its path to political activity blocked by traditional parties which were little more than assemblages of notables, feudal landowners and religious clerics. Basing itself on a group of teachers and young professionals, the League of Arab Intellec- tuals was established in 1945 with a literary theoretical journal, Al-Ghad (Tomorrow), which speedily attracted a wide readership extending beyond Palestine’s borders. Both Arab and Jewish factions pursued similar policies within their national communities as far as general political issues were concerned. They opposed continued British rule, denounced Zionist colonization and condemned the idea of partition which had already been raised in the mid-1930s by British officials. They both held to a resolution of the conflict based on the termination of British rule and the establishment of a unitary democratic state in the country. When the Soviet Union voted for partition in the United Nations (UN) in November 1947 this came as a surprise, but proved convenient to the Jewish communist faction which allowed it at last to normalize its relationship with governing bodies of the Jewish community, and indeed Meir Vilner, one of the party leaders, would in 1948 append his name to Israel’s declaration of independence. Already in May 1947 Gromyko, as permanent representative of the Soviet Union to the UN, gave a speech which indicated changes in the Soviet position,16 but this was not picked up by the communists in Palestine. A meeting of communist parties of the British Commonwealth held in London under the auspices of the Communist Party of Great Britain in February– March 194717 and in which both Arab and Jewish communists participated, had strengthened their conviction that the demand for a single democratic state was the official standpoint of the international communist movement and nothing had prepared them for the abrupt change which was to come in November 1947. The November 1947 decision on partition had contrasting repercussions in the ranks of Arab and Jewish communists. For the former it led to dissension and discord. But what was more important was the rapid and total collapse of Arab society, the outcome of defeat on the battlefield coupled with a policy of ethnic cleansing employed by the newly emerging Israeli state. Both those opposed to partition and those in favour were swept away in the upheaval which ensued. Those Arab communists who remained in areas which came under the control of the invading Arab armies were rounded up and imprisoned. Their outspoken support for partition and their call to Arab soldiers to return home and turn their bayonets against their own ruling classes18 was received with hostility by the Arab inhabitants of the country who saw the invading Arab armies as their saviours. It was only with the retreat of the Arab armies and further advance of Israeli forces to areas outside those ear- marked for the Jewish state according to the UN partition plan that they secured their freedom, which explains the relatively large number of Arab communists who eventually found themselves within the borders of the newly established state.19 Class and nation 137 The Jewish communists, on the other hand, enthusiastically supported the implementation of partition characterizing it as part of the struggle against the British imperial presence in the region and soon renamed themselves the Communist Party of Israel (MAKI). Later in September 1949 they were joined by those Arab communists who had found themselves in Israeli territory.20 The PCP, now reconstituted as the Communist Party of Israel, had regained its internationalist character and unified within its ranks both Jews and Arabs, the primary condition the Comintern had demanded when it was first approached in 1923 by the newly established PCP with the demand for recognition as a section.

6 Internal developments: the re-establishment of the Palestine Communist Party The Arab communists in eastern Palestine, the area which fell under Jorda- nian rule in 1948 and came to be known as the West Bank, continued to operate under the name of the National Liberation League. For a couple of years after the Jordanian occupation of the area they persisted in their call for the establishment of an independent Arab state as decreed by the UN 1947 partition resolution. They opposed the convening of the Jericho Congress held in December 1948 to facilitate the annexation of the newly acquired territory to TransJordan and publicly denounced the forced unification, calling for a boycott of parliamentary elections scheduled for April 1950. A demonstration denouncing the scheduled elections led by communists took place in Nablus, the region’s second largest city, in April 1950, and was disbanded by police; those arrested were forced on a ‘death march’ to Amman during which a young member of the party collapsed and died21 (al-Ashhab, 2009: 63–4). In July 1948 the governor of Jerusalem appointed by the Arab Higher Committee outlawed the NLL and ordered that its members be arrested. This remained in force when the new Jordanian administration took over (Kaufman, 2014: 122). Again in 1951 they called for a boycott of parliamentary elections. Soon, however, they made their peace with the new reality of Jordanian control in eastern Palestine and in May 1951 changed their name to the Jordanian Communist Party (JCP). Their new political platform persisted in demanding the implementation of UN resolutions 181 and 194 calling for the establishment of an independent Arab state in mandated Palestine, and for the return of the refugees to their homes in what had now become the state of Israel.22 The handful of Arab communists who found themselves in the Gaza Strip continued to organize under the name of the Palestine Communist Party aided by the fact that the Egyptians who ‘administered’ the Strip did not annex it to Egypt and continued to treat it as Palestinian territory. Through- out the 19-year period of Egyptian control of the Strip, the communist party was banned and the communists maintained an underground existence (Bseisu, 1980; Yassin, 1978). Their isolation came to an end with the Israeli 138 Musa Budeiri conquest of the West Bank and the Gaza Strip in June 1967. Israel’s military victory in effect reconstituted Palestine’s original borders and the communists in the Gaza Strip gradually reunited with their comrades in the West Bank of Jordan, but tellingly, not with those organized as the New Communist List (RAKAH) in Israel itself. In the immediate aftermath of the unification congress of September 1949, MAKI found itself in a supportive environment both locally and inter- nationally. From the very first elections to the Israeli Knesset in 1949 it would gain parliamentary representation, on one occasion gaining as many as six seats.23 The party benefitted from two special conditions: the newly established state’s ban on the establishment of purely Arab parties on the one hand, and the escalating Cold War on the other. By championing the rights of the small Arab minority which remained within Israel’s borders, and which for the first 17 years of its existence lived under a special military regime, the party gained the support of a sizeable part of the community. It was careful, however, not to blur the line between non-Zionism and anti-Zionism. It no longer drew on its radical anti-Zionist tradition and characterized itself as non-Zionist. This was tolerated by the state. Besides international considerations, the communists were not the only political grouping in the newly established state to characterize themselves as non-Zionist; there were others who did the same, both on the right and among the religious public. The unfolding of the Cold War gave the party an additional measure of support from groups of left Zionist workers who saw in it a defender of their economic rights as proletarians. There had always been a minority trend within the Zionist movement which saw itself as Marxist and tried to blend its version of Marxism with Jewish nationalism. They admired and supported the Soviet Union and were opposed to United States imperialist policies in various parts of the world as well of those of the old colonial powers. This was accentuated the further away from Palestine the issues became. This became clear with the rise of Arab nationalism under the leadership of Egypt in the mid-1950s and 1960s. Israel was directly implicated in the attempt to contain the growing popularity of Gamal Abdel Nasser, whether through collusion with Britain and France in the Suez war of 1956, support for Nasser’s enemies in the Arab world, carrying out military incursions within the Egyptian-controlled Gaza Strip and inflicting punitive blows against Syria, Egypt’s foremost ally in the region. While the party continued to pay lip service to the idea of partition, its main platform was now centred on opposition to war, and it persisted in its calls for ‘ajustpeacefulsettlement’ of the Palestine issue and a ‘peace based on recognition of national sovereignty of all states in the region’.24 It proved unable, however, to hold together under the pressure of aggressive and war- like policies carried out by successive Israeli governments against Egypt and Syria, states perceived as the Soviet Union’smainalliesintheregion. Consequently in 1965 the party split along national lines. A small minority of both Jewish members and leaders remained loyal to the pro-Moscow Class and nation 139 and predominantly Arab faction which hereafter was renamed the New Communist List (RAKAH). The majority of the Jewish membership of the party, including most leading members, continued to adhere to a now purely Jewish communist organization and eventually disappeared from the Israeli political scene; they had become indistinguishable from other left Zionist factions and underwent a slow process of assimilation and absorption within their ranks. Twenty years later, in 1985, the predominantly Arab New Communist List (RAKAH) was able to regain the original party name and was henceforth known as MAKI. By this stage, RAKAH-MAKI had for all intents and purposes become an all-Arab party, despite the insistence on having a token Arab Jewish leadership and Jewish representation in the Knesset. The party now perceived itself as the legitimate offspring of the old PCP, and despite continued efforts in the social sphere, its main field of activity was as the representative of the Arab national minority and the struggle for its political and civil rights in a state which was increasingly distancing itself from its secular origins and proclaimed its Jewish character. Until the demise of the Soviet Union and the communist bloc in the late 1980s, it persisted in its demands to disengage the state from the imperialist camp and to undertake a rapprochement with the Arab world grounded in a just settlement of the refugee problem which, though never clearly spelled out, was understood to mean compensation for the losses incurred in 1948, but not necessarily repatriation.

7 The transformation of Palestinian communists into Jordanian communists Members of the old NLL, who now constituted the building blocks of the JCP, rapidly established a presence in the Jordanian political scene. In the period stretching up to 1957 when the Jordanian monarch engineered a royal coup against his own nationalist cabinet, the Jordanian communists, despite suffering the stigma of having supported partition, entered for the first time into a broad front with nationalist parties and contested the parliamentary elections of October 1954. Participating in what came to be regarded as the country’s freest elections ever, party members stood again in October 1956 and the party succeeded for the first time in getting its representatives elected to the parliament in Amman.25 The transformation into a Jordanian party had been rapid, and the organization’s main preoccupation was no longer Palestine or the refugees, but the Cold War, and what was perceived to be Jordan’s continued subjugation to British imperial domination. This enabled it to make common cause with other nationalist forces in Jordan clamouring for termination of the treaty of alliance between Jordan and the United Kingdom, the Arabization of the army by ending the employment of General J. B. Glubb and the coterie of British officers who wield effective power in the force, and adherence to Nasser’s polices of non-alignment and friendship with the communist bloc. 140 Musa Budeiri The party was driven underground in April 1957, its members either arrested and given long prison sentences in Jordan’s notorious desert prison camp in al Jaffr, or forced to flee the country, along with members of the Ba’ath party and the Arab Nationalist Movement. For the next decade it led a shadowy existence and remained detached from the issues which were soon to galvanize the Jordanian political scene. According to the party’s own account of its history, a faction within the leadership of the party had suc- cumbed to the blandishments of the mukhabarat (the internal security forces) and in 1966 after the arrest of its top leaders embarked on a path of reconciliation with the regime.26 This was cut short by the outbreak of the June 1967 war which ushered in a new era both locally and regionally. The establishment of the Palestine Liberation Organisation (PLO) in 1964 and later the appearance of the first armed guerrilla organizations which subordinated all social and political issues to the single imperative of waging war on Israel with the aim of liberation and return did not cause the JCP to modify its political strategy. The party continued to give primacy to the struggle against the Cold War and Jordan’s allegiance to the Western camp and clamoured for alignment with what was termed the ‘progressive Arab camp’ comprising Egypt and Syria. The drastic transformation which took place in 1967 as a result of Arab military defeat manifested itself in the collapse of political authority in Jordan. This created a situation of dual power which allowed not only the armed Palestinian organizations to operate with complete disregard for the established regime, but also gave life to various other political organizations which had for long been banned by the authorities and whose members were now released from custody and were able to come out into the open and to engage in political activities. In the aftermath of the June 1967 war and the loss of the West Bank to Israel, the JCP, far from falling in line with the popular mood, came out in support of the implementation of Security Council resolution 242 which called for Israeli withdrawal from all the territories it occupied in June 1967 and for a peace settlement between Israel and its Arab neighbours. Thus in the post-1967 period when armed struggle and people’s war were on everybody’s lips, Jordanian communists persisted in their demand for the adoption of UN resolutions 242 and 194, the withdrawal of Israeli troops to the 4 June 1967 borders, and the restoration of the status quo ante, while at the same time reaffirming their long-held position on the necessity of implementing the original 1947 UN partition resolution. Moreover Fahmi Salfiti, the most prominent leader of the JCP living in the country, decried the rise of adventurist tendencies in Jordan and the wider Arab world and publicly criticized Palestinian advocates of armed struggle (Salfiti, 1968: 43–6). In practical terms the JCP was standing up for the integrity of the Jordanian state and the monarchical regime, refusing to join the chorus which clamoured for a people’s liberation war and revolutionary transformation. Its watchword became encapsulated in the expression ‘removing the effects of the aggression’. Yet Class and nation 141 despite the best of intentions it could not avoid being gradually swept along the rising radical tide which saw armed struggle as the only viable political strategy in the conflict with Israel. A split within the top echelons of the party took place with a conservative minority in the leadership refusing to bow to the militant wave engulfing the region and indeed the party.27 The entrench- ment of numerous Palestinian guerrilla groups in Amman, whose numbers mushroomed as a result of the thousands of volunteers who flocked to their ranks from both Jordan’s Palestinian refugee camps and the neighbouring Arab countries, had fundamentally transformed Jordan’s political situation. If the party wanted to remain relevant or indeed survive, and to capitalize on the new atmosphere which allowed for political competition right across the political spectrum stretching from religious fundamentalists to the proponents of workers and peasant Soviets, it was constrained to go with the tide. Within the occupied territories themselves the party was quick to reorga- nize its ranks trying to create a broad front with what few political forces had managed to survive the politically repressive environment of the previous decade. It also reached out to local notables and establishment political figures in an effort to co-opt them into this front to stand up to the Israeli occupation authorities. For the next 30 years this would remain the communists’ main strategy; the creation of a broad united national front which would engage in non-violent resistance to the regime of expulsions, impri- sonments and settlement instituted by the Israeli occupation authorities and encapsulated in the slogan of Summoud (steadfastness) (Dakkak, 1983: 70–1). In this the communists achieved a measure of success, but their larger success lay in their efforts to create popular organizations at the grass-roots level at a time when the constituent groups of the PLO eschewed political activity and concentrated their energies in pursuit of armed struggle. Thus in the occupied Palestinian territories and for close to 15 years the communists had the (political) field to themselves. The Israeli authorities for their part kept a tight leash on the party’s activities. While periodically imprisoning party members and expelling leading cadres to Jordan and Lebanon in an attempt to stem any drift towards the organization of armed underground cells, they nevertheless exhibited a certain tolerance. Primacy was given to those engaged in armed activities within and without its de facto borders and to combating armed bands which infiltrated across the border. The defeat and expulsion of the Palestinian guerrilla groups from Amman in the aftermath of the war waged against them by a rejuve- nated Jordanian regime in 1970/1, and their reallocation to Lebanon, somewhat relieved the pressure on the party. A division of labour appears to have naturally taken place; armed struggle became the sole preserve of the PLO and its constituent groups in Lebanon and elsewhere, while political organizing and popular mobilization against the occupation was the field of choice of the Jordanian communists within the occupied territories. All along the party’s strategy was based on the belief that diplomatic efforts bolstered by support of the Soviet Union and the Eastern Bloc would force 142 Musa Budeiri Israel to relinquish the occupied territories and ensure their restoration to Jordan. In the meantime it busied itself organizing unions and professional associations with the aim of mobilizing all sections of society comprising workers, students and women, in the day-to-day struggle against the occupation. The armed struggle, the prerogative of the outside, was shyly supported at a distance but the party did not feel impelled to practise it. The communists’ greatest success was undoubtedly the formation of the Patriotic Front in the mid-1970s and early 1980s which encompassed the elected mayors of the major West Bank towns, representatives of political organizations and professional bodies, in addition to ‘nationalist personalities’ (Dakkak, 1983). But it was the party itself which possessed ‘troops’ in the sense of having grass- root organizations which were able to mobilize various sectors of the population and carry out mass actions. Nevertheless, the occupation authorities’ attitude toward the communists continued to oscillate between toleration and repression. On the one hand, the fact that they did not engage in armed activities differentiated them from the organizations affiliated to the PLO and allowed the Israelis to turn a blind eye, yet at the same time their success in building grass-roots organizations and widening their base of support, the increasing acceptance of the idea of a two-state solution within Palestinian ranks and their increasing cooperation with diaspora-based Palestinian political organizations resulted in greater radicalization within the occupied territories and drove the authorities to adopt harsher punitive measures.

8 The re-establishment of the Palestine Communist Party While initially operating as a section of the JCP, communist activists in the Israeli-occupied West Bank and Gaza rapidly gravitated towards establishing their own independent Palestinian organization. Surrendering to the pressure exerted by their Palestinian political environment, the name of the party was initially modified to the Communist Organisation in the West Bank in the summer of 1975. Their first public appearance on the political scene, however, had been as al Jabha Al Wataniya (the Patriotic Front).28 It was common knowledge at the time that the communists were using the name in order to marshal the widest possible popular support and to avoid any partisan sensitivities. They strove tirelessly to give substance to a united front with other political groups and professional bodies, and their efforts were rewarded in August 1973 with the founding of a more representative Jabha Wataniya. The Israeli occupation forces immediately unleashed a wave of arrests against party members and by April 1974 they had succeeded in nearly destroying the front, arresting its leading members and exiling them out of the country.29 Arabi Awaad, the leader of the party in the occupied territories, was one of those expelled in December 1973 alongside other nationalist leaders right at the start of the Israeli campaign to eradicate the front.30 The communists for their part did not camouflage their aims which were at variance from those of the PLO and prevailing Palestinian sentiment, and Class and nation 143 made this explicit in their political programme. Their demand for support for partition, a two-state solution and the setting up of an independent Palesti- nian state did not falter. Despite finding themselves in a minority position, a situation they were often accustomed to, they remained steadfast in their calls for what has come to be euphemistically called ‘the two-state solution’ long before this had become acceptable to the PLO, and to Israel (at least verbally), and as a result to the international community as well. In a concession to existing political realities they added to their list of demands support for the slogan of the PLO as the sole legitimate representative of the Palestinian people, despite the fact that the organization had for long closed its doors to their application for membership. The transformations of the PLO itself after a succession of military defeats, culminating in their expulsion from Lebanon in the summer of 1982 at the hands of Israeli troops, paradoxically lent itself to a strengthening of the PLO’s international standing. Already Arafat’s appearance before the UN general assembly in 1974 and the subsequent adoption of the PLO’s transitional programme calling for the establishment of a ‘national authority’, understood to be a euphemism for a Palestinian state in the West Bank and the Gaza Strip, had brought the organization widening international recognition. Within communist ranks this increased the pressure for the assumption of a Palestinian persona and separation from the JCP. Increasingly the party’s pronouncements no longer talked about ‘liquidating the results of the aggression’ and the consequent reunification of the West Bank within the framework of the Jordanian state. Already in 1975, factions within the party in the occupied territories were disseminating printed literature under the name of the Palestine Communist Party, despite the leadership’s opposition,31 while, as stated above, the official party hierarchy clung to the link with Jordan and would only agree to change the party’s name to the Organisation of Palestinian Communists. Although Jordanian communists as a political organization remained outside the ranks of the PLO and would remain so until 1987, they were active within the organization’s councils as individuals representing popular organizations. Members of the party outside the occupied territories enjoyed close relations with various left-wing organizations who themselves were represented in the various bodies of the PLO. Consequently, when in February 1982 the Jorda- nian mother party gave its assent to changing the name of the organization to the PCP32 this was merely giving formal recognition to an already existing reality and helped unite the various factions within the organization. It was soon to become clear, however, that members who were active outside the occupied territories had grown much closer to the PLO and had become infected with its addiction to armed struggle. The outbreak of the Intifada or popular insurrection in December 1987 appeared to vindicate the party’s faith in the power of popular organization and non-violent protest. The leadership, however, remained wary, not wanting to encumber the inhabitants of the territories with more tasks than they could 144 Musa Budeiri cope with. Alongside other political forces active in the occupied territories, they assumed the Intifada would need be short lived. Its spontaneous nature would necessarily result in its eventual petering out.33 In this all the parties concerned proved to be mistaken. The longevity of the Intifada and its persistent affirmation of support for the PLO as the sole legitimate representative of the Palestinian people would eventually facilitate the negotiating process between the Israeli government and the PLO. Paradoxically the outbreak of the Intifada had already shifted the focus of the Palestinian struggle from the armed to the popular field; and from the outside, with a PLO leadership ensconced far away in Tunisia and bereft of a popular base after its expulsion from Lebanon, to the inside. The Palestinian communists were well placed to capitalize on this and assumed a primary role in the ensuing political developments which would eventually lead to Israeli-Palestinian negotiations at Madrid and the conclusion of a transitional peace agreement at Oslo in 1993 and mutual Israeli-Palestinian recognition. The outcome of this would be the establishment of the Palestine Authority under the leadership of the PLO. The party, despite its numerous reservations in relation to the negotiation process and details of the accord, was a partner in the negotiation process having already been accepted in the leading bodies of the PLO at the Algiers meeting of the Palestinian National Council in 1987. Now ensconced in the inner councils of the PLO, the communists, at Arafat’s behest, along with other left- wing groups, occupied a seat in the top decision-making bodies of the organization. They constituted his natural allies in his efforts to carry out the pragmatic steps which would allow him to win American, and later Israeli recognition as a meaningful negotiation partner. PCP representatives would serve both in the leading councils of the PLO and in the cabinets that Yasser Arafat formed after his return to the occupied territories. Paradoxically the communists’ support for and advocacy of partition was vindicated in the broad acceptance with which the signed agreements were initially received. They had pushed for the establishment of an independent national state from the mid-1970s, when such talk was anathema in the councils of the PLO as well as to the Israeli mainstream. Twenty years later a series of defeats forced the PLO to accede to an inferior arrangement, autonomy without national sovereignty, with the promise that this would in full time lead to full sovereignty and independent statehood. More than 20 years later this has proved to be a chimera. By then both regional and international conditions had changed and the party itself had now become a shadow of its former self. Soon after, with the collapse of the international communist movement in the late 1980s, the party held a congress in October 1991 in which it was decided to transform itself into a ‘socialist’ party and, reflecting its new ideology, to change its name to the Palestinian People’s Party (Hizb al-Sha’b al-Filastini).34 A faction rejected these changes and refused to abide by the congress decisions and continued to operate under the name of the Palestine Communist Party, maintaining an international presence through a network of like-minded communist parties which survived the disappearance of the Class and nation 145 Soviet Union and the communist bloc. In October 2016 press reports indicated that it had participated in the Hanoi meeting of international communist parties, and in 2017 in a similar gathering in Saint Petersburg.35 The Israeli communists, for their part, likewise survived the meltdown of the international communist movement and retained the name MAKI but have also undergone a transformation into an openly Arab national party, despite the token presence of a number of Jewish members. In an Israeli political field which has moved increasingly to the right with the disappearance of any vestiges of left Zionist political parties or social-democratic ideology, it has assumed the role of a ‘peace’ party. It places itself at the head of the struggle for political and civil rights of the Arab national minority within Israel and has entered into a broad coalition with the various components of Arab society, including those based on religious affiliation to the right, and those calling for the recognition of the Arab community in Israel as a national community with all the ensuing rights and privileges, envisaging Israel as a binational state to its left. The party remains a staunch advocate of the two-state solution. One thing is self-evident, internationalism has been abandoned and the party has undergone a transformation from an organization grounded in class to a nationalist one.

9 Conclusion The fateful connection between the communist movement in Palestine and later in Israel and Jordan with the Soviet Union was foretold from the very beginning when a handful of Jewish communists applied to join the ranks of the Comintern and agreed to subordinate themselves to its authority and to abide by the 21 conditions of membership. Priority to the international context was and remained the primary consideration; unswerving loyalty to the turns and twists of Comintern policy denied the rank and file the freedom to engage in locally driven politics. The goals of Soviet foreign policy defined the tasks imposed on the Comintern, which the latter passed on to its affiliated member parties. Whether the discussion is of the ‘popular front’, the rapprochement with Germany as manifested in the Molotov-Ribbentrop August 1939 pact, the support for partition in Palestine or the endorsement of ‘progressive’ Arab regimes in the 1960s, it was incumbent on Arab and Jewish communists to adapt to the latest tactical moves of Soviet diplomacy clothing it in the requisite revolutionary rhetoric. This is not to deny agency to individual Arab and Jewish communists. Youthful and idealistic, they joined an outlawed movement subjected to various intensities of police repression for most of its existence with faith in the righteousness of their path and in the infallibility of the Soviet state, increasingly personified in the person of Stalin and his successors. Adaptation of their political activity to the tactical needs of the Soviet state was not the outcome of dictates but willingly entered into in the belief that furthering the aims of Soviet policy and defending the ‘socialist fatherland’ was the best possible service they could give to the cause 146 Musa Budeiri of socialism and world revolution. Indeed, within the ranks of the movement there was often intense debate, disagreement and acrimony. At various junc- tures, organizations split up and new factions set themselves up as ‘authentic’ communist parties; nevertheless, all the while warring factions continued to declare their unconditional support for Stalin and whoever succeeded to the leadership of the CPSU. Belief in the primary role of the Soviet Union was an article of faith while matters of tactics could and did lead to bitter quarrels and divisions, to accusations of treason to the cause of the proletariat and internationalism and to appeals to the CPSU itself for legitimation. In the aftermath of the Sykes-Picot division of the Ottoman inheritance the communists committed themselves to the fight against the dominant imperialist powers in the region, Britain and France, and to the search for a non- nationalist solution for the region’s malaise. They rejected the borders created by Anglo-French intrigue for control and domination but they did not subscribe to the idea of integral Arab unity as an appropriate solution for the peoples living in the region. They nevertheless held to the belief that the peoples suffering the rule of Anglo-French colonialism shared much in common and that theirs was a single fight against a common enemy. They opposed Zionism while at the same time they perceived a community of interests between Arab and Jewish labourers and, while the nationalists called for the establishment of an Arab state in Palestine, they demanded the creation of a democratic state for all of its inhabitants, Arabs and Jews. They did not see the conflict in Palestine as one between Arabs and Jews but as one against imperialism and colonialism. They did not advocate expulsion of Jews from the country and called for an end to British rule and the establishment of a democratic government. The overwhelming majority of Jews in Palestine were part of the labouring classes and had the same interests and suffered the same exploitation as the native Arab inhabitants. Jewish workers who had become disillusioned by Zionism did not need to leave the country but could join the party and struggle for a common future for all of its inhabitants. The communists created modern political parties in an attempt to establish grassroots movements to organize workers and peasants and enable them to exert their influence and make their preferences known, in opposition to clan-based parties centred on clerical and feudal leaders and notables who were not accountable to their followers and who were an integral part of the power structures of the ruling imperial powers. They established trade unions to enable the working class in the making to organize itself and acquire the tools of the class struggle, just as they established literary journals which opened up space for the circulation of ideas and familiarized the public with the cultures and struggles of other peoples in other countries and other continents, and they introduced the giants of international literature to a youthful middle class which had only recently broken through the illiteracy barrier. In the era of independence in the 1950s and beyond, the communists mobilized themselves as soldiers in the global Cold War and subordinated all local and regional conflicts to the struggle between the capitalist world and the Soviet Class and nation 147 Union and its dependent states in Eastern Europe. They diluted their social programmes and dressed themselves up in nationalist colours. This won them a measure of support from the intelligentsia and a section of the middle classes. But in the end they remained outsiders. In Palestine they were unable to overcome the national divide and they became enmeshed in the national division which ensued and found themselves ensconced within the confines of their own national community. Gradually, the social struggle took a back seat and they became indistinguishable from other national parties except to the extent that they continued to look to Moscow for a lead, and to measure their own country’s regimes as a function of the distance it took from Moscow and Washington. Both in Palestine/Israel and in Jordan communist parties continue to exist. They share little if anything with their forebears and their political lexicon owes nothing to the vocabulary of class struggle, proletarian revolution and the ideals of internationalism, yet they continue to portray themselves as the legitimate offspring of the attempts of class-conscious Arab and Jewish workers in the first half of the twentieth century to try and construct a more just and equal world.

Notes 1 ‘Summons to the Congress: To the Enslaved Popular Masses of Persia, Armenia and Turkey’. Baku Congress of the Peoples of the East. Baku September 1920. Stenographic report. NY 1977, pp. 1–5. 2 ‘Terms of Conditions for Admission into the Second International July 1920’, www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1920/jul/x01.htm 3 Manabendra Nath (MN) Roy ‘M. N. Roy Supplementary Thesis on the National and Colonial Question. 4th session July 25, 1920’, www.marxists.org/history/ international/comintern/2nd-congress/ch04.htm 4 Al Hurriya, 19 April 1982, pp. 33–42. Interview with Abdul Hafith al Abssi, old member of the PCP and a student in Moscow in the early 1930s; interview with Radwan al Hilu, general secretary of the party 1934–43 (in Budeiri, 2013: 62); interview with Muhammad Duwaidar, student at the University of Toilers of the East, Moscow. He spent the period 1927–37 in the Soviet Union (in al Saeed, 1972: 232). 5 Interview with Radwan Al Hilu, who mentions the opposition of the party to members leaving to fight in Spain (Budeiri, 2013: 73). 6 This was the outcome of the betrayal of Ahmad Sidqi, a party member who himself had received his training in Moscow and who was the brother of Najat Sidqi, the most prominent Arab leader of the party at the time. Report of trial in Filastin, 17 May 1931; reproduced in Budeiri, 2013: 298–300. 7 Radwan al Hilu emphasized that the party was always more successful in recruit- ing Jewish members despite the fact that the party leadership since 1934 had an Arab majority. Interview with R. al Hilu (Budeiri, 2013: 60, 78). 8 According to Joseph Berger, leader of the PCP in the late 1920s, Boumil Smeral, Czech communist leader and Comintern emissary visiting Palestine at the time, concurred with the party’s characterization of the event as a pogrom (Keshet, N 29 1965; interview with Jospeh Berger (Budeiri, 2013: 39)). Boumil Smeral himself would later write an article which was published in the French edition of Inprecor (but not in the English one) where he skirts the issue (Inprecor, No. 112, 9 November 1929, p. 512). Interview with Radwan al Hilu (Budeiri, 2013: 59). 148 Musa Budeiri 9 ‘The Revolt in Palestine. PCP Statement on 1929 Events’. Inprecor, N 54 and 56. Interview with Joseph Berger (Budeiri, 2013: 39–40). 10 Interview with Hamdi Husseini in (Budeiri, 2013: 171–3). ‘Telegram from Hamdi Husseini 20 July 1929 to Secretariat of League against Imperialism 2nd Congress in Frankfurt. Protesting Egyptian Government Refusal to Grant Transit Visa to Travel to Alexandria to Take Boat to Europe. Signed as: Delegate of the Left Wing of 7th Arab Palestinian Congress (1928)’. Filastin, 25 July 1929; Al Ahrar (Beirut), 16 August 1929. For Husseini’s extensive links with the Comintern see Zehavi, 2005: 442–54. 11 Interview with Radwan al Hilu (Budeiri, 2013: 77). 12 Letter in Haor, 17 December 1936 (a Tel Aviv journal published by Mordechai Stein, a lawyer with Trotskyist leanings) in reference to a bomb thrown at a workers’ club. Letter signed Poel (worker). Radwan for his part insists that Jewish party members were keen to participate in armed activities. Interview with Radwan al Hilu (Budeiri, 2013: 73). The party issued a denial at the time of that particular incident. Boulos Farah, a member of the Central Council of the PCP at the time, in his memoirs points the finger at one of the newly elevated Arab members to the leadership who he portrays as having been a Mufti supporter if not an outright implant (Farah, 1985: 192). 13 Simha Tzabari was another Moscow-trained party cadre. For a journalistic account of her life see Karpel, 2004. See also personal details in Comintern archives dated 22 December 1942, reproduced in Zehavi, 2005: 494–5. 14 Radwan al Hilu, who had been appointed as party leader by Moscow, was aware that his authority came from the Comintern and with the dissolution of the latter had lost his authority. Interview, R. Al Hilu (Budeiri, 2013: 67). 15 Already the Soviets had decided that they would support partition though this was not known to the party (Letter of Molotov, 30 September 1948, addressed to A. Vyshinski in New York, the Soviet representative at the UN, stating that the creation of an independent Jewish state was the Soviet position despite the fact that at Gromyko’s appearance at the UN in April 1947 he had suggested that the Soviet Union preferred the establishment of a united dual state (Gorodetsky et al., 2000)). Interview with Chimen Abramsky, ex member of the PCP and later member of the Communist Party of Great Britain (5 July 1973 at the London Conference of British Communist Parties). 16 ‘A. Gromyko at the First Special Session of the UN General Assembly. New York. 14 May 1947’, www.zionism-israel.com/zionism_ungromyko.htm 17 ‘We Speak of Freedom’. Conference of Communist Parties of the British Empire, London, 26 February–2 March 1947. Booklet published by the Communist Party of Great Britain which contains speeches of both Emil Tuma and Shmuel Mikunis as representatives of Arab and Jewish communists and the conference declaration on Palestine; Emil Tuma’s mea culpa 1949, National Archives Jerusalem File V 1272 4 37. Interview with Chimen Abramsky (London 1973) says that at the London conference Shmuel Mikunis had already put forward the choice as bina- tionalism or partition, but this was not included in his speech. 18 ‘A Call to Soldiers … Soldiers of Egypt and Brotherly Arab States: Return Home and Point Your Guns at the Colonialists and Their Lackeys’ (NLL leaflet, July 1948); ‘A Statement to the Arab Peoples Concerning the Palestine Problem and Anglo American Military Imperialist Schemes in the Arab East’ (joint statement by Iraqi, Syrian and Lebanese communist parties and the NLL in Palestine, October 1948 – Arabic leaflets). 19 Letter signed by 65 communist prisoners in Israeli prison camp no. 792 addressed to camp commander, 1948. Archives of Communist Party V 1272 4 37, National Archives, Jerusalem. Class and nation 149 20 Unification Conference of Arab and Jewish Communists, Haifa 22/23 October 1948. ‘Unity Conference of Jewish and Arab Communists in Israeli Communist Party’. The main speakers were E. Gojansky, Esther Vilenska, Emil Habbibi, Meri Vilner, Toufik Toubi and Shmuel Mikunis. Hebrew pamphlet. Three Arab leaders of the NLL were co-opted to the 16-member Central Council of the Unified Party (Kaufman, 2014: 127). 21 ‘31 Years since the Founding of the Jordanian Communist Party (JCP)’. Publica- tion of the Palestine Communist Organisation, Lebanon, pp. 19–20; ‘Resolutions of CC of NLL May 1951’. Arabic pamphlet; English translation in CID archives. V.1272 34/77, National Archives, Jerusalem). 22 ‘31 Years since the Founding of the Jordanian Communist Party (JCP)’, p. 21. 23 Maki won four seats in the first Knesset in 1949, five seats in the second Knesset in 1951 and six seats in the third Knesset in 1955 (Medding, 1990: 53–4). 24 ‘The Third Congress of the Israeli Communist Party, Tel Aviv 29 May–1 June 1957’ (conference proceedings published by the Central Committee of the Israeli Communist Party, pp. 45, 147. 25 The party won two seats, one of which was in Jerusalem where tellingly an east banker, Dr Yakoub Zayyadin, was elected (al ‘Outti, 2012: 131). 26 ‘Response to the Political Program of the Bashir Barghouti Clique’ (publication of interim leadership of the Palestinian Communist Party, February 1985, pp. 93–4). The two main leaders of the party, Fahimi Salfiti and Rushdi Shaheen, in the absence of Fouad Nassar, the party’s general secretary who was in exile, made a deal with the regime upon which they were released from jail, and adopted a position supporting the Hashemite monarchy. 27 In December 1970 they split from the party and established themselves under the name of the Leninist Cadre. ‘The Current Situation in Jordan and the Correct Position Facing the JCP’ (report submitted by the enlarged plenum of the Leninist Cadre in the JCP at their meeting held early in December 1970). 28 Al Jabha, Al Wataniya (Patriotic Front). An announcement in the party’s underground paper Al Watan (Fatherland), No. 57, mid-September 1973, informed the front was established on 15 August 1973. A six-page programme was published and secretly distributed in January 1974. In mid-April 1974 the front issued its first underground paper titled Filasteen (Palestine). Already in August 1976, the first calls issued by the party to oppose the occupation, e.g. the call for a general strike against the Israeli decree to ‘unify Jerusalem’, were initiated by the communists using the label of the patriotic front. 29 Typewritten memorandum submitted by the Quaker Office in Jerusalem to Amnesty International. ‘Report from the Occupied Territories July 8th–August 18th 1974’. The report includes a list of 63 persons, overwhelmingly communist activists who were held in administrative detention without trial in Israeli detention centres (pp. 1–4), and another list of 28 names of persons whom the Israeli military authorities have arbitrarily expelled from the occupied territories (p. 15). 30 On his expulsion in 1973 Arabi Awaad headed the party organization in Lebanon. In 1982 he was expelled from the PCP for refusing to submit to party discipline, but the real issue was his increasingly closer identification with guerrilla groups in Lebanon and his demand that the PCP should embark on armed activities similar to other constituent groups of the PLO. He established his own organization, the Palestinian Revolutionary Communist Party, and established military training camps in Syria and Lebanon. ‘Response to the Political Program of the Bashir Barghouti Clique’, February 1985, p. 101. At the same time the Central Council of the PCP issued a statement expelling him from the party. Al Watan, 15 November 1982. 31 First declaration of the establishment of the PCP by a group of dissidents within the party in 1975. In May a 32-page pamphlet was circulated entitled ‘PCP: 150 Musa Budeiri Internal Secret Document’, outlining the disagreements within the party and why it was necessary for the communists to organize under the new name. The response of the JCP was to rename its section in the occupied territories ‘The Palestinian Communist Organisation’. All subsequent issues of Al Watan would bear this logo. Early in 1982, it was decided by the JCP to accede to the prevailing mood within its ranks and Al Watan, No. 1, early February 1982 announced the birth of the new party. 32 Al-Jamaheer Organ of JCP, Year 33, N 12, December 1981; and Al-Watan, Organ of CC of PCP, Year 15, N 1, February 1982. 33 An internal document of the PCP dated end of December 1987 already talks of the need to wind down the Intifada as it was the party’s estimate that it was running out of steam and that it was a mistake to burden the masses who had been very active with more than they could shoulder. ‘Observations of the Popular Intifada and Its Lessons’ (six-page typewritten document, personal collection). 34 ‘The Palestinian Peoples Party: Program and Internal Statues’, October 1991 (personal collection, Arabic). 35 ‘18th International Meeting of Communist and Workers Parties’, 28–30 October 2016. Held in Vietnam. The surviving PCP was established on 7 November 1991 after declaring that the leadership of the PCP had betrayed the struggle, and maintains a virtual presence led by Dr Mahmoud Saadeh, http://pallcp.ps/Pages/p res_program. It proclaims itself as the continuation of the historic party established in Palestine in 1924. Unlike its predecessor it is a purely Arab party in its composition and proclaims an Arab national programme, http://pallcp.ps/Pages/view_ new/879. Most recently the party took part in a regional meeting of communist parties held in Athens on 29 November 2017 at the invitation of the Greek Com- munist Party, www.m.ahewar.org/s.asp?aid=581019&r=0>. Earlier in November the party secretary general attended the 19th Conference of International Com- munist and Workers Parties held in Leningrad–St Petersburg, www.facebook. com/permalink.php?story_fbid=1477604288974727&id=285060214895813

References al-Ashhab, Naim (2009) Paths of Pain: Paths of Hope. An Autobiography, Ramallah, s.n. (Arabic). al ‘Outti, Abdul Azziz (2012) Passages of a Lifetime: From the Shores of Gaza to al Jaffer Desert, Amman, s.n. (Arabic). al Saeed, Rifaat (1972) Al Yassar al Masri 1925–1940. Tarikh al haraka al ishtirakiya fi Masr, Beirut. Bseisu, Mueen (1980) Communism in Gaza, Beirut, Dafater Filastiniya (Arabic). Budeiri, Musa K. (2013) Communists in Palestine: Fragments of a Forgotten History, Ramallah, Muwatin, Palestinian Institute for the Study of Democracy (Arabic). Dakkak, Ibrahim (1983) ‘Back to Square One: A Study in the Re-emergence of the Palestinian Identity in the West Bank 1967–1980’. In Scholch, A. (Ed.), Palestinians over the Green Line: Studies on the Relations between Palestinians on Both Sides of the 1949 Armistice Line since 1967, London, Ithaca Press. Farah, Boulos (1985) From Ottomanism to the Hebrew State, Nazareth, s.n. (Arabic). Gorodetsky, Gabriel, Freundlich, Yehoshua, Yaroshevsky, Dov & Ro’i, Yaacov (Eds) (2000) Documents on Israeli–Soviet Relations, 1941–1953, London, Frank Cass. Karpel, Dalia (2004) ‘A Revolutionary Life’. Haaretz, 9 December, www.haaretz. com/a-revolutionary-life-1.143065 Kaufman, Ilana (2014) ‘Communists and the 1948 War: PCP, Maki, and the National Liberation League’. Journal of Israeli History, 33, 2. Class and nation 151 Medding, Peter (1990) The Founding of Israeli Democracy, 1948–1967, Oxford, Oxford University Press. Offenberg, Mario (1975) Kommunismus in Palaestina. Nation und Kalasse in der antikolonialen Revolution, PhD thesis, Free University of West Berlin. Salfiti, Fahmi (1968) ‘The Situation in Jordan and Communist Tactics’. World Marxist Review, October/November. Yassin, Abdul Qader (1978) A Communist Party with Its Back to the Wall: Historical Testimony on the Communist Movement in the Gaza Strip 1948–1967, Beirut, s.n. (Arabic). Zehavi, Leon (2005) Apart or Together: Jews and Arabs in Palestine According to the Documents of the Comintern, 1919–1943, Jerusalem, Keter (Hebrew). 8 The communist movement in Egypt

Bárbara Azaola-Piazza

1 Introduction The history of the communist movement in Egypt is a complex tale of various leftist currents making contributions, facing contradictions and often playing an important role during key moments in modern Egyptian social and political life, despite their diﬀering sensibilities and reference points.1 There are three stages in the evolution of Egyptian communism:

1 From the 1922 founding of the ﬁrst Egyptian Communist Party (ECP) as a member of the Third International, one year after the creation of a socialist party, to 1924. During these two years, this incarnation of the party was active and had an impact, albeit a limited one, on political life – particularly vis-à-vis the workers’ movement – in association with the General Confederation of Labour (CGT). 2 From the 1930s–1940s to 1965, with the ‘second movement’, a current that encompassed a number of unauthorized communist groups, three of which united into a single organization between 1958 and 1965, when some of its members left to join the Nasserite project. 3 From the 1968 student mobilizations, which spawned the 1970s ‘third movement’, when the ECP – now prominent among intellectuals and the university population – was refounded and up to the late 1990s.

This chapter analyses each of the diﬀerent stages through which the Egyp- tian communist movement passed, from the creation of the ﬁrst ECP in 1922 to the outbreak of the January 2011 revolution, followed by a brief assessment of the movement’s primary strengths and weaknesses and its contributions to political and intellectual life in contemporary Egypt.

2 The creation of the Egyptian Communist Party and its ties to the workers’ movement (1921–4) After World War I, Egypt was home to a modest but active leftist current (Lockman, 2008: 65). To begin with, a socialist party rapidly transformed The communist movement in Egypt 153 into a communist party that maintained relatively close ties to the workers’ movement through trade unions and their federations. Although the communists were suppressed within a few years, their efforts on behalf of the workers’ movement had repercussions beyond the group’s usual sphere of influence and activity. One figure stands out above the others in the history of the formation of the first communist organizations and the connection between socialism and the workers’ movement: Joseph Rosenthal.2 A Palestinian Jew and socialist since his youth, Rosenthal came to Egypt in the late nineteenth century and immediately made contact with the trade unions in Alexandria, which were predominantly organized by foreign, largely Greek, workers. In the context of the nationalist mobilizations for Egyptian independence in 1919, Rosenthal was inspired by the strikes and trade unionism being promoted by these foreign – and to a lesser extent Egyptian – workers to organize a labour confederation in order to unify the various trade unions and unorganized workers and establish a socialist presence within the workers’ movement. In 1920 he issued a call to action, and in February 1921 the CGT was created in Alex- andria, modelled on socialist-led European (primarily French) trade union confederations. However, the new confederation represented only a small fraction of the organized working class, since the main Egyptian trade unions opted not to join it.3 One direct consequence of the birth of the CGT was the creation of the Egyptian Socialist Party (ESP) in August of the same year. The idea of creating a socialist party in Egypt had been around since the end of World War I, when numerous Egyptian intellectuals, the best known being Salama Moussa,4 began to disseminate socialist ideas, inspired more by Fabianism than by Marxism. Even before the ESP was founded, leftists holding more radical positions, including Rosenthal, had already created two groups: the Groupe d’Études Sociales, or Social Studies Group (1920), considered a ‘tool of the Third International’ (Ginat, 2011: 36–7) and, shortly thereafter, La Clarté (al-Wuduh, or The Clarity). Both circles operated under the cover of workers’ groups and served as a dissemination channel for communist ideas while also establishing contacts with sympathizers, both foreign and Egyptian (Lockman, 2008: 67).5 The ESP was a diverse organization that represented various socialist currents from Fabianism to social democracy, Marxism and Marxism-Leninism (Ginat, 2011: 56). As a Fabianist, Moussa, like most other leftist Egyptian intellectuals, renounced the Bolshevik revolution, while Rosenthal sided with the believers in communism, primarily citizens of Greek origin and Jews from different backgrounds (el-Sa’id, 1975; Beinin & Lockman, 1987: 110). The ESP platform called for the liberation of Egypt from foreign domination, for a new society based on common ownership of the means of production, free compulsory education, improved working conditions through trade unions, the election of workers’ representatives in parliament and women’s emancipation.6 All of these objectives were to be reached by peaceful means. This 154 Bárbara Azaola-Piazza somewhat ambitious platform was a reflection of the extent to which the party’s founders emulated the example of European social-democratic parties, especially the British Labour Party (Lockman, 2008: 68). In the socialist party, differences between the social democrats and the revolutionaries began to grow. In mid-1922 the leadership moved from Cairo to Alexandria, where it adopted more radical positions, leading Salama Moussa and other intellectuals influenced by Fabianism and opposed to Bol- shevism to leave the party. At this point, under the leadership of, among others, Egyptian lawyer Mahmoud Hosni al-Urabi and Rosenthal, the organization became identified as a communist party. Al-Urabi was sent to Moscow to the Fourth Conference of the Communist International (Comin- tern) to negotiate the recognition of the party as a representative of the Egyptian proletariat and join the Third International (Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 21). Upon his return in December 1922, the party officially became the Egyptian Communist Party and its central committee accepted the 21 conditions imposed by the Comintern (Lockman, 2008).7 After the ECP joined the Third International, it presented a new platform based on communist principles according to the Comintern’s conditions at its inaugural conference on 25 January 1923 (Ginat, 2011: 90, 103). The platform was divided into two parts – nationalist policies and socio-economic questions – and demanded the nationalization of the Suez Canal, the liberation and unification of Egypt and Sudan, the abolition of the foreign capitu- lation agreements and national debt forgiveness in addition to an eight-hour work day and, inter alia, equal salaries for Egyptian and foreign workers (Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 21–2).8 At this point in time, the party entered a phase of greater activity and flexibility towards nationalists and other political forces in general. At its Fourth Congress, the Comintern had recom- mended that affiliate parties in colonial or semi-colonial countries seek out alliances with bourgeois nationalist forces and adopt more flexible tactics to overcome their isolation. Indeed, during the 1920s Comintern strategists were busy trying to fathom how communist parties in countries that would come to be known as the Third World should join with bourgeois-led nationalist movements. The options were to reject all association with bourgeois nationalist forces and fight independently in accordance with an explicitly communist platform or to form a common front with sectors of the bourgeoisie in order to end imperialist domination and dismantle local reactionary forces (Lockman, 2008: 72–3). In the case of Egypt, according to the Comintern, the ECP had to ‘struggle to expel British imperialism from one of its most important colonies’ (Ginat, 2011: 104). However, when al-Urabi returned from the Fourth Comintern Congress, the Egyptian communist movement had decided that cooperation with bourgeois nationalism was neither possible nor desirable. The party’s main orientation was anti-capitalist more than anti-imperialist, with the class struggle of foreign and Egyptian workers being the priority objective and the battle led by the bourgeoisie for independence being a secondary question. At The communist movement in Egypt 155 that time, the nationalist bourgeoisie was represented by the Wafd Party, whose aim was to force the British to hand over control of Egypt to the local elite; moreover, the group sought to monopolize representation of nationalist demands. A formal alliance between the ECP and the Wafd was not considered possible at the time. However, with the abolition of martial law in 1923, the political climate seemed favourable for the ECP to attempt some kind of rapprochement. Both the ECP and the CGT, with al-Urabi as secretary general of both organizations, chose to play a leading role in the strikes and demonstrations held that year in an attempt to demonstrate their revolutionary spirit. For the British- controlled Egyptian government, however, this became an opportunity to arrest al-Urabi, close the party headquarters and confiscate its publications. In late 1923, a series of repressive laws were passed, some directly targeting the communists (Lockman, 2008: 72).9 After al-Urabi was freed, both the ECP and the CGT resumed their activities according to a new strategy handed down from Moscow. The party was to begin working with the nationalist leaders to put an end to the British occupation and obtain complete independence for Egypt. Once attained, the communists could return to their struggle for a socialist Egypt. From this moment on, the question about whether to put the national struggle before social revolution and whether or not to collaborate with bourgeois forces in a single front to reach political aims would divide the Egyptian left until well into the twenty-first century. In January 1924 the Wafd Party won the election and its leader and founder, Saad Zaghloul, became prime minister, raising great expectations among the popular masses. The communists, who felt bolstered by the formation of a labour government in Great Britain, tried to take advantage of the political circumstances and foment activism among the workers. However, the communist leaders quickly became aware of Zaghloul’s plans for the communist movement in general and the ECP in particular. After a series of strikes held during February and March, which Zaghloul interpreted as hostile to him and a challenge to the Wafd government, he banned the ECP congress and ordered the arrest of the leaders of both the ECP and the CGT.10 The headquarters of the two organizations were closed and a smear campaign was launched in the media against the left and the workers’ movement. Within a few weeks, the communist movement had been crushed (Lockman, 2008: 78). In its attempt to monopolize the representation of the nationalist struggle, the Wafd, whose social base was incompatible with communist ideology, needed to suffocate the party, an act, moreover, welcomed by the British with great relief. Except for this brief period between 1921 and 1924, communism did not exist as an active political movement in Egypt and was limited to some isolated cells until World War II. The central issue in political life at this time was the fight for independence, and this was led by the Wafd, a powerful nationalist group rooted in the Egyptian bourgeoisie. The communists were incapable of leading the nationalist movement and mobilizing the masses, of uniting the national liberation cause with the fight for social transformation. 156 Bárbara Azaola-Piazza The abstract internationalism of the communist movement was not sufficiently attractive for a semi-colonial society. Furthermore, the centrality of the national question had the effect of subordinating social affairs. Public attention focused on independence as the sine qua non to resolve the country’s other problems. Therefore, as the Wafd saw it, until complete independence was achieved, Egyptians needed to subordinate their personal and class interests for the good of the nation (Lockman, 2008: 80). Moreover, the fact that a significant number of communist activists were foreign did not help them reach the popular classes. It was not easy for foreigners, who enjoyed a privileged status, to bypass barriers and establish close relationships with Egyptian workers. The educated Egyptians who joined the ECP were cut off from the grassroots base and looked to Europe (especially Moscow, London and Paris) to analyse and understand their own society and develop a platform for the Egyptian situation.

3 The ‘second movement’: communist organizations under the monarchy and the Nasserite project After the ECP disappeared, almost a decade passed before any new communist groups were created in Egypt. This occurred in the mid-1930s in the context of an international economic crisis and the expansion of fascism in Europe and, on the domestic front, the reactivation of the nationalist militant movement, the signing of the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty of 1936 and the proclamation of Farouk as the new monarch. It was not, however, until the 1940s that the so- called ‘second movement’ emerged, a political force with greater influence among workers and on culture and Egyptian society in general compared with its 1920s predecessor. For some scholars, this is considered ‘the most prominent secular, modernist movement’ (Meijer, 2002: 96). It became influential among students, the educated and members of trade unions in the country’s principal cities. Its founders were foreign-born Egyptians, many of them Jews, of whom the most notable was Henri Curiel, who founded the most important organization.11 The movement’s main achievement during the 1940s was the ‘Egyp- tianization’ of its ranks and the imposition of an Egyptian patriotic orientation on Marxism, which some scholars have termed ‘nationalist/patriotic Marxism’ (Younis, 2008: 146; Meijer, 2002: 103–6). During the mid-1930s, a new historical juncture limited the possibilities for renewing Egyptian Marxism. To begin, Stalinism in the Soviet Union disillusioned socialist-oriented reformers while the expansion of fascism in Europe attracted some traditional sectors of Egyptian society, which instigated a pro- fascist, anti-communist campaign in the belief that Italy and Germany were potential allies in the struggle against British and French colonial imperialism (Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 32–3). This was compounded by the signing of the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty in response to renewed nationalist militant action and the Palestinian revolt of 1936–9, which intensified Arabist and Islamist ideology in the dominant Egyptian political discourse (Beinin, 2008: 131). The communist movement in Egypt 157 As a result of this set of circumstances, the groups that turned to the left politically and created small organizations were largely made up of young people from non-Muslim communities living in Egypt.12 Anti-fascist Marxist groups supported by the European community living in Egypt appeared in the late 1930s, the germ of future communist organizations. At this time, the Egypt communist movement no longer formed part of the Comintern when it held its Seventh Congress in the summer of 1935. Even so, it was influenced by the idea of creating a ‘Popular Front against fascism’–a model that was also adopted in France and China – which had to be adjusted to the Egyptian situation, what Meijer has called ‘the paradigm of the front’ (Meijer, 2002: 96–103). These first anti-fascist groups included the Peace-Partisans’ Union (Ittihad Ansar al-Salam), formed in 1934, which counted an important number of future leaders of the communist movement among its members. As this group was focused on events abroad like the Spanish Civil War and the Italian invasion of Ethiopia, four years later a more Egypt-oriented independent group with a greater Marxist commitment, the Democratic Union (al-Ittihad al-Dimuqrati), was created. During World War II, this group split into the three separate communist organizations that would play a leading role in the second movement: the Egyptian Movement of National Liberation or HAMITU (al- Haraka al-Misriyya li-l-Taharrur al Watani, 1943–7), founded by Henri Curiel; Iskra (‘the Spark’, 1942–7), led by Hillel Schwartz; and a smaller group called People’s Liberation (Munazzamat Tahrir al Shaab, 1940), created by Marcel Israel. A fourth organization known by the name of its publication – New Dawn (Al Fajr al-Jadid, FJ) – appeared in 1945, led by Ahmad Sadiq Sa’ad, Youssef Darwish and Raymond Douek with the collaboration of Salama Moussa; the group’s name was later changed to Workers’ Vanguard (Tali’at al-Ummal).13 In line with Marxist-Leninist doctrine, these organizations paid special attention to questions related to the economy and social justice, employing their own publishing houses and publications to present socialist solutions to the problems in Egyptian society.14 Contrary to the events of the 1920s, in the mid-1940s the Wafd found itself in the opposition and the communists were able to play a relatively important role in radicalizing the political discourse and mobilizing Egyptians for the anti-imperialist liberation struggle. Members of FJ, HAMITU and Iskra all collaborated in the Wafdist Vanguard (al-Tali’a al-Wafdiyya), a group within the Wafd pressuring the party to make a turn to the left (Meijer, 2002: 114– 15). Cooperation with the Wafd was not altogether productive with regard to ideology or the workers’ movement. However, during the 1950–2 term, when a very weakened Wafd was the government party, the Vanguard was able to persuade its most leftist wing that, pragmatically speaking, it would be wise to introduce a discourse of nationalist neutrality into its foreign policy, championing close relations with the Soviet Union, the abrogation of the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty and the removal of the British army from Egypt and Palestine (Ginat, 2011: 218–19). This national neutrality would later be promoted by the regime of Gamal Abdel Nasser. 158 Bárbara Azaola-Piazza One example of the collaboration between the different factions during this period – in this case the product of base-level alliances – was the creation of the National Committee of Workers and Students (NCWS) (al-Lajnah al- Wataniyyah lil al-‘Ummal wa-l-Talaba) in 1946 (Abdel Malek, 1967: 44–7; Meijer, 2002: 116–17; Beinin & Lockman, 1987: 335–44). Following the repression of the textile union in Shubra al-Khayma in December 1945, students who were members of HAMITU, Iskra, al-Tali’a al-Wafdiyya and other leftist organizations decided to join the workers’ movement and form a common front. On 18 and 19 February 1946 the NCWS was created with broad representation of the trade unions dominated by HAMITU and Iskra. The NCWS called for a general strike and demonstrations on 21 February, designated ‘Evacuation Day’, to demand the evacuation of British troops from Egypt and Sudan; the strike mobilized thousands of people in Cairo and was severely repressed by the British army (Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 55–7).15 As an immediate consequence of the demonstrations, prime minister Mah- moud Nuqrashi was replaced by Ismail Sidqi, who denounced the events as ‘the great communist conspiracy’ and proceeded to repress the 1945–6 radical nationalist movement (Ginat, 2011: 268). The NCWS disappeared and leftist organizations like Iskra and FJ were outlawed and their publications banned (Meijer, 2002: 117). Despite the short lifetime of the NCWS, it contributed a new formula to the Egyptian political landscape: collaboration between different leftist and nationalist factions. Although the leaders of the leftist groups failed in their attempt to coordinate their cooperation more efficiently during the ‘revolutionary’ situation created by the social and political discontent of 1946, the two most important communist organizations, HAMITU and Iskra, reached some agreements to work together (Ginat, 2011: 270). The first step in this cooperation was the unification of the two main movements, which decided to join forces and organize outside the framework of legality. In May 1947 HAMITU and Iskra, along with some other smaller groups, joined in the Democratic Movement for National Liberation or HADITU (al-Haraka al- Dimuqratiyya li-l-Taharrur al-Watani) (Meijer, 2002: 119; Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 59–62; Ginat, 2011: 277–81). Almost immediately, their differences became obvious. These were not only ideological –HAMITU, for instance, supported ‘Egyptianization’ (tamsir), while Iskra considered it a chauvinist position – but also cultural, organizational and strategic. HADITU, now the major communist organization, sought to form an Egyptian communist party (because of disagreements with HAMITU and Iskra, which Tali’at al-Ummal, the former FJ, considered – among other things – too bourgeois, that group did not join the union). However, schisms soon began to emerge, primarily led by the champions of Marxist ideological positions, who agreed that HADITU was ‘a right-leaning bourgeois force’;16 other criticisms were based on organizational matters, since the unification had been hasty and top-down, with no democratic infrastructure and a fierce rivalry between the two main organizations. This was compounded by a The communist movement in Egypt 159 ‘campaign against communism’ undertaken by the Egyptian authorities coin- ciding with the outbreak of the 1948 war in Palestine. Curiel was deported to Italy in 1950 and later went into exile in France, while Suleiman al-Rifai became the head of HADITU. From 1950 to 1952, there was considerable ‘Egyptianization’ of the ranks (Ginat, 2011: 294). Away from HADITU, Fuad Morsi created an Egyptian communist party known as The Banner (Al-Raya) in 1950.17 This was a classic communist organization at the vanguard of the working class created, according to its founder, because ‘only a communist party can lead the revolution by organizing the working class and isolating the bourgeoisie’ (Meijer, 2002: 123). The group was critical of the collaboration between HADITU and the Wafd and of the ideological line that emphasizedanti-imperialismovertheproletarian revolution.

4 Communist organizations under the Nasser regime At the time of the successful Free Officers Movement coup d’état in July 1952, which put an end to the monarchy and installed a republican military presidentialist system, the communist movement was fragmented and in a process of ideological and organizational reinforcement. Along with the majority groups, individual and small factions were operating independently underground. At first, the Free Officers received the support of a number of political organizations, including HADITU and the Islamist Muslim Broth- erhood.18 However, beginning in 1954, the new regime led by Gamal Abdel Nasser cut all ties to existing political currents, dissolving all the parties and creating its own organization, a large bloc of regime supporters, the Libera- tion Rally (1953–7) (Abdel Malek, 1967: 121–2).19 A campaign of repression was launched against the left, with military trials of communist activists who defended democratic reforms, whom Nasser accused of being agents of Zionism (Younis, 2008: 150; Laqueur, 1956: 48). As some members of the communist movement began to view the Nasser regime as a reactionary system and an advocate for the United States, schisms appeared within HADITU, such as the HADITU Revolutionary Wing (Meijer, 2002: 161). However, despite persecution and the regime’s control of the workers’ movement between 1955 and 1957, the central core of HADITU (which had reunited its factions to form the Unified Egyptian Communist Party (al- Hizb al-Shuyu’ial-Misrial-Muwahhad)), chose to continue to support the regime. This alignment was defended on the basis of patriotism and, particularly, Nasser’s foreign policy moves to distance himself from the Western bloc, such as defending the Non-Aligned Movement at the 1955 Bandung Conference and the nationalization of the Suez Canal (1956) (Meijer, 2002: 193–4).20 The communists were also influenced by the nationalization process and industrialization pursued by Nasser and, above all, the enormous popular support enjoyed by the regime. They did not even withdraw their support in 1957 when Nasser brought all of the trade unions together into 160 Bárbara Azaola-Piazza one umbrella organization under the regime’scontrol:theEgyptianTrade Union Federation. On 8 January 1958 the main communist organizations – the former HADITU and Al-Raya, now joined in the United Egyptian Communist Party (al-Hizb al- Shuyu’i al-Misri al-Mutahid), and the Workers and Peasants Party (Hizb al-Ummal wal-Falahin al-Shuyu’i al-Misri, the new name adopted by Tali’at al- Ummal, incorporating the term ‘party’) – decided to unify and form a new ECP to gain support in the socio-political space, albeit always outside the legal framework. This unified ECP was interpreted as a challenge to Nasser’s authority and he embarked upon an even stronger campaign of repression against the communist movement one year later, particularly surprising the leaders of HADITU, who had shown almost unconditional support for the regime from the beginning (Younis, 2008: 160). As a consequence of the arrests made, in addition to different reactions to Nasser’s policies, schisms began to emerge within the ECP, which basically dissolved while its members were in prison. The 1960 death-by-torture of communist leader Shuhdi Atiyya al-Shafi’i, a member of HADITU’s revolutionary wing, radicalized the imprisoned activists, both those who supported and those who opposed dissolution. Nasser promised to put an end to the torture and freed the communists five years later on the condition that the party dissolve and that its members join the Arab Socialist Union on an individual basis if they so desired. The decision to free the prisoners was not related to the regime’s so-called ‘socialist turn’, but to the perceived stability in the country in 1964; there was no longer any fear that the released political prisoners could take control of popular action. In 1965 the main currents of the then unified ECP announced their dissolution and a small number of individual members, most with ties to HADITU, joined the Arab Socialist Union (Younis, 2008: 165–8; Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 120–5). Some of the groups with lesser clout opposed this decision. For some activists like Ramsis Labib, 1965 was a watershed for the communist movement (Monciaud, 2008: 116). When they came out of prison, the communists were faced with a crisis in the Nasserite system and internal corruption, while they were still traumatized by the torture they were subjected to in prison. Indeed, the movement did not re-emerge until the last two years of the Nasser regime.

5 The ‘third movement’: from the 1967 Arab-Israeli War to authoritarian pluralism The mobilizations of 1968, in part motivated by Egypt’s humiliating defeat in the 1967 Arab-Israeli War, can be considered the beginning of the third phase of the communist movement in the country, spanning the three decades between the late 1960s and late 1990s. The organizations that appeared during this period, known as the ‘third movement’, found their strongest support in student groups wielding patriotic and democratic slogans. Less influential than their predecessors among workers, this incarnation of the movement had a more powerful presence among intellectuals. The communist movement in Egypt 161 The 1968 protests marked the beginning of a confrontation period with the Nasser regime during which part of society decided to demand accountability from the government; Nasser, in reaction, was forced to make concessions. The sense of humiliation after the defeat at the hands of Israel was augmented by a desire to reform the political system and obtain more freedom, all of which was reinforced by global ‘radicalizing’ factors in the region, especially the revolutions in Jordan and Algeria. ‘Guevarist’ and ‘Maoist’ ideologies influenced intellectuals and students in the Arab world. In Egypt, Marxists who were disillusioned with the bureaucratic policies of the Nasser regime and communists who did not accept the dissolution of the ECP all supported the protests led by university students that forced Nasser to undertake a programme of political reform (Abdalla, 1985: 72–3). From this point and up to the mid-1980s, the communist movement strongly influenced intellectual life in the country, be it in literature, film or theatre. Despite the authorities’ attempts to halt the student protests, during the 1972–3 academic year (under the regime of Anwar Sadat), a new wave of mobilizations erupted whose main demand was the recovery of the territories occupied by Israel in 1967. These mobilizations, which were led by communist activists, had a very strong presence on university campuses. It was at this time that the three principal organizations that would later emerge in 1975 in the context of Sadat’s ‘openness’ (infitah) policy began to take shape (although they were still not legal): (a) the ECP, refounded for the most part by members of the second movement (Zaki Mourad, Michel Kamel, Youssef Darwish, Nabil al-Hilali, Rifa’at el-Sa’id); (b) the 8 January Egyptian Com- munist Party, also founded by members of the second movement, but with the subsequent leadership made up of new members; and (c) the Egyptian Com- munist Workers Party (ECWP) (al-Hizb al-Ummal al-Shuyu’ial-Misri), created above all by workers and university activists, who renounced the dissolution of the party and built their reputation on their criticism of the second movement (Younis, 2008: 171; Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 131). These three organizations worked independently and in competition with each other, in keeping with the fragmentation characteristic of the Egyptian communist movement since the beginning.21 The three groups all rejected Egypt’s increasing isolation in the Arab world as a consequence of its progressive dependence on the United States and its acceptance of Israeli colonization policies – which resulted in the 1979 Camp David Accords – as well as the liberalizing economic measures promoted by Sadat as part of his infitah programme. While the 8 January ECP opposed collaboration with communists who had cooperated with the Nasser regime, the ECP recognized the error of the 1965 dissolution and emphasized the idea of ‘unity’ between the different communist groups (Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 139–45). The ECWP, in turn, challenged the legitimacy of the communist movement at national, regional and international levels and played a cutting-edge role in its attempt at reform, promoting a radical platform that advocated breaking with the past. All of the communist organizations participated in the ‘bread riots’ of 162 Bárbara Azaola-Piazza 1977, which were harshly repressed by Sadat, who directly accused the ECWP of organizing the uprisings. This sparked an intense battle against the left, for which Sadat drew on the support and collusion of Islamist forces.22 As the popular revolts of January 1977 escalated, a new weekly newspaper created by the National Progressive Unionist Party (Tagammu) called Al Ahaly began to play an increasingly important role. Tagammu, a faction that enjoyed backing from the regime, was used as a tool in the pursuit of political-economic liberalization, first as a platform in 1975 and then as a party in 1977. The party drew on alliance between Nasserites, nationalists, socialists and Marxists to represent the officially approved left. In the beginning, Tagammu was largely controlled by the ECP, which ran communist candidates as independents on its electoral rolls in the 1979 and 1987 legislative elections (Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 143). The other two communist groups also used this organization and its print media to try to radicalize its official position, clashing with the ECP. The sought-after radicalization was not feasible, and Tagammu progressively lost its leftist component. The Nasserites split off and created their own party and with the fall of the Soviet bloc in the late 1980s, the ECP’s social base decreased. At the same time the party’s leaders increasingly positioned themselves on the side of the regime to the point of becoming a puppet party (Kalfat, 2014: 52–3).23 When Hosni Mubarak became president after the assassination of Anwar Sadat in 1981, he inherited a sham multi-party system in which certain political parties were tolerated and allowed to participate in elections, always controlled by the ‘party-state’, the Democratic National Party, heir to the Arab Socialist Union (Lampridi-Kemou & Azaola, 2012: 125–30). In the late 1980s, concurrent with the fall of the Soviet Union, a more markedly Marxist faction of the ECP – which adhered to a Stalinist position closer to the official line of Tagammu – split off to create the Socialist People’s Party of Egypt (al-Hizb al-Sha’b al-Ishtiraki al-Misri), while the 8 January Egyptian Com- munist Party and the ECWP joined to become the Unified Workers’ Party (al-Hizb al-Ummal al-Muwahhad). These two organizations shared strategies and collaborated on the new open international stage in the absence of a communist bloc. The collaboration was inaugurated with the groups’ joint participation in the steel company strikes in the summer of 1989, which were harshly repressed by the government. The leaders of the union were arrested, along with the Marxists who had split off from the ECP. Over time, and given the obstacles placed by the Mubarak regime to engage in any political opposition activity (which increasingly separated the party from the people), these organizations weakened until they disbanded underground in the late 1990s. In the early 1990s the Revolutionary Socialists organization (Al Ishtirakiyin al Zauwriyyin) was created by an elite circle of intellectuals at the American University in Cairo, a group with no experience in party activism who were dissatisfied with other leftist options and ascribed to Trotskyist positions aligned with those of Tony Cliff, a Trotskyist activist and founding member of The communist movement in Egypt 163 the Socialist Workers Party in Britain. The group’s first political activity involved the 1991 student mobilizations protesting the Gulf War. Over the years, the group would repeatedly separate and come back together. Despite the difficulties in carrying out opposition projects, the group is still active as of 2016, having risen from the ashes in the context of the January 2011 revolution, when it was supported by a quite significant number of young people, especially in the big cities, who discovered the party for the first time during the massive demonstrations that led to the fall of Mubarak (Kalfat, 2014: 55). With the emergence of the blogosphere and social networks after 2000, traditional parties –holding on to only a small social base and strangled by the regime – have lost their role as a political opposition tool. Instead, they have been replaced by new platforms that bring together groups and individuals of diverse backgrounds and ideological tendencies, the most representative case being Kifaya (‘Enough’ or the Egyptian Movement for Change), formed in 2004 by independents, Marxists, liberals, Islamists, Nas- serites and representatives of civil society to prevent Mubarak from directly transferring power to his son Gamal (Azaola, 2010: 159–60). A number of other groups and platforms spun off from Kifaya, including the April 6 Youth Movement, established to support textile worker strikes in 2008. With the support of other groups and the first independent unions, this movement helped instigate the revolution of 25 January 2011 that resulted in the ouster of President Hosni Mubarak. Like the traditional political parties, the ECP played a totally marginal role in the outbreak of the 2011 revolution, as well as in political life in subsequent years, as the party has almost no social base on which to fall back. On an individual level, activists and sympathizers from former communist and leftist organizations have joined new legalized parties in the post-Mubarak period, including the Socialist Popular Alliance (Al Tahaluf Al Shaabi Al Ishtiraki),24 the Egyptian Social Democratic Party (Hizb Al Misri Al Dimuqrati Al Iyti- ma’i),25 the Constitution Party (Al Dustur) and, more recently, the Bread and Freedom Party (Al Aish wal Hurriya), which split off from the Socialist Popular Alliance and is in the process of legalization as of 2016.

6 Conclusion The origins of the communist movement in Egypt are linked to the workers’ movement of the 1920s. It was then that the first short-lived ECP was created; it was only in existence from 1922 to 1924. The successive ECPs were characterized by their weakness – a by-product, perhaps, of their illegal status – their limited influence in the political arena and their closeness to the regime compared to other factions in the Egyptian communist movement. Therefore, this chapter has considered it opportune to analyse the broader role played by the ‘Egyptian communist movement’ as a whole in the political life of the country, rather than limiting its analysis to the particular role played by the ECP. 164 Bárbara Azaola-Piazza After it emerged, the communist movement became progressively distanced from the working class, and its lack of connection with this social sector was one of its main weaknesses. Between the 1940s and mid-1960s, the party chose to ally itself with sectors of the bourgeoisie, and it was unable to single- handedly formulate progressive political and social change backed by the working class. It faced competition from both the strong nationalist Wafd party and the Islamist Muslim Brotherhood organization, the latter of which had closer ties to grassroots peasant bases and was more established in the country’s rural areas. Indeed, the ECP’s difficulty in attracting a majority peasant, conservative and religious society explains why the group found it problematic to become a nationwide political party. Moreover, the creation of a vertical union during the Nasser regime further marginalized the efforts made by communist organizations among workers. Traditionally, Egyptian communist leaders belonged to a middle class that moved among intellectuals, whose constant ideological debates fragmented the movement and hampered its ambition to be a popular current, except in isolated cases when it worked in coordination with other actors, broadening its social influence (e.g. the creation of the NCWS in 1946, the 1956 Suez Canal crisis and the 1977 bread riots). The communist movement in Egypt has also maintained very close ties to the universities, which has limited its political action due to repression of the group’s supporters by security forces and the fact that many followers abandon their activism after completing their studies. Nonetheless, the ECP collaborated in some significant university actions including the student mobilizations in 1968 and the 1972–3 academic year, a period when the party also played a noteworthy role in culture and the arts. During the 1980s, under the Mubarak regime, some noted Egyptian filmmakers joined communist organizations as university students. Despite the fact that the slogans and demands of the 2011 revolution – at least until mid-2012 – represented the longstanding demands of the Egyptian left (social justice, dignity, liberty, etc.), the left has not been able or known how to play a meaningful role in the process of political transformation, primarily due to its fragmentation and the lack of connection to rural society. Its work has been limited to individual actors who have counted and continue to count on greater public visibility thanks to the media and social networks.

Notes 1 This chapter presents a portion of the results from the R&D project ‘La dimensión internacional de las transformaciones políticas en el mundo arabo-islámico’, 2015– 17 CSO2014–52998-C3–3-P, financed by the Spanish Ministry of Economy and Finance. 2 There is a large bibliography on Joseph Rosenthal (1872–1927) and his role in the formation of the first communist party in Egypt; of particular interest are, among others, chapters 3, 4 and 5 in Ginat, 2011: 9–132, as well as Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 13–31 and Beinin & Lockman, 1987: 137–54. According to police reports from the time, Rosenthal’s name was on Egyptian police lists after 1901 because of The communist movement in Egypt 165 his contacts with Bolshevik groups in Palestine and because he was considered ‘a radical anarchist who spread propaganda among local Jews’. The British authorities were also very concerned about the activities led by Rosenthal. After the success of the Russian revolution, the British feared the possible spread of Bolshevism in Egypt and the Middle East. 3 Socialists and communists considered the Wafd party, created in 1919 by Saad Zaghloul, the representative party of the nationalist bourgeoisie in the country; the Wafd, in turn, did not want workers’ organizations sympathetic to its ideology to come under the influence of what it termed ‘foreign radicals’. See Lockman, 2008: 67. 4 Salama Moussa (1887–1958) was an intellectual, journalist and translator who introduced the ideas of Darwinist socialism and Fabianism to Egypt in the inter- war period after a visit to England in 1909, when he joined the Fabian Society. On Moussa, see Shukri, 1965 and Egger, 1986. 5 These groups were headquartered in Alexandria and their members were largely of Greek origin. The name La Clarté was taken from a French literary and political journal created in Paris in 1919 with which the Egyptian group was in constant contact. Prestigious writers including Anatole France, Henri Barbusse and Romain Rolland were all published in the journal. See Ginat, 2011: 37. 6 The ESP platform can be found in Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 17–19. 7 Rosenthal was expelled from the party for rejecting the conditions established by Moscow without ever having challenged them (Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 21). 8 More details on the ECP’s political platform can be found in Ginat, 2011: 103. 9 Alexander Keown-Boyd, the most powerful figure in the British security apparatus in Egypt, was known for his ‘hard line’ against leftism and organized the campaign against the ECP. The law established prison sentences for anyone assaulting the government or propagating subversive ideas that challenged the recently approved constitution. 10 Eleven communist leaders were accused of conspiracy with the intent to bring down the government by violent means and wanting to establish a communist regime. The accused admitted their affiliation and ideology but denied the use of violence. On 6 October 1924, the jury convicted the six principal leaders of the party to three years in prison and the others to six months. Communists without Egyptian nationality were expelled from the country in a clear attempt to get rid of Rosenthal, who in the end was allowed to stay in Egypt on the condition that he would not engage in any political activity (Lockman, 2008: 79; Ginat, 2011: 114–27). 11 There is a large bibliography on Henri Curiel (1914–78), the Jewish Egyptian lawyer who founded the communist organization HAMITU (al-Haraka al-Mis- riyya lil-Taharrur al-Watani) in 1943. It is largely in French, since Curiel was exiled to Paris in 1950 where he led the so-called ‘Rome Group’ (Majmuat Roma) made up of exiled Egyptian communists. He was assassinated in that city in 1978. The International Institute of Social History (Amsterdam) holds documents from the Groupe de Rome (from 1945 to 1979–84), including Henri Curiel’s correspondence: www.iisg.nl/publications/egyptcom.pdf. See, among others, Botman, 1988: chapters 3 and 4, el-Sa’id, 1975 and Ginat, 2011: 254–75 as well as Perrault, 1984. 12 One of these early groups was Les Essayistes (al-Muhawilun in Arabic, or The Essayists), created in the early 1930s as a literary club, which had close ties to André Breton’s surrealist movement through the publication L’Effort. Georges Henein later founded the Art et Liberté group (al-Fann wal-Hurriya, or Art and Liberty), which published the Arabic-language socialist journal al-Tatawwur (The Evolution) in the 1940s. A Trotskyist minority critical of the Stalinist line in this group gained some notoriety in the mid-1940s. See Meijer, 2002: 103 and Ginat, 2011: 208–9. 166 Bárbara Azaola-Piazza 13 On these groups, their predecessors and their ramifications, see the tables in Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 34–44; Botman, 1988: 69 and Ginat, 2011: 208–30, 231–75. Al Fajr al Jadid reached out to the workers’ movement through the emblematic figure of Youssef Darwish (1910–2006). In 1946 it became known as al-Tali’aal-Sha’biyya lil-Taharrur (Popular Vanguard for Liberation). 14 Al Fajr al Jadid was particularly productive, using its publishing house Dar al- Qarn al-‘Ishrin (Twentieth-Century Publishing House) to print works on Egyptian history, the agrarian question, political economics and culture. See Meijer, 2002: 106. 15 The day ended with 23 dead and 121 wounded (Meijer, 2002: 117). 16 The splinter groups included the Revolutionary Bloc (Al-Takattul al-Thawri), which rejected HADITU’s bureaucracy and the fact that its leaders were foreign born. This led to the creation of HADITU-Revolutionary Proletariat (HADITU- Al Ummaliyya al-Thawriyya). In 1948 the group Toward a Communist Party (Nahwa Hizb Shuyu’iy) was formed and Voice of the Opposition (Sawt al-Mu’arada) split off (Ginat, 2011: 287–93). 17 The platform of this incarnation of the ECP can be found in Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 85–6. 18 The Free Officers included some military personnel who had belonged to communist organizations (and Islamist organizations like the Muslim Brotherhood), but left them before the coup d’état. One such example was HADITU and Khaled Mohieddin, one of the founders of the Free Officers who maintained ties with the communists and was forced into exile in Switzerland in 1954. See Laqueur, 1956: 48. On the relationship between the Free Officers and communist activities, see Aclimandos, 2008 and Meijer, 2002: 157–8. 19 This single bloc came to be called the National Union (1957–62) and, in 1962, the Arab Socialist Union. 20 During the 1956 Suez Crisis, Nasser helped members of communist organizations provide military resistance at the canal in collaboration with the Egyptian army against the French-British forces. See Meijer, 2002: 197. 21 On the activities and platforms of the three groups, see Ismael & El-Sa’id, 1990: 131–47. 22 On the January 1977 protests against Sadat’s announcement that subsidies for consumer staples would cease, see El Hamalawy, 2001. 23 The editor of this work, Khalil Kalfat, was a leading intellectual in the 1970s, a member of al-Hizb al-Ummal who wrote under the pseudonym Saleh Muhamad Saleh. The party experienced an internal crisis among the younger members, who ended up expelling Kalfat. He worked as a literary critic, but returned to political activism during the revolution of 25 January 2011 where he remained until his death in 2015. 24 The Socialist Popular Alliance Party won seven parliamentary seats in 2012 as part of the Revolution Continues Alliance bloc. 25 In 2015 the Egyptian Social Democratic Party had four seats in parliament and Tagammu two.

References Abdalla, Ahmed (1985) The Student Movement and National Politics in Egypt, London, Al Saqi Books. Abdel Malek, A. (1967) Egipto sociedad militar, Madrid, Tecnos. Aclimandos, Tewfic (2008) ‘Officiers libres et officiers communistes: collaborations et confrontations’. Cahiers d’Histoire, revue d’histoire critique, 105–106. The communist movement in Egypt 167

Azaola, Bárbara (2010) ‘Le régime de Moubarak: les espaces et les acteurs de l’opposition’. Confluences Méditerranée, 75, 4. Beinin, Joel (2008) ‘Le marxisme égyptien (1936–52): nationalisme, anti impérialisme et réforme sociale’. Cahiers d’Histoire, revue d’histoire critique, 105–106. Beinin, Joel & Lockman, Zachary (1987) Workers on the Nile: Nationalism, Com- munism, Islam, and the Egyptian Working Class, 1882–1954, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press. Botman, S. (1988) The Rise of Egyptian Communism, 1939–1970, New York, Syracuse University Press. Egger, V. (1986) A Fabian in Egypt: Salamah Musá and the Rise of the Professional Classes in Egypt 1909–1939, Lanham, MD, UPA. El Hamalawy, H. (2001) ‘January 18 and 19, 1977: “Uprising of Thieves” or an Aborted Revolution?’. Dissertation,American University in Cairo. el-Sa’id, Rifa’at (1975) Tarikh al-haraka al-ichtirakia fi Misr 1900–1925, Beirut, Dar al-Farabi. Ginat, Rami (2011) A History of Egyptian Communism: Jews and Their Compatriots in Quest of Revolution, Boulder, CO, Lynne Rienner. Ismael, Tareq Y. & El-Sa’id, Rifa’at (1990) The Communist Movement in Egypt, 1920– 1988, New York, Syracuse University Press. Kalfat, Khalil (2014) ‘Kharita al Yasar al Arabi II (Mapping of the Arab Left II)’. Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung, www.rosalux.de/publication/40886/mapping-of-the-ara b-left-ii.html Lampridi-Kemou, Athina & Azaola, B. (2012) ‘Contemporary Egypt: Between Reform and Continuity’. In Izquierdo Brichs, F. (Ed.), Political Regimes in the Arab World, London, Routledge. Laqueur, Walter (1956) Communism and Nationalism in the Middle East, London, Routledge. Lockman, Zachary (2008) ‘La gauche et le mouvement ouvrier au début des années 1920’. Cahiers d’Histoire, revue d’histoire critique, 105–106. Meijer, R. (2002) The Quest for Modernity: Secular Liberal and Left-Wing Political Thought in Egypt, 1945–1958, London, Routledge Curzon. Monciaud, D. (2008) ‘Un travail de mémoire de la gauche égyptienne’. Cahiers d’Histoire, revue d’histoire critique, 105–106. Perrault, G. (1984) Un homme à part, Paris, Fayard. Shukri, G. (1965) Salama Musa wa-azmat al-d.amir al-ʻArabi, Sayda, Manchurat al- Maktaba al-ʻAs.riya. Younis, S. (2008) ‘Marxisme et patriotisme dans les régimes militaires de libération nationale: les “Officiers Libres” et les communistes égyptiens’. Cahiers d’Histoire, revue d’histoire critique, 105–106. 9 Communism and organizational symbiosis in South Yemen The People’s Democratic Union, the National Liberation Front and the Yemeni Socialist Party

John Ishiyama

In this chapter I examine the evolution of the Yemeni Communist Party (PDU, the Peoples’ Democratic Union) and its influence on the National Liberation Front (NLF) and the Yemeni Socialist Party (YSP). The YSP was founded in 1978 and was declared at that time as the ‘vanguard party’ for the Yemeni revolution and the sole governing party in the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen (PDRY). To a large extent this is because, although very small, the PDU exercised its influence by allying itself with Abd al-Fattah Ismail, a left-wing nationalist and leader of the YSP, and influenced his move towards embracing scientific socialism. Further, the PDU maintained an institutionalized existence within the YSP, and controlled much of the ideological training and education within the latter via its control of the Ministry of Education in the PDRY and the Higher Party School in Aden. However, it was the YSP, one of two parties in the Islamic world that both embraced Marxism-Leninism and emerged as a governing party, which established a single-party regime in the Muslim world (the other being the People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan – PDPA). However, unlike their counterparts in Europe, Latin America, Asia or Sub-Saharan Africa, communist parties in the Islamic Middle East were (and continue to be) confronted with the rising tide of religious fundamentalism and hampered by the lack of a tradition of a strong secular left. Thus, the context in which these parties evolved can be expected to be quite different from the experiences of communist parties in Europe and Africa. In both Yemen and Afghanistan, the YSP and PDPA emerged in countries without a history of strong states. In each of these states there was an attempt to conduct ‘revolution from above’ in societies that were divided by ethnicity and tribalism, and where there was significant resistance to the efforts made by the socialist state. Further, external factors played an important role: intervention by neighbouring powers resulted in the eventual undermining of these ‘revolutions from above’, and in the military defeat of one (Afghanistan) and the subsequent fragmentation of society, with the other (Yemen) seeking accommodation with the decentralized, well-armed, tribal society. Communism in South Yemen 169 To that end, this chapter addresses the primary questions posed by this book. First, I will examine the two forces that shaped the YSP: (1) How the PDU influenced the origins of the YSP and how their symbiotic relationship evolved over time. In particular I examine how the PDU emerged from the milieu of anti-colonial forces in South Yemen in the struggle for independence and how that struggle affected the ideological and organizational development of the YSP; (2) How Soviet influence shaped the development of the YSP. Second, I will examine the evolution of the ideology of the NLF and subsequently YSP under the influence of the PDU via Abd al-Fattah Ismail. I then review briefly how the YSP attempted to transform material relations in South Yemen, how this led to the 1986 civil war in the country, and the evolution of the YSP after reunification in 1991. Finally, I assess the impact of the experiment in Marxism-Leninism in South Arabia and offer some observations regarding the questions posed in the introduction of the book.

1 Communism in South Arabia Communism has had a relatively long history in the Muslim world outside of the Soviet Union (USSR). Communist movements emerged in the colonial era (the 1920s and 1930s) largely in opposition to colonial control by the British and French after the collapse of the Ottoman Empire, and they viewed the USSR as their natural ally in the struggle against imperialism. Most of the leaders and supporters of the communist parties were drawn from the middle and lower middle strataoftheintelligentsia.Thissocial stratum grew increasingly large as the modernization process under colonial occupation transformed the primarily agrarian societies of the region. In addition, the introduction of modern extractive industrial sectors during the 1920s and 1930s led to the creation of a new working class, concentrated in the oil sector, ports and railways. Since the struggle of the working classes was directed against foreign capital, the class struggle essentially became a nationalist struggle as well. In addition, the communist parties in the region attracted those marginalized by Islamic societies and prevented from upward mobility, in particular minority groups and the poor (Jabar, 1997). In two cases, Yemen and Afghanistan, communist party organizations in predominantly Muslim countries emerged to become governing parties. It is important to understand that although there was an authentic communist party, the PDU, which had existed since the early 1960s, this party was never the dominant power in South Yemeni (PDRY) politics. Unlike neighbours such as in Ethiopia, where a military coup ushered in a period of Marxist-Leninist experimentation under the Derg (largely driven by the desire for regime authorities in that country to seek Soviet support) and unlike in Afghanistan, when a communist party (People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan) took power, communists in Yemen had only indirect but important influence within the governing party coalition (Ishiyama, 2005; Anthony, 1984). 170 John Ishiyama In Yemen, the communist movement was able to gain influence in the radical wing of the anti-colonial NLF of South Yemen (Aden), which had challenged British rule. The British dominated the south and eastern part of Yemen after capturing the port of Aden in 1839. Until 1937, Yemen was ruled as part of British India. In that year, Aden was made a crown colony, with the remaining land designated as the east Aden and west Aden protectorates. In 1965, the British set up a semi-autonomous Federation of South Arabia which joined together most of the tribal states within the protectorates with the Aden colony. This was done to help stave off the triumph of the NLF, a leftist anti-colonial organization (Dresch, 2000; Jabar, 1997). In 1965, two rival nationalist groups – the Front for the Liberation of Occupied South Yemen (FLOSY) and the NLF – launched an uprising against British colonial rule, compelling British rule to end. In 1967, in the face of mounting violence, British troops began to withdraw and the federation they set up collapsed. Later that year the NLF eliminated its FLOSY rivals and declared South Arabia, including Aden, independent on 30 November 1967, subsequently naming the new state the People’s Republic of South Yemen. From 1967 on, the ruling organization of South Yemen gradually evolved from an anti-colonial Arab nationalist movement into a political party modelled after the party states in the USSR and Eastern Europe. It was in this context that the influence of the small communist party grew within the YSP.

2 The People’s Democratic Union and the National Liberation Front The PDU was officially founded in October 1961. The PDU had its roots in the student movement in the city of Aden and had always been led by one of three sons of the Ba Dhib family (the founder was Abdallah bin Abd al-Razzaq Ba Dhib), who came from the Hadramawt region in eastern PDRY (Brehony, 2013: 57; Anthony, 1984: 232–3). The PDU was a relatively small organization that initially tried to help mobilize the trade unions in the country. However, Abd al-Razzaq concluded that the PDU could not appeal to the masses in Yemen because of the dominance of nationalist and Pan-Arabic anti-colonialist sentiments and the weakness of the trade unions. Thus, the party would need to first cooperate with more populist movements to overthrow colonial rule. The party focused on the anti-colonial struggle in the 1960s and the socialization of the country would only come after independence had been won. The NLF became that populist ally because of the respect Abd al-Razzaq himself com- manded from NLF intellectuals (particularly Abd al-Fattah Ismail, the NLF ideology chief) and because the NLF was in a better position to challenge British colonial authority than other national populist groups (Brehony, 2013: 15). Thus the PDU shifted its efforts to mobilize students and focused on establishing a youth group, Shabiba. Although the PDU was not directly aligned with the NLF (which happened later, in 1975), Shabiba was absorbed into the ruling front in 1970 (Anthony, 1984). Communism in South Yemen 171 The PDU was always an urban movement with its party’s headquarters, both before and since national independence, located in Aden. The party has always seen itself as the champion of the poorest and most disenfranchised parts of the population. However, most of these populations were not centred in Aden or the tribal-oriented regions in the south, but were in the villages of the neighbouring Yemen Arab Republic (North Yemen). Thus, the party did not have much of a social base in Aden beyond students and intellectuals. These distinguishing characteristics of the party were the cause of difficulties between the party and some of the more nationally oriented organizations. Further, because the party was not closely involved in the anti-colonial struggle, it was not viewed positively by many in the Arab Nationalist Movement. The party was largely based in the student movement, and did not have the numbers to engage in military operations. However, despite its small size (its membership never exceeded 500) its influence increased greatly as South Yemen sought closer relations with the USSR (Anthony, 1984). In October 1975, the NLF, as part of its effort to consolidate all liberation and leftist groups in a common political movement, formerly incorporated the PDU and another small pro-Syrian Ba’athist party. Together they formed a new organization, the United Political Organization of the National Front (UPONF). The PDU retained its influence via Shabiba, and retained membership in the state legislature, the Supreme People’s Council and controlled the ministry of education, the ministry of culture and the ministry of information. The PDU leader Abdallah Ba Dhib held such posts at different times in the 1970s, and was an important figure in shaping the regime’s propaganda and educational policies until his death in 1976. He was succeeded by his younger brother Ali Ba Dhib, who had been a key leader in Shabiba (Brehony, 2013; Anthony, 1984). In June 1969, the radical wing of the Marxist NLF gained power, and on 1 December 1970, changed the country’s name to the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen. The principal leaders of this wing were Abd al-Fattah Ismail, the YSP’s chief ideologist (himself from Hugariyyah Province in North Yemen) who was close with the leadership of the PDU, Salim Rubai Ali, Ali al-Antar and Ali Nasir Muhammad, who were more aligned with Arab nationalism (although the latter sought closer relations with the USSR but wanted the NLF to retain its ties with Arab nationalism). Salim Rubai Ali had sought some rapprochement with both North Yemen and Saudi Arabia in the mid-1970s, but lost ground after Abd al-Fattah became secretary general of the UPONF. Abd al-Fattah had sought to align South Yemen more closely with the USSR and concluded a Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation between the USSR and PDRY in October 1979. Of even greater significance, however, were events on the domestic front. Ali Nasir, with support of Abd al-Fattah, had staged a coup in June 1978 and overthrew Salim Rubai Ali (who was subsequently executed). In October 1978, Abd al-Fattah and his supporters oriented the UPONF more directly along the path of ‘scientific socialism’. At its First Congress, the UPONF changed 172 John Ishiyama its name to the Yemeni Socialist Party and reorganized itself along the lines of Soviet-style Marxist-Leninist organizations found elsewhere (Ismael & Ismael, 1986; Halliday, 1983, 1990). The creation of the YSP significantly increased the influence of the PDU. Its new secretary general, Ali Ba Dhib, became a member of the YSP’s powerful, eight-man Politburo and was also named secretary of the ideology department of the secretariat of the YSP’s 47-member Central Committee, and a deputy prime minister (one of three) in the government’sCouncilofMinisters(Anthony,1984).Theseachievements, the high point of official communist influence in PDRY politics, were short- lived, however (Dresch, 2000; Stanzel, 1988). Indeed, they lasted only until April 1980, when Abd al-Fattah, long-time collaborator with the PDU/ Shabiba on ideological, cultural and foreign policy matters, was ousted from his positions as YSP secretary general and head of state, and replaced by prime minister Ali Nasir Muhammad (Halliday, 1990). After the ouster of Abd al-Fattah, there was a substantial decline in the influence of the PDU in the YSP. Ali Ba Dhib, however, remained a senior government official (although he was dropped from the Politburo), and the PDU continued to dominate the faculty of the Higher Institute for Scientific Socialism in Aden (also known as the Party School which was funded and supported by the Soviets). Abu Bakr Ba Dhib, Ali Ba Dhib’s younger brother and adviser to Ali Nasir (largely because Ali Nasir wanted to maintain close relations with the USSR) was appointed to the Politburo in his place. Thus the PDU retained some influence in the new government – however, several other allies of Ali Nasir, who placed less emphasis on ideological or pro- Soviet considerations than on personal, regional and factional variables, were elevated to the top leadership (Anthony, 1984).

3 Soviet influence and the YSP Beyond domestic factors that shaped the evolution of the YSP, Soviet influence on the PDRY was crucial in shaping the party’s development. The development of the YSP and its transformation into a vanguard party, and the PDU’s disproportionate influence in the new party, could not have occurred without direct Soviet influence in the politics of the PDRY. Soviet relations with Yemen extend back to the 1920s when the Bolshevik regime signed a Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation with the Mutawakkilite Kingdom of Yemen in 1928, which was renewed in 1939. However, the relationship was interrupted because of the Second World War. In 1955 Yemen and the USSR signed an agreement on economic cooperation and in 1962 the USSR was the first country in the world to recognize the Yemen Arab Republic (North Yemen). On 3 December 1967 the USSR recognized the PDRY in the south (Page, 1985). Soviet interest in South Yemen was motivated primarily by the strategic position of the deep water port in Aden (Cigar, 1985: 787). The first Soviet naval visit to Aden occurred as early as June 1968 and the Soviets began Communism in South Yemen 173 providing military aid in August. Indeed, the Soviets saw Aden as an important strategic asset in the Middle East in as much as it was ‘located at the junction of important military, strategic, and commercial lines of commu- nications, and had a special significance for British Imperialism’ (Pozdnyakov, 1968: 229). After the establishment of the PDRY Soviet influence expanded greatly. With the British withdrawal from the Persian Gulf, the reopening of the Suez Canal in 1975 and increased Soviet influence in the Horn of Africa after the Ethiopian Revolution, South Yemen’s geopolitical importance increased. Further, the Soviets were interested in supporting ideologically ‘friendly socialist regimes’ such as Angola, Mozambique, Ethiopia, Afghani- stan and the PDRY, which had taken steps to transform their societies along Marxist lines. In 1979, after the accession of Abd al Fattah Ismail’s rise to power, the Soviet concluded a 20-year Treaty of Friendship and Cooperation (Cigar, 1985: 788). Soviet interest in the Aden regime translated into growing military, economic and cultural ties between the USSR and the PDRY. In terms of military cooperation, the USSR provided substantial amounts of arms and over 1,500 Soviet and Cuban military advisors. The Soviets provided instructors at the country’s military academy, and helped trained political officers to ensure YSP control over the military. In terms of the economy, the USSR provided for two thirds of foreign investment in the PDRY by the 1980s and was the country’s largest creditor. The Soviets invested heavily in joint economic enterprises in high-priority areas such as oil exploration and in agriculture. The USSR also provided technical support for the collectivization of agriculture, and the building of dams and canals in the country. The Soviets also played a crucial role in shaping the PDRY’s educational system (Cigar, 1985: 779). Even though the Soviets were heavily invested in the PDRY, this was mainly motivated by geopolitical interests. To be sure, when ideological hardliner Abd al-Fattah Ismail came to power via a coup in 1978 against the pro-Chinese Salim Rubai Ali, relations with Aden improved markedly. Ali, who favoured non-alignment for the PDRY and normalization of relations with the pro-Western Yemen Arab Republic (YAR) and Saudi Arabia, was ousted (with both Soviet and Cuban support). Ali had run afoul of the Soviets, who viewed his pro-Chinese views in opposition to creating a vanguard party with suspicion (Cigar, 1985). The ascendency of Abd al-Fattah Ismail led to the development of closer ties between Aden and Moscow, but when Ismail and his supporters were ousted by the more pragmatic Ali Nasir Muhammad in a intra-party coup in the YSP in 1980, the Soviets were willing to accept the new regime (although like Salim Rubai Ali he favoured normalization of relations with the YAR and Saudi Arabia). In part, Moscow believed that Ali Nassir would not act against Soviet interests and was therefore acceptable. The Ali Nasir coup occurred in February 1980, just as the Soviets were becoming more deeply embroiled in Afghani- stan and were anxious not to have further instability in a socialist ally in the region. Further, the programme adopted by the YSP at the Extraordinary 174 John Ishiyama Party Congress in July 1980 continued the ideological line, at least officially, of Abd al-Fattah Ismail. In part because of the rise of Gorbachev and Perestroika, as well as the result of the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan, the Soviets seemed to be quite willing to accept Ali Nassir’s regime. Even when the hardline supporters of Abd al-Fattah Ismail launched an armed revolt against Ali Nassir in Jan- uary 1986, the Soviets backed him instead of Abd al Fattah Ismail, labelling him as ‘counterrevolutionary’. The apparent Soviet backing for Ali Nassir’s government – who had established ties with pro-Western Oman and the United Arab Emirates and sought to normalize relations with Saudi Arabia – reflected Moscow’s willingness to abandon hardline Marxist revolutionaries in order to sustain their naval and air facilities in Aden (Cooley, 1986).

4 Evolution of the ideology of the YSP The PDU working with Abd al-Fattah, and with Soviet backing, played a crucial role in shaping the Marxist-Leninist ideology of the NLF (and later the YSP) and the PDRY state. The NLF, largely under the influence of Abd al-Fattah throughout the 1970s, moved progressively leftward to more greatly embrace Marxism-Leninism and to transform the NLF into an organization modelled after the ruling parties of the USSR and Eastern Europe. Abd al-Fattah Ismail was born in 1939 in North Yemen, but had been educated in Aden where he also worked at an oil refinery before he earned his degree and began teaching. He was politically active in nationalist circles and was a co-founder of the NLF, which launched an insurrection in 1963 against British rule. He became a member of the NLF Politburo in 1965 at the NLF First Congress, and was reappointed in the Second and Third Congresses in 1966 and 1967. At the Fourth NLF Congress he was the central figure in fashioning the NLF’s programme that embraced Marxism-Leninism (Busky, 2002: 74–8; Dresch, 2000: 74; Halliday, 1990). In the Fourth NLF Congress he was instrumental in determining the progressive line of the revolution. However, in March 1968 he was arrested by the right wing of the NLF and went into exile, where he drafted the programme for ‘Accomplishing National Democratic Liberation’, a leftist manifesto. He undertook a leading role in the consolidation of the left wing of NLF which subsequently regained power in the 22 June 1969 ‘correction step’, where he was restored and elected secretary general of the NLF Central Committee, thus making him the country’s de facto leader. He was also elected a member of the Presidium of the Supreme People’s Council. In 1970 he was elected chairman of the Presidium (making him head of state as well). He undertook a leading role in the dialogue between the NLF and other left parties in South Yemen leading to the formation of the YSP. He was elected secretary general of the YSP at the First Party Congress in October 1978 (Halliday, 1990). The evolution of the key elements of the YSP ideology had been laid out by Abd al-Fattah as the leading ideologist of the NLF at the front’s Fourth and Communism in South Yemen 175 Fifth Congresses. The Fourth NLF Congress was held in March 1968 and was attended by 167 delegates. It was at this congress that the division between the leftist (Marxist-Leninist) wing of the party and the Arab nationalist wing (led by Salim Rubai Ali) and pro-Soviet pragmatists like Abdul Nasir Mohammed became most obvious. The programme was drafted by Abd al- Fattah, who argued that Yemen needed to undertake a ‘national democratic revolution’ based on an alliance of workers, peasants, soldiers and revolutionary intellectuals. The programme advocated democratic centralism in the NLF and for a series of economic measures that would assist the revolution – namely the nationalization of foreign banks and foreign trade. The programme was also very critical of the ‘petit bourgeois’ nationalist policies of other Arab countries, particularly Egypt, Algeria and Syria. The programme also called for the arming of a people’s militia to counter the presence of counter-revolution forces that surrounded the country, particularly the threat posed by Saudi Arabia to the revolution in South Yemen (Halliday, 1990). The political declaration issued by the NLF Fourth Congress held that the world was divided into two camps, with capitalism and colonialism on the one side and socialism and the national liberation movements on the other. National liberation was seen as the first step towards the establishment of socialism in favour of the oppressed masses. The Fifth (and last) Congress of the NLF held in June 1969 marked a consolidation of the leftist point of view in the NLF, where the congress moved in the direction of reorganizing the NLF from an Arab Popular Front to a Soviet- style organization. New internal statutes were adopted that emphasized Soviet- style democratic centralism and the old ‘General Command’. The NLF executive was replaced with the Central Committee and Politburo. The congress also reaffirmed that the country was in a national democratic revolutionary stage, but also cautioned that this required some measure of cooperation with petty bourgeois nationalists as well, in common cause in the anti-imperial struggle. In 1970, after the ‘correction step’, the PDRY was established with Salim Rubai Ali declared as president (Halliday, 1990). In terms of actions undertaken after the declaration of the PDRY, the regime made restructuring social relations in South Yemen a top priority (Ismael & Ismael, 1986). The leadership of the NLF came largely from what Volker Stanzel (1988) called a ‘provincial lower middle class’. Many were teachers and lower-level bureaucrats in the colonial regime. Although great emphasis was placed on the ‘toiling masses’, or workers and peasants to be led by revolutionary intellectuals, there was little in the way of a proletariat. Indeed, most of those who had constituted the proletariat in the only major city in South Yemen, Aden, had largely come from the north. Although there was something of a peasantry in Hadramawt and in cotton-producing regions like Lahj and Abyan, the vast majority of rural residents were tribal small landowners who were not at all positively disposed to the new revolutionary regime in Aden. The new PDRY regime moved very quickly to transform the economy (Ishiyama, 2005; Ismael & Ismael, 1986). Under the guidance of the party 176 John Ishiyama ideologist, and general secretary, Abd al-Fattah, many enterprises (particularly foreign ones) were nationalized and there was a widespread redistribution of land (nearly half of the arable land was redistributed to 27,000 poor families between 1970 and 1973). Abd al-Fattah reasoned that by fostering a new class of small landholders, these could be organized into cooperatives and act as a support base for the regime (Ishiyama, 2005; Halliday, 1990; Stanzel, 1988). However, the socialization of the economy in Yemen inflicted significant costs. The economic reforms introduced in the 1970s caused significant social disruptions in the countryside and declining food production in the 1980s, making the regime increasingly dependent on imported foodstuffs. The institution of cooperatives in particular disrupted traditional peasant production methods, which, as in other countries that sought to pursue collectivized agriculture, led to significant food shortages. Further, there was outright resistance to the socialization of society. According to Dresch (2000), nearly a quarter of the population of the south fled the country as a result of the regime’s actions in the early 1970s. None- theless, the measures introduced by the NLF (and, after 1978, the YSP) had transformed the social structure by displacing old power holders: petty sul- tans, privileged clans and clerics. Through a series of spontaneous violent uprisings, power was seized by the lowest, least powerful strata – peasants, fishermen and labourers. Land reform and marketing cooperatives brought a significant redistribution of wealth (Hudson, 1977: 351; Dresch, 2000: 121). Another important element of the PDRY regime’s early measures at transforming Yemen was the party’s approach to the role of Islam in the revolutionary state. Before independence, Islam represented the primary legitimizing ideology of the old social and political order. The PDRY regime adopted a relatively cautious, accommodating approach to Islam, particularly by stressing the commonalities that socialism and Islam shared (especially the commitment to egalitarianism and social justice). In the PDRY constitution of 1970, Islam was recognized as the religion of the country and was guaranteed protection insofar as it was consonant with the constitution. Instruction in Islam was required as part of the public education curriculum (Ishiyama, 2005). The YSP ideology promoted Islam as a potentially revolutionary force in the modern era. Indeed, according to Abd al-Fattah:

Islam was exposed to extreme distortion and falsification … In the Abbasid and Ummayid eras, the aristocratic forces were able to divert Islam to goals and concepts other than that for which it had come. They did that to serve their interests and to serve the thrones, the kingdoms, and the hereditary caliphate which had nothing at all to do with Islam. Islam, which came essentially as a revolution, was transformed by feudal and aristocratic forces [robbing] Islam of its revolutionary essence and diverting it to serve other goals.1 Communism in South Yemen 177 A third element of the new state’s strategy involved the penetration of society via the establishment of a mass party organization. The Soviets played a key role in the organizational development of the YSP. Soviet commentators in 1978 called for the need of unity ‘of the country’s [South Yemen] national and patriotic forces and the creation of a vanguard party of the working people’ (Naumkin, 1978: 65). In 1979, Moscow and Aden signed an agreement where the Soviets pledged to help with the party-building activities of the YSP. This included establishing an exchange of delegations and help in developing youth, women’s and other social organizations. The Soviets also helped to establish the YSP Higher Party School in Aden and the Komsomol assisted in setting up a Higher School for Youth Cadres, and arranged for further training of party cadres in Moscow and other Eastern European countries (Cigar, 1985: 780). The YSP established cells in both geographic and functional constituencies (such as factories, cooperatives and in the military). Party membership was cited at about 26,000 in 1977 which was about 3.5 percent of the population in 1983 (Halliday, 1983; Naumkin, 1978). Of these members, the largest proportion was ‘office workers’ (36 percent of the party membership). Only 26 percent of the membership was listed as workers and only 14.6 percent as peasants (Ismael & Ismael, 1986: 40–1). Despite these efforts, the regime had little real effect on society in the PDRY. In part, this was because of the often violent factional warfare within the NLF and YSP that made the regime increasingly dependent on the military. Furthermore, by the 1980s, the effort at socializing Yemen had abated, and the regime survived largely because it accepted a prevailing decentralized, tribal and armed society (Ishiyama, 2005). Nonetheless, although never fully transformational, the regime was able to secure the loyalty of many tribal elements via this strategy, largely by granting significant power to local party bosses (who often were also local tribal leaders) in the provinces

5 Factionalism in the YSP In Yemen, the dispute initially involved a debate over the new state’s relationship with the USSR. The first president of the PDRY, Salim Rubai Ali, was deeply suspicious of the Soviet model and very critical of the growth of the centralized planning apparatus that had accelerated in Yemen under the first five-year plan that began in 1974. He focused much of his criticism at the pro- Soviet wing of the NLF, led by the party’s ideologist, Abd al-Fattah Ismail. In June 1978, Salim Rubai Ali tried to stage a coup to oust his opponents, but this attempt failed. As a result, Salim Rubai Ali and two of his associates were arrested and executed. He was succeeded by a five-person transitional council led by President Ali Nasir Muhammad. In October 1978, the NLF was transformed into the YSP which thereupon declared its monopoly of political power and declared itself a ‘vanguard party’. In December, Abd al- Fattah Ismail was made president and Ali Nasir Muhammad became prime minister (Ishiyama, 2005; Halliday, 1990). 178 John Ishiyama The two key figures in the history of the YSP were Abd al-Fattah and Ali Nasir. Although both Ali Nasir and Abd al-Fattah were positively disposed toward the USSR, they differed in terms of both domestic and foreign policy. Abd al-Fattah Ismail, considered a theoretician and a hardliner, favoured a replication of the Soviet model in Yemen. He was also a northerner (as were many of the radical leftists in the NLF) from Hugariyyah in North Yemen, who like so many other northerners had migrated south to work in the British Petroleum Refinery in Aden. In contrast, Ali Nasir Muhammad was from Dathinah in the south, and favoured a much more gradual approach to socialism. He advocated promoting a mixed economy and limiting nationalization to major industries. Further, he favoured rapprochement with North Yemen and normalizing relations with the Saudis and Oman (Dresch, 2000: 149–50). In 1980, Ali Nasir forced Abd al-Fattah Ismail from office, who subsequently went to Moscow, ostensibly to ‘study’. As president, he was succeeded by Ali Nasir, who also retained his position as prime minister and became general secretary of the YSP. Under Ali Nasir, controls over the economy, particularly in construction, were loosened and private commerce promoted. Foreign companies (including British) were invited to help in oil exploration. Relations were normalized with the country’s neighbour and with the loosening of state controls, the remaining allies of Abd al-Fattah charged Ali Nasir with consumerism, corruption and betrayal of the revolution. In 1984, the powerful defence minister Ali Antar began to criticize Ali Nasir for his personal excesses (Dresch, 2000: 169). In February 1985 Ali Nasir was forced to cede his position as prime minister. In 1985, Abd al-Fattah Ismail was allowed to return to the country where he was restored as one of the secretaries of the YSP. After the October 1985 congress, there was increasing pressure in the party for Ali Nasir to also give up his position as general secretary, and the re-elevation of al-Fattah as secretary for ideology (the number two post in the party). In January 1986, this political conflict turned into an armed conflict when Ali Nasir’s supporters murdered several members of the Politburo, including Abd al-Fattah and Ali Antar. Several thousand party members and militia were killed in a two-week civil war. The military supported the Abd al-Fattah faction and Ali Nasir and thousands of his supporters were forced to flee to North Yemen or Ethiopia. A new political leadership under Ali Salim al-Bid, a supporter of Abd al-Fattah, was reconstituted. But despite its ties to the northern faction (which included the PDU), he generally continued the policies of Ali Nasir. As the USSR set upon a new course in its relations with the West after 1985, this had a profound effect on the regime. The accession of Ali Salim al- Bid as general secretary of the YSP, coupled with the changes in Moscow, accelerated progress toward the reunification of North and South Yemen. In 1981, negotiations had produced an ‘interim constitution’ of a unified Yemen, but both sides had rejected the draft. In September 1989, however, a summit meeting was held in Sanaa, and by November 1989 (the same month that the Berlin Wall came down) the president of North Yemen, Ali Abdullah Saleh, Communism in South Yemen 179 and Ali Salim al-Bid of the South, announced in Aden that the unity agreement dating back to 1981 would be implemented by 1990. Formal unification occurred on 22 May 1990, marking the end of the PDRY, the PDU and the experiment in Marxism-Leninism in Yemen.

6 The YSP since reunification The YSP has since reunification altered its identity substantially. Renouncing revolution and Marxism-Leninism, in its 1993 electoral programme, the YSP declared its main objective to be the promotion of national unity and democracy, and to realize social justice. It viewed tribalism as a problem (unlike the ruling northern General People’s Congress (GPC), which extolled the ‘extended family’ of tribalism) declaring in the campaign of 1993 that it sought to ‘find a solution to the problem of tribal power and the resulting anarchy’. As to Islam, unlike the GPC or Islah, which prominently featured Islam as the core of life, the YSP merely sought the creation of an Islamic university in Yemen, rather than make Islam a national religion (Schwedler, 2002). Since the reunification of North Yemen and South Yemen, the YSP has been marked by continued intra-party squabbles. In the 1990s this involved a conflict between the left wing, led by al-Bid, and more moderate conciliatory elements, led by Jarallah Omar, although also a northerner, advocated the ‘social democratization’ of the party. The early 1990s were also marked by growing tensions between the ruling GPC and the Islamists, on the one hand, and the YSP on the other, tensions that led to the assassinations of several YSP officials. The political crisis culminated in August 1994 when Vice- President al-Bid refused to carry out his duties and retreated back to Aden. Many mediation initiatives were undertaken during the crisis, but skirmishes persisted between former North Yemen and South Yemen army units, and a civil war began in May 1994. Prime Minister al-Attas and other YSP leaders defected to joined forces with Vice-President al-Bid, who was in Aden. The vice-president declared the independence of a new Democratic Republic of Yemen in South Yemen (Ishiyama, 2005). Most YSP members, however, refused to join al-Bid and chose to stay in Sanaa. In South Yemen, leaders in Abyan, Hadramawt and other provinces also refused to join the al-Bid group. In the end, President Saleh’s troops overwhelmed those of al-Bid on the battlefield. In July 1994, al-Bid left the country, seeking political asylum in Oman. His departure marked the end of the two- month civil war, with the camp in favour of maintaining the coalition claiming victory. After the end of the war, the YSP was forced to leave the coalition government and had its assets seized, including its party headquarters building. Among YSP leading members, most of the YSP parliamentarians (53 of 56) were allowed to continue political activity and remain in parliament because they chose to remain in Sanaa during the political crisis. Since 1994, the YSP has been split by both ideological and continued regional cleavages. After his departure to Oman, al-Bid was replaced by Ali 180 John Ishiyama Saleh Obad (Muqbil), a member of the old guard who had elected to stay in Sanaa during the 1994 civil war. Obad, along with other conservatives from Shabwah, Hadramawt and Abyan (generally associated with al-Bid) advocated a policy of boycotting elections, rejecting talks with the government and opposing a change in the party’s ideology. Ali Saleh Obad helped to organize the 1997 YSP demonstrations in Mukallah and also advocated the YSP’s boycott of the parliamentary elections of 1997 (Al-Yemeni, 2003: 66). On the other hand, the reformers within the leadership group included the late Jarallah Omar and Dr Saif Sayel, both from the north. This group advocates actively, including young people and women in the leadership group, easing out the old guard, promoting a peaceful discourse with the government in order to regain the YSP’s lost status and properties, modernizing the party’s ideology and joining the Socialist International (Al-Yemeni, 2003: 61). Jarallah Omar was a particularly important figure in the evolution of the YSP after 1994. He was a northerner born in the village of Kuhal in the province of Ibb in 1942 and studied Islamic jurisprudence in Dhamar as a young man. During the North Yemeni civil war of 1962–8, Omar was imprisoned for his leftist politics. While in prison, he was introduced to Marxism. He left prison in 1968 and took refuge in South Yemen. From the south, he led the commando forces of the National Defence Forces in the north, a conglomerate of five separate groups dedicated to overthrowing the military government in Sanaa, but was forced to flee to the south by the late 1970s. He was elevated to the Politburo in the YSP in the 1980s and was associated with Abd al-Fattah Ismail’s faction, siding with al-Bid in the 1986 civil war. He broke with al-Bid in the 1994 war, opposing the secession effort. Nonetheless, he was forced to flee the country in 1994, only to return a year later. Widely respected within the party, as well as throughout the opposition, he was a key figure in brokering the 2002 alliance between the YSP and Islah that led to the creation of the Joint Meetings Party (JMP), which was established to oppose President Saleh (Carapico et al., 2002). Omar was assassinated in 2002, while speaking at a meeting of Islah.2 Since the YSP’s Fourth Congress (held in November 1998 and August 2000), the reformist wing appears to have gained the upper hand in the intra- party struggle. A new political party programme was adopted where the YSP fully embraced a social-democratic identity and proclaimed itself

a social democratic party that struggles for building a modern democratic state, whose powers rest upon the fundamentals of the Constitution, and in which the role of the institutions is reinforced, a democratic local Govern- ment is founded, the law prevails, citizens are equal in rights and duties, human rights are maintained, and civil society institutions prosper. (Al-Yemeni, 2003: 62)

The party has since emerged as the primary regional and secular opposition in Yemen, but by the 21st century had ceased to embrace communism. Thus ended the YSP’s experiment with Marxism-Leninism. Communism in South Yemen 181 Since the abandonment of Marxism-Leninism the party continued its political alliance with Islah in the JMP. Yasin Said Numan, who was a former prime minister in the PDRY under Ali Nassir, became the general secretary of the YSP in 2005. In 2007, discontent in the south with northern rule in a unified Yemen led to the emergence of the Southern Movement (Hirak) which sought secession of the territories of the former PDRY from Yemen.3 Although some in the Southern Movement claim direct lineage with the YSP, particularly through the former PDRY president and Yemeni vice-president Ali Salim al- Bid, the YSP leadership continued to officially support a unified Yemen. With the coming of the Yemeni Revolution, in 2011 Numan supported the removal of President Saleh and, along with other member parties of the JMP, supported the creation of the National Council for the Forces of the Peaceful Revolution which demanded President Saleh’s ouster. Saleh was forced to resign in November 2011 under the terms of an agreement brokered by the Gulf Coordination Council (GCC), and transferred power to his vice- president, Abd al-Rab Mansur al-Hadi, who was elected as president in a single-candidate election in February 2012 (Stuster, 2013). Hadi had the support of the JMP, but beset with incompatible ideologies and factional divisions, the National Council proved ineffective as a governing alternative. Further, Hadi had little in the way of military support, which by and large remained loyal to Saleh and his family. In 2013, the Houthi movement, which champions Yemen’s Zaidi Shia Muslim minority and which had fought a series of rebellions against President Saleh in the past, took advantage of Hadi’s weak position by taking control of their northern heartland of Saada province, and subsequently neighbouring areas. Supported by allies of Saleh, the Houthi rapidly advanced on Sanaa, and forced President Hadi to resign. Hadi escaped to Aden, and the YSP and JMP continued to support his government. Hadi only survived, however, as the result of a massive GCC military intervention in the civil war, and the support of the secessionist Hirak Movement in the south. Since 2015, the YSP’s position relative to Hadi (who staunchly supports Yemeni unity), and southern secession has been ambivalent at best. Although Numan was one of three top advisers to President Hadi, and the party has participated in the several unity governments since 2015, a number of YSP members form one of the more prominent factions in Hirak, particularly associated with Ali Salim al-Bid (al-Rimawi, 2012). Nonetheless, the YSP remains relatively strong in the south, and thus continues to influence the Hadi government.

7 Conclusion The Communist Party in Yemen (the PDU) was a very small organization that, despite its small size, was able to greatly influence the NLF, the YSP and the policies of the PDRY. Although the PDU never became the ‘vanguard party’ that is the aspiration of most communist parties, it was able to 182 John Ishiyama influence the transformation of the NLF and the YSP into a vanguard party. The relationship between the PDU and YSP was symbiotic one. Why did such a symbiotic relationship emerge? There are two reasons. First, the NLF sought to secure support from the USSR, not only in the anti-colonial struggle, but also for assistance in consolidating its rule in South Yemen. The most direct conduit to Soviet aid was via the PDU and its connections with Moscow. Second, the PDU exerted great influence because of personal connections between the PDU leadership and particularly the Ba Dhib brothers and Abd al-Fattah Ismail and Ali Nasir. Third, because of its control of the Party School in Aden, the PDU exerted influence through the cadres of the YSP. In terms of the ideology of the vanguard party in Yemen (which was the YSP), although early on in the history of the PDRY, there was a concerted effort to transform social relations in South Yemen, according to the YSP’s commitment to Marxist-Leninist principles. However, given the realities of South Yemen, persistent regionalism and tribalism, the lack of a natural social base for a Marxist-Leninist vanguard party as well as the challenge of addressing a political role for Islam, the YSP retreated a number of key ideological principles, and especially under Ali Nasir and later after reunification under Jarallah Omar, the party has abandoned the core principles of Marxism-Leninism. What is the future of the YSP? The party has many strengths on which it can capitalize. First, it is Yemen’s only party of the left and its secular ideology still has appeal among certain intellectuals and women. Second, the party remains the national party of the south of Yemen and continues to have strong support in that area, which helps its position in the Hadi government. Third, the party has done much to renew itself since 1998, and is in coalition in the JMP with the mainstream Islamic Islah Party. On the other hand, the party continues to face many challenges, financial and political, and continued hostility from other political forces, particularly radical Islamist groups. Nonetheless, it is unlikely that the YSP will disappear from the political scene any time very soon, and will likely continue as the sole example of the transformation of a Marxist-Leninist party into a social-democratic one in the Middle East.

Notes 1 Nida al-Watan, June 1978, pp. 22–3 quoted in Ismael & Ismael, 1986: 165. 2 BBC, 28 December 2002, http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/middle_east/2611071.stm , accessed 28 March 2004. 3 Al Jazeera, 10 March 2011, ‘Who’s Who in Yemen’s Opposition?’, www.aljazeera. com/indepth/spotlight/yemen/2011/02/2011228141453986337.html, accessed October 2017.

References al-Rimawi, Mahmoud (2012) ‘The Case for Federalism, Not Separatism, in Yemen’, Al-Monitor, September 10, www.al-monitor.com/pulse/politics/2012/09/the-federa list-option-in-yemen.html Communism in South Yemen 183 Al-Yemeni, H. (2003) The Dynamics of Democratization: Political Parties in Yemen, Bonn, Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung. Anthony, John Duke (1984) ‘The Communist Party of the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen: An Analysis of Its Strengths and Weaknesses’. In Pridham, B. (Ed.), Contemporary Yemen: Politics and Historical Background, London, Croom Helm. Brehony, Noel (2013) Yemen Divided: The Story of a Failed State in South Arabia, London, I. B. Tauris. Busky, Donald F. (2002) Communism in History and Theory: Asia, Africa, and the Americas, New York, Greenwood. Carapico, S., Wedeen, L. & Wuerth, A. (2002) ‘The Death and Life of Jarallah Omar’, Middle East Report, 31 December, www.merip.org/mero/mero123102.html Cigar, Norman (1985) ‘South Yemen and the USSR: Prospects for the Relationship’. Middle East Journal, 39, 4. Cooley, John K. (1986) ‘Power Struggle in S. Yemen Highlights Soviet Role in Strategic Region’. Christian Science Monitor, 17 January. Dresch, P. (2000) A History of Modern Yemen, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Halliday, Fred (1983) ‘The People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen: The Cuban Path in Arabia’. In White, G., Murray, R. & White, C. (Eds), Revolutionary Socialist Development in the Third World, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Halliday, Fred (1990) Revolution and Foreign Policy: The Case of South Yemen, 1967– 1987, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press. Hudson, Michael C. (1977) Arab Politics: The Search for Legitimacy, New Haven, CT, Yale University Press. Ishiyama, John (2005) ‘The Sickle and the Minaret: The Communist Successor Parties in Yemen and Afghanistan after the End of the Cold War’. Middle East Review of International Aﬀairs, 9, 2. Ismael, Tareq Y. & Ismael, Jacqueline S. (1986) The People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen: Politics, Economics, and Society: The Politics of Socialist Transformation, London, Pinter Publishers. Jabar, Faleh (1997) Post-Marxism in the Middle East, London, Saqi. Naumkin, Viktor (1978) ‘Southern Yemen: The Road to Progress’. World Marxist Review, 21, 1. Page, Stephen (1985) The Soviet Union and the Yemens, New York, Praeger. Pozdnyakov, E. (1968) ‘Narodnaya Respublika Yuzhnogo lemena; pervye shagi molo- dogo gosudarstva’. Mezhdunarodnyi Ezhegodnik, Moscow, Politizdat. Schwedler, J. (2002) ‘Yemen’s Unlikely “Emerging Democracy”’. Journal of Democracy, 12, 1. Stanzel, Volker (1988) ‘Marxism in Arabia: South Yemen Twenty Years after Independence’. Aussenpolitik, 39, 3. Stuster, J. Dana (2013) ‘How Does Yemen’s Revolution End?’ Foreign Policy, 26 April, http://foreignpolicy.com/2013/04/26/how-does-yemens-revolution-end/ 10 The Sudan Communist Party Bolshevize it, O God!

Abdullahi A. Ibrahim

1 Introduction With the massacre of Abdel Khaliq Mahgoub [the secretary of the Sudan Communist Party, 1949–1971], a page of beauty and tolerance was turned in Sudanese politics.1 (Mahgoub, 1974)

At the 25th conference of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) in 1976, the presidium called the roll of honour of communist leaders who died for the cause of communism in-between the holding of the two party conferences. The names of Abdel Khaliq Mahgoub, the secretary of the Sudan Communist Party (SCP), al-Shafie Ahmed el-Sheikh, the prominent Lenin Medallion laurate trade union leader and member of the secretariat of the party, and Joseph Garang, a member of the secretariat of the party, executed by Nimeirie’s regime in 1971, were conspicuous by their absence in the ritual.2 Denying Mahgoub and his comrades a mention they rightly deserved was a welcome to Yousif Faisal, leader of the Syrian Communist party, who commented: ‘This will be the fate that awaits who contravene our “kibar” (seniors/big brother)’.3 This ‘excommunication’ of Mahgoub and colleagues was meant to punish a party that the Soviets had seen as heretically indomitable for decades. Evidence that they held the party in disfavour has been emerging lately. The SCP, it is related, opposed a proposition evaluating the international situation tabled at the International Congress of Communist and Labour Parties in Moscow in 1969. The proposition stipulated that imperialism targeted the socialist camp working hard to undermine it. Instead, the SCP argued that the real threat to the socialist alliance came from imperialism targeting not its strongest nexus, the socialist camp, but its weakest link, that is, the developing countries. The position of the Sudan party was the one adopted ultimately by the congress.4 Even Arab communists obligingly toeing the Soviet line shunned the SCP for holding to its autonomy. An Iraqi communist wrote recently about attending a conference of the CPSU with a group of comrades. He remembered Mahgoub’s address to the conference as unusual in laying emphasis on The Sudan Communist Party 185 the uniqueness of his people. At a cocktail party held for the congress delegates and guests after the session in which Mahgoub gave his speech, a tipsy Khalid Bakdash, the Syrian leading communist, began criticizing Mahgoub on his words to the conference, ‘What uniqueness of your people you talked about? Do you think you understand matters better than the Soviets?’ Things were about to get out of hand and the two comrades were about to come to blows.5 This chapter intends to examine the tumultuous and ambivalent politics of the relations between the CPSU and the SCP to account for the indicated Soviet lack of collegiality towards a partner in the fight for socialism. It will highlight the situations in which the Sudan party endeavoured to strike a balance between its nationalism and internationalism to the chagrin of the Soviet party. Sudan communists take great pride in their autonomy vis-à-vis the centre of the world communism movement. They never tire of repeating that they only touched base with this centre after they had already familiarized themselves with their own reality in light of ‘ummuiyyat al-Marxiyya’ (the most general terms of Marxism). Ahmad Sulayman, a founding member of the party from the late 1940s who left the party in 1970, indicates that the first formal contact of the SCP, founded in 1946, with international communism was in 1958. In that year, the Soviet party extended an invitation to two leaders of the party to attend the 21st conference of their party.6 Sulayman suggests that the invitation was the first Soviet open recognition of the SCP as deserving to attend a communist international event (Sulayman, 1986: 34). In coming rather late to the international communist arena, the Sudan party had already formed a Marxist programme derived from its concrete realities for social change in Sudan. This emphasis on the SCP’s autonomy is epitomized in their phrase ‘the creative application of Marxism to Sudan reality’. Commonly, they would show great reserve when coming to a political conclusion by saying ‘as permitted by present knowledge of the situation’. This tact led to their con- tinuous stress on the need to come to grips with Sudanese reality. All party organizations are directed to study in detail the history, economy, culture and social forces and stratification in their respective areas of activity. So much so that one of the most prominent economists of Sudan currently is an engineer whose course of study was cut short by a political contingency. He came to economics when he was made the political secretary of the party organization of the Northern province of the country that has Atbara, the headquarters of the railways system, at its centre. To grasp the facts of his realm of activity, he diligently studied the wage structure of the institution and the forms of exploitation of workers. I was fortunate, on his invitation in 1967, to go over the language and style of his first economic tract. That ushered him into a career as an authority on the Sudanese economy. In pursuing the concretization of Marxism, or what Rogaia Abusharaf calls the ‘vernacularization’ of Marxism (Abusharaf, 2009), the SCP adopted the 186 Abdullahi A. Ibrahim parliamentary road to socialism after its third congress in 1956. In this advocacy, it emphasized the expediency of bourgeois democracy to bring about radical change. The party argued that workers, who were awakened by unionism to their workplace rights would in due time accept socialism based on bourgeois liberal rights. This explains the party’s ardent opposition to imposing ‘new democracy’ by progressive putschists (Ibrahim, 1996; Al- Gizouli, 2003). For establishing a strategically correct relationship between the struggle for democracy and for socialism, Ben Turok describes the SCP’s practice as ‘quite extraordinary’ for being pragmatic yet principled – something that has evaded many others in Africa (Turok, 1987: 153). To understand better the SCP’s novel position in favour of liberal democracy one needs to consider its roots in working-class unionism, and its concept of the bourgeoisie class in a liberal Sudan. Unarguably, the SCP fostered historical, close association with the labour movement that is described, for its growth by leap and bounds, as arising virtually out of nothing (Fawzi, 1957: x). Lamenting the neglect of Sudan working-class movement history in scholarship on Sudan, Peter Cross argues that the SCP’s grass-root activities in the country would not be understood (Cross, 1997: 217–18).7 Situated in its proper social milieu, the party is convinced that unionism would lead workers to make the linkage between democracy and socialism in the public arena. Not unlike other revolutionaries in Africa, the party saw the national bourgeoisie as rudimentary and dispersed in traditional religious parties. This lowly view of the class potential to democratize the country similar to its European predecessors, however, did not lure the party into writing it off politics. Unlike radicals who, encouraged by this weakness, called for bypassing it altogether for a new democracy and socialism, the party held fast to its position of the indispensability of liberal rights to achieving socialism. Instead, it used the weakness of this class to argue for the leadership of the working class of the national democratic stage towards socialism (Sudan Communist Party, 1967: 116). The negotiation of this role comes clearly in an anecdote about an encounter between a bourgeois leader and Mahgoub. It is told that Mahgoub, the charismatic secretary general of the party from 1949 to 1971, was seen riding a car driven by a politician who belonged to a bourgeois party. He was asked how he had come to accept being driven by a ‘reactionary’. He said, ‘We never questioned their right to be in the driver’s seat. But we will never cede to them a monopoly of deciding the road map’ (Abu Sin, 1997: vol 1, 82–3). Not even its subjection to persecution by the anti-democratic policies of bourgeoisie and traditional parties in government dissuaded the party from holding to its conviction in the liberal democratic road to socialism. Understandably, this subjection, climaxing in parliament disbanding it in 1965, caused it to waver on occasions about the correctness of its endorsement of liberalism as a road to social change. However, it did uphold in the same document of its fourth conference in which it cast serious doubts on the future of liberal democracy in the country (Sudan Communist Party, 1967: 108). The Sudan Communist Party 187 The SCP is in no hurry to bring change. Hence, the catchword in the SCP literature is ‘al-dayib al-sabur’ (relentlessly patient). It kept directing its members not to rush things and fight the good fight in their own good time. Its long experience in unionism led the party to believe that traditional and bourgeois’ parties, the majoritarian parties in the country, do not have the sway they assumed over their working class and urban members. When effectively awakened to their class and modern interests, those members would elect communists to their unions, but not in a general election. Not yet. The SCP valued this as a sign for good things to come. Working people would accept in due time socialism based on bourgeois liberal rights. This explains why the SCP reconciled with the reality of the majoritarian dominance of traditional and bourgeois parties in parliamentary democracy in the country. It was in no hurry to see them gone. The party’s faithfulness to the realities of Sudan came at a heavy price three years before its adoption of the parliamentary road to socialism in 1956. The opposition of the communists to the March 1953 Anglo-Egyptian treaty that granted Sudan the right to self-rule was a grave error that knocked into them a sense of the reality. Dazzled by the Chinese patriotic war, they were adamant that the only way to obtain freedom is through an armed revolution à la China’s war, not negotiation. Accordingly, they believed that freedom could only be gained through a barrel of a gun. Communists would sing this belief:

Stalin has instructed us that freedom is not a free ride Don’t you see that the Malayans have taken up arms? Ho Chi Minh’s tie in the Vietnam is never loosened.

Their opposition was a cry in the wilderness. The strike in protest of the agreement called for by the all-powerful leftist Sudan Trade Union Federa- tion was a disaster. Students of Khartoum University College voted down the proposition tabled by the communists to demonstrate against the agreement. Political isolation of the party set in. A student activist at the time said the votes for the proposition fell short of the number of card-holding members of the communist student organization at the university.8 None of the nationalist circle with whom the communists had allied during the nationalist movement supported them. Their loneliness was complete and they had to go back to the drawing board to rethink their opposition to the agreement. In March 1953, the central committee of the party met to review the situation. Acknowledging their lamentable bad judgement, they attributed it to copying blindly experiences of others in obtaining freedom. This self-criticism led to a faith in concretizing party politics by stopping imitat- ing other revolutionaries (Mahgoub, 1956: 37). Interestingly, in combating mimicry, the party reminded members in 1963 of an incident in Port Sudan town in the 1950s in which comrade Khamis began establishing ‘Soviets’ in the town after reading about the role of these workers’ councils in the Russian revolution (Mahgoub, 2004 [1963]: 52–3). 188 Abdullahi A. Ibrahim To bring loyalty to Sudanese reality home, Mahgoub returned to the matter after the holding of the third party conference that concluded that parliament would be their path to socialism. In this revisit to the agreement debacle, he overviews the different paths taken by different nationalists liberating themselves in colonies and oligarchies in the post-Second World War period for the party to see how mimicking others was groundless. He outlines the roads taken by China and India to offset traditional aristocracies or decolonize, respectively. The Chinese, denied any political voice in the land, fought a patriotic war to the bitter end, drawing on their experiences of fighting Japan. The Indians, on the other hand, were persuaded by the British to work within the frame of constitutional gradualism they had set up (Mahgoub, 1956: 30–1). The Sudanese took neither. Unlike the Indians, Sudanese nationalists split into two groups respecting the colonial plan of constitutional gradualism. A group joined the consultative assemblies set up by the British allegedly to prepare the Sudanese for self-rule. The other group, in which the communists played a leading role, boycotted these councils leading to their isolation. Independence resulted from this twofold dynamic accelerated by the infighting between Britain and Egypt, the co-domino of Sudan, on their right to Sudan (Mahgoub, 1956: 33–4). In his criticism of the party’s misguided opposition of the agreement, Mahgoub argues that the mistake of the party laid in its one-sided evaluation of the agreement. The party rightly pointed to the many loopholes in it that the British could have used to prolong their rule in the country (Amin, 1953). It did not, however, recognize the agreement as a product of a mass fight for independence in which the working class played a pivotal role denying the bourgeoisie a monopoly of imagining the nation. Independence could have come fast and with no strings attached had the bourgeois nationalist parties withstood their ground in the united front with the communist that had called for the definitive evacuation of the colonial troops and administration before the self-rule election. Mahgoub concludes that criticizing the agreement disaster was not only an important lesson in indigenizing tactics, but also a great lesson in the courage of self-criticism acknowledging party accountability to the masses (Mahgoub, 1956: 80–1). In pursuing its creative application of Marxism to Sudan, the party found solace in Lenin’s ‘To the People of the East’ (Lenin, 1965 [1919]; Mahgoub, 2004 [1963]: 15–16). It became its favourite text, if you will, for calling on Muslim communists in the eastern regions of the Soviet Union to approach their realities imaginatively. In his address, Lenin describes the task communists in the East confront as one had not been confronted by other communists before. The SCP’s ‘umumiyyat al-marxiyya’ echoes Lenin’s call upon the communists of the East to rely upon the ‘general theory and practice of communist… to specific conditions such as do not exist in the European countries’. After listing the unique problems the communists of the East faced, Lenin cautions them that the solution of their problems will not be found ‘in any communist book’. They had to tackle those problems and solve The Sudan Communist Party 189 them through their own independent experience. In constantly referencing this text, the SCP found the theoretical licence to engage in the ‘vernacularization’ of Marxism. The SCP’s advocacy for a parliamentary road to socialism, arrived at in its creative application of Marxism to the realities of Sudan, faced tremendous challenges from within the party, from local adversaries (Ibrahim, 1996; Ismail, 2013; Matar, 1971; Gadal, 1986) and from international communism. In going through that tumultuous course of history, the party had to revisit the advocacy, diverge from it and reinstate it, sometimes to its detriment. The tenacity of holding to the strategy through thick and thin is unimaginably principled to have the party alive and kicking in a post-communist world. The groundedness of the party in its realities comes through in Gabriel Warburg’s Islam, Nationalism, and Communism in a Traditional African Society (1978). Warburg attributes the effectiveness of the SCP to its flexibility addressing these realities. I will quote Warburg at length to underline the specific circumstances that led to the ‘unorthodoxy’ of the SCP that incurred the wrath of the Soviets:

[W]hile communism never succeeded in becoming a major force in Sudan, its impact on Sudanese politics was nonetheless considerable especially during periods of crisis. This was due to three main reasons. Firstly, the penetration of the SCP into the most important sectors of Sudanese society: the cotton growers, the railway workers and the intelligentsia, enabled the party to become an effective pressure group despite its relatively small numbers. Secondly, the SCP provided the only consistent alternative to the sectarian and factional divisions which harassed Sudanese politics ever since independence… Lastly, the leadership of the SCP, since Abd al-Khaliq Mahjub became secretary-general, was probably the most capable leadership of any communist party in the region. Its flexible attitude towards religion, nationalism, Arab unity, etc., enabled the party to retain its freedom of action, at least partly, during the long periods in which it was illegal. Yet despite this flexibility, which at times bordered on opportunism, the party remained consistent in its fight against sectarian politics and factional splits. (Warburg, 1978: 166)

The balance the SCP struck between its nationalism and internationalism was a source of trouble with the Soviets. Although it took their side in their conflict with China and, regrettably, in support of their invasion of Czechoslo- vakia, it fell in disfavour with them for not toeing their line of forcing communist parties to play second fiddle to nationalist polities friendly to the Soviet Union. In measuring the progressivity of regimes against the economic and diplomatic relations they had with the Soviet Union, the Soviets asked the party twice to reconcile to dictatorial regimes that had developed varying mutual relations with the Soviets. In the early 1960s, the Soviets asked the 190 Abdullahi A. Ibrahim party to tone down its strong opposition to the Aboud dictatorship that came to power via a military coup in November 1958; they wanted the party to relinquish in favour of the junta. The Soviets viewed the party’s obstinate opposition to the regime as jeopardizing those economic and diplomatic ties with the Soviet Union. This line, of course, gave priority to Soviet national interests at the cost of turning the local parties into lackeys of the Soviets. The SCP refused to accept the Soviet line. It declined to moderate its resistance to the ‘17th of November gang’, the party’s favourite epithet of the regime referencing its birth in 1958. It visited this encounter with the Soviets in its report of its fourth conference (1967) held after the toppling of the Aboud regime by the popular uprising of October 1964. In the section devoted to the matter, the party said it welcomed the establishment of those economic relations with the Soviet Union (Sudan Communist Party, 1967: 113–14). From these emerging relations, the party states, the Sudanese would see a new partner who, unlike capitalist countries, would genuinely seek mutually beneficial relations with their country. To illustrate, the report points to the easing of a com- modity shortage in 1957–8 thanks to an aid from the Soviet Union. That being said, the report raised some serious objections to making a country’s relations with the Soviet Union the yardstick for its progressiveness. These diplomatic and trade relations with the Soviets, good as they might be, the report continued, would not make a dent in Sudan’s unequal relationship with the capitalist market. The interests of the comprador bourgeoisie and state bureaucracy would stand in the way of their full utilization to the benefit of the people. The report cautioned the Soviets against thinking that their good relations with the junta was something they singularly brought about. Instead, they needed to give credit to the mass movement for democracy, for calling insistently for the establishment of those relations in the first place. Most importantly, the report held to the party’s right to analyse its concrete realities and acted upon them unfettered. Although the junta relations with the Soviet Union were most welcome, stated the report, they should not blind us to the fact that the analysis of the class structure and governance in a country is a prerogative of local communists. The measure of the progressivity of a regime should not be judged by the closeness of a regime to the Soviet Union. Such an external determination leaves little to nothing for local communists to do (Sudan Communist Party, 1967: 114). The second time around, in which the Soviets asked the SCP to play a secondary role to a regime of their favour, was during the leftist phase of the General Nimeirie junta (1969–71). We are fortunate that Yevgeny Primakov, an alleged correspondent of Pravda, head of the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service, Russian foreign minister and Russian prime minister left us a record of the ideological and political factors at play in this second encounter of the SCP and the Soviets. Primakov visited Sudan on 25 May 1969, the day of the military coup that brought Nimeirie to power, to interview the new leaders and communists for Pravda. Mahgoub told him in a meeting that the new regime was progressive. The Sudan Communist Party 191 Yet communists, he insisted, did not intend to be swallowed up in the revolutionary council set up by Nimeirie. He continued to say that the communist ministers appointed by Nimeirie were good ‘but they were appointed without consulting the central committee of the SCP’. He further said that they would keep working with the regime and ‘for that to happen, there needs to be equal partnership with the communist party’ (Primakov, 2009: 77). Mahgoub’s position of keeping a distance from the regime did not sit well with Primakov. His next line in the narrative is, ‘The phrase “equal partnership” grated somewhat’ (Primakov, 2009: 77). The annoyance shown by Pri- makov stemmed from his realization that the independent spirit shown by Mahgoub would put the SCP in a collision course with the regime contra- vening the Soviet position that local communist parties should play a secondary role to progressive regimes like the one led by Nimeirie. Primakov dates that policy to the latter half of the 1960s. Before that, they gave the first place to communists in the fight against colonialism. Rostislav Ulyanovsky, deputy head of the international department of the Central Committee, essentially developed this change, christened ‘socialist orientation’. Post- colonial regimes, the new view argued,

could in the initial stages set its own courses toward communism instead of taking the ‘traditional’ route of the proletarian dictatorship… The goal of the new theory was to bolster radical regimes in the Middle East and stop local communists from attacking them. It was reasoned that these regimes were the ones with the real power: ideology was once again shown to be applied as the ‘servant’ of politics.

This view was communicated in no uncertain terms by the Soviet party to local communists ‘that they had to ﬁnd accommodation with certain Arab leaders, and advised them to accept that the revolutionary nationalist leaders, not they, were the leading force in the Arab world’spro-independencemovement’ (Primakov, 2009: 59). Alan Gresh goes into some detail regarding the fallout between the Soviet party and the SCP. He traces the Soviet’s position of downplaying the role of communists in progressive politics in their respective countries to the 20th congress of the CPSU in 1956. Armed by the congress’ positive conclusions respecting the role of patriotic nationalists, the Soviets talked communists of the Arab world into agreeing ‘to play second ﬁddle to nationalists’ (Gresh, 1989: 393). Based on their 1956 position on nationalists, the Soviet theoreticians envisaged in the 1960s a ‘revolutionary democracy’ to describe radical regimes in Africa and the Arab countries. They had this to say about them:

In many former colonies and semi-colonial countries, socialist evolution is both possible and necessary before class diﬀerentiation have become pronounced. In such conditions, when the proletariat has not been transformed into a driving force, the intermediate strata – such as 192 Abdullahi A. Ibrahim peasants, exploited urban classes and democratic intellectuals – play a particularly active role and acquire political independence. Revolutionary democracy appears as the mouthpiece of their interests… Its programme goes beyond the framework of capitalism. It comprises a large proportion of the demands that appear on the program of Communist parties of countries that have been recently liberated. (Gresh, 1989: 397–8)

Gresh delineates the conflict that raged in the SCP on evaluating Nimeirie’s regime relevant to the Soviet’s position of relegating local communists to playing a secondary role to revolutionary democratic nationalists. According to this Soviet formulation, local communists had to support these progressive nationalists, identified as ‘revolutionary democrats’, and might need to consider the dissolution of their parties and absorption into their regimes (Gresh, 1989: 398). The fight within the SCP revolved around the class nature of Nimeirie’s regime, and on whether its revolutionary democrats are capable of leading change to achieve its ultimate goals. The group in the party that fully supported the coup regime answered in the affirmative in line with the Soviet view that it was incumbent on communists to back revolutionary democrats unequivocally. Political designations aside, Mahgoub’s group saw the regime as led by the petty bourgeoisie that cannot be trusted with effecting social change in a consistent manner. This is why Mahgoub’s group emphasized the leadership of the working class to the social-democratic revolution and the historical responsibility of preserving the autonomy of the communist party (Gresh, 1989: 403). As a result, Mahgoub’s party challenged Nimeirie’s regime, despite its social and economic reforms applauded in the entire progressive world (Gresh, 1989: 397). The party’s challenge to the regime focused on the question: ‘Who among Sudan’s various social and political forces should guide the process of change?’ Although this may be seen as a trivial difference, Gresh states that it was substantial in light of the facts of the communist discourse in the country characterized by the merits of a party rooted in working-class milieus (Gresh, 1989: 403). Thus, Mahgoub’s position ran counter to the Soviet approach. It was little surprise therefore that the Soviets sided with his adversaries in the internal debate racking the party that ended in a major split in August 1970 (Gresh, 1989: 402). Before the split, the Soviets were asked to mediate between the parties presumably by Mu’awia Ibrahim, Mahgoub’s opponent and in charge of the party’s foreign relations committee. The Soviets sent a letter to the Sudan party that spoke highly of the achievements of Nimeirie’s revolution (a term contested by Mahgoub who viewed it as a military coup) and the Soviet policy of fostering closet relations with it since the regime had been ‘in the forefront of the Arab national democratic revolution’. The Sudan party was The Sudan Communist Party 193 called upon to ‘spare no effort to achieve unity, without making hasty decisions which would threaten the party’s unity’. The letter goes on to say, ‘the Central Committee of the Soviet Communist Party hopes that the indications given in this letter will receive your full attention, esteem and understanding’ (Gresh, 1989: 403–4). It is little surprise that Mahgoub rejected the position of the Soviets and continued pursuing his line of ‘supporting the regime and holding it accountable, too’ to the great displeasure of the coup leaders. For instance, the party criticized the regime for rashly recognizing East Germany in 1969, when it was not sure yet of its hold on power, oblivious of the Western wrath it would incur. In May 1971, a Soviet official was reported to have said, ‘Mahgoub’s position is incomprehensible’. After the 1971 coup, a Czech party leader condemned the SCP as ‘sectarian’ and ‘dogmatic’. A Yugoslav functionary dismissed it as ‘doctrinal’ (Gresh, 1989: 404; Warburg, 1978: 138–9). The cost the party paid for its independence was tragically climaxed by the execution of Mahgoub after the failed 1971 coup against Nimeirie. Aware of the price the party paid for holding its position on Nimeirie’s regime, Gresh has the most consoling words for its loss. He commends it for denying the coup government all chance ‘at lasting stability by refusing to award Nimeirie with the “certificate of socialism”, help him forge a dynamic ideology, or supply him with the necessary cadres and the vital experience of the “mass organizations”… to harness the people’. The party prevented the regime ‘from acquiring total hegemony that is made up simultaneously of consent and repression’. The regime lacked a solid power and had to succumb in 1985 in what Gresh describes as the Mahgoub’s ‘posthumous revenge’ (Gresh, 1989: 403). The existence of Mahgoub’s group as a force to be reckoned with in the country to date is attributed to its stand on doing what was right in the circumstances. Neither the party of Mahgoub’s opponents, that accepted to play ‘second fiddle’ to the so-called revolutionary democrats of Nimeirie, nor the Soviet party, big brother, exist in any meaningful way in their respective countries. The virtual disappearance from the political arena of the party of Mahgoub’s opponents ‘attests further to the farsightedness of the “dogmatists” in the SCP’ (Gresh, 1989: 407). The courage to travel the difficult road pays in the end. Communists who sided with the Soviets in supporting Nimeirie unequivocally have a rather diametrically opposed view on the relations between the Soviet and Sudan parties. In an extremely critical book of the Soviets, Ahmad Sulayman, a founding member of the party, its first minister in a cabinet in 1964 and an ambassador to the Soviet Union after Nimeirie’s coup, maintains that the Sudan party was in the Soviet’s pocket. He is convinced that the Soviets planned the 1971 coup and asked Mahgoub not to execute it until given the green light. They did not want the coup to happen when Gamal Abdel Nasser, whom they had known would not live long, was still in power. On his death in 1970 and the rise of Sadat, who executed a palace coup against the Soviet men in his government, the Soviets told Mahgoub to do the coup (Sulayman, 1985: 56). 194 Abdullahi A. Ibrahim The plan, according to Sulayman, was hatched in Moscow and it was Sosolov, the Soviet party theoretician, who discussed it with Mahgoub. This discussion took place in June 1969 during Mahgoub’s visit to Moscow to attend an international meeting of communist and workers’ parties a month after Nimeirie’s coup. Mahgoub, according to Sulayman, met reluctantly for the purpose with Ponamariov, the foreign relations secretary of the Soviet party, and Romansiev, his assistant in charge of Arab parties, ‘both of whom Mahgoub disliked. He held a very low view of Ponamariov intellectual capacity and saw his hunt dog, Romansiev, as distrustful’ (Sulayman, 1985: 55). In support of his claim, Sulayman refers to Ilya Zirkavilov, who told London Times in April 1980 that he had known about the communist coup before it had happened because he had been a KGB agent under cover as a correspondent of the TASS news agency. ‘The Soviet Communist Party and the Soviet government,’ says Zirkavilov, according to Sulayman, ‘were behind that misguided political action’ (Sulayman, 1985: 58).9 The veracity of Sulayman needs to be seriously questioned. Beside the strong support of his communist faction to Nimeirie in line with the Soviet prescription to communists in such situations, the Soviets complained of ‘adventurous’ Arab communist parties. Primakov does not parse words when he indicates that the Arab communists would not share their plans with the Soviet Union, ‘that had gone to a great length to take [them] under its wings’, especially if those plans included overthrowing regimes that had close ties with Moscow. He names the SCP as a transgressor of the Soviet trust for keeping their intentions of removing Nimeirie hidden from Moscow that ‘built a close partnership with the Soviet Union’ (Primakov, 2009: 80). Credit should, however, be given where credit is due. There came a time when the Soviets saved the party from itself. In 1965, the SCP was on the verge of self-dissolving yielding to an anti-communist campaign, or rather crusade, waged by the traditionalist and Islamist parties. The campaign was so merciless that the party had to take cover. In seeking to survive after its banning in that harsh political climate, the SCP decided to disband voluntarily into a broad legal mass party in which it would constitute a revolutionary core à la Egyptian Socialist Union or TANU of Tanzania. The apparent success of these parties dazzled the SCP, besieged by accusations of alleged atheism; a situation causing its relative isolation from its Muslim environment and posing an existential challenge. A report entitled ‘Toward a Major Transformation in the Party’ spelling out the emerging terms of its existence was passed by the central committee of the party in November 1965, a month before the party was delegalized by the government, to be presented to the fourth conference of the party. An enthused central committee member for that transformation wrote as late as 1994 that it sought ‘to lift off the back of the party the accusation of atheism Marxism-Leninism has been known for’. The transformation plan was abandoned on the eve of the holding of the conference in April 1966. On coming from a visit to Moscow, Mahgoub asked his comrades to reconsider the dissolving of the party in light of a discussion The Sudan Communist Party 195 he had with the Soviets who had been averse to the idea. The conference scheduled for a transformation tantamount to a political suicide was turned to a cadre meeting to review the dissolution report accordingly. This Moscow tipoff has been referred to ever since as the ‘advice of the Soviet comrades’. The disappointed central committee member remained resentful of Mahgoub calling him a ‘Stalinist through and through who had no qualms dictating to his comrades what to do’.10 The party, however, was saved from going into oblivion at a high cost.

2 Conclusion Roland Oliver, a pioneer in writing African academic history, writes in the African Experience that Africa was just unlucky being born when the socialist model with its one-party system and state control of the economy was in vogue (Oliver, 2000: 276–80). Perhaps revolutionaries in Africa might have harnessed the model to their advantage irrespective of whether they had been denied the right to indigenize their Marxist practice and imagination as the Sudanese communist case discussed above indicates. Basil Davidson, the renowned British historian of Africa, brings in the context of the Cold War, into which independent Africa was born, to the understanding of this pre- dicament of African socialism and non-socialism alike. He states that the Cold War dealt a deadly blow to the imagination of the new nations coming out of the old colonies. The confrontation of the Soviet Union and the United States, which is a war of hawking comprehensive models of progress, denied elites in the former colonies the right, and the ability, to imagine a new nation. It obstructed ‘fresh latitudes for African questioning of the post- colonial dispensation’. Open-minded debate on basic issues of decolonization had little ground because Cold War rivalries forbade any far-reaching innovation (Davidson, 1992: 195). Davidson is surprised that two great nations that owe their birth to noble political and social transformations would fight against each other to dominate, or recolonize, Africa. He continues to say that the United States, the greatest radical innovator of the nineteenth century, discouraged radical innovation in Africa to protect its global interests (Davidson, 1992: 193). The Russians, on the other hand, compromised their radicalism by an imperialist-minded policy headed by the KGB and a Sta- linism that was at variance with the facts of everyday life. The post-Stalinist bureaucracy, he adds, vitiated the little idealism that had survived Stalinism (Davidson, 1992: 195). The former colonies therefore never became nations. In their faked imperial boundaries, they were turned into ‘vacuums in which conflicts fester’.11 The SCP, which I was fortunate to join in 1960 and gave eight youthful years of my life as a full-time cadre, was destined, had it been left unfettered by the Soviets, to become a unique subaltern experiment in socialism. It attracted the most creative minds of the 1940s generation. A communist poet remembers their days at a high school talking incessantly about what to 196 Abdullahi A. Ibrahim sacrifice for the party and the nation, and likened their discourse to the ‘chirruping of birds at the break of dawn’ (Ibrahim, 2015: 88). An Arab journalist, Found Matar who wrote a definitive book on the conflict in the party in the early 1970s, described Sudan communists in admiration as but- terflies fluttering around the nectar of the working people. ‘Long live the struggle of the working class’ sparkled tears in the squinting eyes of veteran members of the party at the fifth conference in 2008. In parties, they piously pray the rosary of their proletariat leadership of the party:

We were at peace The Wadi High in uproar Hantoub High protested Tagat High got in higher drunk We are at peace Inside a park Oh ya oh ya Comrade Wasila sing us the tunes of struggle Safr (He just left) Hamz al-Jack revolted and we are his followers Safr Tomorrow al-Shaﬁe will break his chains Safr God bless Korea and the young of Korea Oh ya oh ya12

A comrade of the Sajana neighbourhood in Khartoum is famous for his supplication at good times: ‘Bolshevize it, O God’. The SCP is a lively experiment in vernacularizing Marxism to serve as a guide for a subaltern social and political renaissance of a decolonizing people rooted in history, a nation, a culture and class (Abusharaf, 2009: 493). Mahgoub, the party secretary, laid this renaissance programme in his ‘By Virtue of Marxism’, his defence before a court in 1959, that generations of activists committed to heart for its exquisite Arabic and indomitable spirit speaking to challenging realities (Mahgoub, 2010 [1965]). The party fought the ‘Soviet comrades’ hard and long to imagine its Marxist praxis in its own terms. It did not bend at a huge cost. Nonetheless, some scholars, oblivious of Mahgoub’s ‘war of independence’ from the CPSU’s tutelage, insist that he was a Soviet lackey. The Historical Dictionary of the Sudan mentions him as leading ‘the more orthodox, Moscow-oriented section of the party’. Little surprise that they designate Sulayman as a ‘national communist’ (Kramer et al., 2013: 132–3). Although his anti-communism did not prevent him from seeing the ‘outstanding brains’ behind the SCP, Metrowich describes Mahgoub as ‘held in high regard by his masters behind the Iron Curtain’ (Metrowich, 1967: 72, 75).13 The remaining legacy of the SCP will be that it held to its right to imagine the nation. What is left to imagine, asks Partha Chatterjee, when advocates of The Sudan Communist Party 197 change accepted imagining their nations from certain models already made available to them by the West (Chatterjee, 1993: 5)?

Notes 1 Mohamed Ahmed Mahgoub, prime minister in 1965, the year of the outlawing of the Sudan Communist Party. 2 al-Tijani al-Tayyib, founder of the party and veteran central committee member who stood with Mahgoub’s line, in Qadaya Sudaniyya (Cairo), 4 April 1994), 36. 3 Ala al-din Mahmoud, al-Tayar, 22 May 2016. 4 Kamal al-Gizouli, 24 November 2017, http://sudanile.com/index.php. In an interview with al-Gizolui (2 February 2018) he said that he had been, as a law student in the Soviet Union, around Mahgoub, meeting with him and privy to the discussions taking place at the conference. 5 Layth al-Hamdani, 19 November 2017, www.albilad.net/laith%20alhamdany% 2010-5-2017.html 6 Sulayman misspoke here because the 21st conference of the CPSU was actually held in 1959. 7 In lamenting this unjustified negligence, Ibrahim titled an article: ‘No Working Class Land’ as in a book titled ‘No Woman Land’ decrying the status of women in Sudan. 8 Farouk M. Ibrahim, former member of the central committee of the party, 1967– 70, who broke away in support of Nimeirie’s regime in 1969, in Qadaya Sudaniyya (Cairo), 4 April 1994, 22. 9 I have transliterated the name ‘Zirkavilov’ from its rendition in Arabic by Sulay- man. Sulayman’s failure to specify the date of the month Zirkavilov published his piece in the London Times did not help in locating it. 10 Farouk M. Ibrahim in Qadaya Sudaniyya (Cairo), 4 April 1994, 13. 11 Financial Times, 24 February 1999. 12 Comrade Wasila, communist leader; Hamz al-Jack, vice-president of the Sudan Workers Trade Union Federation; al-Shafie Ahmad al-Shaykh, secretary of the Sudan Workers Trade Union Federation. 13 Metrowich had a prediction of communism in Sudan that would be useful to quote in an endnote for further consideration. He was critical of the West for not focusing and doing something about racialism and communist dominance in Sudan and predicted that a ‘communist puppet regime’ would take over. He quoted the infamous proverb: ‘Allah laughed when he created the Sudan.’ And adds, ‘Doubtless it will be the Communists who will soon have the last laugh at the strange ways of the West which permits doors to swing so easily for the Red flood’ (Metrowich, 1967: 76, 78).

References Abu Sin, Ali (1997) Al-Majdhu-b wa al-Dhikraya-t, Cairo, n.p. Abusharaf, Rogaia Mustafa (2009) ‘Marx in the Vernacular: Abdel Khaliq Mahgoub and the Riddles of Localizing Leftist Politics in Sudanese Philosophies of Liberation’. South Atlantic Quarterly, 108, 3. Al-Gizouli, Kamal (2003) Al-Shuu’uun al-Sudaniyyun wa al-Dimuqratiya, Khartoum, Azza. Amin, Gasim (1953) Itifaqiat al-Suadn ﬁ al-Mayzan, Khartoum, n.p. Chatterjee, Partha (1993) The Nation and Its Fragments: Colonial and Postcolonial Histories, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press. 198 Abdullahi A. Ibrahim

Cross, Peter (1997) ‘British Attitudes to Sudanese Labour: The Foreign Office Records as Sources for Social History’. British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 24, 2. Davidson, Basil (1992) The Black Man’s Burden, New York, Times Book. Fawzi, Saad EdDin (1957) The Labour Movement in the Sudan, 1946–1955, Oxford, Oxford University Press. Gadal, Muhammad Said (1986) Al-Hizb al-Shu’I Al-Sudani wa Inqlab Mayu, Khartoum, n.p. Gresh, Alain (1989) ‘The Free Officers and the Comrades: The Sudanese Communist Party and Nimeiri Face-To-Face, 1969–1971’. International Journal of Middle East Studies, 21, 3. Ibrahim, Abdullahi Ali (1996) ‘The 1971 Coup in the Sudan and the Radical War of Liberal Democracy in Africa’. Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East, 16, 1. Ibrahim, Abdullahi Ali (2015) Muhammad Abd al-Rahman Shybun (1936–1961): ‘An Jil al-Khamsyinat al-Yasari, Kahrtoum, Madarat. Ismail, Tareg Y. (2013) The Sudanese Communist: Ideology and Party Politics, London, Routledge. Kramer, Robert S, Lobban, Richard Andrew & Fluehr-Lobban, Carolyn (2013) Historical Dictionary of the Sudan, Lanham, MD, Rowman & Littlefield. Lenin, V. I. (1965 [1919]) ‘Address to the Second All-Russia Congress of Communist Organisations of the Peoples of the East’. Collected Works. Moscow, Progress Publishers. Mahgoub, Abdel Khaliq (1956) Afaq Jadida, Khartoum, n.p. Mahgoub, Abdel Khaliq (2004 [1963]) Islah al-kahata fi al-’Amal bayn al-Jamahir, Khartoum, n.p. Mahgoub, Abdel Khaliq (2010 [1965]) ‘By Virtue of Marxism, Your Honor’. South Atlantic Quarterly, 109, 1. Mahgoub, Mohamed Ahmed (1974) Democracy on Trial: Reflections on Arab and African Affairs, London, Andre Deutsch. Matar, Fouad (1971) al-Hizb al-Shuy’I al-Sudani: Naharuhu am Intahar, Beirut, Dar al-Nahar. Metrowich, F. R. (1967) Africa and Communism, Johannesburg, Voortrekkerpers. Oliver, Roland (2000) The African Experience: Major Themes in African History from Earliest Times to the Present, Boulder, CO, Westview Press. Primakov, Yevgeny (2009) Russia and the Arabs: Behind the Scenes in the Middle East from the Cold War to the Present, New York, Basic Books. Sudan Communist Party (1967) Al-Marxiyya wa Qadaiya al-Thwra al-Sudaniyya, Khartoum, Dar al-fikr al-Ishtraki. Sulayman, Ahmad (1985) Min Sijil al-Harka al-Shu’ia al-‘Alamiyya wa In’ikasatiha fi al-Sudan, Khartoum, Dar al-Fikr. Sulayman, Ahmad (1986) Shu’I Ihtda, Khartoum, Dar al-Fikr. Turok, Ben (1987) Africa, What Can Be Done? London, Zed Books. Warburg, Gabriel (1978) Islam, Nationalism and Communism in a Traditional African Society, London, Frank Cass. 11 The communists in Algeria (1920–93) Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani

For the past ten years, Algerian communism has been attracting renewed interest through the publication of historical, memorial, biographical or literary works. These publications differ in several ways from previous works. The latter, focusing on the colonial period, were dominated by political history and concentrated particularly on the evolution of the line of the Parti communiste algérien (Algerian Communist Party, PCA). Also, they stressed the top-level relationship between the PCA and the Parti communiste français (French Communist Party, PCF) on the one hand, and the PCA and the nationalist parties on the other hand, leaving at times the role of the Comin- tern and the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (USSR) aside. What is more, these works suggested a depreciative look at the PCF and the PCA. On the one hand, influenced by a teleological view according to which the colonial situation must inevitably result in an armed struggle led by a nationalist movement, they criticized the communists’ lack of comprehension and the delay (supposed or real) regarding the colonial question, the national question or the need for an armed struggle. On the other hand they sometimes presented the communist perspective as being unsuited for the colonial situation, especially for a colonial model of population settlement. Finally, stressing the fact that the French militants had long been a majority within the party, they underlined that the PCA had always been considered a foreign party by the colonized population, incompatible with their mindset and aspirations (Sivan, 1976: 262; Ageron, 2005; Jurquet, 1974–97: vol. 2–5). Despite the publication of works, led by former members of the PCA that revalued its role (Alleg, 1981), these approaches have had a lasting influence on historiography and especially the writings of historians with a critical stance towards the PCF and the PCA. Conversely, several recent publications that bridge the chronological gap of national independence are characterized by a lack of passion. Being interested in Algerian communism as such, they also favour approaches from social history, relegating – but not ignoring – the issues of the political line, the partisan apparatus and the inter-partisan relations to focus on the practices and experiences of the militants (Drew, 2014: 311; Le Foll-Luciani, 2015b: 541). Apart from the opening of archives that offer a new perspective of 200 Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani international communism and colonized Algeria, this renewed interest can be explained by several factors. On the one hand, it is linked to a growing interest in the internal diversity of the Algerian national movement during the colonial period, as well as the question of political plurality in independent Algeria. On the other hand, the communist experience has a unique organizational longevity: to be interested in it means to study a party that had been organized in the same way without interruption for 42 years during the colonial period, as well as in new forms until today. Finally, this revitalized interest is linked to the renewed questioning of the colonial societies, and in particular the interaction between ‘colonized’ and ‘colonizers’, the PCA being the only party to bring together residents of all origins of colonial Algeria (‘Muslims’, ‘Europeans’, ‘Jews’1) on an anti-colonialist base. Based on these works, we will examine the experience of the communists in colonial times (1920–62) and in independent Algeria (until the disappearance of the Parti de l’avantgarde socialiste, the Socialist Vanguard Party (PAGS), in 1993), trying to place ourselves as closely as possible to the militants.

1 The communists in colonial Algeria (1920–62)

1.1 Between Algiers, Paris and Moscow: the line and the militants (1920–54) During the colonial period, the political line followed by the Algerian communists was built on a framework with three different angles. On the one hand, within the framework of international communism, dominated by the Comintern and then by the Cominform, which were driving policies that regarded all the members of the Communist Party as relays. On the other hand, within the framework of relations with the PCF: before forming their own party in October 1936, the Algerian communists were organized within an Algerian region of the PCF; and after 1936, maintained close ties – of subordination or collaboration – with the ‘sister party’ of mainland France. Finally, the Algerian leaders defined their slogans and actions in part according to the local context, their militant forces and their interaction with other Algerian movements. If we study their official publications, it is clear that the Algerian governing bodies were almost mechanically adopting the changes of the party line made in Moscow and Paris.2 From the mid-1920s to 1934–5, the Algerian region of the PCF, which included only a few hundred militants, mostly European and Jewish, defended anti-colonialist slogans and claimed Algeria’s national independence, as well as the PCF’s metropolitan regions comprising several thousand Algerian immigrants. From 1935–6 onwards, following the Comin- tern’s change, the primarily anti-colonialist line was abandoned in favour of the anti-fascist strategy of the Front populaire (Popular Front). The PCA, which was created in 1936 and had recruited a large number of people, including among the colonized – in 1937, it comprised about 5,000 members, 2,000 of whom were Muslims – replaced the slogan of national liberation The communists in Algeria (1920–93) 201 with egalitarian demands, allied itself with the socialists and ‘indigenous’ reformist movements and opposed Algerian nationalism. The overall situation changed after its ban in September 1939 and the new line of the Comintern abandoned the Popular Front’s strategy: the PCA, which had fewer than 3,000 members due to losses linked to the German-Soviet pact, repression and clandestinity, rose against the ‘imperial war’ and defended anew, from November 1940 onwards, the slogan of Algeria’s national independence. But after the invasion of the USSR by Germany in August 1941, the PCA gradually abandoned this slogan, called for the participation in the war alongside the Allies and, especially after November 1942, put forward a French patriotic discourse modelled on the one of the PCF. The direct influence of the leaders of the PCF was strong between 1943 and 1946, and the PCA defended therefore a line that was hostile to nationalists, accusing them in particular to be co- responsible for triggering the massacre of thousands of Algerians in north Constantine by the French army and militia in May–June 1945. This French patriotic and anti-nationalist line was broken in July 1946: the PCA affirmed being a ‘nationalist party’ which had to first and foremost fight for a ‘national liberation’ and work for the unity of the national movement. This desire for unity with the nationalists, encouraged by the Comintern after 1947, was reflected by the struggle against repression in the daily Alger Républicain (led by the communists), and in trade union action and mass organizations: while the Confédération générale du travail (General Labour Confederation) brought together about 60,000 trade unionists, of whom more than 50 percent were Muslims, including many nationalists, the Union des femmes d’Algérie (Union of the Algerian Women), the Union de la jeunesse démocratique algérienne (the Union of the Algerian Democratic Youth) and the Combattants de la paix (Fighters for Peace), and Algerian sections of international communist-led organizations at the international level, acted together with the nationalists. Between 1946 and 1959, the PCA, which had up to 20,000 supporters and counted with several elected cantonal and municipal Muslim and European MPs, still used slogans similar to those of the PCF in regards to the colonial question: it did not envisage a state rupture with France and demanded the creation of an Algerian government within the French Union. But especially in 1951–2, its slogans differed from those of the PCF: the reference to the French Union disappeared in favour of a reference to the ‘Algerian homeland’, and the PCA asserted national independence, which contributed to the disengagement of non-Muslims (in 1954, it had 12,000 members, of whom more than 50 percent were Muslims). The focus on the political line, official texts and the party leadership did not come without problems, as it tended to erase the subjectivity of militants, the debates and conflicts that animated them, as well as their room for man- oeuvre, which existed despite the rigidity and strong centralization of the international communist movement. During the 1920s, the Comintern frequently addressed criticism to the colonial section of the PCF and the militants of the Algerian region for their anti-colonialist inactivity and their 202 Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani reproach of adopting the Comintern’s slogans without putting them into practice. These criticisms were also expressed at the base: at the beginning of the 1930s, militants (Muslims) who were supporters of a radical anti-colonialism wrote to the Comintern to complain about the lack of interest of the PCF and (European) Algerian militants in the colonial question, to which Moscow replied that it would be desirable for a party independent of the PCF to be created. These radical militants organized on their own initiative in the Mitidja a legal and clandestine peasant movement mixing social, cultural and anti-colonial struggles. At the same time, an ex-executive of the Comintern was sent by the PCF to prepare the creation of a PCA on an anti-colonialist basis. His course of action, initially supported by the party leadership, was, however, hampered by the adoption of the Popular Front’s strategy by the Comintern and the PCF, which he opposed out of anti-colonialist convictions, and he was expelled from the PCF in the summer of 1936 (Drew, 2014: 56–80; Marangé, 2016a, 2016b) In times of clandestinity, the variety of the militants’ relations with the central directives increased: between 1939 and 1942, the archives of the military justice and the memories of former militants indicate that the adoption of a particular slogan (for the mobilization within the French army or against the ‘imperial war’, anti-colonialism or anti-fascism, independence of Algeria or the struggle against the occupation by France) varied greatly from one clandestine network to another. From 1946 onwards, the youth and student movements used a more radical anti-colonialist vocabulary than the PCA leadership. This difference is certainly partly due to the division of tasks between organizations: the international youth and student organizations with communist leadership were also more radical in their discourse than the Communist Party. However, while it was partially accepted by the PCA leadership – who saw it as a way to recruit young Muslims – this radicalism created tension between the young people and the leaders. The leaders of the PCA themselves adopted more or less radical slogans based on their interaction with the nationalists: at the time of forming a front with the nationalist parties (1951–2), the PCA systematized the slogan of independence and har- dened the tone against the French state. This hardening was not acceptable to the leadership of the PCF, which was putting pressure on the central committee of the PCA to reverse its decision to call for an election boycott; the central committee finally reversed its decision, but sections of the PCA refused to implement it (Le Foll-Luciani, 2015b: 88–93, 249–52 and 309–11; Sportisse & Le Foll-Luciani, 2012: 159–62). Examples could be multiplied by varying the scales, from Moscow to the neighbourhood cell: from the activists’ point of view, there is always more (or less) orthodox than oneself.

1.2 The PCA: a space for transgression of gender and race norms The PCA organized its activities around a line co-defined by local militants and the international communist movement, and was also a space for creative The communists in Algeria (1920–93) 203 socializing. Unlike nationalist parties, the PCA indeed had members from different ‘communal’ parts of Algerian society. Until the uprising, the PCA and its women’s organization were also Algeria’s political movements to which most women belonged. Certainly, the PCA cannot be presented as an island where interpersonal relations were free from relations of domination that structured colonial society. But neither is it possible to subscribe to Emmanuel Sivan’s view: that of a party divided by racial cleavages and whose ‘delays’ regarding the colonial question can be explained in particular by the presence of European militants among them. This view, influenced by Albert Memmi’s nationalist discourse and writings about the ‘impossibility’ of the ‘leftist colonizer’ (Memmi, 1985: 61–6), does not withstand the examination of personal trajectories. The militants from European and Jewish families, who enjoyed the status of full French citizens, constituted the majority in the PCA until the early 1950s. But the militants from Muslim families, first subject to the colonial status of indigenous and then French Muslims, took an increasingly active part, until representing more than half of the members in 1954. At that time, the PCA was the second largest political force among the colonized ones, after the Mouvement pour le triomphe des libertés démocratiques (Movement for the Triumph of Democratic Liberties, MTLD) and before the Union démocratique du Manifeste algérien (Democratic Union of the Algerian Manifesto, UDMA). The radicalization of the party explains the growing membership among the colonized people, including rural areas, as well as the defections among the European and Jewish militants, that occurred above all upon the emergence of an insurgent context in Morocco and Tunisia in the early 1950s. At that time, the difficulties of some European and Jewish members to embrace the party’s ‘national’ line were stressed at different levels of the PCA. Nevertheless, in the 1951 parliamentary elections, 21 percent of the voters of the European Electoral College voted for the PCA, at a time when the independence line was strongly asserted.3 While the electoral results subsequently declined, in 1954 still more than 5,000 Europeans and Jews were members of the PCA; and despite a widespread idea that they had ‘massively’ (Ageron, 2005) switched to support French Algeria, they remained predominantly faithful to their ideas and many of them continued their action in clandestinity during the War of Independence. Thus, in contrast to Emmanuel Sivan, for whom the internal division in terms of participation in the struggle for independence covers above all a division according to origin (Sivan, 1976: 206–27), it can be said that the essential variable for understanding the support of a line of independence was generational and organizational: regardless of their origins, the most radical militants were born in the 1920s and have been active in youth organizations. The relations between militants on both sides of the colonial border depended on time and place, and they were essentially limited by colonial segregation, the party’s cells being organized on a territorial basis (district and workplace). Until the early 1930s, these relations were very limited and 204 Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani were locally conflictual because of what the members of the Comintern called the ‘colonialist’ spirit of European militants. They developed on a larger scale from the Popular Front era onwards and in the post-World War II period, but concerned only a part of the cells. After 1946, Muslims and non-Muslims came together particularly in youth and student organizations, in some company cells, in sections of the old Jewish-Muslim neighbourhoods or in some more recent working-class neighbourhoods of large cities, as well as in small communes where the smaller number of members militated together regardless of their district of residence. In a highly divided society, where friendly relations between Muslims and non-Muslims were rare, and to a lesser extent between Europeans and Jews, these cells were places of transgressive human interaction, experienced as such by militants and their families. In their accounts, many militants say that it was within the party that they established their first friendships with members from the two other ‘communities’. These emotional ties sometimes led to romantic relationships, or even ‘mixed’ mar- riages, which were more common within the PCA than in the rest of society. Often disapproved of by the families, these ‘mixed’ unions represented one of multiple transgressions of some young women who joined the PCA after 1945: frequenting men beyond their ‘community’, politically taking over the streets, obtaining local leadership positions, these women subverted gender roles and called into question gendered assignments, a fortiori if they were Muslims (Le Foll-Luciani, 2015a, 2016). Although they did not concern all the militants, these transgressive relationships reinforced the party’s claim to embody an ‘Algerian nation in formation’ composed of all the ‘communities’ of Algeria. This formula, invented by the leader of the PCF Maurice Thorez in 1939 in a speech that would eventually be purged after 1946 from his assimilative vocabulary, meant for the militants, who learned it before 1954 that Algeria would form a nation, in the process of decolonization, once it had completed a ‘fusion’ between the ‘ethnic’ elements of the population.4 This theory, which seemed to obscure the majority of relations between colonizers and colonized, led to conflicts with the nationalists. But we understand why the European and Jewish militants, who lived within the PCA a miniature version of this ‘new Algeria’, as well declared themselves publicly to be ‘Algerians’ or even ‘Algerian patriots’.

1.3 The Algerian communists in the War of Independence (1954–62) On 1 November 1954, the Front de libération nationale (National Liberation Front, FLN) and the Armée de libération nationale (National Liberation Army, ALN) signed their birth certificates through a series of armed actions. Originally founded by former MTLD members, the FLN organized centres of uprisings and soon mobilized a large part of the population. Writings about the PCA have pointed out the party’s ‘delay’ in considering an armed struggle, in part because of a long-standing belief in the possibility of a peaceful decolonization. In fact, before 1954, there was no preparation within the PCA The communists in Algeria (1920–93) 205 for the armed struggle, and there was a lack of preparation for clandestinity itself, which explains why the repression of the years 1955–6 was a very serious blow to the organization. Indeed, in good faith or for strategic reasons related to the Cold War, the authorities asserted from the outset that the PCA was involved in the uprising. Updated in 1952, the file on ‘dangerous communist militants from a national point of view … that should … promptly be preventively arrested in case of serious events’,5 was used from summer 1955 onwards: dozens of militants were detained in camps, banned from residing in a department or expelled from Algeria, even before the ban of the PCA and the Alger Républicain, which came into effect in September 1955. In 1956–7, the court cases involving the clandestine PCA or its (ex-)militants, which resulted in dozens of arrests and subsequent torture, extra-judicial killings and convictions, served as a pretext for tightening administrative measures (confinement and expulsion) against hundreds of militants. If adding to this the withdrawal (difficult to quantify) of those who did not wish to participate in the struggle or who joined the FLN, the party was weakened considerably in 1957. But as Allison Drew writes, this weakening of the PCA was not so much linked to a supposed ‘delay’ in sustaining the uprising as to the repression of it (Drew, 2014: 269). The fact remains, however, that there were differences of opinion within the PCA from November 1954 onwards about the issue of support of and commitment to the uprising. These differences were exacerbated by the PCF’s behaviour. On 8 November, the political bureau of the PCF, which condemned the repression and claimed to defend the ‘national demands of the vast majority of Algerians’, disapproved of ‘individual acts likely to play into the hands of the worst colonialists, even if they were not fomented by them’.6 This caveat was repeated in press releases from the PCA leadership until April 1955. But some leaders had urged them to specify that the actions of the maquis were linked to the ‘masses’ and that ‘it is not a provocation, nor a colonial plot, but an Algerian movement,’7 thus setting themselves apart from the statement of the PCF. During 1955, the differences between the leadership of the PCA and of the PCF deepened: while the PCA engaged in armed struggle and sought recognition by the FLN, the PCF neither mentioned the existence of the FLN until November 1956, nor explicitly defended the right to independence until January 1957 and refused to support the armed struggle, including the one carried out by the PCA.8 These differences did not prevent the two parties from maintaining ties and the PCF from providing material solidarity with the clandestine Algerian anti-colonialist militants or detainees. Some leaders and militants, who immediately tried to participate or support, enthusiastically welcomed the outbreak of the uprising. Prior to the party’s ban in September 1955, the publications of the PCA did not contain explicit support for the uprising – no more so than those of the nationalist parties9 – but leaders defended the armed struggle in private meetings and subsequently at election rallies in the spring of 1955, followed by hundreds of 206 Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani nationalists.10 The clandestine strand is more difficult to grasp, and is the subject of controversy, with some claiming that the first communists who joined the ALN did so without (or against) their party’s view, while others claimed that the PCA encouraged them to do so. Both cases actually occurred, but by the end of 1954 and even more since the central committee of June 1955 (which formalized the support and the participation in the armed struggle), leaders of the PCA encouraged militants to organize support and to join the maquis where possible, especially in the Aurès and the Tlemcen regions.11 However, the PCA had difficulty in gaining recognition by the FLN, and the communists were struggling to gain acceptance in the maquis. The memory of the PCA’s times of opposition to the nationalists (1936–9, 1943–5) and the changes of the line, ideological differences, accusations of subordination to foreigners, the competition between parties and the fear of infiltration, coupled with hostility towards the militants that were perceived as urban dwellers, intellectuals and non-believers, led to the relegation of communist resistance to subaltern tasks and to the assassination of several of them. Despite the trust established between communist and nationalist militants prior to 1954, anti-communism was strong at the base and top of the FLN, and members of the FLN criticized the communists for refusing to dissolve the PCA in the front. This criticism is also voiced by communists who broke with the PCA, and is more or less explicitly mentioned in historical works. But as Allison Drew writes, ‘the depth of anti-communism amongst many FLN leaders would presumably have made entryism [inside the FLN] as difficult an option as organisational autonomy’ (Drew, 2014: 269–70). Confronted with these difficulties and in order to be recognized by the FLN, Sadek Hadjerès and Bachir Hadj Ali, leaders of the PCA, took charge of setting up an armed communist organization in the spring of 1955: the idea of establishing these Combattants de la libération (Liberation Fighters, CDL) was to give pledges of ‘patriotism’ to the FLN and to make it accept the participation of the PCA in the front. The CDLs began to act between the end of 1955 and the spring of 1956. Composed of about a hundred members, including a few women, they included militants of all origins; most of them were workers or small employees and born between the two world wars and there were even some intellectuals among them. Their actions consisted of collecting weapons, clothing and medicine for the CDL and ALN, acts of sabotage, the killing of police officers, soldiers and individuals considered to be ‘traitors’, the defection of soldiers from the French army and the passing of communists to the ALN. The police dismantled the Constantine network as early as December 1955, before the army attacked the maquis of the Chelif region (June 1956), followed by the dismantling of the CDL of Oran (September 1956). These first actions allowed the leadership of the PCA to contact the FLN in Algiers: in May–June 1956, the FLN-PCA agreements provided for the integration of the CDL and armed communists into the ALN. This decision was particularly effective for the CDLs of Algiers and Blida that were destroyed by repression between The communists in Algeria (1920–93) 207 October 1956 and May 1957 after having participated in dozens of armed actions on behalf of the ALN.12 Applying the FLN-PCA agreements, made public by the PCA against the advice of the FLN, the communists who did not take part in the armed struggle maintained the political activity of the PCA while supporting the FLN-ALN. The party thus maintained itself until the end of the war around three clandestine nuclei, probably composed of about a hundred militants in Oran, Algiers and Constantine, who published newspapers and materially supported the ALN. Several of their members were assassinated by the ‘ultras’ of French Algeria in 1961–2 (Le Foll-Luciani, 2013). In addition, the PCA maintained its organization within prisons and camps, where hundreds of detained communists encountered difficulties in their relations with FLN officials, despite a fraternity with the militant base. Immigrants or expelled militants also set up a French Federation of the PCA in 1956. Finally, from 1957 onwards, the external delegation of the PCA in Prague published the newspaper Informations algériennes and tried to influence the policy towards Algeria by the Soviet bloc countries. But according to the study of the archives of the ‘popular democracies’, it seems that this delegation received little credit from the European communist governments, which preferred to collect their information on the Algerian situation from the PCF and avoided binding themselves too much to the PCA in order not to compromise their relations with the FLN and the future Algerian state (Bismuth & Taubert, 2014: 254).

2 The communists in independent Algeria (1962–93) It is more diﬃcult to reconstruct the communists’ experience in independent Algeria because of a lack of sources linked to the closure of the Algerian state archives, the clandestine nature of communist organizations and the dispersal of militants during the civil war in the 1990s. Since the Soviet archives and those of the foreign diplomacy in Algeria have not been explored, the main documents available are private sources and testimonies published or collected from former militants of the PCA (for the years 1962–5) and of the PAGS (for the years 1966–93) (Rahal, 2012, 2013).

2.1 Between ban and integration: the PCA under Ben Bella (1962–5) Between the ceasefire and independence (March–July 1962), the communist militants gradually came out of hiding and were released from detention. While many of those who had been expelled or had fled the country returned from exile, others, mostly European and Jewish, remained in exile or left Algeria, carried away with their families by the vast exodus of the French. The European and Jewish component of the party – a few hundred people on Algerian soil at independence – did not undergo a generational renewal: in a context of affirming the Algerian nature of an Arab-Muslim state, European 208 Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani and Jewish militants were excluded from the political field, including the leadership of the PCA, which hindered their militancy (Le Foll-Luciani, 2014). Conversely, the Muslim component of the party was renewed with the support of young people who were politicized during the war and sometimes came from the FLN, especially the student environment where the communists played a leading role in the Algerian National Students Union until its dissolution in 1971 (Rahal, 2016: 366). Despite the difficulties encountered in dealing with the FLN during the war, the party was somewhat infatuated, probably due to the fact that it claims to be a party of militants with an ancient ideological affirmation, unlike the FLN whose division broke out in broad daylight and whose profile as a ‘party of civil servants’ and an ‘intelligence service’ (Fanon, 2002 [1961]: 173–7)13 was already clear. While the PCA had 12,000 members in 1954, and despite many decolonization-related losses, the Alger Républicain estimated that it had 8,000 to 10,000 members and supporters in November 1962.14 What did it mean to be a militant of the PCA under the presidency of Ahmed Ben Bella? The party line began to assert itself after the ceasefire of March 1962: in accordance with the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, which encouraged the search for unity with the nationalists in decolonized countries, the PCA called for a pluralist front ‘against the neo-colonialism’ and for ‘[opening] the way to socialism’.15 In a context where socialist vocabulary prevailed within the FLN, the PCA affirmed its willingness to participate in building a new society by supporting the regime.16 Nonetheless, the party and its militants were under considerable pressure. The ban of the PCA came into effect on 29 November 1962 by decision of the FLN’s political bureau which, anxious to preserve its relations with the communist states, affirmed that it was not aimed at the PCA or communism as such, but at the principle of the multiparty system.17 However, the PCA was not dissolved and its militants were not worried. A clandestine organization continued to function, and even though it did not proclaim its existence or publish a newspaper in its name, the Alger Républicain was the most widely read daily newspaper in Algeria and was known to all as the mouthpiece of the communists. The communists verbally supported the first ‘socialist’ measures of the regime (nationalization, self-government) and participated directly in the mass organizations of the FLN, various ministries and nationalized companies. Although banned, the PCA nonetheless experienced some integration into the regime when communist leaders, invoking the Cuban model, gradually pushed the PCA towards a virtual dissolution within the FLN: following appeals by Ben Bella, various pressures and the adoption of the ‘socialist’ charter of Algiers by the FLN congress in April 1964, the PCA encouraged its militants to join the FLN, while Alger Républicain became an organ of the party unique (Khalfa et al., 1987: 197–250). For the FLN members who wished to do so, this process allowed a double operation: the neutralization of the PCA, and the integration into the state-party structure inspired by the construction of ‘socialism’. Within the PCA, some believed that they would The communists in Algeria (1920–93) 209 be able to influence the regime and society more by joining the FLN, and maybe wished to overcome a form of complex towards the FLN, fuelled by the nationalist reproaches for not having done enough in the anti-colonialist struggle.18 This precarious balance between maintaining the party and the merge into the FLN was not universally accepted among the militants, whose attitudes varied (with or without membership in the FLN or links with the PCA). For their part, the authors of the coup d’état of June 1965 claimed that their putsch saved the country from a communist takeover, which would have been allowed by the FLN congress of April 1964.19

2.2 From opposition to clandestine participation: ORP and PAGS (1965–1970s) On 19 June 1965, Houari Boumediene allied himself with a part of the opposition to Ben Bella and overthrew him. Most FLN leaders and ministers embraced the new regime, while spontaneous demonstrations against the coup were suppressed. Within both the PCA and the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, there were differences about which attitude to adopt. Some wanted to judge on the performance of the new regime, which claimed to be ‘socialist’ and tried to win over individual communists. However, the idea of a frontal opposition emerged within the leadership of the PCA, which joined forces with supporters of Ben Bella located ‘on the left’ of the FLN in order to create the Organisation de la résistance populaire (Organisation of the Popular Resistance, ORP). This organization, active since July 1965, was divided in its slogans and choices of action, and many of the PCA militants did not join it.20 Fragile and infiltrated by the military security, the ORP was struck by a brutal repression in the summer of 1965, which hit the majority of its leaders in September (Hadj Ali, 1966: 85; Alleg, 1966: 115). At the end of 1965–early 1966, the discussions between the hidden and imprisoned leaders of the ORP led to the dissolution of the PCA and the ORP and to the creation of the Parti de l’avantgarde socialiste (PAGS). The PAGS remained in clandestinity until 1989, without ever receiving the support of some foreign communist parties who, wishing to preserve their relations with the Algerian state, preferred to leave or even break with their Algerian comrades during certain periods.21 This new party did not present itself as an opposition party and addressed the regime in a spirit of dialogue, especially from 1968 onwards.22 Nevertheless, it was targeted by repression, particularly in the 1960s and 1980s, and was organized in three groups: at the head of the party was a core group of leaders who lived in total clandestinity; a second group of leaders, who had a legal life, supervised the militants but had no visible political activity; and a third group participated in the militant activity within the mass organization of the FLN. Due to the constraints of clandestinity, the militants of the third group were sometimes cut off from the leadership of the party, such as those in Tiaret, who created a cell on their own initiative and participated in the foundation of a film club and a popular university 210 Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani where they recruited young militants in the early 1970s (Sportisse & Le Foll- Luciani, 2012: 297–305). Finally, the PAGS was organized in exile in France, where it published a newspaper, as well as in Prague. The PAGS takes up the perspective of the Algerian society forged by the PCA at independence, which it constantly reaffirmed in its newspaper Saout Ech- Chaab until the 1980s. It distinguished two main currents, which were present both in society and within the government: the ‘progressives’, also called ‘patriots’ and ‘anti-imperialists’, with whom the communists sought unity; and the ‘reactionaries’, whose influence was to be reduced.23 Like the PCA of 1962–5, the PAGS therefore supported the ‘socialist’ measures, such as nationalization of hydrocarbons and the agrarian reform launched by the regime in 1971. Never- theless, it criticized the lack of so-called democratic freedoms, authoritarianism and the presence of ‘reactionaries’ within the FLN, which it considered to be obstacles to widespread popular mobilization in favour of ‘socialist’ measures.24 What was the influence of the PAGS in Algeria from 1960 to 1970? It is very difficult to put forward precise data concerning the number of members, their sociological profile, their courses of action and their influence on society or even on the regime. However, it is certain that their influence diminished after the disappearance of Boumediene in 1978, and even more so with the political upheavals of the 1980s and 1990s.

2.3 The collapse of the communist movement from October 1988 to the civil war (1988–93) From the early 1980s onwards, the PAGS denounced the regime’s ‘right-wing shift’, the ‘anti-democratic’ methods of mass organizations, the repression of youth revolts (particularly of the Kabyle people and students), as well as the liberal shift that called into question what the communists called the ‘achievement’ of ‘socialism’.25 However, the party leadership still claimed to support the ‘progressives’ within the government, and supported President Chadli in the 1984 presidential elections and in the referendum on the new 1986 charter.26 This support, which was not unanimous among the leaders, visibly disconcerted grassroots militants, a number of whom were engaged in social struggles against the regime. For its part, after the relative loosening of the 1970s, the state again treated the PAGS militants like opponents. This new wave of repression reached its climax during the popular revolt of October 1988: the party as such did not take part in the uprising – which it verbally supported while criticizing the riotous form – but ‘pagsists’ were arrested and tortured, and the PAGS has been participating in the movement for amnesty and against repression since late 1988.27 In 1989, after the announcement of the end of the single party, the PAGS was legalized and came out of hiding. This legal life was short-lived: the party broke up between spring 1990 and January 1993, in a threefold context that multiplied the disengagement and internal tensions (Rahal, 2017). The first, international context is that of the fall of the USSR, which overwhelmed The communists in Algeria (1920–93) 211 communist parties all over the world and accompanied the break of a part of the PAGS leaders with the communist perspective or even with the communist reference itself. The second context, common to several countries in Africa and Latin America, is that of the establishment of a multiparty system and the coming out of clandestinity. Legalization put the PAGS to test: most of its members were not from the PCA and were recruited after 1966, as was the majority of the 700 delegates at the 1990 congress. More than 70 percent of those were born after 1940;28 as a result, they had never known any legal party organization or any electoral campaign; subjected to clandestine confinement, they had also undergone diverse ideological formations and were not used to collective discussions.29 The third context, common to several Muslim-majority countries, was the growing popular support for movements of political Islam, perceived as the most determined opponent of a regime that is massively rejected by the population. From the mid-1970s onwards, following clashes with Islamist militants, the newspaper of the PAGS regularly published articles in which it put forward a ‘revolutionary’ interpretation of Islam against the ‘reactionaries’ whom the party accused of opposing the agrarian reform or women’s rights in the name of Islam. In order to counter the rise in power of these ‘reactionaries’, it advocated carrying out fundamental work in favour of social and ‘democratic’ reforms, ‘clarifying the profound content of Islam and its links with the transformations of progress’, and not adopting a haughty stance towards practitioners.30 But the issue of political Islam severely divided the party that became legal after the municipal elections of June 1990, marked by a first electoral success of the Front islamique du salut (Islamic Salvation Front, FIS) and very weak results of the PAGS. While the PAGS militants agreed on the need to oppose the FIS, they did not agree on how to oppose it: ‘Indeed, is it a question of telling the people that we are the most determined opponents of the FIS, or is it a question of showing them that we are the most determined defenders of their interests?’, summarized six militants in August 1990. Criticizing the PAGS leadership for questioning the election results and cutting itself off from the mass of Algerians by calling for a ban on the FIS and not pondering the roots of Islamist success, these militants claimed that ‘the leadership has thus replaced the process of the people with that of power and its politics’.31 But the frontal opposition to the FIS prevailed within the leadership. A part of it, abandoning the language of class struggle, declared in 1990–1 that the struggle must from now on be that of the ‘modern’ against the ‘archaic’. Above all, the majority of leaders, whether they remained attached to Marxist language or not, called the Islamists ‘fascists’ and ‘totalitarian’ and referred to them as the ‘main enemy’ who should be confronted with the army.32 Following the electoral success of the FIS in the first round of parliamentary elections in December 1991, the leadership of the PAGS consequently supported the interruption of the electoral process led by the army in January 1992, and the dissolution of the FIS by the government in March 1992. 212 Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani As a result of these deep divisions, the PAGS lost many of its militants and cadres from 1990 onwards until the party disappeared and broke up in Jan- uary 1993. At the same time, the country was settling into a civil war, which caused tens of thousands of dead and missing. Many former PAGS militants, who, from 1992 onwards, were victims of a targeted assassination campaign by armed groups who drew legitimacy from Islam, went into exile. In Algeria or France, they partially continued their involvement in bigger or smaller parties, a part of which continues to this day to claim communism and the legacy of the PCA and PAGS. In the end, being a communist in Algeria in the 20th century meant having to face great adversity. In addition to the French and then Algerian authorities, who considered them on several occasions as dangers or even enemies, the communists sometimes clashed violently with other political movements whether they were French (fascist, colonialist or ‘ultras’ movements) or Algerian (nationalist or Islamist movements). This adversity has led to severe constraints. During its 73 years of existence, the Algerian communist parties have experienced 37 years of clandestinity, repressive waves and political violence that have affected several hundreds of their militants. Certainly, the communists partly chose this adversity by choosing the targets of their struggles – anti-colonial, anti-fascist, trade unionist and, after 1962, ‘socialist’, ‘democratic’ and then anti-Islamist – which also enabled them to create more or less durable alliances. In doing so, they faced particularly complex political issues, which weighed on internal differences within the party as well as on the image that the other political actors had of them: the colonial and national question, the approach to adopt an authoritarian regime with ‘socialist’ orientations or the question of political Islam. Despite these constraints, the Algerian communist movement was also a place for political formation and creative human interaction. And while its influence on Algerian society was undoubtedly limited, this movement has indeed been a part of that society, its contradictions and its conflicts.

Notes 1 I will use these terms without quotation marks. Even if these categories pose a problem, their use is justified in the light of the so-called community structure of colonial society. 2 The information about the party line is based on Sivan, 1976 and Ageron, 1986. 3 Archives nationales d’outre-mer (ANOM), Gouvernement général d’Algérie (GGA), 10 CAB 112: Blida’s police reports, Algiers, Oran et Constantine, 28 May, pp. 4–5, 11–12 and 23 June 1951. 4 ‘L’Algérie’, PCA elementary course No. 1, April 1947, pp. 11–14. 5 ANOM, prefecture of Oran, 484: list established by the Renseignements généraux (General Infromation), 17 February 1952. 6 Statement by the political bureau of the PCF, 8 November 1954, published in L’Humanité, 9 November 1954. 7 Statement by the central committee of the PCA, 14 November 1954, published in Liberté, 18 November 1954. The communists in Algeria (1920–93) 213 8 Cf. the monthly of the PCF L’Algérien en France, which includes all the statements on Algeria. 9 The public texts of the various parties are published and analysed in Jurquet, 1997: 391. 10 Cf. ANOM, GGA, 10 CAB 2: note from Blida’s PRG, 12 November 1954; prefecture of Aurès, 932/40: note of the Biskra police, 26 March 1955. 11 Cf. ANOM, prefecture of Aurès, 932/40: report of the RG of Batna, 4 May 1956. 12 ANOM, prefecture of Constantine, 93/151: case of Constantine’s CDL, 1955; archives of the military justice: cases of (ex-)CDL of Oran, Algiers and Blida, 1956–9. 13 Fanon analyses the ‘classic’ evolution of the parties that are leading the struggle for national independence. 14 Alger Républicain, 30 November 1962. 15 Statement by the central committee of the PCA on the Evian agreements (27 March 1962) and the programme of the PCA for independent Algeria (18 April 1962) (personal archives of J.-P. Saïd). 16 Cf. Al Houriyya-Liberté No. 48, 49, 50 (8 June, 31 July, 6 September 1962) (personal archives of W. Sportisse). 17 Alger Républicain, 30 November and 13 December 1962. 18 See the ‘self-critical’ essay of March 1965 cited in Jurquet, 1997: 375–84. 19 El Moudjahid, 25 and 28 September 1965. 20 Interview with Sadek Hadjerès (1 December 2011) and William Sportisse (1 February 2011); Mouffok, 1999: 90. 21 Interview with Sadek Hadjerès, 1 December 2011. 22 L’Algérie six ans après l’indépendance. Le PAGS répond à 5 questions d’actualité. Alger, 7 juin 1968, p. 30; letter from the PAGS executive to Boumediene, 14 September 1968 (personal archives of S. Hadjerès). 23 Cf. the platform and internal resolution of the ORP (future PAGS), 26 January and 1 February 1966 (personal archives of S. Hadjerès). 24 Cf. Saout Ech-Chaab No. 34 (28 May 1970), 46 (18 August 1971) and 55 (28 July 1972) (personal archives of W. Sportisse). 25 Cf. Saout Ech-Chaab No. 97 (20 April 1980), 104 (22 December 1981), 106 (7 April 1982), 107 (1 August 1982), 109 (1 February 1983), 117 (5 February 1984), 119 (2 April 1984), 130 (22 May 1985), 146 (29 November 1986), 154 (31 August 1987) and 159 (8 February 1988) (personal archives of W. Sportisse). 26 Saout Ech-Chaab No. 116 (28 December 1983) (personal archives of W. Sportisse). 27 Saout Ech-Chaab No. 167 (23 October 1988) and 177 (21 August 1989) (personal archives of W. Sportisse). 28 Premier congrès national du PAGS. Résolutions, Algiers, 1991, p. 242 (personal archives of W. Sportisse). 29 On these first two elements of the context, see Tahar Abada’s internal contributions to the PAGS (11 December 1989) and Mohammed Khadda (2 July 1990) (personal archives of S. Hadjerès). 30 Cf. Saout Ech-Chaab No. 75 (1 December 1975), 89 (24 March 1979), 92 (26 August 1979), 99 (17 July 1980), 108 (5 December 1982), 113 (15 June 1983), 117 (5 February 1984), 177 (21 August 1989) (personal archives of W. Sportisse). 31 Sadek Aïssat, Akila Aouami, Ahmed Charef Eddin, Djamel Labidi, Abdelatif Rebbah and Mohamed Tine, ‘Sortir le parti de la crise’, 28 August 1990. Similar positions are defended in letters from Abdelkrim Elaidi (20 July 1990) and Sadek Aïssat (24 July 1990) to the leadership of the PAGS, and in the report prepared by Sadek Hadjerès for the August 1990 PAGS Executive Meeting (personal archives of S. Hadjerès). 32 Saout Ech-Chaab Immigration, Special Edition, 8 June 1991. Cf. Saout Ech-Chaab No. 198 (21–31 May 1991) (personal archives of W. Sportisse). 214 Pierre-Jean Le Foll-Luciani References Ageron, Charles-Robert (1986) ‘Le parti communiste algérien de 1939 à 1943’. Vingtième siècle. Revue d’histoire, 12, October–December. Ageron, Charles-Robert (2005) ‘Communisme et nationalisme (1980)’. In Genèse de l’Algérie algérienne, Paris, Bouchène. Alleg, Henri (Ed.) (1966) Les torturés d’El Harrach, Paris, Éditions de minuit. Alleg, Henri (Ed.) (1981) La Guerre d’Algérie, 3 vols, Paris, Messidor. Bismuth, Hervé & Taubert, Fritz (Eds) (2014) La Guerre d’Algérie et le Monde communiste, Dijon, EUD. Drew, Allison (2014) We Are No Longer in France: Communists in Colonial Algeria, Manchester, Manchester University Press. Fanon, Frantz (2002 [1961]) Les damnés de la terre, Paris, La Découverte & Syros. Hadj Ali, Bachir (1966) L’arbitraire, Paris, Minuit. Jurquet, Jacques (1974–97) La révolution nationale algérienne et le Parti communiste français, Paris, Les éditions du Centenaire (1974, 1979, 1984) and L’Harmattan (1997). Jurquet, Jacques (1997) Années de feu: Algérie, 1954–1956, Paris, Editions L’Harmattan. Khalfa, Boualem, Alleg, Henri & Benzine, Abdelhamid (1987) La grande aventure d’‘Alger républicain’, Paris, Messidor. Le Foll-Luciani, Pierre-Jean (2013) ‘Un microcosme de l’Algérie nouvelle? Le Parti communiste algérien clandestin à Constantine pendant la guerre d’indépendance (1954–1962)’. Atala. Cultures et sciences humaines, 16. Le Foll-Luciani, Pierre-Jean (2014) ‘La sortie de guerre de militants juifs algériens et la construction d’une algérianité d’État’. In Joly, V. & Harismendy, P. (Eds), Algérie: sortie (s) de guerre. 1962–1965, Rennes, Presses universitaires de Rennes. Le Foll-Luciani, Pierre-Jean (2015a) ‘Algérianisation et radicalisation: les étudiants communistes de l’université d’Alger (1946–1956)’. Cahiers d’histoire. Revue d’histoire critique, 126. Le Foll-Luciani, Pierre-Jean (2015b) Les juifs algériens dans la lutte anticoloniale. Trajectoires dissidentes (1934–1965), Rennes, PUR. Le Foll-Luciani, Pierre-Jean (2016) ‘“J’aurais aimé être une bombe pour exploser”. Les militantes communistes algériennes entre assignations sexuées et subversions des rôles de genre (1944–1962)’. Le Mouvement social, 2. Marangé, Céline (2016a) ‘André Ferrat et la création du Parti communiste algérien (1931–1936)’. Histoire @ Politique, 29, May–August. Marangé, Céline (2016b) ‘Le Komintern, le Parti communiste français et la cause de l’indépendance algérienne (1926–1930)’. Vingtième siècle. Revue d’histoire, 131, July–September. Memmi, Albert (1985) Portrait du colonisé. Portrait du colonisateur. 1957, Paris, Gallimard. Mouffok, Houari (1999) Parcours d’un étudiant algérien: de l’UGÉMA à l’UNÉA, Paris, Bouchène. Rahal, Malika (2012) ‘Comment faire l’histoire de l’Algérie indépendante?’. La Vie des idées, 13 March. Rahal, Malika (2013) ‘Le temps arrêté. Un pays sans histoire. Algérie, 2011–2013’. Écrire l’histoire, 12. Rahal, Malika (2016) ‘1965–1971 en Algérie. Contestation étudiante, parti unique et enthousiasme révolutionnaire’. In Blum, F., Guidi, P. & Rillon, O. (Eds), Étudiants The communists in Algeria (1920–93) 215 africains en mouvements: Contribution à une histoire des années 68,Paris,Publications de la Sorbonne. Rahal, Malika (2017) ‘1988–1992. Multipartism, Islamism and the Descent into Civil War’. In Crowley, P. (Ed.), Algeria: Nation, Culture and Transnationalism, 1988– 2015, Liverpool, Liverpool University Press. Sivan, Emmanuel (1976) Communisme et nationalisme en Algérie 1920–1962, Paris, Presses de la Fondation nationale des sciences politiques. Sportisse, William & Le Foll-Luciani, Pierre-Jean (2012) Le camp des oliviers: parcours d’un communiste algérien. William Sportisse. Entretiens avec Pierre-Jean Le Foll- Luciani, Rennes, Presses universitaires de Rennes. 12 The four faces of Morocco’s communists PCF, MCP, PLS and PPS

Bernabé López García

1 Introduction Charting the history and analysing the role of communists in Morocco is a task that requires particular thoroughness when it comes to filtering the abundant documentation produced both from within the party that has championed this ideology under different acronyms (PCF, MCP, PLS and PPS), and which frequently attempts to apologetically highlight what the party has contributed to the struggle for independence and democratic construction within the country, and the documentation produced from outside the party, which more often than not has attempted to minimize or disparage its contribution, arguing both from more revolutionary standpoints and from others that lie closer to power. In drafting this historical work I have had access to a wide range of documents published by the Moroccan Communist Party (MCP) in its years of struggle against the protectorate and after the country’s independence until the party was banned in 1960,1 in addition to numerous pamphlets and books published by the party (including talks given by Ali Yata and other leaders, editorials from the party’s newspapers, resolutions at congresses, public positions regarding political events in the country, etc.) during the different stages of its history, whether in the form of the PLS (Party of Liberation and Social- ism, 1968) or the PPS (Party of Progress and Socialism, from 1974 to the present day).2 Among the critical documentation, we should not forget the contributions made by Abraham Serfaty (a member of the party for two decades until it separated and split in 1970) in several of the works he published in which he distances himself from positions adopted by the party leadership.3 There is also an analytical bibliography that situates the MCP in its Mor- occan political context prior to independence, and which notably includes the work by Robert Rézette, Les partis politiques marocains (Rézette, 1955), that of René Gallissot, Mouvement ouvrier, communisme et nationalisme dans le monde arabe (Gallissot, 1978), as well as Georges Oved’s volume, La gauche française et le nationalisme marocain. 1905–1955 (Oved, 1984). Another factor that has been of use in writing this work has been my long- standing personal links with members and leaders of the party, particularly The four faces of Morocco’s communists 217 Simon Lévy, with whom I enjoyed a close comradeship until his death in 2011, as well as the personal experience I acquired when I worked for several years for the newspaper Al Bayane (the organ of the PPS from 1974 onwards4) and my attendance at three of the party’s congresses, in 1976, 1979 and 1983.5

2 Origins: communists in Morocco Georges Oved notes that there were no traces of communist activity in Mor- occo until the Rif War, though this was merely limited to a few pamphlets distributed among the indigenous peoples which glorified Abdelkrim and called for the evacuation of Morocco (Oved, 1984: vol. 1, 154), since in Oved’s opinion no independent communist organization existed in the country until 1926. Oved claims that the colonial information services dreamed up a story involving a Bolshevik plot working with Moroccan nationalists groups with the intention of sparking a revolutionary uprising in the country. This led the colonial forces to closely monitor certain individuals they considered to be ‘Moscow’s agents’, and which included Charles-André Julien,6 who in 1921 attended the 3rd congress of the Communist International in the Soviet capital, and who was assigned the mission of instigating unrest in North Africa. The psychosis suffered by the colonial information services reached the point when they came to fear an uprising by the indigenous peoples in Fez resulting from collusion between the communists and a ‘Wahabi committee’ (sic). In fact, it seems that apart from the opposition to the Rif War by the French Communist Party (PCF) in the metropolis, communist support for the Riffian people was no more than yet another myth spread by the Spanish-French Joint Office that was initially set up in Malaga and later relocated to Tangiers. Documentation from the protectorate authorities reveals a certain amount of unrest in the French media in support of Sacco and Vanzetti in August 1927, and which led to the arrest of a few communists. These individuals had been active within organizations of the SFIO (French Section of the Workers’ International), working to promote the first embryonic trade unions, which the resident-general considered illegal until 1936.7 However, Oved claims that there was no real communist organization in Morocco until 1935 when, at the first Socialist Youth congress, a philo-communist nucleus emerged, featuring figures such as Leon-René Sultan8 and Jean Dresch,9 who started publishing a rather rudimentary newspaper – Le Maroc rouge – within the protectorate as the ‘organ of the Moroccan Communist Party’ (Oved, 1984: vol. 1, 159). Relations between the French left established in Morocco and the young nationalists who came to the fore as a result of the struggle with the Berber Dahir in 1930 were by no means fluid, since the former were alienated by the bourgeois nature of the movement. The French leftists could not comprehend the religious dimension of the Moroccan protest, nor the devotion shown towards the sultan, whom French socialists and communists considered to have sold out to the imperialism of the metropolis. In June 1934, a few months before the nationalists – organized by a Moroccan Action Committee 218 Bernabé López García (CAM) – presented a reform plan to the authorities in Rabat and Paris, the Moroccan section of the SFIO held a congress in Kenitra to study the com- patibility between the protective action and socialism, and its links with Islam and what they called ‘Moroccan nationalism and racism’, concluding that it was necessary to fight against such expressions, which they deemed to be bourgeois (López García, 1989: 23–6). When the Popular Front came to power in France in June 1936, it brought a policy of openness towards the colonies: the legalization of unions and parties for the French population, and the extending of certain freedoms, which in some cases directly affected the ‘indigenous peoples’. Leon Blum appointed Charles-André Julien as secretary to the High Committee of the Mediterranean and North Africa. Among its various projects, it was proposed that the Popular Front would carry out reforms in order to organize ‘honestly the independence of the indigenous peoples’ (quoted in Oved, 1984: vol. 2, 97). In spite of this, the nationalists expressed mistrust at an organization they viewed as having a policing function, given that it had previously been used as a force of control and even repression in the North African colonies. In the first issue of Clarté (19 December 1936), the PCF’s newspaper in Morocco, Leon Sultan, writing under the pseudonym of Marc Forclaude, stated that his party was adopting ‘the program of the Moroccan proletariat’s immediate demands’, without making any explicit reference to the CAM reform programme. He expressed confidence that ‘the new invigorating winds of freedom’ represented by the Popular Front would help to achieve ‘the French task of bringing about material and cultural liberation of the people’. However, these winds did not seem to blow for long. In August 1938, the same newspaper criticized the discriminatory policy on union rights that had been converted for a ‘superior proletariat’ (Europeans) into an ‘elevated privilege worthy of colonialism… and even racism’ (Oved, 1984: vol. 2, 137). Morocco during those years was influenced by the proximity of the Spanish Civil War. Many political refugees were taken in by Spanish Republican emigrants who had lived in cities such as Casablanca, Tangiers and Rabat since the beginning of the century. Robert Rézette even mentions agroupof‘Spanish proletarians’ with anarchist tendencies who founded a Moroccan communist party in 1937, though as they had no links with the PCF leadership in Paris, the party was banned in 1939 (Rézette, 1955: 161). We do not have any information to confirm this claim, but it is a fact that during those years, Casablanca’sMaarifdistrictbecamehometopocketsof Spanish communists which marked the childhood and teenage years of Moroccans such as Abraham Serfaty, who confessed that ‘Spain had always been in his heart’ since that time (Serfaty & Daure-Serfaty, 2002: 53). Con- tacts were made between Spanish, Moroccan and French communists attempting to coordinate their struggles, as demonstrated by the publication of Mundo Obrero in 1947 in Casablanca10 at the printing house of the communist weekly Espoir. 11 The four faces of Morocco’s communists 219 3 World war and the call for independence The world war years were crucial for Morocco. The country became a ‘refuge colony’ (in the words of René Gallissot (1964: 219)), given that it received large sums of French capital that was invested in industry. Casablanca, the great Moroccan metropolis, doubled its population to nearly half a million inhabitants. But the immigrants the city attracted were not only Europeans (including a numerous colony of Spanish refugees), they were above all Mor- occans, who became concentrated in the bidonvilles, where they lived in impoverished conditions. The situation gave concern to the resident-general, who feared that the proletarian masses would mobilize to become active masses (Gallissot, 1964). It was at this time, in 1942, that the MCP was formally constituted, clandestinely, and headed by Leon Sultan and Ali Yata.12 The party, which did not have any direct links with the PCF,13 published an underground newspaper – El Watan – which expressed pro-independence ideas. The group made contact with the PCF leadership in Algiers in 1943, from where André Marty, Henri Lozeray and Jacques Gresa were dispatched as instructors entrusted with the task of organizing the activists and sympathizers that were scattered through the protectorate. The guidelines they imposed distanced the party’s orientation from any drift towards independence, which they deemed to be counterrevolutionary. According to Ali Yata, Marty’s categorical directives imposed a ‘reformist’ and ‘paternalistic’ line onto the party. The MCP’s new organ, Egalité, which first appeared in August 1943, prioritized the struggle against the Nazis, as well as calling for the liberation of ‘Muslims who had been interned, sent away or deported for loving their country and yearning for its dignity’. However, the word ‘independence’ did not feature in the Central Committee resolution of 12 September 1943. On their arrival, relations between the instructors and the nationalists were tense. Some activists who favoured a rapprochement (such as Maurice Rué14) were isolated and accused of being divisive. In late 1943, a meeting took place between Marty and Gresa and the young Istiqlal supporters Mehdi Ben Barka and Abderrahim Buabid. However, they were unable to reach any kind of agreement, given the communists’ adamant opinion that Moroccan independence was a disingenuous aim, given that it would turn the country from a French protectorate into an American one.15 After the Independence Manifesto was published on 11 January 1944, the MCP submitted a manifesto document for publication on 14 January with the title ‘In view of current events, the MCP clarifies its position’, though it was not published as a result of censorship. Here is an extract from the document:

The future of the Moroccan people cannot be assured by anything other than by victory over fascism and by the liberation of the New France that will be born from the struggle… The MCP denounces in the face of public opinion this risky political venture that can only be used against 220 Bernabé López García democracy to beneﬁt the fascist reaction, against France and to beneﬁt of the enemy… Our party makes it clear, on the contrary, that the interests of the Moroccan people lie in uniting their destiny with that of the French people… New France is not the France of yesterday. As a free country, it will no longer oppress other peoples… Before the Atlantic Charter, our party spoke out on the peoples’ right to self-determination. Without relinquishing this principle, the party believes that the present situation, in which Morocco stands at the crossroads of contradictory interests, runs the risk of forcing Moroccans to bear the yoke of new oppressors if they commit themselves to the path along which they are being led. (Oved, 1984: vol. 2, 208–9)16

This stance adopted by the MCP, which went so far as to brand the nationalist struggle as ‘Hitlerian fascist provocation’, ended up costing the party dearly. Ali Yata, who became leader following the death of Leon Sultan, announced a change of course in 1946, after realizing the party’s mistake in having distanced itself from the Moroccan masses who had given the Istiqlal Party their vigorous backing. According to Yata, the 1944 stance brought ‘heartbreak’ for many activists, particularly Moroccans who were against the oﬃcial party position. In an attempt to bridge divisions with the nationalists, Ali Yata signed the Istiqlal Manifesto in Casablanca, as did Abdesalam Bourquia, another party leader and unionist, in Ued Zem.17

4 The Moroccoization of the MCP At the MCP’s first congress, held in Casablanca in April 1946, a majority of Moroccan leaders were elected. The country was experiencing a particularly extraordinary moment at that time; only a few days previously a new resident-general had arrived in Rabat – Eirik Labonne,18 ‘the only true liberal Morocco has ever known’,accordingtoCharles-AndréJulien(Julien,1978: 198). But in spite of detained and exiled leaders being freed, the party’s reform plan, published on 22 July, was rejected by the nationalists. The MCP also judged the measures proposed by the resident-general to be insufficient, and suggested to the nationalists that they seek agreement on a common programme which would not disregard the union with the French people, in line with what would be the French Union project. This became the main point of disagreement with the nationalists. The MCP manifesto, published on 4 August of that same year, now clearly expressed ‘the will of the Moroccan people to recover their full sovereignty’ and called for the abolition of protectorate institutions such as the Residency- General in Rabat, the High Commission in Tetuan and the Tangier Control Committee, as well as the immediate creation of a Moroccan assembly and government to manage all the country’saffairs. However, the slogan of creating a ‘Moroccan National Front’ with the nationalists was not well The four faces of Morocco’s communists 221 received by the latter, who distrusted communism as being a ‘foreign ideology that often makes common cause with the oppressors’.19 Ali Yata claimed that there were two reasons for the MCP’s new, favourable attitude towards independence: the growing influence among the population of ideas extolled by the Istiqlal Manifesto, and Moscow’s fears that the Moroccan national movement might fall into the hands of the Americans if the MCP did not opt clearly for independence (Oved, 1984). To confirm the party’s pro- nationalist stance, it sent a commission to meet with Sultan Mohammed ben Youssef on 28 August 1946. This caused great outrage among the French services, and even among leading Moroccan figures (Rézette, 1955: 165), who feared that this recognition might result in the MCP gaining greater influence over a trade union, the Union Générale des Syndicats Confédérés du Maroc (linked to the French Confédération Generale du Travail), in which communists had played a predominant role in the union’s organization and development, and membership of which (according to Rézette) had risen to 30,000 by late 1945 (Rézette, 1955: 338).

5 The MCP under the repressive policies of the residents-generals Juin and Guillaume The MCP’s espousing of nationalism led to party membership reaching a peak in 1948, with 3,000 Moroccan Muslim members, 500 Jews and 2,500 Europeans (Rézette, 1955), though competition with the Istiqlal Party meant that the party failed to improve on these figures. Even in the unions, the pro- Istiqlal members were gradually winning the battle. The MCP’s alignment with the Soviet Union (USSR) and its insistence on the impossibility of remaining neutral over the Cold War that was developing at the time all served to distance the party from the nationalists, who were now being courted by America, a country that had enjoyed a good deal of affection from Morocco ever since the Allied landing at Casablanca in November 1942, and which was particularly manifested in 1946–7 with the creation of Roosevelt Clubs in various cities in Morocco and the diplomatic assistance provided for the Sultan’s visit to Tangiers in April 1947. It was on this trip that Moham- med ben Youssef expressed his firm support for the unification of the country and its independence, in a speech that would cost resident-general Labonne his position. He was duly replaced by Alphonse Juin, who introduced a policy of authoritarian severity. The MCP had initially extended its presence into the poorer sectors of society through parallel structures such as Amicales communistes and Les amis de la démocratie, which brought together Moroccans and Europeans. However, concurrence with nationalist organizations led to the MCP losing support. Rézette notes that from 1948 onwards, in spite of the disappearance of Europeans from the party leadership, the MCP lost power in regions such as Casablanca and Oriental, areas where it had previously been well established, and party membership figures declined. While in 1950 the party had 222 Bernabé López García 1,000 European members and some 2,700 Moroccans, by 1952 these figures had fallen to around 2,000 members, 700 of whom were Europeans. One of the areas in which the MCP was active was the print media. In June 1945, its Francophone organ L’Espoir (Hope)20 sold 27,034 copies in Casa- blanca alone, but a year later sales figures had dropped. A weekly journal, it was published on an irregular basis until the party was banned in 1952, after which it was published clandestinely until the country’s independence. Another weekly publication, this time in Arabic, was Hayat Ech Chaab (Life of the People); it was published clandestinely, as it was never granted legal authorization, not even after the publication of the code of liberties after independence.21 As for the sphere of the trade unions, the newspaper L’Action Syndicale came out between 1943 and 1952, and the majority of its editorial board were MCP supporters. In February 1949 the MCP held its second congress, in which the leadership was mainly Moroccan. Michel Mazzella, a central figure in the previous period, was removed from power, thus confirming the party’s orientation towards nationalism. Ali Yata, the party secretary, had been operating underground since 18 June 1948 after he had dodged the expatriation order decreed by General Juin; he had been accused of agitation in the Muslim media following the massacres at Yerada and Uxda.22 On his arrest in July 1950 he was forcibly expelled to Algeria, given his status as a French subject, being the son of an Algerian. Despite his multiple attempts to get back into Morocco, he did not manage to return to the country until 1958, two years after independence (Yata, 1996). Mirroring its predecessor the PCF, the MCP’s strategy had always been oriented towards the defence of the working classes in a country where the proletariat was barely incipient, apart from in a few urban nuclei such as Casablanca, the country’s economic capital, and mining towns like Yerada and Yussufia. The specific cause of the party’s disregard for the nationalists was the latter’s bourgeois origins in the eyes of the party’s French leaders in its early days. It was when Moroccans became the majority in the leadership that the party began championing the struggle against colonial oppression. That is why when Robert Schuman, the French minister of foreign affairs, spoke to the French parliament to justify Yata’s expulsion, he declared that ‘his calls for disobedience, his violent opinions against “French imperialism” and the “colonialist regime of oppression” established in Morocco sparked an unrest that was intolerable’ (Yata, 1996: 21). Thus the MCP prioritized social protest, though it took the party a while to comprehend the utility of internationalizing the Moroccan question, which the Istiqlal Party had already begun doing in 1948. The communists believed that taking the issue of Moroccan independence to the United Nations (UN) was no more than a gesture which would not advance the Moroccan cause, as L’Espoir stated in December 1948 (Oved, 1984: vol. 2, 269). However, this was one of the lines that the MCP (lagging behind Istiqlal) used in its memorandum addressed to the UN on the 38th anniversary of the establishment The four faces of Morocco’s communists 223 of the protectorate in 1950,23 and the message was reiterated, 12 months later, on the eve of the 6th session of UN General Assembly, in a long report about the protectorate’s anachronistic nature and its social and political consequences (Yata, n.d.: 26–42). Nevertheless, following the international organization’s decision to defer the Moroccan question (thanks to American support for France’s arguments), the MCP’s politburo published a declaration in March 1952 in which it claimed ‘the Moroccan people cannot trust the UN to arbitrate’, echoing Stalin’s words in Pravda when the latter declared that the UN ‘is nothing but an organisation to benefit Americans’ (Yata, n.d.: 59). Even so, and to make sure that it did not lag behind the nationalists, in October that year the party submitted an extensive report to the international organization which dismantled the French government’s supposed reforms and denounced the repression of all the elements of the national movement. Some months later, the MCP joined and supported – via the Union Générale des Syndicats Confédérés du Maroc – the protest demonstrations against the murder of the union activist Ferhat Hached in Tunisia. The protests were brutally put down by the residency-general, and they ended in December 1952 with the banning of both the MCP and Istiqlal, both of which were forced to operate from underground.

6 The MCP and clandestine action in favour of independence The MCP’s role was a marginal one in the years leading up to independence. The ambiguities toward the national cause continued to produce ruptures within the party, and this had consequences, as it handed the initiative to parties such as Istiqlal. Abraham Serfaty explained it thus:

This party, in spite of the value and, very often, the internationalism of its members and Moroccan groups, which it had built up since 1943, was unable to convincingly overcome the mistakes of its early years regarding the crucial question of national independence. During the entire period from 1945 to 1952, the party ﬂuctuated between a paternalistic conception inspired by a French petty bourgeois idea of an ‘independence’ in the shadow of democratic France (independence within the framework of the French Union) and the Moroccan bourgeois nationalist tendency of its Moroccan groups which curbed the need for the working classes to have a leading role in the struggle for independence. In such a situation, it came as no surprise that after 1950 the working classes united en masse with the political leadership of the Istiqlal Party, which had been more consistent over the independence issue. (Serfaty, 1992: 72–3)

Forced underground, the MCP scaled back its activities on the trade union front, where its members were well placed, though they were not the ones who succeeded in making the great leap to create the large central national 224 Bernabé López García union, the Moroccan Labour Union (UMT), which was founded by Mahjoub Ben Seddiq and Brahim Roudani in March 1955. But there was another sphere in which the MCP helped to promote the struggle for independence – armed action, following the creation of a resistance group together with activists from Istiqlal’s rival parties, including Mohammed Hassan Ouazzani’s Democratic Independence Party. The group was dubbed Al Hilal al Aswad (the Black Crescent), and the communist leader Abdallah Layachi described it as ‘the armed detachment of the most powerful, coherent resistance group’, whose ‘daring, spectacular and crushing surprise attacks sowed panic and fear in the ranks of the colonialist enemy and their lackeys, the traitors’ (Layachi, 1981: 42). One of the group’s organizers, Abdelkrim Benabdallah, a member of the MCP leadership, was murdered in the score-settling that took place between rival groups in the early days of independence. The communiqué published by the MCP after his death attributed the killing to ‘a group of mercenaries paid by enemies of our motherland’, though the declaration stopped short of tack- ling the thorny issue of score-settling and accusing the Istiqlal leaders (Yata, n.d.: 243).24 The MCP attempted to cement its presence in political life on Sultan Mohammed Ben Yussef’s return from exile in France in October 1955, declaring the event a victory for the Moroccan people. A delegation headed by Ali Yata met with the sultan in Saint Germain-en-Laye in November 1955, where they handed him a document containing their current proposals. Once the sultan had returned to Morocco, another party delegation (made up of Abde- salam Bourquia, Abdallah Layachi, Abdelkrim Benabdallah, Edmond Amran El Maleh and Haddaoui Morchich) were given an audience with the sultan on 5 December. However, the MCP was excluded from the consultations over the forming of the country’s ﬁrst independent government, just as its related resistance group was excluded from discussions over the forming of the nucleus of the future Moroccan national army (Yata, n.d.: 211).

7 From the MCP to the PLS: the party’s fragile statute The greatest difficulty for the MCP after independence was how to find its niche alongside the other political groups. In its favour, there was the fact that the policy of positive neutrality adopted by Mohammed V after independence resulted in good relations with the USSR in the early years, which even resulted in Russia supplying arms to the country.25 However, this situation did not last for long, as after Hassan II came to the throne, Moroccan foreign policy began moving progressively towards closer ties with the West. Existing as it did in a state of de facto legality, just like the other parties in times of political uncertainty, the MCP supported the creation of a responsible nationalist government (of which it would form part) with a programme that proposed the ejection of foreign troops, a reinstatement of Morocco’s historical borders, agricultural reform and the nationalization of certain fields The four faces of Morocco’s communists 225 that would orient the country towards the construction of an independent national economy, and organizing constituent elections. But the MCP became sidelined, as it was unable to gain support from any other political group. Thus, when he appointed the members of the National Consultative Assem- bly in 1956, Mohammed V completely ignored the MCP. Ali Yata, the party’s secretary general, who still had the French expulsion order from Morocco hanging over him, was forced to live in exile in France until July 1958, and the reiterated requests and documents that Yata and his lawyers sent to the new Moroccan authorities, and even to the sovereign himself, all went unheeded. The party’s governing body adopted a stance in accordance with the national movement on issues such as the reintegration of occupied territories, and which included ‘the prisons in Ceuta, Melilla, the Ifni enclave and the territory of Rio de Oro, all of which should be governed by specific agreements’.26 The party leadership was more assertive in its demands for agricultural reform, which included the distribution of the feudal and non- cultivated lands of the colonies. At that time, the party’s highest-priority demand, in tandem with the country’s other political parties, was to show solidarity with the Algerian people and their struggle for independence. During those early years, the MCP found itself caught between a rock and a hard place: on one hand, the party’s struggle and denouncement of the consequences of colonization made it the object of retaliation from France, whose importance was still crucial to Moroccan politics (as demonstrated by the prolongation of Ali Yata’s exile), while on the other, the party’s very ideology caused it to clash increasingly with the Istiqlal Party and the Mor- occan establishment. Hence the MCP’s criticism of the absence of Allal El Fassi’s party and the Moroccan National Consultative Assembly from the Afro-Asian Conference in El Cairo in January 1958, an event which was accused of being influenced by the USSR (Yata, n.d.: 315–16). The party finally achieved full legality after the code of public liberties was passed in November 1958. But this did not last long, only from April to September 1959 when it was suspended, paradoxically, by Abdallah Ibrahim’s left-wing government, who accused the MCP of possessing an ideology that was incompatible with Islam and of being against the monarchical form of the state.27 The party’s recourse to the court of appeal in Rabat was rejected, when at last, to justify the outlawing of the party, the court invoked a speech by the sovereign which was granted force of law, in which he condemned ‘materialistic doctrines’. Once again, the party was forced underground (Waterbury, 1975: 334), and its newspaper, Al Yamahir (The Masses), was banned. Some months later, taking advantage of the framework of the code of public liberties, the party brought out a new weekly publication in Arabic – Al Moukafih (The Combatant) – though it had no overt links to the MCP.28 However, the party did figure in the first municipal elections, held in May 1960, though it did so through independent candidates, and unsuccessfully. In the territorial dispute with Mauritania, which resulted from the latter gaining 226 Bernabé López García independence in November 1960, the MCP declared (as did Istiqlal) that the territory belonged to Morocco.29 One central issue in the MCP’s struggle was the election of a Constituent National Assembly, an issue that was evaded both by Mohammed V (who created a Constitutional Council to draft a constitution from which the party was excluded) and by his son when the latter came to power. When Hassan II submitted a text (which had mainly been drafted by French experts) to referendum, the magazine Al Moukafih published a series of articles on the constitution30 in which it called for a constitution of a progressive nature, in which the people were considered the sole source of power, and which asserted the anti-imperialist and anti-feudal nature of the Moroccan state; the articles furthermore proposed the consolidation of national independence by closing down the foreign military bases and rein- corporating the occupied territories, expressed its aspirations toward a United Arab Maghreb, and defended the equality of all citizens and respect for democratic freedoms and the economic and social rights of the population. In contrast to the text submitted by the king in September 1962, the MCP chose to boycott the referendum with the aim of maintaining unity of action with the National Union of Popular Forces (UNFP), the left-wing splinter group that emerged from Istiqlal, while the UMT union called for a ‘No’ vote. In the first legislative elections, held in May 1963, the MCP presented only three independent candidates, owing to the illegality of the party. One stood in central Casablanca (Ali Yata), another in Garb and the third in Tadla. While the MCP advocated uniting with the opposition parties, Istiqlal and UNFP, to beat the candidate for the ruling party the Front for the Defence of Constitutional Institutions (FDIC), the proposal was not well received. Octave Marais31 explains that Ben Barka’s party was reluctant to join forces with the MCP for common candidacies ‘on one hand, because of fears that the MCP might gain more votes, and on the other, so as not to scare off the middle-class swing voters’ (Marais, 1963: 96). The authorities also placed numerous obstacles in the party’s way to prevent it from holding meetings, and in the end the MCP only received 2,345 votes. The MCP’s influence thus remained marginal in the political arena, though we should not disregard the moral influence of its ideas, a fact that has been acknowledged by several respected observers of Moroccan politics. As Marais wrote in 1963:

Though it only has a limited number of supporters… the MCP does in fact exert a fairly extensive inﬂuence over Morocco’s left-wing leaders, both in the UNFP and the UMT. Furthermore, several Moroccan leaders currently in Istiqlal and even in the FDIC have, during the course of their studies in France, enjoyed quite close links with the communist party. Many of them have maintained personal links with some of the communist leaders, and feel a certain sensibility towards Marxist dialectics… The four faces of Morocco’s communists 227 The left-wing parties and even Istiqlal often pick up on propaganda issues that were initially launched by the MCP. (Marais, 1963)

However, the MCP’s exclusion from the public arena continued unchanged. One factor contributing to this was the position adopted by the party as a result of the Sand War with Algeria in October–November 1963, when it ﬁrmly denounced ‘warfare as a means of settling this [border] dispute between two brother nations, and advocated peaceful negotiations to the exclusion of any other path’ (Belal, 1981: 70). Three of the party’s leaders, Yata, Bourquia and Layachi, were imprisoned and given military trials for ‘attacks on the external security of the state’, though they were later released. When in March 1965 the country underwent signiﬁcant political upheaval, with protests by students and workers in Casablanca, Hassan II consulted with the various political parties, with the exception of the MCP. Ali Yata, the party’s secretary general, expressed his disgruntlement to the king in a document in which he highlighted ‘the origin of the crisis and the means necessary to help the country emerge from the tragic impasse in which it found itself, and to guarantee a solution to same’.32 According to the party’s analysis, the origin of the crisis lay in ‘the general orientation imposed on the country since the beginning of independence’, the absence of democracy, capitalist liberalism and the lack of social rights. The analysis included a comprehensive action programme to help get the country out of this situation.

8 Communists, Islam and the territorial question Meanwhile, the MCP was attempting to build bridges with the ‘living forces of the country’. In the wake of a situation that it described as ‘catastrophic and dramatic’, the party proposed a uniﬁed leadership in a long document titled ‘One single revolutionary party’, and which was addressed to the general secretariat of the UNFP on 26 June 1965 (Yata, 1966a), just 20 days after the king declared a state of emergency. But the proposal did not come to fruition, since the UNFP leadership within the country33 believed at that time (though it turned out to be a miscalculation) that Hassan II was about to entrust them to lead the government. On 25 October, four days before the kidnapping of the UNFP leader Ben Barka in Paris, the MCP returned to the attack by responding to the questions asked by the secretariat of the left-wing party, and proposing a ‘merging or confederation’ of the two parties in a common programme, and adopting a doctrine of ‘scientiﬁc socialism’ adapted to ‘the national reality… using the progressive heritage of our Arab-Islamic civilisation’. To this end, the document stated that:

Arab-Islamic civilisation is not without elevated expressions of the ideals of justice, fraternity, liberty and honour; it oﬀers broad possibilities of adaptation, liberty, solidarity and struggle which are not only useful, they 228 Bernabé López García might also be the most valuable tools for carrying out the inestimable task for all the people which consists of bringing about a democratic national revolution and building socialism. (Yata, 1966a: 17–18)

On 4 December 1965, in a new document addressed to the UNFP, the MCP highlighted the ‘acute aggravation’ it had experienced in the last months of the crisis, above all following the ‘criminal act’ of the kidnapping of Ben Barka. The missive also described the contacts the party had made with the UMT and Istiqlal with regard to ‘constituting a national front, the main objective of which should be to ensure that our people do not have to experience a military dictatorship’. These contacts were considered to be more viable to the trade union than to the El Fassi party, which had always remained entrenched in issues such as Islam and borders. This latter subject of Morocco’s borders was not exactly what distanced the MCP from Istiqlal. In a long report submitted by Ali Yata at the 3rd party congress in July 1966, this issue was described as ‘fundamentally vital for our country, determining our present and our future’ (Yata, 1966b: 22). The party’s reproach that ‘we have been unable to liberate the other provinces, which constitute the south of the country, and to reincorporate them into the motherland (namely Ifni, Saqiat Al Hamra, Rio de Oro, Mauritania, Touat and Tindouf), just as we have not been able to wrest Ceuta, Melilla and the Chafarinas islands from Spanish rule’ was mainly aimed at the monarchy that ruled the country, though also at the parties that had enjoyed government in the pre- ceding years. However, Yata offered these parties the alternative of that time, a ‘union of patriotic national forces’ to achieve the goal of a democratic national revolution which (according to the MCP’s analysis) should consist of an ‘alliance between the working classes, the poorest and middle-income farm workers, the petty bourgeoisie and the national bourgeoisie’ (Yata, 1966b: 70). In spite of the difficulties imposed by the state of emergency, in July 1968 the party submitted the statutes for a new party – the PLS. The statutes were based on the ‘scientific conception of socialism’ and declared that the party would be ‘firmly linked with the revolutionary traditions of the Moroccan people, the rationalist legacy of Arab thought, and the emancipatory substance of Islam’. Among its objectives were ‘the definitive and total liberation of the nation, by re-establishing Morocco, both within its historic borders and in its full political and economic sovereignty’, in addition to the ‘social, material and moral progress of the people’ toward socialism.34 Thus the party fleetingly achieved legality, until August 1969, as a result of (Aziz Belal tells us) ‘intense activity’ on its part. However, this was suspended following Ali Yata’s participation in the World Conference of Communist and Workers’ Parties in Moscow in August 1969. The PLS was duly dissolved, the party’s newspaper banned and Yata and Chouaib Riffi were both arrested and prosecuted for reforming a party that had previously been dissolved (Yata, 1996: chapter 6), in a trial in which the lawyers The four faces of Morocco’s communists 229 included the opposition leaders Mohammed Boucetta (from Istiqlal) and Abderrahim Bouabid (UNFP).

9 The schism of 1970 and the legalization of the PPS The crisis that the country experienced in the years of emergency (1965–70) and the disappointment at the spinelessness of the UNFP all produced –before France’s May 1968 – a surge of students moving to join the PLS, even before its brief legalization, according to Abraham Serfaty (Serfaty & Daure- Serfaty, 2002: 75). However, the party’s position of advocating parliamentary democracy as the route toward socialism (an idea that was scorned by Mor- occo’s radicalized youth, who branded it ‘reformist and Menshevik’) ultimately caused a split in the PLS. This produced a tense atmosphere of student strikes35 which came to a head with Ifran’s debate on education in which students expressed their feelings of betrayal by the bourgeois nationalist parties and above all by PLS support for the Rogers Plan for Palestine, thereby endorsing the USSR’s stance on the subject. In a letter to Yata on 8 August 1970, Serfaty’s criticism caused a split and led to the subsequent creation, on 30 August of that year, of the Marxist-Leninist group Ila Al Amam (Forward) (Serfaty & Daure-Serfaty, 2002: 77).36 The coups in 1971 and 1972 forced Hassan II to move closer to the opposition, in a bid to regain some of his lost legitimacy. The still illegal PLS rejected the two draft constitutions that the king put to referendum in 1970 and 1972. In September 1972 the king held talks with the opposition party leaders (including Ali Yata, despite the fact that his party was illegal) and invited them to form a national unity government, though in the end this did not come to fruition. One meeting point between Hassan II and the opposition was the territorial question, and Moroccan demands for Western Sahara, at that time colonized by Spain. In accordance with the views the PLS had held since independence, the party declared its support for the king, who promised greater openness and the legalization of the party. In May 1973, Ali Yata published the articles on the Sahara that had appeared in his party’s newspapers between 1956 and 1972 in a book titled Le Sahara Occidental Mar- ocain. A few days after the volume’s launch at the Writers’ Union Cercle, the authorities seized the book, claiming that it represented a reproach to Mor- occo’s ineffective diplomacy which was lacking in ‘initiative and dynamism in the defence of our national rights’, according to the book’s author at the press conference for the book launch (López García, 1978: 153). Subsequent events led to the withdrawal of the ban, and the book went on sale in bookshops and newsstands around the country, to become one more element in the campaign to recover the territory. A few months later the party received authorization to launch the newspaper Al Bayane (The Manifesto), a weekly publication in French which became a daily in May 1975. This was the prelude to the legalization of the 230 Bernabé López García party under a new name: the PPS, formed in August 1974. In the preamble for its new statutes, the PPS was defined as ‘a pioneering political organisation for the working classes and the rural poor. It is the party of all workers, both manual and intellectual, and of all progressive patriots wishing to take action to defend and consolidate national independence and achieve the victory of socialism.’ In 1974, the territorial question became the focal point of political life in Morocco, after Spain held a referendum on autonomy in Western Sahara at the request of the UN. In a statement in May to Hassan II, Ali Yata expressed his support for the Royal Palace to regain the Spanish colony (Vermeeren, 2010). In speeches that summer the king called for a uniting of political forces to achieve this aim. It was this context that led to the PPS becoming legalized, together with the Socialist Union of Popular Forces (USFP), a splinter group from the old UNFP which was legalized as part of the king’s promise for greater openness in light of the operation to regain Western Sahara. In Ali Yata’s first public speech after the party’s legalization, which he made at the Municipal Theatre of Casablanca on 20 December 1974, he declared that ‘new horizons are opening before people’s eyes; the possibility of making some radical changes to Morocco’s structures is no longer a dream, and the conditions to achieve this are gradually beginning to come together’ (Yata, 1974: 4). The most important national issue was, he said, ‘plundered Western Sahara’, and he even claimed that if Spain resorted to force, then deployment of the Moroccan armed forces would be justified (Yata, 1974: 18). Some months later Ali Yata was a member of the delegations that were sent to different parts of the world to explain Morocco’s position on the Sahara question. He headed the delegation to the East European countries, and when the king organized the Green March, Ali Yata took part in it alongside other party members, including Simon Lévy. But the promises of democratization made by Hassan II soon ran into difficulty, as the war resulting from the failed decolonization of the Sahara came to be used as the excuse for curbing the changes the opposition had hoped for. The PPS held its first congress in February 1975 in Casablanca, and participated in all the country’s elections from June 1977 onwards, under the watchful gaze of the Ministry of the Interior, which controlled everything – from the candidacies to the results. The party’s representation fluctuated from one seat in 1977 (held by Ali Yata, with 116,470 votes) to 18 seats in 2011, and 279,226 votes in 2016, an electoral ceiling that has been virtually dead- locked since 1992, despite the fact that voter registration rose from 6,500,000 voters in 1977 to 15,700,000 in 2016. At the 2nd PPS party congress in February 1979, the leaders persisted with the policy of pursuing the Democratic National Revolution, together with the aim that it should become a mass political party. The political statement from the congress declared that the Madrid Agreements of November 1975 were a ‘positive commitment’ and described the national consensus on the Sahara question as a ‘progressive asset’ (Yata, 1979: 35).37 Decidedly pro-government The four faces of Morocco’s communists 231 Table 12.1 PPS representation in legislative elections from 1977 to 2016

Legislative 1977 1984 1992 1997 2002 2007 2011 2016 elections Votes 116,470 102,314 245,064 274,862 275,024 248,103 269,336 279,226 Seats 1 2 11 16 11 17 18 12

in its support for the king’s Sahara policy, the PPS opposed, however, the two referendums in 1982 on modifying the 1972 constitution, and denounced (together with the USFP and the unions the Democratic Confederation of Labour and the UMT) the policy of price-raising that led to a general strike in June 1981 and the dramatic repression resulting from this action, which caused the party’s newspaper to be temporarily banned. Together with the other political parties, the PPS supported the king’s ventures such as the African Union which, in 1984, brought together Mor- occo under Hassan II and Gaddaﬁ’s Libya, though without carrying out any kind of real analysis of this union.

10 The PPS after the fall of the USSR For the PPS, the fall of the Berlin Wall came as a shock, as it meant the party had lost one of its essential benchmarks. However, in its everyday activities, the PPS continued with its political pragmatism, seeking consensus with opposition forces and staying true to its goal (no matter how abstract that might be) of achieving a democratic national revolution. One example was the party’s participation, in May 1992, in the Kutla Democratic Bloc, a broad-spectrum bloc of opposition parties which ranged from Istiqlal to USFP, the Organization for Democratic and Popular Action and the virtually defunct UNFP in an attempt to provide a united response to the offer made by Hassan II to form an ‘alternation’ government. The offer included a change in the constitution that was deemed insufficient by the Kutla members, with the exception of the PPS, which broke the opposition boycott that had been imposed on the constitutional referendum of 1992. The PPS continued on its solitary path until 1995. During its 5th congress, certain critical figures (headed by Simon Lévy) tabled an amendment calling for self-criticism for having ‘preferred a disgraceful shady deal with power to the alliance with Kutla’.38 Lévy criticized the party for the ‘weakness or lack of its analysis’, the newspaper Al Bayane for ‘remaining silent over the essential details … without any role in the political arena’ and the party for lacking in any ideological resources ‘apart from vague references to the left’.39 Reinstated once again in Kutla, the PPS was involved in preparing and bringing into being the ‘consensual alternation’ government which, in 1998, was led by the socialist Abderrahmán Youssoufi, and in which the PPS had one minister, Ismail Alaoui, and two secretaries of state.40 Alaoui, the 232 Bernabé López García minister for agriculture, became the new secretary general of the PPS following Ali Yata’s death in an accident in 1997.41 He remained at the head of the party for 13 years until the 8th congress, held in May 2010.

11 Conclusion The party’s presence in government transformed it into a party that was close to the administration. Said Saadi, a critical member of the party leadership who used his position in the first alternation government to attempt to introduce a plan for the integration of women (he was unsuccessful, owing to the reaction of conservative forces) later stated that this step by the government caused the PPS to undergo a marked change, as it now ‘resorted to prominent figures with the pretext of winning seats for legislative and municipal elections and became distanced from groups and intellectuals that had previously constituted its traditional resource pool’. The party gradually lost its urban roots and began establishing small rural fiefdoms controlled by influential figures who had nothing in common with the ideology and the original project of the PPS. In the words of Said Saadi:

Above all, what marked the ideological position of the PPS after the fall of the Berlin Wall was a certain ﬂou artistique. This is clearly visible in the party literature, in which concepts such as socialism, class struggle, social ownership of the means of production, the working classes, have all virtually disappeared from the documents and discourses of the PPS leaders. In their place, we have seen a ﬂourishing of expressions worthy of social-liberalism: public freedoms, privatisation, governance, middle classes, free trade, etc.42

At the 8th party congress, under the slogan ‘For a new generation of reforms’, Said Saadi competed with Nabil Benabdallah43 for the post of secretary general of the PPS. Victory went to the latter, who was at that time the candidate who had closer links to power. In the opinion of Zahra Hmimid, ‘the 2011 elections undeniably marked a shift in the discourse of the PPS’ (Hmimid, 2015: 305). Compared with the positions the party had advocated in previous elections, in which it openly identified its enemy as ‘obscurantist forces’ (i.e. political Islamism), after the 2011 election, following the victory of the Justice and Development Party (PJD), the PPS ‘transformed, as if by magic, into a political ally’. A few days before the election, the newspaper Al Bayane declared that the party was ‘prepared for any alliance with any partner who shares our beliefs’,44 and thus it became a tactical ally of the PJD when it came to forming a government.45 The PPS-PJD Alliance in the 2016 election, standing against the ruling Authenticity and Modernity Party, led to Benabdallah taking a very strong stance against the royal palace, which he accused of tahakkum (working as the power behind the scenes). Abdelilah Benkiran did not succeed in forming The four faces of Morocco’s communists 233 a government owing to pressure from the palace. And even though his successor – Saadeddin El Othmani, another Islamist – kept the PPS in his government, the prolonged crisis being experienced in the Rif region gave the king the opportunity, in October 2017, to remove Benabdallah from his position as minister of housing, accusing him of negligence in the management of the development programme in Alhucemas province. The PPS, which has an electoral ceiling that will be difficult to surpass and is marked by the stigma of its original communist ideology, together with its clear strategic ambiguities, faces a difficult future among new generations of Moroccans. However, that does not take away from the fact that it has played an historic role, albeit a secondary one, which has been markedly overshadowed by the dominant political forces in each situation.

Notes 1 The volume containing the most important documents from this period is Le Parti Communiste Marocain dans le combat pour l’indépendance nationale. Textes et documents 1949–1958, with a preface by Ali Yata dated 4 July 1958, published in Paris (Yata, n.d.). The suspension of the party in 1960 is dealt with in the book Un procès d’inquisition (Parti Communiste Marocain, 1960). One interesting supplementary research publication on this period is Ali Yata’s volume Luttes derrière les barreaux (1996), as the first volume in a series of seven. However, the remaining six were left unwritten owing to the author’s death in August 1997. 2 This collection can be found today in the BLG donation of the Islamic Library at AECID in Madrid. 3 I am referring to Serfaty, 1992; Serfaty & Daure-Serfaty, 2002; and Serfaty & Elbaz, 2001. 4 I was the Madrid correspondent from 1977 to 1980, during which time I published a series of articles on the Spanish Transition. 5 My first attempt at describing the party’s history was López García, 1978. 6 1891–1991. An anti-colonialist activist, he lived in Oran where he joined the SFIO and in 1920 he became one of the leaders of the communist splinter group (French Section of the Communist International, which gave rise to the PCF. He left the PCF in 1926, though he always remained on the left. In 1953 he published a clearly anti-colonialist volume (Julien, 1953), which was expanded in subsequent editions. His book Le Maroc face aux impérialismes 1415–1956 (1978) is a reference work. 7 The origins of trade unionism in Morocco are described by Albert Ayache (1982). 8 Born in Algeria in 1905. He worked as a lawyer in Constantine, and in Casablanca after 1929. He worked as a journalist for the newspaper Clarté in 1936–7. Perse- cuted during the Vichy regime, he enrolled in the 5th Tirailleurs Regiment and died from his war wounds in June 1945. 9 A French geographer (1905–94), he taught at the Muslim school in Rabat from 1931. In 1941 he produced a thesis on the Moroccan Atlas region. 10 http://prensahistorica.mcu.es/clandestina/es/consulta/busqueda_referencia.cmd?cam po=idtitulo&idValor=46597 11 See López García, 2007. The exiled Spaniard Paquita Gorroño, whom this article speaks of extensively, arrived in Rabat in March 1939 and then travelled to Paris that summer to make contact with the Spanish Communist Party (PCE) leadership, posing as Jean Dresch’s family nanny. 234 Bernabé López García 12 Born in Tangiers in 1920 to an Algerian father and a Moroccan mother. When he moved with his family to Casablanca in 1933, he began working as a teacher at the Maarif, where he met the communist leader Michel Mazella. 13 Many of the communist elements were interned by the Vichy regime at the Bou Dnib camp. See Oved, 1984: vol. 2, 206. 14 He later published his anti-imperialist writings under the pseudonym of Pierre Jalée. 15 See Oved, 1984: vol. 2, 208. The Istiqlal Party was founded in January 1944, through the publication of a manifesto that was signed by some 50 nationalists, including the young men Ben Barka and Buabid. This was the most prominent party in the struggle for independence. 16 However, the MCP’s policy was riddled with ambiguities, since the party’s magazine La Nation stated, in its April–May–June 1944 issue, that ‘the MCP aims to prepare Morocco to become a free, independent state’. 17 See Bourquia, 1981: 18–19. Bourquia claims in his article that Abdelkrim Gallab, of Istiqlal, accused the Moroccans from MCP of being ‘French agents’. 18 He was secretary general of the protectorate from 1928 to 1932, ambassador in Barcelona during the Civil War, resident-general in Tunisia (1938–40) and ambassador to the USSR (1940–1). 19 L’Opinion du Peuple, Istiqlal’s Francophone organ (1 September 1946). Quoted by Oved, 1984: vol. 2, 256. 20 It was published as the organ of the PCF (Moroccan section) from 1936 to 1939, and after 1944 as the organ of the MCP. From 1945 to 1949 the MCP controlled the newspaper Le Petit Marocain through the Confédération Generale du Travail. 21 See the instalment Presse democratique au Maroc: bilan et difficultés,whichincluded lectures on the subject by Ali Yata (1982). 22 On 8 June 1948, three weeks after the beginning of the Arab-Israeli war in Pales- tine, a pogrom took place in the mining town of Yerada, near the Algerian border, in which 38 Jews were massacred, including whole families, representing a third of the town’s Jewish population. The MCP staged protests over the authorities’ bela- ted intervention. Among the accusations aimed at Yata, and which led to calls for his expatriation, was the fact that pamphlets had been found in his car accusing the Residency of being responsible for the massacre at Uxda. 23 ‘30 Mars 1912… 30 Mars 1950. 38 ans de Protectorat, mais aussi 38 ans de lutte anti-impérialiste’, in Yata, n.d.: 15–23. 24 Other attacks on MCP leaders took place during those early days after independence, including the murder of the worker Mohamed Ben Setti. 25 With regard to positive neutralism, Ana Torres cites the United States government’s misgivings, in 1961, at the fact that ‘Morocco had voted on the side of the USSR more times than any other country outside the Communist bloc’ (Torres, 2012: 79). In fact, Morocco’s good relations with the USSR were more part of a blackmail strategy to obtain advantages from the United States, though admittedly in February 1961 Morocco received MIG aeroplanes from the USSR, at the same time as the Soviet president Leonid Brezhnev visited Rabat. See also Berramdane, 1987: 180. 26 Communiqué from 10 April 1956, in Yata, n.d.: 250. This claim was shared by the PCE with whom the Moroccan party maintained fraternal relations until 1975. 27 The MCP countered both accusations. See the aforementioned book Un procès d’inquisition (Parti Communiste Marocain, 1960). 28 It was published from 1960 to 1964, and in its final two years included a bulletin translated into French. Between March 1965 and September 1969 Al-kifah al- wataní (The National Struggle) was the organ of the party. 29 Ali Yata published a leaflet titled Mauritania, true Moroccan land (‘Mawritaniya, Iqlim magribí Asíl’), Casablanca, 16 October 1960. The four faces of Morocco’s communists 235 30 See the leaflet ‘Une constitution par le peuple pour le peuple’, which includes the articles published in issue nos 100 to 105 of Al Moukafih, Casablanca, October 1962. 31 Pseudonym of Rémy Leveau, cooperating worker at that time in Morocco’sMinistry of the Interior. 32 Pour resoudre la crise actuelle. Programme Minimum de Redressement National et de Progrès Démocratique et Social, Casablanca, Imprigéma, April 1965. 33 We should remember that Mehdi Ben Barka and other party leaders were in exile resulting from harsh sentences following accusations of plotting against the state in 1963. 34 Parti de la Libération et du Socialisme. Statuts, Casablanca, Imprimerie Almaarif, July 1968. 35 Strike held on 4 July 1970 on the occasion of the visit by the Spanish minister López Bravo to Rabat, at a time when the two countries were pondering the idea of Spanish–Moroccan cooperation for mining phosphates in the Sahara. See the articles published in ABC 3–5 July 1970, in which no mention is made of the students’ strike, though the newspaper does mention the banning of Istiqlal’s newspaper L’Opinion owing to unfriendly comments it had made about the minister. 36 Most of the leaders of Ila Al Amam were imprisoned between 1972 and 1974, and given heavy jail sentences. The main accusation against them was their defence of the free determination of the Saharawi people. 37 The Saharawi question was the big issue separating the party from the PCE. At the first PPS congress in May 1975, the PCE sent a delegate who considered that the photograph of the king in the meeting hall was inappropriate. A commission comprised of Aziz Belal and Ismail Alaoui went to Madrid to invite the PCE to the 2nd PPS congress, but they were turned away by Manuel Azcárate, the PCE’s head of foreign affairs, an event that I myself witnessed. 38 See the interview with Simon Lévy by Driss Ksikes in Telquel: ‘Interview-vérité. Simon Lévy. “Pas de rupture avec les Marocains d’Israël”’. Simon Lévy (Fez 1935–Casablanca 2011) was a Hispanist, a university lecturer and a trade unionist. He was the founder and director of the only Judeo-Moroccan museum in Mor- occo. His wife, Encarnación Ragel, who came from a Spanish family that had settled in Orán, was the sister of Rosalía, Ali Yata’s wife. 39 Alternative document ‘Lá Zilna ‘ala ttariq’ written by Simon Lévy after the 5th Congress. 40 Omar Fassi Fihri and Mohamed Said Saadi were, respectively, the secretary of state for the Ministry of Higher Education responsible for scientific research, and the secretary of state for the Ministry of Labour responsible for social protection, the family and children. 41 In July 1997, on the eve of the legislative elections to create the alternation government, the PPS suffered a split that led to the emergence of the Front of Democratic Forces, headed by ex-member Thami El Khyari, thanks to the connivance of Driss Basri, minister for the interior. 42 ‘Tribune de Mohamed Saïd Saadi: Progresisme, où vas tu?’ in Telquel, 24 January 2012. 43 Editor of the newspaper Al Bayane from 1997 to 2000, he was minister of communication and spokesman for Driss Jettou’s government between 2002 and 2007. During the period 2009–10 he was ambassador to Italy. 44 On 12–13 November 2011. Included in Hmimid, 2015. 45 At Simon Lévy’s funeral in Casablanca’s Jewish cemetery, Abdelilah Benkiran, the prime minister in pectore was present, sitting in the first row with the PPS secretary, Benabdallah, who was appointed minister of housing and urban planning in the new government formed in early 2012. Other PPS ministers in the Benkiran 236 Bernabé López García government included El Hossein El Ouardi (health), Abdelwahed Souhail (labour) and Mohamed Amin Sbihi (culture).

References Ayache, Albert (1982) Le mouvement syndical au Maroc de 1919 a 1942, Vol. 1, Paris, L’Harmattan. Belal, Abdelaziz (1981) ‘Lutte du Parti contre les répressions et pour la démocratie’. In Bourquia, A., Layachi, A., Lévy, S. & Belal, A. (Eds), 35 années de lutte. Études sur l’histoire du PCM. Casablanca, Editions Al Bayane. Berramdane, Abdelkhaleq (1987) Le Maroc et l’Occident 1800–1974, Paris, Karthala. Bourquia, Abdesalam (1981) ‘Le debut de la Marche vers l’indépendence: 1943–1951. Période de la création et du developpement du PCM’. In Bourquia, A., Layachi, A., Lévy, S. & Belal, A. (Eds), 35 années de lutte. Études sur l’histoire du PCM, Casablanca, Editions Al Bayane. Gallissot, René (1964) Le Patronat Européen au Maroc: action sociale, action politique (1931–1942), Rabat, Editions Techniques Nord-Africaines. Gallissot, R. (Ed.) (1978) Mouvement ouvrier, communisme et nationalismes dans le monde arabe, Paris, Les Editions ouvrières. Hmimid, Zahra (2015) Discours et idéologie du PPS et de l’USFP, Rabat, Imprimerie Rabat-Net. Julien, Charles André (1953) L’Afrique du nord en marche. Nationalismes musulmans et souveraineté française, Paris, Julliard. Julien, Charles André (1978) Le Maroc face aux impérialismes 1415–1956, Paris, Editions Jeune Afrique. Layachi, Abdallah (1981) ‘1951–1956: Étape décisive des luttes populaires pour la reconquête de l’indépendance nationale’. In Bourquia, A., Layachi, A., Lévy, S. & Belal, A. (Eds), 35 années de lutte. Études sur l’histoire du PCM, Casablanca, Editions Al Bayane. López García, Bernabé (1978) ‘Los comunistas marroquíes ante la cuestión del Sahara: entrevista a Ali Yata Secretario General del PPS (PCM)’. Materiales: crítica de la cultura, 8. López García, Bernabé (1989) Política y movimientos sociales en el Magreb, Madrid, Siglo XXI-CIS. López García, Bernabé (2007) ‘El olvido del exilio de los españoles en el Norte afri- cano. La investigación sobre el exilio y la emigración de los españoles en Marrue- cos’. In López García, B. & Hernando de Larramendi Martínez, M. (Eds), Historia y memoria de las relaciones hispano-marroquíes. Un balance en el cincuentenario de la independencia de Marruecos, Madrid, Ediciones del Oriente y del Mediterráneo. Marais, Octave (1963) ‘L’élection de la Chambre des représentants du Maroc’. Annuaire de l’Afrique du Nord, 2. Oved, Georges (1984) La gauche française et le nationalisme marocain 1905–1955: Tentations et limites du réformisme colonial, 2 vols, Paris, Harmattan. Parti Communiste Marocain (1960) Un procès d’inquisition, Paris, Provence- Impression. Rézette, Robert (1955) Les partis politiques marocains, Paris, Armand Colin. Serfaty, Abraham (1992) Dans les prisons du roi: écrits de Kenitra sur le Maroc, Paris, Messidor. The four faces of Morocco’s communists 237 Serfaty, Abraham & Daure-Serfaty, Christine (2002) La mémoire de l’autre,Casablanca, Tarik Editions. Serfaty, Abraham & Elbaz, Mikhaël (2001) L’insoumis: Juifs, Marocains et rebelles, Paris, Desclée de Brouwer. Torres, Ana (2012) La guerra de las arenas. Conflicto entre Marruecos y Argelia durante la Guerra Fría (1963), Barcelona, Bellaterra. Vermeeren, Pierre (2010) Histoire du Maroc depuis l’indépendence, Paris, La Découverte. Waterbury, John (1975) Le Commandeur des croyants, Paris, PUF. Yata, Ali (1966a) L’Union, impératif de l’heure, Casablanca, n.p. Yata, Ali (1966b) Les problèmes actuels de la Révolution Nationale Démocratique au Maroc, Casablanca, Imprigéma. Yata, Ali (1974) Une orientation nouvelle s’impose pour vaincre définitivement la crise, Casablanca, Imprimerie Al Maarif. Yata, Ali (1979) Les taches actuelles de la Révolution Nationales Démocratique et la contribution du PPS, Casablanca, Imprimerie Al Maarif. Yata, Ali (1982) La presse démocratique au Maroc: bilan et difficultés, Casablanca, Al Bayane. Yata, Ali (1996) Luttes derrière les barreaux, Casablanca, Editions Al Bayane. Yata, Ali (n.d.) Le Parti Communiste Marocain dans le combat pour l’indépendance nationale. Textes et documents 1949–1958, Paris, n.p. This page intentionally left blank Part II Context, debates and cross-cutting issues This page intentionally left blank 13 Islamists and communists A history of Arab convergenze parallele

Luz Gómez García

In 1919, amidst the discussion on the future of the Arab territories within the Ottoman Empire after the Paris Conference, Muhammad Rashid Rida published an article in the magazine Al-Manar with the title ‘Socialism, Bol- shevism and Religion’ (1919).1 By that time, Rida had already taken the doctrinal postulates of the Islamic reformism of his master, the Egyptian sheykh Muhammad Abduh, to a prominently political dimension, the common framework that nowadays we refer to as ‘Islamism’, or perhaps it would be more accurate to call it ‘Islamisms’ due to the ideological plurality of its expressions. Al-Manar was a theoretical laboratory of the political Islam/Islamism that in the following years was institutionalized in very different ways through the foundation of the association of the Muslim Brothers in Egypt (1928) and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia (1932). Rida, who was born in Ottoman Syria and today Lebanon, set up in Egypt and became the mentor of his Saudi contemporaries, broke down in this article the main points of what would become during the 20th century a meandering relationship between Islamists and socialists/communists. Not even the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989 or the post-Islamist dribblings of the Muslim youth in the 21st century has dismantled the common imaginary that, even if protested by both sides, has proven to have great performative soundness. This experience reminds us of what Aldo Moro called, within the Italian context of the 1960s, convergenze parallele (convergent parallels): two political projects that move forward in diﬀerent paths, parallel but also bound to meet.2 The imaginary of the convergence between Islamists and communists and its performances during the last century will be analysed in these pages.

1 The imaginary: when the circumstantial becomes chronic The imaginary dimensions of the connections between Islamism and communism follow both from the reading of Marxism carried out by the Islamists and from the selective Islam that the Arab communists sometimes recur to. Rashid Rida’s interpretation of the Bolshevik revolution was a breakthrough as it came ahead of the time of the Islamist and communist activism during the Second World War, and influenced future approaches to Marxism by 242 Luz Gómez García Muslim thinkers. Based on Rida, there are two constants regarding these approaches: acceptance of the historical materialism, but not the dialectical one; and distinction between communism and socialism in order to reject the former and redefine the latter. Thus, socialism is taken as the path to freedom and equality through progress and democracy, according to the cultural and structural conditions of each society. Rida begins by distinguishing between the Bolshevik acts and institutions ‘that do not comply with the rules of Islam’ and its philosophy. He points out that, while in the first elements the Bolsheviks are not different from the Europeans, Ottomans and Egyptians, the main aim of the Bolsheviks unites them with the Muslims against the others, as ‘the success of the Socialists will end the slavery of the people, all of them workers’ (Rida, 1919: 254). The use of language in this text is important regarding the future rhetoric of Islamists. Rida adopts the term ‘socialist’ (ishtiraki) as a synonym of ‘Bolshevik’ (balshafiki), but he never uses ‘communists’ (shuyu‘i), establishing, therefore, what would be one of the distinctive signs of the relationship between Islamists and socialism: the categorical rejection of ‘communism’ as related to ‘atheism’, the main doctrinal obstacle in the relationship of both movements. As for the meanings, Rida upholds that ‘socialism’ is equal to ‘majority’, a translation of the Russian word ‘Bolshevik’, and that this majority are the ‘workers’. Based on this identification, he claims that ‘99% of the planet inhabitants are Socialists or Bolsheviks’, and that this majority ‘demands that the world peace is built on solid and fair foundations, and that the workers of anywhere in the world are guaranteed decent life conditions’ (Rida, 1919: 255). The main novelty is that these workers that were silent are now aware of their power: in Russia ‘they have created the first popular government in the world’ and the rest of the world’s workers support them, ‘Everything is in the hands of the people. It is them who can make the world move forward and the general revolution seek for justice and peace’ (Rida, 1919: 256). Finally, based on this interpretation of socialist Bolshevism, Rida claims that the establishment of a new society requires the conquest of the state and the redefinition of the homeland. In terms of Islamic history, this means that the time for reform (islah) started in the second half of the 19th century would have come to an end and that the time for revolution (thawra) has already started. This is 20 years before Albert Hourani’s closure of the Liberal age and more than 30 before Mohamed Arkoun’s thawra time. Moreover, Rida puts an end to eight centuries of doctrinal stagnation of political theory of power in Islam established by al-Ghazali’s orthodoxy in the 12th century: ‘To force the ruler to fulfil the Islamic mandate does not fall to the subjects, as this would provoke internal conflicts and would spread iniquity and, in that way, bigger dangers would arise’ (al-Ghazali, s.d.: 2, 371). In the Bolshevik imaginary described by Rida four elements stand out: the feud regarding the West; universalism; the central position of the workers within the social body; and the goodness of revolutionary change. The Islamists and communists 243 similarities regarding the Salafist ideology that he transmitted in the magazine Al-Manar are obvious.3 As a synthesis, these parallelisms can be drawn: the decadence of the Muslim societies is at the same time cause and consequence of the Western colonial voracity, and this decadence has deepened as the Muslim communities have moved away from the teachings of the first Muslims; the strength of the Muslim people resides in its unity, embodied in the umma (the universal community of all the believers), in which every individual takes part in living according to the sharia (Islamic rule); and a new re- Islamizing force must overcome submission to an unfair ruler that the fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence) established. Rida, fascinated by the Bolshevik revolution, seems to advocate for a mass revolution in this last proposal, even though his work as a whole stands more for the leader role of a ‘fair despot’. It is significant that the conjunction of interests with the socialists described by Rida is circumstantial and that it is the pressure of the circumstances that determines this relationship and its ideological production. As Marx pointed out in 1845: ‘the production of ideas, of conceptions, of consciousness, is at first directly interwoven with the material activity and the material intercourse of men, the language of real life’ (Marx, 1845). Rida’s article is not a list of shared essential principles. However, we would add that mental productions as a result of circumstances become chronic and take part in the configuration of new ideas. To a large extent, the history of the relationship of Islamists and communists is determined by this first moment that is reflected in Al- Manar. Half a century later, Maxime Rodinson proved how it is possible to submit Islamism and communism to a common analytical paradigm as both, as ideological movements, belong to the same category (Rodinson, 1972: 130– 80). Among what they share, there is the aspiration of a society without exploitation or oppression and the belief that claims that the integral application of the theoretical principles established by their founders will create this society. Both movements have also given rise to the foundation of various organizations. Nevertheless, the model projection is what sets them apart, as communism projects itself towards the future and Islamism looks back 14 centuries. Starting from the analytical scheme proposed by Rodinson, we are going to examine some of the Arab Islamist/communist performances for a century. Rodinson’s Hegelian frame has been reformulated by adding to its three kinds of relationship (crash, conciliation and coexistence), with a fourth would overcome the dialectic: the defection from communism to Islamism, in which the parallels of the famous metaphor of Aldo Moro converge more clearly than ever.

2 Performances: the staging of the Islamism–communism relationship As Rodinson points out, the call of communists and Islamists to transform the world and the dynamics and trajectories of their relationship in the medium term have depended overall on the strategies of national struggle in 244 Luz Gómez García each country, on the circumstances of international geopolitics and on the inﬂuence of propaganda in each movement. One of the main characteristics of the imaginary shared by communists and Islamists is its revolutionary potential. This did not go unnoticed by the attentive eye of Bernard Lewis at the beginning of the Cold War. Lewis warned the United States administration in terms of security that many problems could derive from an entente cordiale between Muslims and communists (Lewis, 1954: 2). Lewis was not wrong even if his intentions were questionable. In April 1955 the Conference of the Non-Aligned took place in Bandung: in the collective imaginary we have a picture of Nasser and Sukarno, were both leaders of the main Muslim countries, promoting a new way of diplomacy and world order along with the Yugoslavian socialist Tito and the Indian member of a nationwide party Nehru. The leaders of what later has been known as the Non-Aligned Movement looked for a ‘world that could not be’ (Prashad, 2008), but, before and after Bandung, Islamists and communists kept on defying, both together and separately, the illustrated liberal model that had led the Arab world to its state of dependence. Crashes, conciliations and coexistence between communists and Islamists have been produced simultaneously since the 1920s. The Rodinson scheme does not respond to diachronic criteria, but to a structural one. The turning point between the diﬀerent relationship forms is determined by the role given to two fundamental factors: religion and nation. The major importance granted by the communists to anti-religious struggle, mainly at the level of the infrastructure, the bigger the distance towards the Islamists would become. When it comes to the national question, it works the other way round: the more importance granted to national struggle, the bigger the understanding. In addition to these general assumptions, other factors determine the interaction, up to the point that the history of the convergenze parallele between Communists and Islamists makes a distinctive form of Arab post-modernity in the 1980s: a civic Islamism with Gramscian roots.

2.1 Between coexistence and collaboration The coexistence between communists and Islamists, embodied in their mutual recognition, is based on a shared positioning regarding three main issues. These are: opposition to liberal democracy; the planning of productive economy; and the participation of women in political activism. As we will see, sometimes these were main scopes for collaboration, but they were usually transversal topics. Even if these three positions favoured tactical under- standings and meetings in certain circumstances, they did not transcend to common strategies that would defy the regimes in force with a wide social front. They eased a pacific coexistence and a collaborative entente between movements in different moments, but they did not ease the revolutionary understanding that Rida seemed to long for. The conciliation, in terms of Islamists and communists 245 ‘Islamic Socialism’ (al-Ghazali, 2005 [1961]) or ‘objective Marxism’ (Laroui, 1967), will be more of a theoretical work than a factual reality. The communist and Islamist rejection to bourgeois-liberal democracy in the years prior to the Second World War united them in their declared opposition to the first post-colonial regimes (in Egypt and Iraq, mainly) and, after the war, channelled a popular discontent that revitalized both movements. They also shared their stances in favour of the nationalization of the productive structure and the role of the revolutionary avant-garde in the mass mobilization. In Egypt an example of this convergence is the successful ‘piaster campaign’ to build an Egyptian factory of tarbush, led by a university student, Ahmad Husain. In the world economic recession, its motto was ‘Political independence will derive from economic independence’, and Egyptians of every political positioning joined the campaign. A year later, in 1933, Ahmad Husain founded an Islamist association with Mussolinian characteristics in organization and doctrine, the so-called Young Egypt (Jankowski, 1975: 11– 13). Nevertheless, the war exacerbated the differences regarding the political positioning: while the anti-fascism of communists put them on the Allied side, the anti-British nationalism of the Islamists, led by the Muslim Brothers, took them to the Italian-German side. Once the war was finished, it was easier for the communists to link the political revolution to anti-imperialism, so the national liberation built a bridge again with the anti-British patriotism of the Islamists. Both got involved in a growing anti-system activism and shared barricades in street revolts. The repression provoked by the war in Palestine (1948–9) did not distinguish between the movements either (Fawzy-Rossano, 1997: 71). In 1949 the Young Egypt turned into the Socialist Party of Egypt. The socialism of the new party was defined by Ahmad Husain as ‘the socialism that lies in the essence of Islam and in the heart of its preaching’ (al-Bishri, 1983: 390). The motto ‘God, people’ substituted the old one, ‘God, king, nation’. In the parliament of 1950, the only representative of the party, Ibra- him Shukri, defended the reduction of agricultural property to 50 feddans;a cooperativism at the agricultural, industrial and commercial levels that would allow for state economic planning; and the nationalization of companies vital for the country, such as water, oil or transport. In Ahmad Husain’s view, the struggle for real independence and the end to British prerogatives in Egypt (above all the defence policy and the control of the Suez Canal) was a struggle against capitalism, the ultimate cause of colonialism. However, he established an essential difference between socialism and communism: the relation with the past. According to Husain, the communist atheism led the Egyptian communists to reject their country’s past, whereas the acceptance of this Islamic past made the socialists consider religion the basis of society: ‘We must adore God through the service to the people, freeing them from fear, ignorance, illness and misery’,claimedAhmadHusain(al-Bishri,1983:393). The popularity of this message was notorious and the newspaper of the party, 246 Luz Gómez García al-Ishtirakiyya (The Socialism), from 1951 al-Sha‘b al-Jadid (The New People), reached a relevant diffusion. Also in 1949 the Egyptian Communist Party was founded. The communists experienced after the war what is usually called the ‘Egyptianization’ of the movement, that is, a reconfiguration of its leadership in order to put Muslims and Copts in top positions, displacing the Jews, the majority in the Egyptian communism of the 1930s (Botman, 1985). The reason adduced was the need to channel a greater popular rooted party; in the background lay Moscow’s intention to overturn the Trotskyism of significant members of Egyptian communism. The divided positioning of the different Egyptian communist movements regarding internationalism and the creation of the State of Israel facilitated the task. Moscow and the French Communist Party’s misleading strategies ended up provoking the split from the Democratic Movement for National Liberation, led by the Jewish-origin Henri Curiel, of a group of ‘Arab Egyptians’. They were led by Ismail Sabri Abdallah and Fouad Mursi, and refunded the Egyptian Communist Party at the end of 1949 (Gallissot, 2009: 55). Nevertheless, beyond coexistence, the first organic collaborations between communists and Islamists were produced to the warmth of post-war pacifism and the creation of local Arab sections of the World Peace Council. In Egypt, the movement Ansar al-Salam (Friends of the Peace) was founded in 1950, with a clear pluralist vocation. Members of the progressive trends of the whole political spectrum were involved. Ansar al-Salam was the first experiment of a big coalition of opposing forces united by a common aim: a radical change in the political system. According to al-Bishri, an important part of its success in Egypt, unlike other Arab countries, was due to the incorporation of prominent persons, including leftist militants from the Wafd (Delegation) Party (like Aziz Fahmi), some Muslim Brothers (like the sheykh al-Sayfi) and leaders of the Socialist Party of Egypt (as the aforementioned Ahmad Husain) and of the National Party (such as Fathi Radwan) (al-Bishri, 1983: 439). Moreover, there were women from different movements (Fawzy- Rossano, 1997: 80), including the communists Didar Fawzy-Rossano of the Egyptian Movement for National Liberation and Inji Aflatun from Iskra. Its newspaper, al-Katib, reached 22,000 copies. Ansar al-Salam had a clear international vocation, and this was given as a reason to deny its legalization under the charge of being a communist association. An extract of Didar Fawzy-Rossano’s memoirs is illustrative of this period convergenze parallele between Islamists and communists for organization and action methods, especially through the active participation of women:

Zeinab al-Ghazali, leader of the Muslim Sisters, was a great ally for almost a decade. She had a strong character and was very elegant with her hijab and her white long robes of hajja. She was totally committed to political action and supported publically avant-garde standings. She was proud of being a member of a well-rooted family, which had members in Islamists and communists 247 all legal, political and clandestine associations (her sister Hekmat and her brother Mohammad were Communists; the elder brother, a high-level public servant). In this time, Zeinab attended oﬃcial invitations from Moscow. As Khalid Muhammad Khalid, a young sheykh who took part in the meetings of the Egyptian Feminist Union and combined Islam and Socialism; he had just published a work in which the clericalism was beaten and that caused a scandal (Min huna Nabda’). (Fawzy-Rossano, 1997: 80)

The Free Oﬃcers Revolution of 1952 transformed this situation completely. The communist and Islamist women saw that the active role that they had been playing in their parties and associations before the revolution had no equivalent in the ways of representation established by the new Republican regime. Moreover, the women’s demands were set aside in order to achieve national independence with a male face. Didar Fawzy-Rossano wrote in her memoirs about the short hopeful interregnum after the coup d’état in 1952:

The feminist group of Doria Shaﬁk and Neemat Rashed demanded the right to organize within a political party; we demanded the admission of women within the parties (it has to be said that until then, except from Communism and Islamism, we hadn’t had the right to be politically active). However, since January of 1953 we had to resume the underground work. (Fawzy-Rossano, 1997: 89–90)

The coexistence, collaborative at intervals, that occurred between communists and Islamists during the Monarchy period disappeared due to their diﬀerent fates in the 1960s: the United Egyptian Communist Party split oﬀ when the communists were restored, while repression against the Muslim Brothers rose in the Nasserist jails.

2.2 From interpreting the world to transforming it: conciliation through Islam The exploitation of Islam in order to reconcile the communist project with the national struggle was a strategic need that the different Arab communist movements embraced from their very beginning. As shown in Husain Mur- uwa’s huge study Materialistic Trends in Arab-Islamic Philosophy (2002), it was not difficult to find in the turaz, the Arab-Muslim cultural heritage, elements for the ideological conciliation that could promote the association, in Gramscian terms, of a ‘new historical bloc’. As soon as December 1943–January 1944, Khalid Bakdash, a Syrian communist leader, gave this eloquent speech in the congress of the Communist Party of Syria and Lebanon:

And, in the field of national culture (ath-thaqafa al-qawmiyya), we [the Syrian-Lebanese communists] have done our duty to the utmost of our 248 Luz Gómez García ability. We have sought inspiration from the Arab patrimony of freedom (at-turath al-horr al-arabi) and we have cherished the best elements of wisdom and tradition from our Arab forefathers in the bosom of our national liberation movement. We have adopted in our political struggle that noble verse (al-áya al-karima): ‘Their concern is the deliberation between them’ (Coran, XLII, 36/38) and that illustrious hadith: ‘He who helps the oppressor will have the power of Allah against him’; we have made ours the words of Omar ibn al-Khattab: ‘The most miserable ruler is that who push his citizens to become miserable’ and Khalid ibn al- Walid, whose abnegation and devotion are an admirable example to posterity: ‘I do not fight for Omar!’, and so Arab caliph Omar ibn Abd al-Aziz’s words: ‘Allah sent Mohammad to show the true path, not to levy taxes’, and the words of Jubran Khalil Jubran: ‘My idol is freedom’… and many other Arab maxims and sayings which have become our mottoes. We have begun to grow because we, unlike some others, do not fear the possibility that such mottoes will reach into the life of the people, that the masses will assimilate them and call for their practical application in their national and social life. (Rodinson, 1972: 173)

And as Gallissot points out, since 1970 socialism in Syria, Algeria and Iraq also covered itself with references to Arab heritage, references that were mainly Islamic (Gallissot, 1978: 258). The resort to Islam was not only rhetoric but also strategic, and the communists turned to it in order to bypass the dialectical materialism by means of appropriating historical materialism. It was a complete turn of Marxist orthodoxy on revolution, and was quickly adopted by new political trends. Thus, Nasserism naturalized the strategy of ‘the need of undertaking two revolutions at the same time’,inNasser’s words in Falsafat al-thawra (Philosophy of the Revolution), which meant to reject completely the class struggle for achieving it (Nasser, 1996: 33). Nasserism substituted the class struggle with the unity of the body nation (which depending on the circumstance was an Egyptian, an Arab, an African or a Muslim nation) always devoted to revolutionary change. Baathism shared with Nasserism this express rejection of Marxism, even though both claimed that ‘scientific socialism’ was the true socialism. Nasserite school books referred to it as ‘state socialism’ or ‘white socialism’,inoppositionto‘red socialism’,the Communist or atheist type (Carré, 1974: 308). Khalid Muhammad Khalid, ‘our shaykh’ according to the communist Didar Fawzy-Rossano, provoked the anger of al-Azhar when he talked in 1950 about a fair, mature, moderate and tolerant socialism, advocate of freedom and equality. This socialism would bring progress and democracy when religion got rid of the trickery (Khalid, 1979 [1950]). Communists and Islamists saw themselves trapped in this kind of Muslim revolutionary nationalism with which they shared aims: ‘Revolution is Islam and Islam is revolution’,theleftistIslamicphilosopher Islamists and communists 249 Hasan Hanafi, advocate of the ‘organic unity’ of Nasserism and Isla, would summarize later (1991: 128). In addition to an ideological and strategic tool, Islam was also a tool for the reconfiguration of the communist movement at an organic level. Until the war in Palestine in 1948, the communist associations of the Middle East had an important affiliation of Jewish and Christian members, but at the end of that decade the instructions from Moscow called for an ‘Arabization’ of Arab communism’s leadership. In a broad sense, ‘Arabization’ was equal to ‘Mus- limization’, even though Arab communists have wanted to play down this reality. Thus, in the opinion of Rifàt al-Saíd, the representative par excellence of Egyptian communism in the second half of the 20th century, the foreignization of Egyptian communism had been the natural consequence of the repression suffered by the first communists under the semi-colonial Mon- archy regime, as it was easier for members of the foreign communities, among them the Jews, to escape it as they were under a special jurisdiction (al-Sa‘id, 1986: 86–7). According to this argument, the renewed Egyptianization would have been an equally natural process. In the opinion of Anouar Abdel Malek, the Egyptianization was positive as it encouraged an encounter with the worker movement, which in 1945 witnessed the foundation of the first leftist trade union federations (Abdel Malek, 1967: 43). It is meaningful that Said and Abdel Malek, well-known Marxists, keep the underlying confessional conflict silent while other intellectuals, who are no less Marxist themselves but have more heterodox ways of reflection, such as Didar Fawzi-Rossano or Inji Aflatun, do not silence it at all but criticize it as a liberal-bourgeois concession (Fawzy-Rossano, 1997; Aflatoun, 2001. On the other hand, an unforeseen consequence of this Arabization/ Muslimization, induced to a greater or lesser degree, was that it served as a salutary lesson regarding the true internationalization of the communist movements that were left out of institutionalization. Something similar happened to the Muslim Brothers, who were opposed to the conciliation with Nasserism and who suffered jail time and exile. Regarding the communists, the new internationalization forged in exile determined the future of communism in the margins of capitalism and even the Soviet hegemony. It is usually a marginalized event in the historiography of this period that the first movements in favour of the alter-globalization were born from Arab communism, as it is reflected in the biography of the Egyptian Henri Curiel (Perrault, 2006; Gallissot, 2009), the first ‘citizen of the Third World’ (Perrault, 1998). Even though this new way of collective action did not crystallize, or it has not yet done so at an institutional level, it has been at boiling point since the revolts of 2011 (Galián, 2015). When it comes to the Islamists, the lack of channels for participation in the Nasserite or Baathist system and the massive exile of Egyptian and Syrian Islamists to Saudi Arabia in the 1970s delocalized Islamism. First, the Muslim Brothers ‘grafted’ the Saudi Wahhabism with their Mediterranean Islamism (Menoret, 2004: 90) and, afterwards, globalization arrived (Gómez 250 Luz Gómez García García, 2011: 26), whose consequences have been the Al-Qaeda network and the foundation of ISIS.

2.3 Ideological conflicts and tactical confrontations When the Soviet Union collapsed, the Islamist thinkers who were con- noisseurs of Marxism understood that the facts proved that they were right when they denied the scientific validity of dialectical materialism. The vision opposed to religion in the philosophy of the praxis and the central role given to the class struggle were pointed as the reasons for the failure of communism. The Occidentosis theory, they said, had anticipated it. In 1962 the Iranian intellectual Yalal Al-e Ahmad coined the expression ‘occidentosis’ (garbzadeghi) (1984). He gave it a secular meaning but at the same time it reflected a widespread opinion among Islamists, although it lacked a precise signifier. Grosso modo, ‘occidentosis’ would be the illness of the Third World, intoxicated both by capitalism and communism, worldviews foreign to Third World history, thinking and material facts. Islamists have resorted to the occidentosis explanation in very different ways. For an enlightened Islamist such as the Egyptian Tariq al-Bishri, tagrib, the compulsory conversion to the Western worldview, explains Islamist radicalization and its violent drift at the hands of the Egyptian Jama‘at Islamiyya at the end of the 1970s; even more, he warned about the imminence of a new Al-Andalus if the Arab world did not face the tagrib in all its ways (al-Bishri, 1986: 59). For the Muslim Brothers, behind the ‘occidentosis’ there is the ‘hand of Israel, America, Zionism, Masonry and international Communism’, who are allied in order to prevent the Muslim people from looking for independent ways of development (al-Sha‘b: 7 June 1988).4 For the Jama‘at Islamiyya, when confronted by the Muslim Brothers because of their pro-Iraqi positioning during the Gulf War in 1991, even the Muslim Brothers were communists due to their totalitarian strives when they proclaim themselves the sole representatives of the umma and its rebirth (Al-Nur: 13 October 1990). Regarding religion, the well-known passage on religion as people’s opium in Marx and Engels’‘Introduction’ to A Contribution to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right is an obstacle that is difficult to ignore: ‘Religious misery is, at one and the same time, the expression of real misery and the protest against real misery. Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the soul of a heartless world, as well as the spirit of spiritless conditions. It is the opium of the people’ (Marx, 1844). The Arab Marxists have tried to elude this passage emphasizing Islam as a national imprint, aside of its religious character. They appointed Islam as a strategic value when it came to positioning themselves against cultural reli- ance. Thus, at the end of the 1960s the Moroccan philosopher Abdallah Laroui ventured to defend ‘objective Marxism’ as ‘the necessary consequence of the ideologies in motion in the Arab societies’, an ideology favoured among others by the Arab people as it is more critical towards ‘the bourgeois Islamists and communists 251 West’ (Laroui, 1967: 153). Only recently some Marxist scholars, such as the Lebanese Gilbert Achcar, have reinterpreted the above passage. Achcar has emphasized that Marx did not develop the part of the exposition that makes reference to religion as ‘protest against real misery’, and he upholds that if Marx had done it he should have written the following: ‘It is, at one and the same time, the opium and the cocaine of the people’ (Achcar, 2013: 15). Cocaine, as Achcar explains, works as a stimulator in the nervous system and provokes a feeling of great energy and euphoria, which can lead to a praxis like the one that, ironically, wants to change the world thanks to religion, as does Islamic fundamentalism. Achcar’s criticism of the Islamists is more devastating in contrast to his defence of the Liberation theology. As for class struggle, communists and Islamists have fought from the 1930s for leading the avant-garde among workers, with different strategies and opposing goals. For the communists, the main aims were their implantation in the factories and the organization of an independent trade union movement, which was not an easy task in the early context of the independences (Ortega Fuentes, 2016: 49–57). Class struggle was subordinated to the common national struggle. In this sense, the word ‘people’ (sha‘b) substituted the word ‘workers’ (‘ummal) in Arab communists’ speeches, converging with the Islamists’ rhetoric (see the above-mentioned name of the Young Egypt Party’s newspaper, al- Sha‘b al-Jadid). In fact, the communist pursuit of hegemony has tended to be a social transversality that looks for spaces dominated by their opponents. However, at the bottom of this structural distinctiveness of Arab communism lies the general dilemma faced by communists in the Muslim world: the need to face an opposition that is more ethical than economical. Thus, the denigratory accusation of being a ‘communist’ ends up being interchangeable with being a ‘capitalist’, and conversely, a bourgeois is as depraved as a communist. A couple of examples of the two borders of the Arab world: in Iraq, Baathists and Nasserites attacked General Qasim’s government denouncing the dissolute nature of the ‘communist’ habits that it had implemented outside of Islamic tradition (Gallissot, 1978: 289); in Morocco, the trade unions attacked the bourgeoisie for being ‘decadent, licentious, and with a depraved and nihilist luxury’ (Laroui, 1967: 150). As far as the Islamists are concerned, they draw heavily on a doctrinal interpretation of Islam that condemns the class struggle as a source of fitna, civil war. In Rida’s article, this denial is implicit in his emphasis on the 90 percent working majority within the population. Abd al-Qadir ‘Awdah, the first significant political theorist of the Muslim Brothers, hanged in 1954, proposed a social model composed of workers and owners united and upholders of a ‘productive property’ (Khalaf Allah, 1989: 56–8). According to this scheme, ‘the mutual social responsibility’ (al-takaful al-ijtima‘i) is the Islamic principle that protects the workers from owner abuses. This main divergence regarding the communist model prevented any forthcoming understanding between communists and Islamists, unlike what happened in 252 Luz Gómez García the 1930s, when they collaborated in the first Egyptian trade unions, the Shubra al-Khayma Mechanized Textile Workers’ Union (Beinin, 1988).

2.4 The defection: Adil Husain, from communism to Islam I spent many years fighting under aegis of Marxism and Communism, convinced, as many other loyal compatriots, that this was the way for achieving the better for my people and my homeland. However, due to study, reflection, my own experience and, above all, the help of God, it was getting clear to me that Marxism did not represent the magic and scientific solution I was hoping for the problems of Egypt and humankind. And what is more important, I realized that the religion of ungodliness and atheism that is the base of Marxism, that is, the dialectical materialism, could only characterize a corrupt society and deformed individuals. For me, it was clear that the true religion, the one God revealed for our salvation, is the only one that guides us to an ideal society. (Adil Husain, al-Sha‘b: 21 March 1989)

In this statement, Adil Husain, former militant of the Egyptian Communist Party and younger brother of Young Egypt leader Ahmad Husain, explains his journey from Marxism to Islamism. In his opinion, the rectification is solely formal, an internal progression related to the leitmotiv of his life: service to the homeland. Islam becomes a way, not a destination, to the extent that a strong ideology with a religious legitimist foundation can become the driving force of the revolution if it is able to form an anti-hegemonic social bloc. The media, which was the press in 1980s Egypt, was the vehicle of the ‘war of position’ of Adil Husain. Therefore, in 1985 he took charge of the editorial office of al- Sha‘b, the newspaper of the Socialist Labour Party founded in 1978 after the Corrective Revolution of President Anouar al-Sadat. For the Islamists that came from Gramscian Marxism, the transformation of faith into ideology for praxis was possible due to the emancipatory potential of Islam, bearer of a new way of life and a new culture for humanity (nizam kamil in their terminology). The Arab communist leaders of the 1940s and 1950s had eluded the religious hurdle of not taking the rejection of religion to infrastructure levels, so any people could be integrated. Didar Fawzy-Rossano has described the environment of her youth communist committees, in which Adil Husain took part, and has noted that they tended to be more action than ideological discussions or worries about sexual freedom or Islam (Fawzy-Rossano, 1997: 47). Tariq al-Bishri and Muhammad Imara in Egypt, Rashid al-Gannushi in Tunisia and Hasan al-Turabi in Sudan are the most prominent names among the group of defectors from Marxism to Islamism in the 1980s.5 The rethinking of communist principles by these Arab intellectuals began the previous decade, at the same time as the European discussion about ‘returning to Marx’.6 The discovery of the text Formen die der Kapitalis- tischen Produktion vorhergehen (Pre-Capitalist Economic Formations) provoked among the Arab Marxists a particular debate about the validity of the Islamists and communists 253 ‘Asiatic mode of production’. The magazine al-Tali‘a collected some of the discussions, such as Adil Husain’s on the adaptation of the Chinese Maoist experience to the Arab-Muslim context (Husain, 1983: vol. 1, 459–525). This Egyptian Marxist-turned-Islamist engaged in a polemic with Samir Amin in which the former accused the latter of deliberately omitting Muslim ‘cultural values’ in his theory of the peripheral formations. He went further and sket- ched a philosophy of Muslim praxis based on his theory on dependence (Gómez García, 1996). It is possible to highlight four axes in this neo- Gramscian civic Islamism. They summarize different solutions to the convergenze parallele between Islamism and communism that we have been analysing so far:

1 Religious principles and the economic system are inseparable. Husain remembers that the life of the homo islamicus as a whole is shaped by the tawhid, the principle of divine unity. And he adds that the hisba (the Koranic imperative of ‘Commanding good, forbidding evil’) involves the men in the daily update of the tawhid and implies a righteous man who is socially responsible and altruistic. However, the expansion of this kind of individual would only be possible within the institutional framework of the state, because it’s a guarantee for a true development, characterized as independent, global and sustained. Adil Husain sides with the critics of orthodox Marxism that claim that the economic development cannot be reduced to economic growth, and much less split into a series of categories that distinguish between productive relations and forces of production. 2 An interesting example of this explanation is German reunification. Adil Husain upheld that state intervention, by means of the Central Bank and protectionism, went along with the cultural education of people who had trust in their abilities. If this conjunction enabled the ‘miracle’ of German reunification, to extrapolate it to Arab unification would imply embodying the religious values in material realizations such as Islamic investment companies and Islamic banks, so suspicious for Mubarak’s regime (see note 3). 3 The accumulation of unproductive capital is haram (‘illicit’, as set forth in the fiqh). Adil Husain condemns unproductiveness both in the managing of property and speculative enrichment activities. He explains that the Kora- nic interdiction of usury agrees with the principle that work must be the base of the economy. Al-Mutrafun (‘the opulent ones’) is the Koranic voice that stigmatizes richness as a source of iniquity and Adil Husain used it in the 1990s as a substitute for the ‘spongers and parasites’ of previous texts. Doubtlessly, there is still some reminiscences of the non-alienated work of the primitive villages of the Asiatic mode of production, but this new language establishes a great distance toward the Leninist parameter.7 4 Distributive justice derives from the duty of paying the zakat. For Husain, the doctrinal zakat does not limit itself to revert to the under- privileged the part of national wealth that belongs to them, but it is also a tax to avoid excessive affluence. Moreover, zakat encourages not only 254 Luz Gómez García national solidarity but also an inter-Muslim solidarity. Thus, Adil Husain proposes that all the oil-producing countries revert 2.5 percent of this income to poorer Muslim countries by means of zakat al-mal (‘zakat on the goods’) of the 20th century. 5 The struggle to implement the Revelation is the driving force for social change. Husain insists that the neglect of the Revelation has caused the decline of Arab societies because it has led them to ‘sedition and conflicts, which has disrupted the development and opened the doors to foreign conspirators’ (Husain, 1990: 54). He rejects class struggle and advocates for social methods of integration: while he once advocated that a ‘democratic revolutionary leadership’ was the first step to displace the ‘parasitic bourgeoisie’ (Husain, 1985: 229–30), the Husain of 1990 gives way to the foundation of a ‘civil society’ within a state that guarantees the ‘democratic rights of the individuals’ (Husain, 1990: 53).

Adil Husain died in 2001, after some months in prison and the illegaliza- tion of his party and newspaper. Although a minority project, Husain’s venture has continued its progress on the ideological and political levels, as evidenced by the current semi-clandestine Egyptian party Hizb al-Istiqlal (Independence Party).

3Apost-epilogue, but both communist and Islamist In 2012, Madeeha Anwar Muhammad, a university student from Alexandria and member of the Revolutionary Socialist Movement, sat in front of Leil- Zahra Mortada’s camera wearing a niqab. 8 She argued for the separation of religion and politics and stated that it is perfectly possible to be Muslim and communist, or like herself, Muslim and leftist. Moreover, she fervently claimed that her niqab was voluntary and not at all irreconcilable with the political activism that was her duty as a woman and citizen. Her revolutionary, feminist, non-paciﬁst and socialist statement is one more link of the shared history of communists and Islamists. Even if the one of Madeeha is, currently, another failed revolution, this post-Islamist performance of Islamism and communism keeps on the path started in 1919. And as we have tried to show, this is not due to hypothetical shared essences between both ideologies but to the persistence of the circumstances that makes the meeting between the two parallels possible, that is, the persistence of tyranny and underdevelopment.

Notes 1 This article is part of the ongoing I+D+i Spanish project ALAM (FFI2014–54667-R). 2 In October 1959, Aldo Moro was elected secretary general of the Christian Democracy in a congress in which he allegedly predicted the need to establish a convergenze paralelle with the laic parties in order to promote the meeting points that would take Italy out of an ungovernable state. The tactical approach between Christian democrats and socialists, which the communists would join in the 1970s, Islamists and communists 255 took place during the next decade. The expression, the epitome of the career of Moro, seems to have been created by the journalist Eugenio Scalfari (Capurso, 2011: 252). 3 The Al-Manar number included in the article of Rida on Bolshevism dedicates many of its pages to Wahhabism, including a long article on ‘the Wahhabi school and creed’ and some articles on the political vicissitudes of the Hijaz and Syria regarding the Saudi plans. 4 We take this sentence from a member of the Islamic Coalition pronounced in the session of the Egyptian Parliament that illegalized Islamic investment companies (Sharikat Tawzif al-Amwal), a financial formula used by many Islamists to invest within the Egyptian financial system. 5 This list could be expanded with the Kuwaiti Muhammad al-Rumayihi, the Jordan Fahmi Ya‘dan or the Egyptian brothers Hekmat and Muhammad al-Gazali. Toge- ther, they have received different denominations: liberal Muslims, cultural Islamists, new-heritage Islamists, etc. (Gómez García, 1995: 562–3). 6 Rereading Marx, redefining concepts and setting out problems according to these definitions again were the three main aspects of this ‘returning to Marx’ (Godelier, 1978: 15–16). 7 The matter of providing modern tools to Muslim economists through a unified Islamic terminology was soon appointed by many authors (see Ahmad, 1980: 357). The above-mentioned Muhammad Imara published a historical dictionary on Islamic political economy in 1993. 8 L. Z. Mortada, Madeeha Anwar, Words of Women from the Egyptian Revolution (2012, episode 7), www.youtube.com/watch?v=rfG4Cp7tt6s (accessed 12 November 2016).

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Laure Guirguis

The Arab defeat of 1967 and, even before, the failure of the Egyptian-Syrian Union in 1961, had increased a deep sense of loss, fostering a turn to the left in nationalist movements and enhancing Arab militants’ desire to search for alternative models. In this accelerated change in the Arab political landscape, Ho Chi Minh, Mao Ze Dong and Che Guevara had seemingly eclipsed the founding father ﬁgures of the socialist revolutions, from Nasser to Lenin. The year of 1917, however, remained central. Considered as the sign of a historical event, of a theoretical corpus and of an organizational model, it played a paradigmatic role in the reframing of meanings and strategies at the very moment where the decline of Pan-Arab political projects and the long- lasting discredit of the Arab communist parties give birth to a radical left. The reference to 1917 is at play in addressing three crucial issues that involve both theoretical and strategic questions: the ‘stagist’ theory, revolutionary violence and the role and status of the party. Furthermore, the political and intellectual experiments of the New Left in Lebanon have taken up the challenge to forge a path between the conception of universality as a tool of Western domination and the claim for cultural relativism. The multifaceted reference to 1917, and most especially the rereading of the Marxist-Leninist corpus, was lying at the core of this endeavour. All militants and organizations, however, were not committed to theoretical Marxist analysis. Hence, I will merely focus on two organizations whose main ﬁgures were high-level intellectuals who engaged in both political activism and theoretical work, namely Socialist Lebanon (SL) and the Organization for the Communist Action in Lebanon (al-Hurriyya, OCAL). This chapter draws on interviews, militant personal writings and publications, in particular the mouthpieces of the two groups SL and OCAL.

1 The rise of a New Left and the decline of Pan-Arabism: the shift from regional to local challenges and the embedment in a transnational frame of reference The New Left arising in Lebanon during the 1960s defined itself against Pan- Arab movements, in their Nasserite and Baathist veins, but also against Arab The New Left in 1960s and 1970s Lebanon 259 communist parties and the Soviet Union (USSR). The Arab communist parties have been discredited for having more or less blindly followed the USSR and accepted the United Nations partition plan of Palestine in 1947. Arab ‘progressive regimes’ were faulted for having proved unable to free Palestine and achieve Arab unity through a conventional war, while their nationalizations had produced a new state bourgeoisie of military officers and bureaucrats. In the early 1960s, the Arab Nationalist Movement (ANM) was following Nasser’s strategy of harassing Israel though refraining from entering the war (Kazziha, 1975; Sayigh, 1991). However, dissensions between the ‘leftist’ and ‘rightist’ wings had started fissuring the ANM as early as 1957. Mohsen Ibrahim expressed them publicly in 1960 when he unexpectedly published an article that challenged the theory of the historical stages1 and later directly criticized the leadership of the movement for not having taken into account the prevalence of the economic factors, thereby failing on both the national and social fronts.2 He even went further by calling the movement to relinquish its autonomy and merge in a socialist organization under the leadership of Nasser.3 These dissensions combined with the internal pressure of the Palestinian branch of the movement and the external pressure of new organizations, such as the Fatah, which were urging the leadership to launch a guerrilla war against Israel (Sayigh, 1992), referring either to the Vietnamese or to the Guevarist strategy. After the defeat of 1967, the ANM set out an analysis of the situation acknowledging the development of a new form of colonialism that had waged a ferocious war at a global scale, and against which the only possible response was a global war. The communiqué of the ANM thereby criticized the ‘petit bourgeois’ leadership of the Arab regimes and the movement itself, and advocated handing over the leadership of the movement to the ‘working classes, the peasants, and parts of the petite bourgeoisie’.4 Drawing explicitly on the Guevarian motto (create 2, 3… Vietnam) and nurtured by the recent victory of the revolution in South Yemen, the ANM ultimately announced its decision to engage in the armed struggle. This late decision, though, did not hinder the dissolution of the movement as a centralized organization (1969): while its Arab claims were falling apart, it did not nevertheless manage to fully transform into a Palestinian organization (Sayigh, 1991). Heading the Lebanese branch of the movement, Mohsen Ibrahim established in 1969 the Organization of the Lebanese Socialists (Ibrahim, 1970), while the Palestinian branch under the leadership of Georges Habbash gave birth to the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine, that borrowed Marxist notions but remained reluctant to adopt communism (Habash & Matar, 1984). After a short experiment in the latter organization, Nayef Hawatmeh created a group of his own, the Popular Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PDFLP), which also reclaimed its Marxist-Leninist roots.5 In the meantime, the Lebanese Communist Party (LCP) was also going through a multilayered crisis. Younger generations of cadres were challenging a pro-Bakdash old guard. They were asking for the democratization of the 260 Laure Guirguis internal functioning of the party, and for the rethinking of the party’s position towards the USSR and, first and foremost, towards Palestine. Rising to leading positions in the party, several cadres attempted to initiate reforms from inside, as reflected in the 2nd Congress of the Party in 1968 (Lebanese Com- munist Party, 1968). Other party members started navigating between the LCP and Palestinian organizations or recently established groups of the New Left. One of them directly emerged from the ranks of the LCP: the Union of the Lebanese Communists (1968–71). For its part, SL (1964–1971) was mainly formed of former members of the Syrian Baath Party, such as Fawwaz Traboulsi and Waddah Charara, among others, and was joined in 1967 by another leading figure, Ahmad Beydoun. Between 1964 and 1971, SL published, on a more or less regular basis, some 20 issues of a clandestine journal (roneographed), also entitled Socialist Lebanon, in addition to a few supplements. Beginning with 1969, SL and the Organization of the Lebanese Socialists started discussing and preparing the fusion of the two groups, which was publicly announced in 1971: the most important organization of the Lebanese New Left was born, namely the OCAL. The OCAL and the PDFLP jointly published the weekly newspaper al-Hurriyya that was initially, from 1960, the mouthpiece of the Lebanese branch of the ANM. However, in 1971, the PDFLP suspended the publication due to ideological and political disagreements with the OCAL, which then had to publish its communiqués and articles in other publications, mainly in the newspaper Al-Raya. The lowest common denominator of these organizations at the left of the left lies in the belief of the necessity to launch a popular armed struggle/ popular liberation war. Shaped by a transnational interpretative framework more or less inspired by Marxism, they were embedded within the wider dynamics of the Cold War, emancipation struggles and the tri-continent. This entanglement of the New Left in transnational networks and frames of reference nevertheless combined with a shift from pan-Arab to local challenges.

2 Challenging the ‘stagist’ theory and the reframing of political and strategic alliances at global, regional and local scales Militant intellectuals of SL have also established various kinds of connections with militant and revolutionary networks in Europe. They paid great attention to the French upheavals in 1968 and to the formation of a New Left in the United Kingdom, as well as to the rise of dissident groups at the margins of the Italian Communist Party. Some among them have even participated in these transformations in the European political landscape, which, in return, have impacted in several ways on their militancy in the Arab world. Often Francophone and Anglophone, they have closely followed the development of a literature critical of Stalinism, and avidly read the Marxist alternatives to Stalinism, from Rosa Luxemburg to Gramsci. They engaged in translating, analysing and teaching the foundational texts written by Marx, Lenin and Trotsky, thereby closely linking the theoretical, The New Left in 1960s and 1970s Lebanon 261 strategic and educational aspects of militancy. After the fusion with the Organization of the Lebanese Socialists in the OCAL, text reading was still part of their activities, although the dramatic evolution of the Lebanese situation in the early 1970s also enhanced them to organize military training with Palestinian organizations. The first critical issue to be addressed was the interpretation of Marxism as an evolutionism that would posit a historicist logic of stages. As a historical event, 1917 represents one of the more convincing arguments against the stagist conception of history. At the theoretical level, SL argues that: ‘the Man- ifesto rids Marxism of the charge of evolutionism, which has dominated Marxist writings for a long time and still prevails in a number of works by communist parties’. According to them, the evolutionist interpretations rely on an economic reductionism, which is not authorized by Marx’s text, whereas ‘political structure plays an important role in the development of the forces of production’ (Socialist Lebanon, 1969). Moreover, they consider that such a vision of history implies an ahistorical understanding of history and politics, which dismisses Marx and Lenin’s calls for a thorough diagnosis of the present’s specificity (Bardawil, 2016). In so doing, not only do they challenge Stalinist interpretations, but they also undermine the postures of the Arab communist parties, as well as those of the Arab nationalist regimes, which consider themselves as the leaders of the revolutionary liberation. In other words, their reinterpretation of Marxism through a retour aux sources allows them to identify Marxist tools of analysis that lead to a different reading of the current Arab and Lebanese situations and, thereby, to new choices of alliances at global, regional and local levels.

And perhaps the most signiﬁcant position premised on evolutionism is the one that calls for the support of the national bourgeoisie because the history of the society in which the communist party is militating hasn’t passed through all the required stages… feudalism, capitalism, socialism… It is clear that the Manifesto does not adopt this style of thinking at all. (Socialist Lebanon, 1969)

In the current situation, they argue, the revolutionary subject par excellence is the Palestinian fighter, the Feda’yi. The Palestinian revolution was viewed as the spearhead of a social and political revolution in Lebanon – although not all militants shared such an enthusiastic opinion. Therefore, at the global level, they would express their anti-Sovietism and tend to Maoism, especially after the split. At the regional level, SL subjected the nationalist military regimes to a leftist critique. Militants have withdrawn their support to Baathist and Nasserite regimes, and allied with Palestinian organizations. At the local-national scale, they also opposed the alliance with the national bourgeoisie, criticizing both its Chehabist and its Joumblattian versions (Socialist Lebanon, 1969). 262 Laure Guirguis But on the battlefield, alliance games are always far more complex than in theory. Defining the attitude to adopt a position towards the front of progressive forces, parties and personalities – led by Kamal Joumblatt, the Druze leader and president of the Socialist Progressive Party – and the choice among existing Palestinian organizations has exacerbated tensions between the LCP and the New Left,6 between organizations of the New Left and even between militants affiliated to the same group. Some would argue that if the Leninist answer in the current situation calls for an alliance with the proletariat – i.e. with the revolutionary subject – and not with the national bourgeoisie, they should connect with the Fatah, and more precisely with the left of the Fatah, which was the sole grassroots organization. Several militants made this choice, while others started working in popular neighbourhoods. Instead, the OCAL kept cooperating with the Front of Hawatmeh, which remained a small organization and which numerous militants did not consider representative of the Palestinians. After the most important split in the OCAL occurred in 1973, the remaining group resolutely entered the front of progressive forces, parties and personalities – that would become the Lebanese National Movement in 1975 – and descended into war.

3 The armed struggle: from conventional to people’s war Let us turn again to 1967 in the immediate aftermath of the Arab defeat, when SL was still coming to terms with the ANM. Responding to the ANM’s ultimate change of course before disbanding, SL published a piece in the mouthpiece of the organization, Socialist Lebanon: ‘What does it mean to raise the motto of the armed struggle in the current situation?’ The question introduced the ANM’s strategy and ideology to its critics. The authors elaborated an argument in three steps. As a ﬁrst step, they resorted to Marxist-Leninist teachings. The authors explained whether and how Marxism-Leninism authorizes revolutionary violence by combining two levels of analysis. Firstly, they referred to the Marxist conception of revolutionary change, which necessary involves violence, and cited the famous phrase: ‘violence is the midwife that extracts the new society from the womb of the old society’. Hence, the question does not relate to the principle of the legitimate use of violence from a Marxist point of view, and the debates between Marxists in Lebanon do not raise this issue. Rather, it concerns the timing, as stressed in the very title of the article: is the armed struggle the main task that Arab national liberation movements must achieve now? Accordingly, and secondly, they once again turned to Marx and Lenin’s calls for a thorough diagnosis of the present’s speciﬁcity, and stated that Marxism could provide accurate tools of analysis. In this piece criticizing the position of the ANM, though, they did not refer to the Manifesto, but to Guerrilla Warfare, a text written by Lenin in 1906:

Let us begin from the beginning. In the first place … Marxism differs from all primitive forms of socialism by not binding the movement to any The New Left in 1960s and 1970s Lebanon 263 one particular form of struggle. Absolutely hostile to all abstract for- mulas and to all doctrinaire recipes, Marxism demands an attentive attitude to the mass struggle in progress, which, as the movement develops, as the class-consciousness of the masses grows, as economic and political crises become acute, continually gives rise to new and more varied methods of defense and attack. Marxism, therefore, positively does not reject any form of struggle. Under no circumstances does Marxism confine itself to the forms of struggle possible and in existence at the given moment only, recognizing as it does that new forms of struggle, unknown to the participants of the given period, inevitably arise as the given social situation, changes … In the second place, Marxism demands an absolutely historical examination of the question of the forms of struggle. To treat this question apart from the concrete historical situation betrays a failure to understand the rudiments of dialectical materialism. (Lenin, 1965 [1906])

Having denounced the ANM’s inability to correctly diagnose the current situation, the authors, as a second step, proposed their own diagnosis that allegedly resulted from a correct understanding of the Marxist-Leninist method. They led a comparative analysis between the Palestinian situation and the successful revolution in South Yemen. In so doing, they showed that the implicit claim of the ANM to reproduce the Yemeni victory did not reveal but the absence of accurate analysis of the here and now. After having stressed on the differences between the two situations, they identified the strengths and weaknesses of the Feda’yi action: ‘Today, Palestinian action is witnessing a qualitative change that is putting it for the first time amongst the revolutionary national liberation movements. The launching of Fida’yi action began to succeed in creating a motor, and an organizing force for the capabilities of the Palestinian people’ (Socialist Lebanon, 1967). However, if the ANM finally acknowledged the failure of the petite bourgeoisie leadership, that is to say the failure of the Arab regimes as well as that of the movement, it did not fully explain this failure: the failure of the petite bourgeoisie, affirmed SL, was also the failure of a style of action ruled by impulsivity and the model of the coup d’état. Although the ANM in its communiqué advocated a radical change in the leadership and the integration of workers and peasants in the leadership, it nevertheless did not set up any measures allowing it in the near future. In sum, SL faulted the ANM for not having rightly identified friends and foes, and the reasons of failure and, therefore, for not having raised the priority task: the organization. Consequently, at the third step, they concluded that, before launching the armed struggle, the main challenge lay in organizing the fighters through the establishment of Marxist-Leninist parties led by the ‘people themselves’ and not by the ‘petite bourgeoisie’. ‘We raised the question of the meaning of the call for the armed struggle at the present stage. It is now time to answer that this call postpones the achievement of 264 Laure Guirguis Arab struggle’s priority task: establishing Marxist-Leninist parties in order to lead the working masses to victory and emancipation’ (Socialist Lebanon, 1967). In this regard, this text written at an early stage in the history of SL already encompassed two conceptions of the party whose antagonism would grow in the OCAL and lead to the split of 1973, although both were drawing on the Leninist experience of revolution.

4 Spontaneism versus democratic centralism Initially, SL was eager to promote a model that would be exactly the opposite of the Communist Party in its Lebanese as well as in its Soviet guises. If the anti-American sentiment was crucial in the construction of the group, anti- Sovietism might indeed have been much stronger, according to a few militants. However, SL was not initially confronted to war and endemic violence. The situation radically changed when Israel directly targeted Lebanon on a regular basis and, far from restricting itself to southern Lebanon, bombed Beirut’s airport (December 1968), while the Lebanese regime started repres- sing the Palestinians (April 1969). Thereafter, the Hachemite monarchy crushed the Palestinian organizations in Jordan in September 1970, pushing the Feday’i to resolutely base their activities in Lebanon, which could only foster Israeli reprisals. In this new conﬁguration, local, regional and global practices of violence mutually enhanced one another, dragging the country into war. Moreover, SL was a small group. But when it merged with the recently established Organization of the Lebanese Socialists in a broader group, the Organization for Communist Action in Lebanon, the militants had to rethink the organizational structure. In the OCAL, however, the spirit of SL was still vivid. The disagreement on the choice of alliances exacerbated the antagonism between two conceptions of the organization, which were embedded in personal rivalries. In the conclusion of the article, SL posits the party as the leader of the masses (Socialist Lebanon, 1967). Although, the authors initially referred to an excerpt of Guerrilla Warfare, in which Lenin had apparently softened his stance regarding the internal rules of the party. In 1906, Lenin had taken into account the importance of the Soviets and was struggling against the Menshevik faction in the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party. Accordingly, he started advocating at that time a greater openness to the masses and the integration of workers in the party committee. Similarly to this circumstantial Leninism, so to say, SL favoured a loose organizational framework, governed by horizontal relationships between cells, and anchored in the masses. In the OCAL, Charara and Beydoun were continuing to promote the cellular organizational framework, or Mass line, as it was called, borrowing from the Mao Ze Dong method. Instead, Traboulsi and Ibrahim were calling for a hierarchical pyr- amidal organization governed by the rules of ‘democratic centralism’ (Lenin, 1961 [1902]), which supposedly implies a democratic functioning between the The New Left in 1960s and 1970s Lebanon 265 basis and the leadership of the party, as well as between the masses and the party, as Fawwaz Traboulsi further develops in other articles and texts (Traboulsi, 2015: 110–12). This tension does not simply reﬂect an antagonism between a ‘Maoist’ and a ‘Marxist-Leninist’ trend inside the OCAL. Indeed, both were claiming their anchorage in Marxism-Leninism. This tension appears in the Leninist conception of democratic centralism itself, which conjuncturally evolves between the centralist and the democratic poles. The Beydoun-Charara tendency draws on the almost anarchistic conception of democratic centralism that Lenin expressed in 1917 in its reading of Marx (Lenin, 1964 [1917]: III, 4). Militant ethos, however, has sometimes entered in contradiction with militant theory and claims. The organization has experienced similar kinds of derives as her counter-model, her communist cousins, such as arbitrary decisions and secret procedures. Former militants have extensively written on this issue that still raises bitterness, regret and irony (Al-Bizri, 2016; Traboulsi, 2015; Beydoun & Charara, n.d.). In a tense climate of escalating violence in the region, the Traboulsi-Ibrahim tandem threw out the proponents of the cellular democracy, faulting them, among other things, for having misunder- stood even the Maoist lesson.7

5 Conclusion Most militants still remember this time as the most intense in their lives, as a time that has greatly contributed to their personal and intellectual enrichment. Beside the personal history, the intellectual and political experiments of these groups as related to the multifaceted reference to 1917 remain strikingly relevant today in two respects. If we consider the organizational model that resulted, October 1917, for SL, was a foil. Contrary to this model, they were opposing hierarchical structures and, as Ahmad Beydoun once said to me,

we were refusing authority, any kind of authority, be it in the political and social realms or in interpersonal relationships. Democracy, the sense of freedom and fraternity, the libertarian spirit, they did not last very long, but they were there, and this remains meaningful today. We should have pursued our educational task, we should have remained a school, a school for militants, instead of merging in the OCAL.

Should we conceive 1917 as the sign of the Marxian-Leninist corpus, 1917 was a driving force of reflection. It has enabled them to take up the challenge to forge a path between the conception of universality as a tool of Western domination and the claim for cultural relativism. Indeed, when they state that the reading of the Manifesto is relevant to understanding their current situation, this statement is nevertheless anchored in the full awareness of the different ‘problem space’ to which they, Marx and Lenin were confronted. As 266 Laure Guirguis Fadi Bardawil would put it, ‘they begin with this reflexive move that stresses the spatiotemporal axis of difference separating SL’s context of reading and interpretation from the time and place of the Manifesto’s writing’ (Bardawil, 2016), ‘the Manifesto did not treat the problem we are suffering from, nor did it predict, as it is said, the enormity of the problems that colonized countries (those colonized by the West) would face!’ (Socialist Lebanon, 1969). By locating themselves in a transnational reference framework, by referring to this founding event, 1917, and by reinterpreting the Marxist-Leninist corpus, the New Left in Lebanon was attempting to meet two challenges. Infused with a revolutionary urgency, it was pressed to respond to local challenges. But it was also positing universalist claims: it was dreaming ‘of a dual birth: the birth of a contemporary history from the womb of a local subjective history, Arabic Islamic [history] whose meaning was very different from the one it took later on, and that this history be born at the same time from a general, common, universal human womb’ (Charara, 2004).

Notes 1 M. Ibrahim, al-Hurriyya, 2 May 1960. 2 M. Ibrahim, al-Hurriyya,6–13–20 January 1964. 3 M. Ibrahim ‘Hal hunak badil li-tariq ‘abd al-nasir?’ (Is There an Alternative to the Nasserian Path?). al-Hurriyya, 21–7 June 1965, p. 5. 4 ANM, ‘Communiqué’. al-Hurriyya, 377, 4 September, pp. 12–13; 378, 11 Septem- ber, pp. 10–12; 379, 18 September 1967, pp. 12–14. 5 PDFLP, ‘Ta’sis al-jabha al-sha‘biyya al-dimuqratiya li tahrir falistin’ (Creation of the Popular Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine). Al-hurriya, 452, 24 February 1969. 6 M. Ibrahim, ‘Haqiqa al-khilaf ma‘a al-hizb al-shuyu‘i al-lubnani’ (The Truth about Our Disagreement with the LCP). al-Hurriyya, 481–4, 15–22–29 September and 6 October 1969. 7 OCAL, ‘Bayan min al-maktab al-siyasi al-munazzama al-‘amal al-shuyu‘i ﬁ lubnan’ (Communiqué of the OCAL Political Bureau), al-Hurriyya, 628, 16 July 1973, pp. 12–15.

References Al-Bizri, Dalal (2016) Sanawat al-sa‘ada al-thawriya (Years of Revolutionary Joy), Beirut, dar al-tanwir. Bardawil, Fadi A. (2016) ‘Dreams of a Dual Birth: Socialist Lebanon’s World and Ours’. Boundary, 2, 43, 3. Beydoun, A. & Charara, W. (n.d.) Al Majmu‘a al mustaqilla (‘an al-munazzama al ‘amal al-shuyu‘i) (The secessionist group of the OCAL), Beyrouth, s.n. Charara, W. (2004) ‘Interview’. In Bilqaziz, A. (Ed.), al-Islam wa al-hadatha wa al- ijtima’ al-siyasi (Islam, Modernity, and Political Socialism), Beirut, Dar al-Wihda al-‘Arabiyya. Habash, George & Matar, Fuad (1984) Hakim al-thawra: qissat hayat George Habash (The Doctor of the Revolution: The Biography of George Habash), London, High- light Publications. The New Left in 1960s and 1970s Lebanon 267 Ibrahim, Mohsen (1970) Limadha? Munazzama al-ishtirakiyyin al-lubnaniyyin. Haraka al-qawmiyyin al-‘arab min al-fashiya ila al-nasiriyya. Naqd wa taḥlil (The Organi- zation of the Lebanese Communists, Why? The Arab Nationalist Movement from fascism to Nasirism. Critical Analyses), Beirut, dar al-tali‘a. Kazziha, Walid (1975) Revolutionary Transformation in the Arab World: Habash and His Comrades from Nationalism to Marxism, London, Charles Knight. Lebanese Communist Party (1968) Al-watha’iq al-kamila li al-mu’tamar al-watani al- thani li al-ḥizb al-shuyu’i al-lubnani (The Complete Documents of the 2nd National Congress of the Lebanese Communist Party), Beirut, Publications of the LCP. Lenin, V. I. (1961 [1902]) ‘What Is to Be Done?’ In Collected Works, Moscow, Foreign Languages Publishing House. Lenin, V. I. (1964 [1917]) ‘The State and Revolution’. In Collected Works, Moscow, Foreign Languages Publishing House. Lenin, V. I. (1965 [1906]) ‘Guerrilla Warfare’. In Lenin Collected Works, Moscow, Foreign Languages Publishing House. Sayigh, Yezid (1991) ‘Reconstructing the Paradox: The Arab Nationalist Movement, Armed Struggle, and Palestine, 1951–1966’. Middle East Journal, 45, 4. Sayigh, Yezid (1992) ‘Turning Defeat into Opportunity: The Palestinian Guerrillas after the June 1967 War’. Middle East Journal, 46, 2. Socialist Lebanon (Lubnan al-Ishtiraki) (1967) ‘Maza ya‘ni raf‘ shira‘ al-kifah al- maslaha ﬁ al-marahla al-rahina? (What Does It Mean to Call for the Armed Struggle in the Present Situation?)’. Lubnan al-Ishtiraki (Socialist Lebanon), 8, December. Socialist Lebanon (Lubnan al-Ishtiraki) (1969) ‘Madkhal li qira’at al-bayan al-shuyu’i (Introduction to Reading the Communist Manifesto)’. Dirasat ‘arabiyya, 5, 7. Traboulsi, Fawwaz (2015) ǧanu-b al-yimin f-ı ḥukm al-yasa-r (le Sud Yémen sous le gouvernement de gauche), Beyrouth, Riad El-Rayyes Books. 15 From Marxism to anti-authoritarianism Egypt’s New Left Laura Galián

1 Making a generation Academic ﬁelds dedicated to the Egyptian process of politization during the 1970s are still scarce, although in crescendo (Duboc, 2011; El Khawaga, 2003).1 In the last few years, various studies have attempted to make sense of the political and theoretical mobilization of a forgotten leftist political and intellectual generation. The oblivion of this generation in academia and other intellectual spaces was, above all, due to the popularity of other ideological currents in Egypt, such as Islamism and its incorporation into public political life, predominantly during the 1980s. The decline of the Egyptian left’s party politics, combined with the fall of the Soviet Union, which represented the climax of this process, thrust socialism forward as an attractive model for change and as an intellectual tool with which to analyse the world and national processes. Marxists in the Arab world, as Jabar points out in the introduction to his book, Post-Marxism and the Middle East, responded to the fall of Marxism only after the Soviet Union’s collapse (Jabar, 1997). However, the radicalization of activists, both Marxist and non-Marxist, during the student movement and 1977’s Bread Revolts, has largely been excluded from academic research due to the process’ marginal character in the movement’s successful mobilization.2 In fact, Egypt’spoliticalmobilizationin2011has led academics to establish a historical parallelism between the eventsof25January2011andstudentdemon- strations in the 1970s. Ahramonline,adailyEgyptiannewspaperthatreportsin English, published an article titled ‘January’sDream:Egypt’sProtestVeterans Recall 40 Years of Struggle’ in 2015. In the article, the author explains how some leaders of the 1970s student movement considered the 2011 revolution to be a culmination of their own continued ﬁght (Fathi, 2015). Similarly, an article published in the Arab Studies Institute’sonlinemagazineJadaliyya entitled ‘The Stu- dent Movement in 1968’ compared the student movements in Egypt and Lebanon:

The excitement of the current protesters and the success of their organisational eﬀorts have strong parallels with the actions of their student From Marxism to anti-authoritarianism 269 predecessors 40 years ago. While that movement eventually lost momentum, the outcomes of the 2011 events in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya and other countries are still being decided as the anti-government protesters maintain their pressure and as the remnants of the regimes try to hold on to power. (Anderson, 2011)

Even if the majority of the intellectuals during the so-called 1970s generation were politicized during their childhood and young adult life, mainly after the 1952 coup, the vast number of leftist activists of the time were young adults with an ambivalent relationship to the Nasserist regime. This chapter will focus on the experience of those who began within Marxist organizations and who later adopted anti-authoritarian political practices such as is the case of Ahmed Zaki (Cairo, 1956–) and Samih Said Abud (Cairo, 1956–2018). The analysis will focus on the life and work of Samih Said Abud in order to extrapolate the experience of a generational group that, departing from the disillusionment of the nationalist and authoritarian left, experienced an ideological shift toward anti-authoritarian and anarchist ideas and practices. Through various interviews, key members of this generation have been identified, including Khaled al-Fishawi, Ahmed Hussam, Ahmed Zaki and Samih Said. These members, who were all part of the Egyptian intelligentsia and who were also political activists, all shared similar political experiences. What unites them, besides their shared life experiences, was described generally by Marie Duboc regarding Egyptian Marxist intellectuals prior to the Tahrir Revolution: ‘they similarly share a relationship to activism, one that is influenced by social fatigue and political frustration’ (Duboc, 2011: 64). Various Marxist groups appeared within Egyptian universities during the 1970s due to students’ motivation to radicalize its cadres. This helped to diversify Marxist party politics of the left after its 1967 defeat into different organizations and groups. Student associations were especially relevant at the time; however, the governmental push to encourage Islamist associations as a means to undermine and defeat the leftist opposition helped Islamist groups gain more influence than the Marxists. At the time, leftist and Marxist groups were marginalized and relegated to a secondary position at universities. Elena Arigita reviewed the emergency of Islamist associations, stating: ‘It is not a spontaneous phenomenon: not only are Islamist associations fostered by the political situation that makes the new government favour Islamist associations in universities, but the renewed strength of the Muslim Brotherhood supports and is present in these associations’ (Arigita, 2005: 124). On the other side, among those who adhered to leftist ideologies, the war was a point of interference that led many young activists to change their political allegiances, moving away from Nasserism to support and form more radical Marxist organizations (Duboc, 2011: 66). Personal stories and later discourses on this issue often underestimate the impact of the 1967 events, while some authors (Duboc, 2011: 67) and the protagonists themselves agree 270 Laura Galián that the lack of freedom of expression during Nasser’s regime and later the policies of Sadat, through economic liberalization and an emphasis on Islam, greatly affected the new communist organization’s interests during this time. However, the 1967 crisis affected an entire generation of political and intellectual activists in Egypt. The 1967 naksa (defeat)3 was, above all, a cultural crisis that questioned the ‘identity of the Arab man’ as it had been defined during the decolonization and national independence periods (Gervasio, 2005: 18). Furthermore, the naksa was also a political, economic and social crisis that greatly affected the legitimacy of Nasser’s regime. Gennaro Gervasio assures that ‘in a more profound level it was a “hegemony crisis”’ (Gervasio, 2005: 18). Therefore, 1967’s events called the Egyptian army into question, which had been responsible for the 1952 revolution and the resistance movement against the Suez Canal ‘triple aggression’ in 1956. In February 1968, student and worker popular opinion raged against the official guilt for the military defeat. The protests on 9 and 10 June 1968 represented the first mass eruption in Cairo’s political scene since the ‘Fire of Cairo’ in January 1952. It is possible to state that the effects of the 1967 crisis and political mobilization that followed were key moments in the ideological configuration and social politicization of these intellectuals and activists. Many participants shared similar backgrounds: they were mostly from urban middle classes and later became journalists, editors, college or university professors, lawyers, scientists, etc. The majority were young people who had occupied leadership positions in the student movement between 1968 and 1972 and were later called and recognized as the ‘new Egyptian left’ or ‘national forces’ (quwa wataniyya), ‘democrats’ or ‘pro-human rights activists’.

These actors are generally equally highlighted as the true promotors of democratization and political liberation and simply marginalized and hidden as the constituent components of the political scene, or also, totally rejected and judged as agents of the establishment. They are even targeted as a component of the assembly that allows it to continue vindicating the democratic dimension of its operation. (El Khawaga, 2003: 273)

2 Political and theoretical trajectory Samih Said Abud was born in 1956. He is a clear example from a politically active and intelligent generation that sought answers to the reasons why Arab socialism had failed. He was born in the neighbourhood of Imbaba, in the Giza governor- ate, in a lower middle-class family that had recently moved from a rural area to urban Cairo. His social politicization was achieved through the ﬁgure of his father, who worked in the government’s printer oﬃce and was a member of al-Haraka ad-Dimuqratiya lil-Tahrir al-Watani (The Democratic Movement for National ,As many other activists of his generation .(ﺍﻟﺤﺮﻛﺔ ﺍﻟﺪﻳﻤﻘﺮﺍﻃﻴﺔ ﻟﻠﺘﺤﺮﺭ ﺍﻟﻮﻃﻨﻰ Liberation he became a member of the Arab Socialist Union in his young adult life. From Marxism to anti-authoritarianism 271 In 1988, Samih graduated from the Faculty of Law at Cairo University. His late incorporation to university life prevented him, contrary to his generational peers, from participating in the student movements of the 1970s. These student movements were an important turning point in understanding the radicalization of Samih’s generation. However, while he did not take part in those events, he became a member of the secret Marxist group, called 8 Jan- uary, by invitation from a university friend. In this way, the university and its activist network introduced him to the political life of the radical left. He was also a member of the Popular Socialist Party in Egypt until 1991. That year, he joined the recently formed group al-Ishtirakiyyun a-Thawriyyum (the Revolutionary Socialists), most of whom were students at the American University of Cairo. Samih recognizes that, while he took part in the group until 1993,

At that time I was closer to the critic of Leninism, of Trotskyism, Sta- linism and Mahoism. I was mostly anarchist even if at the time I hadn’t read any book on Anarchism. All the information that I had about Anarchism, with the exception of some books in foreign languages, was through Marxist writings, mostly criticizing Anarchism. However, I liked the ideas. From that moment, I started to be inﬂuenced by the ideas of Rosa Luxemburg and her critic to Leninism. (Interview with Samih Said Abud, January 2017)

Parallel to his militancy in Marxist organizations, Samih participated in social organizations independent from party politics organized in Egypt in the 1990s. He was part of the Popular Committee of Support of the Lebanese Resistance and other popular committees at the time. Professionally, he worked in the law office of Ahmad Nabil al-Halali, an important labour solicitor, in addition to being a secretary of the Communist Party of Egypt. He later became an independent lawyer. In the late 1990s, he left his career as a lawyer and focused on a more activist-intellectual life. During this time, he produced several books and many newspaper articles, most of them available on the widely read Arabic website: al-Hiwwar al- Mutammadden. During this time of his life, his activist and intellectual endeavours converged in what could be characterized as ‘direct action literature’ (as Maria Duboc has already studied in some members of the 1970s generation), because of its goal of confronting the regime by literary production. His theoretical production on anarchism and the anti-authoritarian left is so well read in Arabic that he has been called ‘the father of Arabic anarchism’. Until recent years, Samih was one of the few authors to have written about anarchism and anti-authoritarianism in Arabic. For that reason, he has thousands of followers in Arab-speaking countries, mostly young people from Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Egypt, Palestine, Lebanon, Jordan and Syria. Throughout the present research project (2012–16) we met with these young people, who largely connect the 1970s generation with the 2,000 southern 272 Laura Galián Mediterranean generation of activists who were politicized after the 2011 upheavals. Furthermore, he was one of the founders of the only self-declared anarchist group in Egypt, which became known as the Libertarian Socialist Movement.4 The political activism of the 1970s, beginning with the political revolts at the end of the 1960s and the student movements of the 1970s, eventually transformed the repertoire of contentious politics, stepping away from the traditional left’s party politics and structured organizations. This new kind of activism entered the work of professional unions, as well as the ideas in literature and the press. With the above in mind, Samih Said Abud represents this trajectory, which is that of a generation moving from street activism to party militancy and later turning to intellectual activism. His persona, together with his theoretical legacy, help us to critically examine the dialectical relationship between the classic distinction that separates theory and practice. The majority of Samih Said’s books deal in political theory and history. Furthermore, he translated several books on anarchism.5 One of his most influential books was Inhiya-r ‘iba-dat al-dawla (The Fall of State Devotion), written between 1994 and 2002. This work best reflects his ideological trajectory from Marxism to anarchism – or more precisely, to non-authoritarian practices.6 The book compiles more than 34 articles ranging from his first critique of the Egyptian left with ‘Naqd al-ishtira-kiyyat al- dawla’ (Criticism to State Socialism) or ‘Azma al-yasa-r al-watani’ (The Crisis of the Nationalist Left) to works he wrote after taking a leftist anti-authoritarian position like his famous essay ‘Maba-di’ al-la-sultawiyya’ (Principles of Anti-Authoritarianism). His experience within the Egyptian left is important to understanding his critique of traditional and leftist party politics:

In general, my experience in the Egyptian left was very negative. I discovered lies in the hierarchical organizations and the danger of the democratic centralism. The reduction in the ﬁghts between students and the small bourgeoisie and their interests. The respect of what they call ‘representative democracy’ and the holiness of its texts. For that reason, I started in the theoretical level the critique to the State property and to democratic Marxism, the party and the nationalist narrative. (Interview with Samih Said Abud, February 2017)

In his article ‘Observations from the Experience’ Samih explains why the Marx- ist Egyptian left of the ‘third wave/movement’, born in the 1970s failed to meet Egypt’s needs: they had an incorrect theoretical and practical understanding of the conditions in which it could act. Samih divides the mistakes in three. Firstly, the harshness in understanding their foundational texts, which have been read as religious texts and not as ‘scientific theory’. For the author, this enabled the immobility of the left when it came time to face the current political circumstances and to put it in practice adapting to the necessities of the local context and the historical moment. From Marxism to anti-authoritarianism 273 Secondly, the hierarchization of Marxist organizations. The author criti- cizes the personal interests of leftist activists and organizations, along with their personification of politics. This is, according to the author, a contradiction between the political ethics of Marxism and the daily political reality. The hierarchical political organizations and above all the power struggle within them, according to Samih Said, are the causes of the division within the movement and the inner corruption within its organizations. Thirdly, the author states that Egyptian Marxism did not make enough effort in developing the ‘means of production’, letting these important economic factors be ruled by the monopoly of the state and the bourgeois class. He proposes that this is the reason why the social masses’ and the leftists’ ability to ask for change was marginal in Egypt. On many occasions, the left was unable to address the masses in order to create a class consciousness. For Samih, the Egyptian left had confused the technical language of Marxism with that of the nationalist bourgeoisie. This popular and radical language was unable to mobilize the people and ask for change to create the conditions for a social revolution. Samih therefore concluded that the Egyptian left’s chronic failure was due to an incorrect understanding of the role of the state. The 19th-century nation- state faced a conceptual crisis in that it was no longer able to be a productive force. In his opinion, the nation-state needed the capitalist system and transnational economic elites to survive. The internationalization of productive sectors represented a new episode in the development of global capitalism. In this regard, the Egyptian left’s chronic crisis was not unique to Egypt, but rather was a local effect of global capitalism. Apart from the above, the author believed that the nationalist Egyptian left was deeply rooted in utilizing Nas- serism as a role model. For the author, Nasserism was full of lies and contradictions in both theory and practice. Both the state and socialist ideologies created around the idea of the state were deeply rooted in the capitalist system and therefore failed to fulfil expectations of a class-free society. With the above in mind, Samih wrote ‘The Principles of Anti-Authoritarian- ism’, defending the necessity of non-authoritarian practices within the left. However, he is very cautious using terminology in this article. He chooses ‘la- sultawiyya’ (not to authority) instead of other possible terminology in Arabic to refer to anarchism (such as anarkiyya or fawdawiyya). Although he is advocating for anarchism, he does not adhere to anarchic-specific ideologies nor refer to his thoughts as anarchism, but rather prefers the term anti-authoritarianism. In several of his articles, the old Marxist praises the necessity of total liberation for human beings. In order to achieve this totalizing liberation it is important to destroy all authoritarian dynamics in our daily and collective lives. Samih builds an integral understanding of anarchism that touches on all facets of an individual life: personal, collective, global and local. Anarchism, in his view, is a political philosophy continuously open to interpretation and reinterpretation, with no symbols or sacred texts, ‘just thinkers, not prophets, neither leaders, saints or guides’. 274 Laura Galián Samih’s anarchist theory strikes at the core of the human condition and organizations. In justifying his constant return to the origins of ‘human nature’, anarchist ideas allowed him to find the possibility of justifying his argument and the universality of this position, in what can be called a ‘pri- mitivist anarchism’. In fact, he fought the accusation of anarchism as an unrealistic utopia. For Samih, anarchism was not an utopia, but rather, a ‘natural goal’ that all human beings seek to achieve:

This requires an incessant battle on the level of social consciousness in order to turn our society into an anarchist society. A battle in the level of orientation, support and aid to the oppressed to be able to organise and to collaborate in several social activities in the design of the anarchism. (Said Abud, 2002: 246)

3 Theory production as a political practice In the 1980s, the disintegration of both the Communist Party and traditional leftist organizations left the state in a state of political disorientation. This disintegration created general sentiments of disillusionment towards any structured or organized party politics. This phase coincided with changes in the personal lives of many members of the 1970s generation, who often retreated to their private lives or emigrated from Egypt. This situation led many to retire temporarily from politics. Later, the regime’s reconciliation with its 1980s political opposition weakened the possibility for these organizations to become spaces in which to operate as opposing political forces. According to Duboc, this became an important piece in the ‘disillusionment’ of the intellectuals at the time (Duboc, 2011: 71). However, the lack of left- wing organizational structures and political parties to serve as a space to coordinate opposition to the regime did not necessarily mean that the members’ ideas had disappeared. The 1980s represented a turning point in the articulation of activism by the members of the 1970s generation. One way used to confront this failure of traditional political parties was the construction of alternative channels of political expression, which took place with the aim of gaining greater autonomy. The lack of organizational credibility and the search of alternative methods did not necessarily imply a complete withdrawal of political activism (Duboc, 2011: 71). During this time, literary and journalistic production re-emerged as it had in the 1930s, along with the leftist organizations, as a form of political activism and direct action. While such activities did not change the traditional methods of political expression, they provided complementary channels for the left to express its disillusionment at the time. Literature and the press represented a new repertoire of contentious politics. The creation of alternative cultural spaces was a form of opposition during both Nasser and Sadat’s regime. These spaces were surveyed and controlled From Marxism to anti-authoritarianism 275 by the state apparatus. One such initiative, created by young intellectuals, was Gallery 68, the first independent cultural and alternative magazine. For Duboc, the publication of these kinds of magazines between 1960 and 1970 was a substitute, or rather complementary action, in response to the leftist political organizations’ militancy at the time (Duboc, 2011: 68). An example of this can be found in Samih Said Abud’s case, who alternated militancy in leftist organizations and political literary activism in the 1990s, a pattern that continued throughout his life until his death in February 2018. In 1994, Abud collaborated with the magazine al-Rayya al-Arabiyya (The Arab Insignia) founded by old Marxists like Omar Shari Yunis, current professor of history at the University of Helwan; Adil Omari, cardiologist and an old member of the Egyptian Communist Party 8 January; and Ahmed Sadik Saad, leader of the Egyptian Marxist movement of the 1940s and founder of the Workers and Peasants Party in the 1950s. The Arab Insignia published four editions between 1988 and 1994. The 1977 Party Press Law further transformed the press into a more ideological and political force for the young generation’s formation and helped to express the vulnerabilities of existing party structures. However, this law, imposed by Sadat, as Luz Gómez García states (1992: 45), ‘reflects the contradiction that seeks to harmonise the recognition and guarantees for the development of a free press contained in the Constitution with the incon- testable power of the information control: it is another hallmark of the president’s political monopoly. It characterises the end of Sadat’s term.’ Despite the contradiction between liberalization and Sadat’s authoritarian control, this type of media helped to create a public tribune to criticize a number of major issues of the day, including corruption within the political elite, the negative effects of Egypt’s economic liberalization, the peace treaty between Israel and the Arab states, the Emergency Law, the degradation of public services, the role of the state, its retributive functions and the repression of opposition parties (El Khawaga, 2003: 280). According to El Kha- waga, the new oppositional parties’ incompetence in building a new electoral base together with the censure of some magazines and journals:

let them to put an end to this euphoria, in brackets, in the access of the graduates to the ‘traditional left’ and the partisan activities – in a wide sense – it is perceived as the evidence of its integration and active participation in what is going to be called ‘the democratic transition’. (El Khawaga, 2003: 280)

This new ‘democratic transition phase’ led to a change in traditional methods of where political vindications could be expressed. Professional associations transformed into spaces for political dissent, leaving behind old structures of trade unionism that had been co-opted by the regime since Nasser’s rise to power. Trade unions for lawyers, journalists, engineers and doctors all helped to spread a new democratic culture opposed to Sadat’s regime. They further 276 Laura Galián helped to channel claims against the political, economic and legal transformation imposed by the political power of Sadat and, later, Mubarak. Along with these transformations, new structures began to emerge, such as the Union of Egyptian University Teachers, national or international research centres and, between 1989 and 1995, specialized research support and assistance centres for human rights. A new generation of activism and political activists standing outside of traditional party politics began to emerge in these spaces, many of which focused on the new narrative of human rights, which gradually reduced sentiments of ‘disillusionment’ and helped to formulate new sensitivities and identities through alternative activist channels (El Khawaga, 2003: 286). These new spaces were characterized by specialization, professionalization and, also, by legality and international visibility. They presented a new language in which the relationship between activists and the state was reformulated and the ‘Egyptian civil society’ emerged. This new cycle of mobilization illustrates two key points: the transformation of old leftist militants into self-defined association militants, and the establishment of inter- and intra-generational ideological solidarities in the same space (El Khawaga, 2003: 291). Along with the professional associations, between 1978 and 1996 many public weekly seminars and conferences were held (nadawat usbuiyya) that not only aimed at criticizing the political and economic policies of the regime but also considered ‘freedom committees’ (lijan al-hurriyyat) to have denounced and prosecuted the anti-democratic laws, which was a first inside many oppositional parties (as it was in professional trade unions). At the same time, radical non-Islamist dissent in all forms disappeared during these years. Non-governmental organizations and professional associations were converted to a new form of activism that absorbed and rear- ticulated the human rights discourse instead of a form of institutionalized organization controlled by the state. Within this context, the already disenfranchised leftist intellectuals returned to the intellectual sphere and continued their political activism. At the same time, the arrival of the internet provided an ideal free broadcast channel to disperse articles and debates that the traditional press and censorship had prevented. In this context, Samih Said started his activism by opening a web page called al-Taharruriyya al-Jama‘iyya (Collective Liberation), where he created a free space to share his books and articles. The web page closed after only a few years, however, Samih created several other pages on different platforms with different purposes for the committees he was involved in: the Committee for the Coordination of Association Rights and Freedoms, the Anti-Globalisation Committee, etc. Furthermore, in 1999, he started to write assiduously and published his writings on the famous page al-Hiwwar al-Mutamaddin.7 This web page fostered major ideological debates within the Arab left in 1999 and it eventually became a space where people from many ideological backgrounds gathered and wrote articles: liberals, seculars, human rights advocates, etc. Through the above transformation, political activism of the 1970s, that had started with the political revolts of the 1960s and the student movements of From Marxism to anti-authoritarianism 277 the 1970s, eventually changed its repertoire of contentious politics and moved away from the party politics of the traditional left. It even began to include structured organizations whose disillusion had become evident mainly after the 1980s. Samih joined the professional trade unions’ political activism in both the literature and the press, using both channels of dissemination for political debates and as a means for direct action. The life and work of Samih Said Abud materializes the political trajectory of the 1970s, of a generation in transit between street activism, party militancy and intellectual activism. His figure and his theoretical legacy help to define the complex dialectical relationship of theory and practice in political theory.

4 Turning to collective action: the 2011 revolution The 25 January revolution was a turning point in the political activism of groups spanning from the 1970s to the 2000s. The revolution made the 1970s generation turn to a form of political activism that, after the disillusionment of the traditional left-wing party politics, was marginalized and relegated to a secondary level in their political lives. In the case of Samih Said and other activists and intellectuals from that era, participation in the 25 January revolution and theoretical legacy were key for the foundation of the Libertarian Socialist Movement, the ﬁrst self-declared anarchist movement in Egypt. Furthermore, it also helped young activists and the newly politicized population to ideologically identify with anarchism and non-authoritarian practices in Egypt and the wider south Mediterranean. In one of the interviews conducted in January 2017, a disillusioned Samih explained that after his participation in the sit-ins in Tahrir Square as well as in the Popular Committee for the Support of the Revolution, he had tried to found the Libertarian Socialist Movement with other comrades from the movements, but his involvement in the group lasted only one year:

After my participation in the 25th January uprising and its aftermath I took part in the foundation of the Popular Committee for the Support of the 25th January Revolution in my city, 6th October and in Sheikh Said (Salam City) in 2011 where a ﬂyer explaining the foundation of two trade unions was published. After that, I participated for a short period of time in the foundation of the Libertarian Socialist Movement since May 2011 until January 2012. At the beginning of 2012 I ﬁnished my relationship with street or organized politics and continue with my writings and translations on the Internet until now. (Interview with Samih, January 2017)

The occupation of Tahrir Square served as a space of convergence, encounter and as an anarchist experience in itself. This shows how Samih met Yasir Abdallah and other young anarchists8 who had already identified as such and knew each other through the internet but had never met in person. This 278 Laura Galián encounter fostered the idea to found the Libertarian Socialist Movement and other self-declared anarchist groups. Many interviewees declared that the importance of the Egyptian revolution as a practical experience of anarchism, or even as an anarchist experience in itself, was key to understanding the imagery of Samih’s theory. As a result of this experience Samih founded the first organized anarchist group in Egypt, alongside other activists from Tahrir Square. In his 2011 article ‘Dur al- ‘Anarkiyyin l-thawra al-misriyya wa ‘I’ada intaj fashlihim’ (The Role of Anarchists in the Egyptian Revolution: The Historical Failure Is Repeated, 2011), published some months after the first sit-in in Tahrir Square, Samih declared that this was an anarchist revolution for the following reason:

It was a leaderless revolution, with no political parties. Participants in the sit-ins and in the protests acted voluntarily in a cooperative way. Tahrir Square served as a meeting point for self-declared anarchists that were spread around Egypt but did not know each other. It also was a political opportunity for the construction of a collective identity that, until that day, just existed as an individual identity. (Said Abud, 2011)

However, despite Samih and the younger generation’s9 initial excitement, there were conflicts within the group. These conflicts included personal differences concerning the organization’s management, and the failure of the anarchists in the 25 January revolution. The failure of anarchism, according to Samih, caused the anarchists to lose their opportunity to perpetuate the radicalization of the mass uprising and allowed other forces (liberals, Islamists or Nasserists) to take over the revolution. The vast majority of anarchists in Egypt at the time can be divided into two generational groups. This included Samih’s older generation of the 1970s, whose politization process tended to wane between Marxism and anti- authoritarianism. This generation’s turn from Egyptian Marxist organizations to intellectual anarchism was mainly due to criticism of the authoritarian Marxist and Nasserist organizations in Egypt. The second group includes the younger generation. This group can be characterized by their age; most were in their 20s during the 25 January revolution, and underwent a different politization process, starting with Islamism and moving towards libertarian and non-authoritarian positions.10 Most of these young anarchists were not members of any organizations before their participation in the 25 January revolution or before they identified as anarchists. Their approach to anarchism was a result of their participation in the revolution and their improved levels of English. This enabled them to consume information about anarchism on the internet, something that the older generations were not able to do, and rather relied on Marxist writings to educate them about anarchism. However, Samih considered that the young generation’s adherence to revolutionary ideas, without previous experience in organized politics, led the From Marxism to anti-authoritarianism 279 revolutionary movement to repeat the same mistakes as the previous revolutions in what he calls the ‘historical failure of anarchism’:

There are those within the anarchist movement that make a fashion out of anarchism in order to justify their personal rebellion and their social decomposition. There are those that consider that anarchism does not mean the revolutionary transformation of the social groups they belong to. All of these anarchists are not part of this article, of course, but their existence help us to understand the diﬀerent directions, processes, cooperatives and trade unions. On the other hand, cultural, conscience and knowledge levels as well as the understanding of social context and situation and their political ﬁghts vary together with their commitment with them (their social, intellectual, political and cultural activities). (Said Abud, 2011)

According to Samih, this generational gap operates by modifying the way activists understand the repertoire of contentious politics and anarchist direct action. The author continues that the historical failure of anarchists in the revolutionary process resides in these differences, the anarchists being finally co-opted by authoritarian forces from different ideological backgrounds. For Samih, despite the growing number of self-declared anarchists in the Middle East, there was no increase in the ‘anarchization’ of society or the ‘anarchization’ of the revolutionary process. The lack of activists’ organization and commitment was partly the cause of this failure. The Paris Commune, the Spanish Civil War and the French 68 May are examples, according to Samih, of the historical failure of the anarchists who initiated important revolutionary processes but were unable to create long-lasting movements to break down the structure of the capitalist system. The differences in the type of organization of the Libertarian Socialist Movement as well as the difficult heart surgery that Samih had in 2012 forced Samih to retire from street activism. However, he continued with his intellectual and political activity throughout his writings, until his death in February 2018, despite the harsh repression of political dissent in Abdel Fattah al-Sisi’s regime.

5 Conclusion 1970s activists, mostly born in the late Nasserist years, lost trust in Nasserist power after the 1967 crisis and continued with the later disillusionment of foreign and economic policies of Sadat and the fake openness of Mubarak. Meanwhile, the left’s global processes, such as the fall of the Soviet Union and the emergence of the liberation movements in Latin America, forced members to question leftist politics in Egypt, which were ideologically deeply rooted in Nasserist thought. This critique materialized in an active search for political and ideological discourse alternatives to escape and make sense of 280 Laura Galián the events of this political and social generation. In this case study, the historical and generational processes have been analysed through the figure of Samih Said Abud. Samih’s political and theoretical trajectory help shed light on a whole generation that sought a solution for leftist issues on one hand, and on the other, social, political and economic problems, both international and national, through anti-authoritarian ideals and ultimately anarchism. The political and theoretical trajectory of Samih is a clear example of the need to reformulate a political left after it was destroyed by Nasser’s regime and subsequently co-opted by Sadat’s. The Egyptian left suffered the same havoc as the global left after the fall of the Soviet Union and the emergence of the ‘New Left’. For that reason, the figure of Samih represents an entire political generation and reveals, on the one hand, the local experience of the Egyptian New Left and, on the other, the local experience of anarchism, deeply connected to the global events of the time.

Notes 1 This article is a part of Spanish research project (FFI2014–54667- R) ‘Islam 2.0: Cultural Markers and Religious Markers of the Mediterranean Societies in Trans- formation’. Transliterations from Arabic are provided for the sake of non-Arabic speakers. Translations from Arabic and other languages are my own. 2 One exception to this lack of literature is Gennaro Gervasio’s PhD thesis, Intelle- tuali e marsismo: una storia dell’oposizione seculare in Egitto, 1967–1981, Università di Napoli ‘L’Orientale’, 2005. 3 The Syrian-Lebanese thinker Sadik Jalal al-Azam, in his famous book Self Criti- cism after the Defeat (1968), considers there to have been a tendency to evade responsibility for the events of 1967. He further analyses the terminology ‘naksa’ (defeat) as an effort by Arab states to continuously avoid responsibility after 1967’s events (Al-Azm, 2011 [1968]: 38–9). 4 For more information about the Libertarian Socialist Movement see Galián, 2015. 5 Before passing away he translated The Conquest of Bread by Kropotkin. 6 He never self-identified as an anarchist but rather as a non-authoritarian. 7 This web page was founded by the Kurdish activist Razkar Aqarawi, currently a political refugee in Denmark and an old member of the Iraqi Workers Communist Party. With no doubt the web page al-Hiwwar al-Muttadin has become a reference and a forum for the Arab political debate. It is furthermore an important channel for political activism in the democratic transition under the harsh dictatorial neoliberal regimes in many countries of the Mediterranean shore. See www.ahewar. org/debat/nr.asp 8 We understand ‘young’ as a category that encompasses all people that were in their 20s and 30s when the 25 January revolution took place and were mainly politicized during those events. 9 In an interview conducted with Mohamed Ezz (Alexandria, 2013), a young anarchist from Alexandria and a member of the Libertarian Socialist Movement, he declared that there was an intellectual authority coming from the older generation within the organization, which was a cause of differences and disputes. 10 This has been the case of many interviewees along the Mediterranean. Many of them aligned with the Muslim Brotherhood before turning to non-authoritarian leftist politics. Many still identify as Muslim but with no political connection to the Brotherhood. From Marxism to anti-authoritarianism 281 References Al-Azm, Sadik (2011 [1968]) Self-Criticism after the Defeat. 1967, London, Saqi. Anderson, Betty S. (2011) ‘The Student Movement in 1968’. Jadaliyya,9March,www.jada liyya.com/pages/index/838/the-student-movement-in-1968 (accessed 13 March 2017). Arigita, Elena (2005) El islam institucional en el Egipto contemporáneo, Granada, University of Granada. Duboc, Marie (2011) ‘Egyptian Leftist Intellectuals’ Activism from the Margins: Overcoming the Mobilization/Demobilization Dichotomy’. In Beinin, J. & Vairel, F. (Eds.) Social Movements, Mobilization, and Contestation in the Middle East and North Africa, Stanford, CA, Stanford University Press. El Khawaga, Dina (2003) ‘La génération seventies en Égypte. La société civile comme répertoire d’action alternatif’. In Bennani-Chraïbi, M. (Ed.), Résistances et protes- tations dans les sociétés musulmanes, Paris, Presses de Sciences Po. Fathi, Yasmine (2015) ‘January’s Dream: Egypt’s Protest Veterans Recall 40 Years of Struggle’. ahramonline, http://english.ahram.org.eg/NewsContent/1/64/120835/Egyp t/Politics-/January%E2%80%99s-dream-Egypt%E2%80%99s-protest-veterans-reca ll–y.aspx (accessed 13 March 2017). Galián, Laura (2015) ‘New Modes of Collective Actions: The Reemergence of Anar- chism in Egypt’. In Gerges, F. (Ed.), Contentious Politics in the Middle East, New York, Springer/Palgrave. Gervasio, Gennaro (2005) Intelletuali e marsismo: una storia dell’oposizione seculare in Egitto, 1967–1981, Napoli, Università di Napoli ‘L’Orientale’. Gómez García, Luz (1992) ‘La prensa de partidos: termómetro del devenir democrá- tico egipcio’. Awraq, 13. Jabar, Faleh (1997) Post-Marxism in the Middle East, London, Saqi. Said Abud, Samih (2011) ‘Dur al-‘Anarkiyyin l-thawra al-misriyya wa ‘I’ada intaj fashlihim’ (The Role of Anarchists in the Egyptian Revolution: The Historical Failure is Repeated). al-Hiwar al-Mutamadden, 15 May, www.ahewar.org/debat/ show.art.asp?aid=259098 (accessed 2 February 2017). Said Abud, Samih (2002) Inhiyar ‘ibadat al-dawla, al-Qahira, Markaz al-marsa lil- khidmt al-aafiyya wa al-abth al-nashar, Cairo, Markaz al-marsa lil-khidmt al- aafiyya wa al-abth al-nashar. 16 Women and left in the Middle East: the voice of the protagonists How feminist change occurs in Lebanon: an interview with Azza Chararah Baydoun

Natalia Ribas-Mateos

Through the conversation held with Lebanese activist and academic Azza Chararah Baydoun, this chapter shows a vital journey, among many other possible journeys, of a feminist woman who was a member of a small communist political party in her youth (Organization for Communist Action in Lebanon (OCAL)). With the perspective of several decades, Azza Chararah Baydoun reviews the gender relations in this communist organization, the civil war, militancy in non-governmental organizations (NGOs) and the main challenges that have been posed to feminism in Lebanon.1

1 Introducing the Lebanese case N. If you want I will start as a way of introduction, to show you a little bit of what the editors are preparing. It is about narrating 100 years of history of the communist party. It is about communist parties in the Middle East, with a historical perspective, after the Russian Revolution. The objective would be to try to see this evolution of this communist ideology up till now … Yours will be the only chapter on gender issues; your words will structure the whole core of the chapter. A. But you could interview women that were more politically active in that era and hence better informed than me. N. I think you are fine for it. I have read for example the interview that you did in 2015 with Tarek Abi Samra, regarding the publication of your book ‘A citizen, not a female’. This edited book is 100 years after the start of the communist ideology. The idea is to see this long-term perspective in the region, from the birth of the ideology until now. I think it is very interesting to understand it within the parameters of the Lebanese context, in this local scale. It would mean here connecting history and gender within the Lebanese local setting (see Chapters 4 and 13 for the Lebanese Communist Party and the New Left). A. First of all, I have to tell you that all my work is local, I have never conducted any fieldwork outside Lebanon. I am not a historian, either. If you ask me a particular question I can answer from a strictly personal experience. Furthermore, my knowledge of other Arab countries is scarce, and comes from my readings, mainly. I would not call that first-hand Women and left in the Middle East 283 knowledge, naturally; unless you really go down to the field you do not produce knowledge. N. Azza, that is good enough for me. I think it is very important to have this retrospective for the book, the long-term look, and it also makes sense to limit it to a case, to a national scale, that is good to focus in the Lebanese context. We can see such a perspective of the country in a way of crossing gender issues in it. That would be the first look and then we can look down at other related issues… First of all if you think about a specific historical question I would ask about gender relations in Lebanon. People tend to talk about the four phases in such a perspective, the four phases of the feminist movement in Lebanon.2 They try to understand the evolution of Lebanese society using this gender lens.

2 The four stages of feminism N. I have a few references on the stages of Lebanese feminism. For example, the one by Bernadette Daou, she is well informed about it (Daou, 2015). A. Yes, you are right. Researchers are using this periodization. It is especially so, for young researchers. Many young researchers have interviewed me on the feminist history in the country. They tend to do it, because we had a civil war that lasted for 15 years and that somehow produced a sort of a fis- sure in our memories dividing it into ‘before the war’–‘after the war’ and a split in our lives that affected the political, economic and social processes. N. It was then the representation of a rupture. A. Yes, it was rupture. Let’s take for example the Lebanese Women’s League, which is a coalition of women’s associations of all sorts, and you may want to know that at that time women organizations – except for a handful of women informal groups – did not call themselves feminists. It was not different from women of the 20s with the Nahda movement, women associations were predominantly welfare associations, even if a couple of them called for the ‘right to vote’, or for the right to education and so on. But if you look closely at what they actually did, you will see that, except for few exceptions when they participated in national anti-colonial demonstrations, they were apolitical. Even later, and up until the eve of our civil war, you would not see these associations as part of the political movement, not even as activist in the way you would think about activism nowadays, such as marching in demonstrations or holding sit-ins by way of pressuring the legislator for women-friendly laws or opposing certain sexist legislative measures, etc.

3 Feminist consciousness through communism I could tell you about the feminist consciousness – raising a women’s committee in the communist organization, OCAL3 – that I was affiliated with during the years 1970–3. One salient feature of this organization is that affiliated members were highly educated, professionals, teachers, journalists, 284 Natalia Ribas-Mateos etc. Education was an essential ‘prerequisite’ to membership in the hope of attracting to the organization independent activists, not ‘faithful followers’. This stance was carried over to the women’s committee of the organization. At that time, I was a math teacher at a girl’s state school. I encouraged my students to participate in the ‘student movement’ strikes, demonstrations and sit- ins, demanding the improvement of the education system. I would offer them ‘gratifications’ for that purpose. So, if they participated in a demonstration, or if they went on strike which meant missing regular classes, I would promise to make it up for them by giving them extra teaching sessions on Sunday! My feminist consciousness found its vocal expression through communism, at that time and in that committee, in particular. To tell you the truth, I am not aware of how and who called for the formation of a women’s committee in the OCAL. I do not remember how it was established; it was somehow a spontaneous thing. In those times, consciousness raising was identified with acquiring knowledge by reading the communist classical texts (tathkeef) and by being informed of what was going on. High value was accorded to being knowledgeable and analytical at the same time. We were all reading and reading, and always discussing – we had the most interesting intellectual debates. Mind you the books we read were not Arabic ones, only French and English. The ‘comrades’ who provided these books and pamphlets published by Western feminist groups were, at that time, especially Fawwaz Traboulsi,4 and also his then wife Mary Kelly, an American national who, herself, was a feminist. As for the members of the women’s committee personal lives, I can say we were not conventional. In my family, for instance, I did not experience harsh discrimination. I was privileged in more than one way, maybe because I belonged to a relatively better socio-cultural class. Maybe girls who had educated parents were better off than daughters of less educated ones. Needless to say, by being a communist I rebelled against my family ‘bourgeoisie values and norms’. As for others, I can say we were relatively independent women, we were married in a non-conventional way. I guess we felt we belonged to an international movement. Those were also the days, not only of national anti- colonial revolutions but of sexual revolutions, at least for some of us. We, in the women’s committee of OCAL, started something that looks to me now out of tune of the ordinary, or at least it is how I see it now when I think back [laughs]. I do not know if younger women activists would do something like that now. We circulated amongst us – members of the women’s committee – an article entitled ‘the myth of the vaginal orgasm’. Some members of the women’s committee thought our sexuality was an important issue, and knowing about it would be something that would liberate us. We started disseminating ideas expressed in this article among our women comrades. We were there by addressing intimate relations between men and women. Some men comrades reacted with aggression. All this really stopped very quickly because the executive committee – the highest leadership of the OCAL – was not particularly happy with our orientation. Traboulsi, who played the role of Women and left in the Middle East 285 a pseudo-coach to us and was known for his sympathy for our ‘cause’, was replaced by a person who was more traditional, in order to ‘monitor’ our behaviour and correct our ‘deviances’… not that this was overtly expressed, but this is how I personally perceived it at the time. N. You have not told me much about the books you were reading? A. Okay. We –‘English-educated’ women – read the literature written by the better-known feminist American and British writers of the second-wave feminist movement, comprising Betty Friedan, Kate Millet, Germaine Greer, Shulamite Firestone, Anne Koedt, etc. ‘French-educated’ ones read translated books of these authors and French ones too. I personally was thrilled and felt these writers put in words my thoughts and feelings. To me those were moments of lived ‘oceanic’ feelings of sisterhood. No sooner did we realize, however, that foreign languages were not accessible to all women comrades. So, we members of the women’s committee started writing in the journal al-Hurriyya (the Freedom) – the voice journal of OCAL, then. The few articles I wrote took up the theme of the reification of women’s bodies, women in education and the like – themes of the times. I used then a pseudonym for, you know, I could not use my real name because I was a civil servant, I taught in a state secondary school. N. If we continue with this chronology of events we were following earlier, what happened in relation to the OCAL? A. Around the middle of the year 1973, the OCAL was inflicted by schism when almost half of its members were expelled. This was preceded by an internal crisis that rocked the higher leadership, the reverberations of which reached the lower strata – cells and committees of the organization. I myself was oblivious to what was going on as my husband – who was involved deeply in the crisis – did not discuss it with me, in conformity with the ‘rules’ that forbade the chit-chat permeating information between cells of the organization. We both followed the rules and no mention of the crisis between us was articulated. Women committee members, however, started, and all of a sudden, arguing fiercely. I was surprised then, for up until then the atmosphere was fairly harmonious. I learnt later, of course, that the conflict between these women was no more than a reflection of the conflict raging between their respective husbands in the executive committee of the organization! When approached by one of the individuals (not my husband) trying to convince me to join their party in their attempt to split the organization, I answered that ‘I am not sure I want to leave the organization, I need to discuss more with my fellow affiliates of the cell’. My wish was not actualized and I was expelled from the organization without discussion, and no reason was presented as to why my presence was not wanted anymore. It was obvious that the decision was taken because I was considered to be an ‘obedient follower’ of my husband or of my brother – both expelled by the executive committee of the OCAL. My brother and my husband were more into radical socialism meanwhile the others were more into mainstream communism. I was not even aware that they were the ones initiating the split, not until later. 286 Natalia Ribas-Mateos I realized that I was treated as a follower. It made me miserable and angry. Imagine, these comrades were supposed to have a progressive mentality and a pro-feminist stance. And what did they do? They simply treated me as if it I was an appendix to men they disagreed with and not somebody who was autonomous, somebody who has his or her own ideas. They did not think of me as an independent thinker who may have been on their side in the raging conflict. I felt cheated, but also stupid, not to have guessed the existence of décalage between what these people say and what they do, and that progressive political orientation does not necessarily imply advanced social attitudes. I guess we were busy and did not see that coming. N. Yes, you don’t focus on contradictions you focus on the political rhetoric of things. A. Yes, you are right. N. So you were just punished because you were perceived as an appendix of your male relatives. A. Exactly. N. So, all these events made you think a lot I guess. A. Actually this expulsion affected me in more than one way. I am, you see, one of the numerous Arab individuals that became politically conscious after the 1967 Arab-Israeli War. Before that I was apolitical and so was my social milieu. In my attempt to look for an arena for my frustrated political and newly acquired awareness, I was drawn towards the leftists circles, and simultaneously drawn further away from my older friends on account of their having what was termed, then, the ‘bourgeois mentality’, and because they were mostly anti-Arab. The social and emotional void thus created was filled by comrades from the organization. When expelled, my social network was reduced greatly. This was devastating to me. Fortunately, I got over it quickly. Later, during the civil war and after the cessation of civil hostilities, we became friends again. As we grow older – you know – our conception of friendship differs and belonging to the same political organization does not make two individual friends, nor do they have to agree politically in order to become friends. Anyway, the onset of the civil war marked a new era for me. This is my recount of my experience in the political organization OCAL. Needless to say, my reminiscence of my experience in OCAL is tinted with my personality in all its complexities, and I am sure another member will recount to you a different one. Are you sure this is useful to you? N. I think it is great, it means looking at your own biography within the context of the gender agenda in the country. A. I would like to throw in a word by way of evaluation of my experience in OCAL. The ending, even if negative, does not dismiss the feelings and memories of the wonderful and exciting times I had in OCAL, nor the gratitude I have in my heart for the influence of comrades on my political and feminist formation. I, unlike some of my comrades from both genders, embrace my experience in it, and acknowledge with affection its effect on my life. Women and left in the Middle East 287 4 The appearance of violence in Azza´s life:5 ‘the incident’ A. After the OCAL days, I started working with the Palestinian Women’s Union. It was strictly welfare. I had given birth to my twin girls Hind and May in 1972, I did not have regular help and was busy, with the task of bringing them up. The time I dedicated helping in welfare activities with the Palestinians was in 1973 – the eve of the 1975 Lebanese civil wars. Violent incidents were erupting between the PLO [Palestine Liberation Organization] (armed factions of it) and the Lebanese army, and the left sided with the Palestinians in line with its long-standing attitude towards all ‘reactionary and defeatist’ Arab regimes that ‘betrayed’ Palestine and the Palestinians and did not support them in combating Israel. Reverting to our previous talk concerning feminism, you may want to know that – not different from the Lebanese left – women liberation was not on the immediate agenda of the Palestinian Women’s Union. The saying went that we needed to direct our efforts towards the ‘primary contradiction’ yani (meaning) fighting Israel and the capitalist reactionary regimes and postpon- ing attending to the ‘secondary contradictions’–those between men and women – till the primary ones are resolved. On the ground, we were helping with the relief work. We worked hand in hand with women Palestinian militants in hospitals that took in the wounded, the Palestinian wounded in battles with the Lebanese army or the Christian militias. All this welfare work was obviously foreign to our intellectual and feminist background and activism. It was within the context of relief work that I experienced such intense revulsion towards violence that would determine my future everlasting attitude towards it, and revolutionary violence not excluded. It was the sight of blue corpses that started coming to the ER of the hospital I was volunteering in 1975. Against Israel, the occupier, violence was acceptable, rather demanded, but against fellow citizens? What I saw that day, was revolting. It was physical. I threw up. Those blue corpses of men and women were killed, because they were Christians or Muslims? When I saw those corpses, I got sick and I remember that I ran like crazy down the stairs, I could not wait for the elevator to arrive. And that is it. I realized the meaning of violence. I became apolitical. I realized I was a coward [laughs]. This happened with many of my friends, both men and women. It was unacceptable for me. That day I left everything. And that was the beginning of the war. I was completely blocked. It was then when I realized that the motto ‘Violence is the road to liberation’, that was part of our communist training was not bearable to me. Then I started putting things in a different perspective, and the thought ‘I cannot bear my children be hurt, nor people close to me be hurt’ was overwhelming. Following that incident, I realized I was a coward and embraced this characteristic of mine [laughs]. That day I left everything behind me. All connection with the left was abandoned for good. 288 Natalia Ribas-Mateos N. And afterwards? A. You could say I ‘hibernated’ for 15 years – the duration of the Lebanese civil war. I was completely apolitical. An objective factor that forced me, and many of my acquaintances, to retreat from public life, was that we had to be confined to our homes for a great part of the day. We were forced to home- stay because of the shelling, mostly random, that restricted our mobility to a great degree. We would go to work, and finish our survival chores in the mornings when militia fighters, of both sides, were ‘resting’. At around 1:00 p.m. shelling would be resumed. During the war, many of our friends tried to look for a way to go out of the country; to France, mostly, and to other places. Sometimes Cyprus because it was very near. But we – my husband and I – took a conscious decision to remain in Lebanon. During the war, we were just fighting for our daily living, for our basic survival. The militias would confiscate bread or gasoline for days, and we would be left out of some basic items. When I think about it in retrospective, it was bad; yet compared to what happens in other countries during civil wars, we were OK. Except of course that our life was reduced to preoccupation with survival and safety issues; praying the children return safely from school, be able to buy basic necessities for food, have water and electric power, etc. It was during confinement in our homes that I resumed my studies and shifted majors from math to social psychology. I think I resumed my university studies in self-defence against the cultural void created by the civil war. It was a leeway to get myself interested in something beyond survival. I got my bachelor and MA degree. It was when the war ended that I started my PhD. When the hostilities stopped, after the Taef Accord, I resumed my interest in other things beyond survival – so to speak. With women fellow researchers, we legalized a gathering we had formed in 1986 – four years before the end of the Lebanese civil wars – and made it into an NGO by the name of the Lebanese Association of Women Researchers which is known as BAHITHAT (www.ba hithat.org) after the name of the periodical that the association publishes every two years, or so. We are, currently, several tens of women researchers who share interest in research in social sciences, basically. It is non-political, anti-sectarian and had very few objectives, mainly to provide a platform for women researchers, particularly young researchers, support them materially and legally. That was back in 1993, the time of the ‘NGOization’ as termed by many. If the NGO was apolitical, its members were political individuals. After Hariri was killed, and after the 2006 war with Israel, there was a strong division between two groups (pro-Syria/against Syria, pro-Hezbollah/against Hezbollah). That was the problem then. To avoid schism, we decided to refrain from political discussions. N. I suppose you have seen many changes in the trajectories according to the times and to the transformation of gender issues. A. Yes, of course. For example, I can tell you if you want about the beginning of veiling among my high school students. It was after 1989, in the context of the Iranian revolution. Before that, when a girl student of mine Women and left in the Middle East 289 suddenly decided to put on the veil I would ask her: but what is the matter with you? And she would say, ‘I want to protect myself’. N. It was like asking for respect. A. Yes. It was perceived by them as a way to induce respect and to protect herself from sexually tinted harassments. After the Iranian revolution, the veil took a political meaning and a means of asserting oneself against family. Can you imagine, the parents of adolescent girls would ask the school administration to side against their rebellious children? They asked us to forbid veiling didacti- cally declaring that it was against the school regulation to be veiled. It was the parents who requested that. I followed this issue day by day. It was the parents who stood up against the veiling of their daughters and that was very new.

5 ‘The activist retreat’ period, the post-war period and the NGOization after Beijing N. We will follow again the chronological structure. We could start focusing on the gender differences from the beginning of the OCAL. How connected socialism was with the Baath ideology and Pan-Arabism? A. I cannot answer this… Somehow as individual militants in a leftist organization, some of us may have been qualified as ‘arrogant’. I am one of those. We perceived ourselves to be more educated than the Baathists and had, thus, a clearer vision. This is surprising to me now, for I cannot recall what it was then that was so vividly clear to me! I, and many of my comrades, was too full of myself to have noticed them, or put any effort to get to know them. I am sorry but I cannot answer your question. N. What about the gender perspective then? A. One of the indicators of communist organizations, or parties that differentiated it from nationalist ones, was supposedly attitudes towards women. The Lebanese Communist Party, even if termed revisionist by us, had a committee whose mission was to enhance women’s condition. It is still working; it is still there. ‘The Committee of Women’s Rights’ that was, unlike our women’s committee in the OCAL, a formal and state-recognized organization. Only, the strategies of all the leftist women organizations were identical, ‘Women rights will be attained after society is liberated, we all will be liberated together’. As I said before, the women’s committee in OCAL went beyond this strategy as manifested by its raising and discussing feminist issues, even if these were not manifested in articles published in al-Hurriyya – the official voice of OCAL. We could do it because we had our own space within the organization. Moreover, we belonged to middle-middle and upper-middle classes. There were few workers, few peasants in OCAL. We were relatively privileged women (I am not well informed about the class affiliation of men in OCAL) and we were relatively free in our personal lives: we were not highly restricted in our mobility, nor in our sexuality, etc. We had solved such issues. Indivi- dually, we did not have to deal with issues of gender discrimination that women of lower socio-cultural classes had not resolved yet. 290 Natalia Ribas-Mateos N. So, it was difficult between these two types of women. So, there were strong barriers between the two groups of women. A. Not totally; remember, as feminists, we were supposedly bound to all women by ‘sisterhood’. With women Islamists, it is different. We were not aware of the possibility of their emergence as an organized body. We were really blind back then. We were blinded by our own discourse; we could never have imagined the changes that occurred… N. Yes, it happens often with changes in society. Things that are there cooking slowly and we are not able to see the coming of it. A. Yes, you are right. I would not have dreamt of the dominance of the clergy, a person like Nasrallah, over our political life… That was impossible to imagine. We were naïve [laughs]. N. There was a lineal kind of thinking; that was the problem with communists. Was not that? A. I guess so… we see things differently now. But of course, we were living in a very different era. Anyway, during the Lebanese war I retreated from the ‘public’. There was no way that you could be involved in the public sphere which was occupied by militias, where the rule of the ones that carried guns was dominant and the rule of law was absent. N. Yes, you told me, it was that day that you saw the open face of violence. A. Mind you, this is not the case of the left. Some Lebanese and Palesti- nian women from the left participated, or better say, wished to participate in fighting. N. What about when there was the 1982 Israeli invasion? A. Few summers before the 1982 Israeli invasion, and the first three months of Israeli invasion, we – my nuclear family – were spending the summer in our hometown in the south, Bint Jbeil, which lies within the ‘security belt’–as Israelis called it later – security for the Israelis, but not for us, evidently, very near to the southern border with Israel. We fled Beirut when the ten-story buildings were bombarded by air strikes and brought to the ground as the Israeli jets were hunting Arafat in Beirut residence neighbourhoods. Half an hour after the 12-hour car journey from Beirut, Ahmad was called to ‘present himself’ in Israeli military posts in Bint Jbeil. We learnt quickly that Israeli local agents were behind his arrest for reasons pertaining to local inter- familial enmities. Later, when interrogated by a Francophone Israeli captain who asked him: ‘Why do you think you were arrested?’‘Maybe because I am a communist?’ Ahmad replied. And the interrogator said, ‘I – myself – am a communist too. Communists are not arrested; only “terrorists” are’, the interrogator said. He then was asked: ‘Do you carry arms?’–‘No’, he said, ‘So, you will be released’, that was the verdict. N. So in the end you went back to Beirut and starting some research meetings, did you? A. No, not ‘in the end’…We returned to Beirut right after the ceasefire and the Israeli retreat to the outskirts of Beirut, sometime in August 1982. Our research ‘gatherings’ did not start till four years later in 1986. We started Women and left in the Middle East 291 as an informal group of researchers until Beirut was reunited after the Taef Accord, and the city was reunited, and we joined another research/activist group from the East ‘Christian’ Beirut, to form BAHITHAT – the formal NGO registered in the Ministry of Interior which I described to you earlier. N. Another question. Talking about nowadays, the Arab Spring moment, I checked some works that criticize the metaphor of the ‘sectarian ghost’, and how laicism is against the ‘sectarian pact’ (the Taif). What do you think about it? Actually, I have a problem with this term. Please tell me more about what you say in your writings that feminism is against the ‘Taif system’. A. No, not against the ‘Taif system’ but against ‘taifieh system’… I will try to explain. ‘Taifa’ is used to qualify a religious group of people; ‘taifa’ would be the religious community you belong to and may be considered a neutral, value-free term. I, for example, belong to the Shia’‘taifa’ (religious community), I do not have to be religious – not even a believer. I belong there because I was born to a father who was born to a father who was born to a father, etc. in this Shia’ religious community. Our political system is taifieh-based, meaning that citizenship is confounded with religious community affiliation. As the father is the reference to this affiliation, ours is obviously a patriarchal system, and consequently anti-feminist. This is basically expressed in the sectarian Personal Status laws – highly gender-discriminating laws – which have been the target of feminist attack for as long as I remember, and is previewed to remain for quite some time in the future. Our struggle for a civil family law is entwined with the struggle against the taifieh (religious sectarian) system. Now, the pact you mention, known as the ‘Taef Accord’, was a manifestation of the reconciliation between the different Lebanese religious communities involved in the Lebanese civil war. Taef happens to be the name of the Saudi city where the accord was concluded, and bears no connection to the terms ‘taifa’ or ‘taifieh’. Amendments to the Lebanese constitution were based on the terms of agreement between the convening political representatives of religious communities in the Saudi city, Taef. Amending a constitution – renewing the social contract between groups in a society – entails the presence of constituent groups of that society… isn’t it? It is common knowledge that everybody has to be represented to validate the newly formulated ‘social contract’, not only the sectarian communities. Women were excluded from the ‘Taef Accord’ but so were other constituents of the Leba- nese society. Discrimination takes the shape of total blindness to all constituents of our society, except for religious sects. I am talking about peasants, workers, youth, professionals, political parties, syndicates, associations, etc., these are examples of factions that were not there either. Women were not the sole absent constituent of our society. But in some respects, the ‘Taef Accord’ is good. It dictates that political sectarianism should be abolished gradually and that a senate to be established which will be elected, or appointed, by leaders of religious communities. The senate would be responsible for major decisions pertaining to basic founding ideas of the Lebanese nation including decisions of war and peace, changes of 292 Natalia Ribas-Mateos constitution, etc., and will thus be the arena for the major disputes between the religious communities prompting them to solve their differences, and carry on their negotiations, peacefully. We women hope that the family laws will not be a topic of concern of this sectarian body. I myself am not so sure. Thus the citizens, the ‘mundane’ living, would be the mission of a secular parliament whose members will be elected for their merit to manage the citizens’ lives, such as the resolution of the garbage crisis, and will be judged rationally according to delivering their tasks, not for their sheer religious affiliation. Unfortunately, neither the process of abolishing political secularism was launched, nor the establishment of the house of senate was conceptualized. N. You must be sick of it, of the sectarianism. But some foreigners find it challenging, a very intriguing system, they can’t believe such a system exists. A. You are right it is sickening in more than one way. I do not know about ‘challenging’ but I know some find it incomprehensible. When we – the Lebanese official commission presented the first CEDAW [Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women] report back in 2005 before the UN [United Nations] CEDAW committee in New York, it took more than one attempt from our side to explain that Lebanon – this tiny country – had 15 family laws! (corresponding to 18 ‘religious sects’ or con- fessions). So, not only are Lebanese women discriminated against (in relation to men), but we have ‘intra-discrimination’–so to speak – as some women are more privileged than others depending on which religious community they were born into. Consider child custody for example; if the ex-husband is a Shia’, he can retrieve a baby boy from his mother as early as the boy’s second year; whereas if the boy happens to be born in the Sunni sectarian community, he can enjoy the mother’s custody until he is 12 years old. This discrimination can be found in laws and measures pertaining to divorce, inheritance, guardianship, alimony… you name it.

6 A central focus from the 1990s: violence against women N. I would like to know more about when you started your research on violence against women from the 90s. A. The issue of violence against women was publicly exposed in Lebanon in the year 1995, around the preparations for the Beijing conference. Research on the subject was, henceforth, in demand, when professionals and activists concerned with women survivors of violence, as well as lobbyists with decision makers, needed to formulate knowledge-based approaches to the issue. I am part of the response to this demand. I was approached in my capacity as an academic/researcher on gender issues by both governmental and non-governmental, both local and Arab and (less so) international organizations. I have done field, archival and desk research on the subject, all published in books that are posted online on my blog,6 as well as on the sites of the sponsoring organizations. I am in the habit of discussing results of my field research with women activists, students, interested professionals, Women and left in the Middle East 293 researchers, etc. by way of disseminating, as well as obtaining feedback for my work on the subject. What are we doing? We are not solving the root causes of the problem, of course, but at least we are preventing violence against women, because the women who are undergoing violence are not aware necessarily that they want to eradicate the gender order. These women who are oppressed and abused to a degree that they cannot feel – even perceive that they have a problem, let alone have enough self-esteem to express their malaise and complain. There- fore, by regulating a law against family violence, you are reaching an advanced point in empowering women. It is not a far enough point, OK, at the end you cannot solve all the problems at the same time. The increase in the crime of the murder of women is a global phenomenon, not specific to Lebanon. Everywhere, men have become more violent. In the analysis of femicide (the killing of women because they are women) – an archival study of women killers published in my book Cases of Femicide before the Lebanese Courts – one salient conclusion of my study is that this is characterized by having an immature and childish personality. These are males rather than men. Their masculinities are impaired if they are unable to exercise their authorities over women relatives and spouses which is a necessary condition for their self-conception as men – for their gender identities. Women inferiority is essential to their elevated self-esteem and if ‘their’ women’s behaviour (sexual behaviour particularly of daughters, sisters, wives, women relatives, etc.) shows their independence of these men’s immediate authority, their masculinities are threatened and killing these women is executed by way of restoring their masculinities which to them are equivalent to restoring their honour – hence the term ‘honour crimes’. My field studies have also shown that abused women who file complaints more often have a level of education higher than that of their husbands. Similarly, the social status and economic level of their families are generally higher than those of the families of their husbands. Wife beating tends to have a relation with the elevated status of the wife’s socio-cultural or socioeconomic status over the husband’s which is perceived by the latter as threa- tening to his authority over her. The husband’sauthoritybeingamajorindicator of his manhood and of his gender identity and compromising either triggers in these men their aggression.

7 A central focus from the 1990s: NGOization and gender and development N. I think that Lebanon was very advanced compared to other Arab countries, don’t you think? A. In what way is it ‘advanced’? Do you mean its feminism? N. Yes, it was a reconstruction of feminism. A. You probably know that the UN proposes approaches to human development such as GAD (gender and development); and some countries 294 Natalia Ribas-Mateos (Lebanon one of them) complies with its agenda for different reasons. You can say we – the Lebanese – were directly influenced by the UN stance on gender issues. Having had no agenda of our own after the stagnation of militant feminism during the 15 years of civil war which resulted in the destruction of ‘stones and humans’ (al-hajar wa al-bashar), what choice did we have? In the massive after – war reconstruction project of ‘everything’–comprising state and societal institutions, all sorts of support was needed including visions and planning and not only logistics, resources and expertise to all constituents of our society involved in the post-war massive reconstruction. Why not lend a hand to women organizations in their attempt to ‘reconstruct’ their organizations and their feminism(s) – as we tend to name it? I would like to clarify one important idea in relevance to the gender approach to development which is sometimes overlooked by critics. This approach is formulated simply. It proposes that planning for development and executing the respective programmes, in its various stages, need to take account of gender as a socio-cultural construct. This means that those working for human development in a certain society, need to be gender sensitive; which in turn implies having acquired a thorough knowledge of the respective ‘gender order’, and the ability to identify instances where gender discrimination hinders the actualization of plans – both strategic and short term – formulated and executed within the frame of human development; and that identification be done for the purpose of overcoming the mentioned gender discrimination. It goes without saying that GAD thus needs to be contextualized within each society. This is the task of local women organizations and civil society in general. It cannot be ‘imported’. If not contextualized – which, by the way, is no easy task – the gender approach to human development is reduced to lip service and is utterly useless… maybe even a fraud. In reference to the reconstruction of feminism you mention, I feel that GAD may be considered in Lebanon the ‘operational expression’ of mainstream feminism – one of the feminisms – working within the framework of CEDAW and other UN-relevant conventions and resolutions. Reverting to your question, I cannot say that implementation of GAD has been more successful in Lebanon than other Arab countries, I am not sure there is a reliable meter stick that would allow such a comparison. Maybe the fact that we acknowledge the presence of 18 different sectarian communities has allowed, up to now, the possibility of freedom of speech and the freedom to form associations and other freedoms which we – the Lebanese – seem to value in spite of the fact that these freedoms are not being useful in solving some of our pressing mundane problems – political and otherwise. N. From the perspective of social movements, you have commenced the period of NGOization in Lebanon. It was the time after Beijing in 1995, it was also a moment of introducing gender activism in civil society. A new left feminism also appeared as an anti-globalization movement in the early 2000s. A. I disagree. You probably know that Lebanon is known for its thriving ‘civil society’ and its numerous social associations, women associations as Women and left in the Middle East 295 well; and this is due to the fact that, except for little restrictions on the formation of any kind of social association, state approval – meaning its registration at the Ministry of the Interior – may be postponed till after it is launched, and even after it has embarked on its activism. Now, if by ‘NGOization’, you mean that the women associations formed after the Beijing conference were apolitical, then so were the older ones and both proclaimed being so in their mission statements. Yet, I think that active women NGOs in Lebanon are currently involved in political activism. They are, de facto, political. If, for instance, you consider the topics of their areas of activism, one by one, whether it is the family law, the citizenship law, electoral law etc., it is clear that these NGOs have to face certain political forces and groups, be it Islamist parties, religious institutions, the Lebanese Parliament, some state institutions, etc., theirs is a political struggle for they face the political sectarian system by necessity, if not by choice; and they do! N. Sometimes it is difficult for me to see this difference between the sectarian and the rest of the ‘citizenship crossings’ an individual has to go through in Lebanon. A. You are not unique in this. It is not that easy to make sense of. You have to belong to a religious community to be a citizen of the Lebanese Republic, which is obviously a contradiction in terms. You cannot be a candidate for the parliamentary election, for instance, unless you proclaim your affiliation to a religious sect. For example, there are a number of chairs in this particular district (mohafadat or caza, as the case may be) designated for the Shia’ community, another number for the Sunnis and so on. If you happen to be running for a chair in that district, and if nominated by a secular party such as the Communist Party, you have no choice but to revert to the religious community you were born in and claim – believer or not – your religious identity along with your party affiliation for the duration of the campaign. So, if you have been nominated by the Communist Party for parliamentary can- didature of a certain district, you would be called in our sectarian system, ‘the nominee of the Communist Party for the Shia’ chair’ in that particular district, and no one would point out the obvious absurdity of your temporary qualification or ‘title’! N. And for the Shia’, you are a communist [laughs]. A. [Laughs]. That’s right. And for a communist you are an ‘accidental’ Shia’.

8 Final questions: research and the transformation of feminism N. You often talk about the gap between generations in the feminist movement as the differences in the pivotal topics you address. A. The young feminist movement, which you probably described in your previous questions as ‘new left feminism’, unlike the mainstream feminist movement, does not have a rights-based approach. But, if the rights-based approach does not express your needs, why should you adopt it? I see that 296 Natalia Ribas-Mateos there are different feminisms, and it is clear that at times it has to do with generations; older feminists are more involved with women’s rights; they are more concerned with changing laws and governmental policies and improving legal measures, etc. that empower women and serve their short-term and immediate needs. They raise issues that remain on the social and legal and sometimes psychological level, thus revealing the fact that the mainstream feminist movement in our society does not want to take the responsibility of going deeper/further in combatting the patriarchal order; this being, however, the primary aim of the younger feminist generation as was manifested by the motto/banner that was raised by the ‘Feminist Bloc’–which is a coalition of groups of young feminists during the garbage crisis marches and protests in the summer of 2015. The banner that preceded the bloc read as follows: ‘The This has been expressed in .(ﻗﺎﺗﻞ ﺍﻷﺑﻮﻱ ﺍﻟﻨﻈﺎﻡ) ’patriarchal system is murderous differences in concerns. Needless to say, there are many problems, and there are many issues, that need to be tackled and individuals should not be inti- midated into concerning themselves with my own concerns because I believe they are more important than theirs, right? If young feminists believe that sexuality, for instance, takes a pivotal importance – as you say – in the objectives of their struggle, it is evident that it would be a main issue in their agenda. Moreover, and in so far as research and activism is concerned, I, an older feminist for example, am involved in research and some feminist activists may feel there are more urgent tasks to attend to. Ok, if I am doing research on gender issues, I get paid and I turn my back on the whole thing, then I should be probably criticized for that. For, if I claim that I am a feminist and not a researcher only and I do – then more needs to be done – and I do; I go around meeting all kinds of groups that may benefit from my research such as social workers, students, government employees, decision makers, lawyers, etc. to discuss my research with them, thereby disseminating knowledge about gender and getting responses from these groups to my research findings. These discussions pinpoint issues that still need highlighting, or discern areas for me that need more research to render approaching it knowledge-based, etc. So you see, there is a distribution of roles. Some of us feminists are activists and others are researchers and some – like me – are sort of both.

Notes 1 I had two long interviews with the psychologist Azza Chararah Baydoun in Beirut: one held at the end of June 2017 and the other at the end of August 2017. Azza Chararah Baydoun is a researcher and gender consultant, a founding member of the Lebanese Association of Women Researchers, as well as a member of the National Commission for Lebanese Women and of the CEDAW committee. Pub- lication highlights include: Muwatina la ‘ountha (A Citizen Not a Female), Beirut: Dar Al-Saqi, 2014; Al-gandar maza taqulina: al-sha’ i`wal waqi` fi ahwal al-nisa’ (Gender, What Was It You Said: Common Knowledge versus the Reality of Women’s State of Affairs, Beirut: Dar Al-Saqi, 2012; Cases of Femicide before the Women and left in the Middle East 297 Lebanese Courts (Ed. M. Abu Rayyan), Beirut: KAFA (Enough) Violence and Exploitation, 2011; Nisa’ yuwajihna al-unuf: dirasa maydaniya (Women Facing Violence: A Field Study), Beirut: KAFA (Enough) Violence and Exploitation, 2010; Jara’em qatl al-nisa’ amam al-qada’ allubnani (Cases of Femicide before the Lebanese Court), Beirut: KAFA (Enough) Violence and Exploitation, 2008; ‘Sex Education in Lebanon: Between Secular and Religious Discourses’. In P. Ilkkaracan (Ed.), Deconstructing Sexuality in the Middle East, Aldershot: Ashgate, 2008; Al- roujoula wa taghayyor ahwal al-nisa`: Dirasa mydaniya (Masculinity and Changing Conditions of Women: A Field Study), Beirut: Al-Markaz Al-Thakafi Al-Arabi, 2007; Nisa` wa jam’iyaat: Bayn insaf athat wa khidmat al-ghayr (Women and Organizations: Between Doing Justice to Oneself and Serving Others), Beirut: An- Nahar Publishing House, 2002; Sehhat al-nisaàl-nafsiya bayna ahl al-‘ilm wa ahl al- din: Dirasa maydaniya fi bayrout al koubra (Mental Health of Lebanese Women between Men of Science and Men of Religion: A Field Study in Greater Beirut), Beirut: Dar al-Jadid, 1998; with D. Bizri, Al’amal al-ijtima’i wa al-marà: Qiraà fi al-dirasat al-‘arabiya wa al-loubnaniya) (Dirasa bibliographiya) (Social Work and Women: A Reading into Studies on Arab and Lebanese Women (A Bibliographic Study)), Beirut: Dar al-Jadid, 1998. 2 The first wave of Lebanese feminism emerged with the pioneers (Raedat) who lived in the 1920s (Nisaa al Ishrinat). Their work was in charities such as al-jam‘iyyat al- khayriya. The second wave was represented by the Lebanese Women’s Union, which was founded in 1920 in order to bring together Arab nationalists and leftists. The second group, the Christian Women’s Solidarity Association, was founded in 1947 and composed of elites and haute bourgeoisie women representatives from 20 Christian organizations. Parties had women’s organization, especially in the socialist ones. During war, all activities were stopped. The third wave started with the launching of the United Nations’ Decade for Women in 1975 during the first World Conference on Women. In 1979, the General Assembly adopted the Convention on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination against Women. Beijing stimulated the formation of the National Commission for Lebanese Women and the National Committee for the Follow Up of Women’s Issues. It was composed of members from both the governmental and non-governmental sectors. Other members of the Lebanese Council of Women were Working Women League, Lebanese Association of Women Researchers (Bahithat), the Collective for Research and Training on Development-Action, Council to Resist Violence against Women (LCRVAW, from 1997). The fourth way is the time of the Arab Spring. It connects with women demonstrating against Syrian occupation after Hariri´s assassination. Other groups are then important. Like KAFA (Enough), which sprang out of LCRVAW in 2005 as a non-profit, non-political and no confessional civil society organization. Its aims were to mitigate the causes and results of violence and exploitation of women and children. New organizations emerged in this era focusing on raising awareness of domestic violence and protesting the vulnerability of its victims in the legal system. Central issues here are domestic violence and abuse of female domestic workers, environment, women’s art, male-centred knowledge and sexual diversity (see more in Stephan, 2014). - - - - .munaz.z.amah al-‘amal al-shuyu‘ı fı lubnan), OCAL) ﻣﻨﻈﻤﺔ ﺍﻟﻌﻤﻞ ﺍﻟﺸﻴﻮﻋﻲ ﻓﻲ ﻟﺒﻨﺎﻥ 3 4 Fawwaz Traboulsi was part of the zuáma, the leaders who had always believed in the álmani, the secular. He was a member of the Communist Party during that time. He is now a Lebanese thinker, author and leftist activist. 5 I have chosen to establish this section because I have realized how from the Leba- nese civil war the topic of violence has been a constant in Azza’s preoccupations. 6 https://azzachararabaydoun.wordpress.com/ 298 Natalia Ribas-Mateos References Daou, Bernadette (2015) ‘Feminisms in Lebanon: After Proving Loyalty to the “Nation”, Will the “Body” Rise within the “Arab Spring”?’ CivilSociety, 1, January, http://civilsociety-centre.org/sites/default/files/resources/ls-csrissue1-jan2015.pdf Stephan, Rita (2014) ‘Four Waves of Lebanese Feminism’. E-International Relations,7 November, www.e-ir.info/2014/11/07/four-waves-of-lebanese-feminism/ Index

8 January Egyptian Communist Party Party (PCA), French Communist 161, 162, 271 Party (PCF) 21 conditions of the Second Congress 23, Algerian Communist Party (PCA): 37n13, 130 adopting slogan for independence 202; ban of 208; under Ben Bella 207–209; Abbas, Ahmad 81 commitment to uprising 204–205; Abd al-Aziz, Omar ibn 248 egalitarian demands of 200–201; Abd al-Fattah, Ismail 171, 173, 175–176, French Federation of 207; gender and 177–178, 182 race norms 202–204; membership Abd al-Hamid al-Khatib 77 demographics 203; Muslim Abd al-Karim, Qasim 19, 74, 84–85 component of 208; as nationalist party Abd al-Qadir, Ismail 80 201; race transgressions 203–204; Abd al-Qadir ‘Awdah 251 relationship with PCF 199 Abd al-Rab Mansur al-Hadi 181 Algerian National Students Union 208 Abd al-Rahman, Aref 86 Al Hilal al Aswad (the Black Crescent) Abd al-Salam, Aref 85, 86 224 Abdel Malek, Anouar 249 anarchism 273–274, 278–279 Abduh, Muhammad 241 Andari, Arabi 100, 103 Abrahamian, Ervand 53 Anglo-Egyptian treaty 186–187 Accomplishing National Democratic Anglo-Iranian Oil Company 51 Liberation programme 174–175 Anglo-Persian Oil Company 45–46 accumulation of power 2–3 Ankara government 63 Achcar, Gilbert 251 Antar, Ali al- 171 Adalat (Justice) party 46 anti-capitalist 6, 129, 154 Afghanistan 5, 169 anti-colonial nationalism movements Aflaq, Michel 113 18–19 African socialism 195 see also Sudan Antifascist League 97 Aglo-Egyptian Treaty of 1936 156 Antun, Farah 91, 92 Ahmadzadeh, Massoud 53–54 April 6 Youth Movement 163 Alaoui, Ismail 231–232, 235n37 Aqarawi, Razkar 280n7 Al-e Ahmad, Yalal 250 Arab communists 137, 184, 259 Algeria: Ba’athist factions takeover in 27; Arab-Israeli War 160 border dispute with Morocco 227; Arabization 249 communists in colonial 200–202; Arab Left 16–17, 35, 276 communists in independent 207–212; Arab Marxists 250 communists in War of Independence Arab-Muslim cultural heritage 247, 204–207; French Communist Party in 253 5; National Liberation Front (FLN) Arab nationalism 8, 138 see also 204–206; see also Algerian Communist nationalism 300 Index Arab Nationalist Movement (ANM) 259, ben Youssef, Mohammed 221 262–263 Berger, Joseph 95, 147n8 Arab socialism 8–9, 11, 86–87, 114 Bey, Hamit 63 Arab Socialist Union 160, 270 Beydoun, Ahmad 260, 264–265 Arab unity 16, 113, 146, 189, 259 Bid, Ali Salim al- 178–179 Arafat, Yasser 144 Bishri, Tariq al- 246, 250, 252 Arani, Taghi 47 Bitar, Salah 113 Aren, Sadun 66 Bizri, Afif al- 114 Arigita, Elena 269 Black Sea incident 63–64 Aslan, Yusuf 68 Blum, Leon 218 Assad, Hafez al- 117, 118–119 Bolshevik imaginary 241–243 Association against Imperialism 78 Bolshevik Party 17, 45–46, 132, 172, Association of the People’s Reform 80 242–243 see also Soviet Union authoritarian regimes 8 Bolshevik Revolution 60–61, 68, 75–77, autonomy 16 94–95, 129–130, 153, 241–243 Awaad, Arabi 142, 149n30 Boran, Behice 66 Azarnur, Fireidun 53 Borochov, Ber 131 Azerbaijan 49–51 Bouabid, Abderrahim 228–229 Azm, Khalid al- 114 Boucetta, Mohammed 228–229 Boumediene, Houari 209 Ba’athism 113–116, 248 Boumédiène, Houari 27 (see Ba’athist regime: Bakdash collaborating Boumediene, Houari) with 117; economy of 116; in Iraq 27, Bread and Freedom Party 163 86–87; Qasim’s government and 251; British Empire 60 struggles within 118–119; in Syria 27 Buabid, Abderrahim 219 (see Bouabid, Ba’ath Party 111 Abderrahim) Ba Dhib, Abdallah 171 Bukharin, Nikolai 17 Ba Dhib, Ali 172 Bullard, Reader 49 Ba Dhib family 170 By Virtue of Marxism programme 196 Baghdad Pact 99–100, 112 BAHITHAT 288, 291 capitalism: Arab socialism as 10–11; Bakdash, Ammar 106n15, 120–121, 124 defeating 96; Democratic Way and Bakdash, Khalid 79, 96–97, 106n15, 109, 15–16; Egypt’s struggle against 245; 111–112, 114–115, 185, 247 global 273; industrial 20–21; in Bakdash, Wissal Farha 106n15, 120–121 Middle East context 12; Nasser Bakr, Ahmad Hasan al- 87 condemning 25; revolutionary action Baku Congress 22–23, 105n2, 129 against 91–92; transitioning from Bandung Conference 25–26 agrarian to 4 Banner, The 159 Cayan, Mahir 68 Barakat, Halim 90 Cedar Revolution 102–103 Bardawil, Fadi 265–266 CEDAW (Convention on the Elimination Barre, Mohamed Siad 28 of All Forms of Discrimination Basim, Zaki 81, 82 against Women) 292 Behrooz, Maziyar 52–53 Césaire, Aimé 6 Bekir, Sami 61–62 Chaqueri, Cosro 48 Belal, Aziz 235n37 Charara, Waddah 260, 264–265 Belli, Mihri 66 Chararah Baydoun, Azza: as apolitical Benabdallah, Nabil 232 288; characterized as arrogant 289; Benabdellah, Abdelkrim 224 expelled from OCAL 285–286; Ben Barka, Mehdi 219, 227 founding of BAHITHAT 288; on four Ben Bella, Ahmed 208–209 stages of feminism 283; resuming Bendjedid, Chadli 11, 210 university studies 288; treated as a Benkiran, Abdelilah 232–233, 235n45 follower 286; working with Palestinian Ben Seddiq, Mahjoub 224 Women’s Union 287–289 Index 301 Chatterjee, Partha 196–197 Communist Party of Syria and Lebanon Chemali, Fuad 93–94, 95–96, 105n8, 109 (CPSL) 95–98, 105n10 Chicherin, Georgy 61–62 Communist Party of the Soviet Union China: social imperialism in 54; three (CPSU): on bourgeois nationalists worlds theory 54 115; Leninist revolutionary model and Christian Democracy 254–255n2 13–14; Sultan-Galiev influencing 22; Christian Women’s Solidarity Thirteenth Congress 115; Twentieth Association 297n2 Congress 19; Twenty-Fifth conference circular power relations 3 184 class conflict 5 Communist Party of Turkey (TKP) Claudin, Fernando 23 62–65, 66–70 Cliff, Tony 162–163 Communist University of the Toilers of Cold War, Soviet influence in Middle the East 23 East 25–27 Conference of the Non-Aligned 244 colonialism 25–26, 105n7, 129, 146 Congress of the Peoples of the East colonialization 5–6 91–92 Combattants de la libération 206–207 convergent parallels 241 Comintern see Communist International Corrective Movement 117, 119 (Comintern) Council of Propaganda and Action of communism: defect of 21–22; the Peoples of the East 61 dissemination beyond the West 20–25; crony capitalism 11 education as prerequisite to member- Cross, Peter 186 ship 284; feminist consciousness Curiel, Henri 156, 157, 165n11, 246 through 283–286; secular ideologies vs. Czechoslovakia 66 12; in South Arabia 169–170; see also Islamism-communism relationship Dabbas, Ata Mahdi al- 84 Communist International (Comintern): Damascus Declaration 124 abandoning Popular Front’s strategy Darwish, Youssef 157 201; anti-fascist fronts and 48; Davidson, Basil 195 Communist Party of Syria and decolonization 195 see also colonialism Lebanon joining 95; Council of Deeb, Omar 106n21 Propaganda and Action of the Peoples democratic centralism 37n13, 264–265 of the East 61; creation of 1; criticism Democratic Movement for National of PCF 201–202; Egyptian Liberations (HADITU) 158–159, Communist Party and 154; 246 establishment of 129; expansionist Democratic National Party (Egypt) 162 strategy 24; First Congress 22; Democratic Union (Egypt) 157 opposing Zionist ideology 131; Democratic Union of the Algerian Palestine Communist Party and Manifesto (UDMA) 203 131–133; Second Congress 22, 23, Democratic Way 15–16 61–62, 130; Sixth Congress 37n15, 64; Din Mahmud, Nur al- 84 Zion’s membership rejected 131 Din Nuri, Baha al- 83 Communist Organisation in the West DISK (Revolutionary Confederation of Bank 142 Labour Unions) 68–69 communist parties: collaborating with Douek, Raymond 157 nationalist bourgeoisie 22–23; growing Drew, Allison 205, 206 weakness of 14; Leninist model 13; Druze Mountain uprising 93–94 membership totals 36n7; mobilizing Duboc, Marie 269 impact of 14; organization of 13–14 Dulles, Allen 125n8 Communist Party of Algeria 19 Communist Party of Iran 46–47 Eastern Anatolia 75 Communist Party of Israel (MAKI) 137, Egypt: 8 January Egyptian Communist 138–139 Party 161; 25 January revolution Communist Party of Sudan 25 277–279; anarchist movement 302 Index generation gap 278–279; anti-fascist Egyptian communists 19, 37n15, groups 157; April 6 Youth Movement 247–250 163; Arab nationalism under 138; Egyptian Communist Workers Party Bread Revolts 268; collaboration of (ECWP) 161–162 factions 157–158; communist Egyptianization 158–159, 249 movement in 245–246; communist Egyptian Marxism 273 organizations under Nasser regime Egyptian Movement for Change 163 159–160; controlling Gaza Strip 137; Egyptian Movement of National creating alternative cultural spaces Liberation (HAMITU) 157–158 274–275; crushing communist Egyptian Social Democratic Party 163 movement 155; democratic transition Egyptian Socialist Party (ESP) 153–154 phase 275–276; Democratic Engels, Friedrich 21 Movement for National Liberations Errant Journalist (newspaper) 92–93 (HADITU) 158–159; Democratic Ervand, Abrahamian 52 National Party 162; disillusionment of Eskandari, Soleiman Mahsen 48 intellectuals 274; disintegration of Eskandari, Solyan Mirza 48 Communist Party 274; Egyptian Ethiopia 169–170 Communist Workers Party (ECWP) Eurocentric Marxist thinking 6 161–162; Egyptian left failing to Eurocentric revolution 21 meeting needs of 272–273; Egyptian Ezz, Mohamed 280n9 Movement of National Liberation (HAMITU) 157–158; end to British Fabianism 153–154, 165n4 prerogatives in 245–246; Evacuation Fahad, Comrade see Salman, Yusuf Day 158; Free Officers Movement 159, Faisal, Yousif 184 166n18, 247; Friends of the Peace Faisal, Yusuf 106n15 movement 246; General fascism 18, 47–49, 64–65, 132, 156–157 Confederation of Labour (CGT) Fassi Fihri, Omar 235n40 152–153, 155; Liberation Rally 159; Fattah, Ibrahim al- 78 Libertarian Socialist Movement 272, Fawzy-Rossano, Didar 246, 247, 248, 277–278; National Committee of 252 Workers and Students 158; nationalist Fedayeen Majority 56–57 bourgeoisie in 154–155; National Fedayeen Minority 57–58 Progressive Unionist Party 162; Fedayeen organization 53–57 oppositional ideologies in 75; Party Federation of South Arabia 170 Press law 275; political activism 272; femicide 292–293 political dependence 245; feminism: feminist consciousness through Revolutionary Socialists organisation communism 283–286; generation gap 162–163, 271; second communist 295–296; intra-discrimination 292; movement 156–157; socialist party in new left 295; rights-based 295–296; 153–154, 245, 246; student movement second-wave feminist movement 285; in 268–270; Suez crisis 84; Tahrir stages of 283, 297n2; violence against Square 277–278; third communist women and 292–293 movement 160–163; trade union Feminist Bloc 296 movement 30, 37n15, 153; Unified Firqua Democrat Azerbaijan 49–51 Egyptian Communist Party 159–160; Firqua Democrat Kurdistan 49–51 Unified Workers’ Party 162; Union of First Congress of the Peoples of the East Egyptian University Teachers 276; 22 Wafd Party 154–156, 246; Workers First Congress of the Third International and Peasants Party 160 22 Egyptian Communist Party (ECP) 9; Fishawi, Khaled al- 269 characteristics of 163; Comintern and Flayyeh, Asim 77, 78, 79 154; founding of 152, 246; Nasser Forclaude, Marc 218 government repression campaign 160; Free Officers Movement 159, 166n18 ties to workers’ movement 152–156 French capitalism 6 Index 303 French Communist Party (PCF) 5; Hekmatjoo, Parviz 53 Algerian region of 200; Comintern Helou, Farajallah el- 99, 106n16 criticism of 201–202; in Morocco 5; Hencin, George 165n12 opposition to Rif War 217; Hezb Khaen Tudeh party 53 relationship with PCA 199; in War of Hezbollah militia organization 102, Independence 205 103–104, 126n30 French-Lebanese establishment 91 Hilal, Jamil 16 French Levant 92 Hilu, Radwan al 147n7 Front for the Defence of Constitutional Hitler, Adolf 97 Institutions (EDIC) 226 Hmimid, Zahra 232 Front for the Liberation of Occupied human rights organizations 14–15 South Yemen (FLOSY) 170 Hunchak (Hentchak) social democratic Front islamique du salut (Islamic movement 75 Salvation Front, FIS) 211 Husain, Adil 252–254 Husain, Ahmad 245, 252 Gajar dynasty 45 Husayn, Saddam 87 (see Hussein, Gallery 68 (magazine) 275 Saddam) Gannushi, Rashid al- 252 Husnu, Sefik 62 Garang, Joseph 184 Hussam, Ahmed 269 Gaza Strip 137–138 Hussein, Saddam 74 General Confederation of Labour Husseini, Haj Amin al 134 (CGT): creation of 152–153; ending British occupation 155 Ibrahim, Mohsen 102, 259, 264–265 German reunification 253 Ibrahim, Mu’awia 192 Gervasio, Gennaro 270 Imara, Muhammad 252 Gezmis, Denis 68 Inan, Huseyin 68 Ghazali, Zeinab al- 246–247 Infitah policies 11 Gilani Rashid, Ali al- 75 International Monetary Fund (IMF) 11 Glubb, J. B. 139 Iran: CIA coup 51–53; communist Golan Agreement 126n27 movement, emergence of 45–46; Gómez Garcia, Luz 275 Communist Party of Iran 46–47; Gorbachev, Mikhail 20, 69, 122 counter-revolutionaries 56–57; Gramscian Marxism 252 dismantling Communist Party in Great Britain 25–26 50–51; fascism’s rise in 47–49; Green Army Association 60 February Revolution 56; Fedayeen Gresa, Jacques 219 organization 53–56; friendship treaties Gresh, Alain 9, 191–192, 193 5; Hezb Khaen Tudeh party 53; Gromyko, A. 136 immigrants 45; imperialism vs. Group of 53 47 socialism 56; Islamic Republic 57–58; Gulf Coordination Council (GCC) 181 Military Organisation 58n5; proletariat of 54; social democracy 45; Hached, Ferhat 223 splits in Iranian left 56–57; Tudeh Hadade, Khaled 106n22 Party in 47–49; Union of the Oil Hadjerès, Sadek 206 Workers 47; see also Tudeh Party Hague International Court 51 Iraq: Association against Imperialism 78; Haj Salch, Yassin al- 126n21 Association of the People’s Reform 80; Halali, Ahmad Nabil al- 271 Ba’athist factions takeover in 27; Hanafi, Hasan 248–249 communist circles 77–78; military Hanieh, Adam 12 coup in 79–80; national bourgeoisie Hasan, Qasim 78 84–85; National Progressive Front 74; Hashim, Mahdi 78 oil revenues 81; Port Workers’ Union Hassan II 227, 229–230 82; Radiomen Regiment 80; Solidarity Hawatmeh, Nayef 259 Club 76; spread of Communist Hawi, Georges 98, 102 thought in 74–75; Treaty of Friendship 304 Index and Cooperation 87; tripartite Joint Meetings Party (JMP) 180–181, aggression 83–84; Warthbah protest 182 82–84 Jordan 140 Iraqi Communist Party 27; bouncing Jordanian Communist Party (JCP) 137, back 83; Central Committee 79; 141 conference 84; description of 30–31; Jordanian communists 139–142 Din Nuri, Baha al- leading 83; Joumblatt, Kamal 262 formation of 75; founding of 74; Jubran, Jubran Khalil 248 peaceful road as central tenet of Julien, Charles-André 217, 218 84–85; supporting military coup 79–80; supporting Qasim 85–86 Kalfat, Khalil 166n23 Iraqi communists 19 Karabekir, K. 63 Iraq Petroleum Company (IPC) 81 Karami, Rachid 100 Islamic Republic 57–58 Kaypakkaya, Ibrahim 68 Islamic Salvation Front 211 Kelly, Mary 284 Islam/Islamism: class struggle and 251, Kemal, Mustafa 63 254; communism connection to Keown-Boyd, Alexander 165n9 241–242; conciliation through Khairi, Zaki 77–78 247–250; modernity, incompatibility Khalid, Khalid Muhammad 247, 248 with 11–12; PAGS interpretation of Khavari, Ali 53 211; reconfiguring communist Khoury, Gérard 105n6 movement 249; socialism vs. 242; see Khrushchev, Nikita 111 also Islamism-communism Kidour, Arsen 75–76 relationship Kuchak Khan, Mirza 46 Islamism-communism relationship: class Kulla Democratic Bloc 231 struggle and 251; coexistence between Kurdish revolt 64 244–247; collaborations 246–247; Kurdistan 49–51, 57 distributive justice 253–254; Kuusinen, Otto 64 ideological conflicts 250–252; rejecting bourgeois-liberal democracy 245; Labonne, Eirik 220 religion and 250–251; religious laicism 291 principles and economic system 253; Laqueur, Walter 90 shared positioning 244; staging of Laroui, Abdallah 250 243–244 Layachi, Abdallah 224 Ismael, Tareq and Jacqueline 96 League of Arab Intellectuals 136 Ismail, Yusuf 77, 78 League of Nations 5, 90, 92, 110 Israel: Arab Nationalist Movement Lebanese Association of Women harassing 259; connection with USA Researchers (BAHITHAT) 288, 291 111; creation of 109–110; Intifada Lebanese Communist Party (LCP): 143–144; Jordanian Communist Party Cedar Revolution and 102–103; and 141; targeting Lebanon 264, 290; defeated in legislative elections 98; see also Palestine defending rights of Lebanese 103; as Israel, Marcel 157 defensive organization 101; description Israeli communists 145 of 31; embracing women’s rights 289; Istiklal Party 134 (see Istiqlal Party) influencing society 100; internal crisis Istiqlal Manifesto 220–221 in 100, 102, 259–260; opposing Baghdad Pact 99–100; opposing Jabr, Saleh 83 Eisenhower Doctrine 99–100; Jamil, Qadri 123 Palestinian refugees and 104; Jangali (Forest) movement 46–47 supporting al-Turk 120; on Syrian Japanese expansionism 25 conflict 104; Syrian Social Nationalist Jazani, Bijan 54–55 Party and 103 Jewish communists 137 Lebanese Council of Women 297n2 Jewish immigrants 130 Lebanese feminism see feminism Index 305 Lebanese National Movement 101–102 Matti, Khairi and Yusuf 78–79 Lebanese National Resistance Front 102 Mazzella, Michel 222 Lebanese People’s Party (LPP) 92–94 Memmi, Albert 203 Lebanese Women’s League 283 Middle East and North Africa (MENA) Lebanese Women’s Union 297n2 region: communism beyond the West Lebanon: Bustros Pharmacy operation 20–25; communist influence in 4–5; 102; Cedar Revolution 102–103; civil democratic changes in 15–16; war in 100, 287–289; Communist dissociating from false universalism 7; Party of Syria and Lebanon 95–98; independences in 9; power relations decline of Pan-Arabism 258–260; 2–3; religious fundamentalism in 168; discriminatory system 91; Druze rentier policies 10–11; socialist ideas Mountain uprising 93–94; first entering 3–4; Soviet Union’s implementing GAD 294; Israel foreign policy in 17–25; weakness of directly targeting 264, 290; Lebanese communist parties in 14 People’s Party (LPP) 92–94; New Left Mikaleian, Avetis 46 arising 258–259; NGOization period militant ethos 265 in 294–295; October Revolution 92; Mirza Kuchak Khan 46 (see Kuchak Popular Front 97; Popular Guard 101; Khan, Mirza) student movement in 268–269; Mohammadzadeh, Saber 53 taifieh-based political system of 291; Mohammed V 224–225 violence against women 292–293; Monsieur, Ali 45–46 women NGOs in 295; see also Moro, Aldo 241, 254–255n2 Lebanese Communist Party (LCP), Moroccan Association for Human Syrian-Lebanese communism, Rights (AMDH) 15 Syrian-Lebanese Communist Party Moroccan Communist Party (MCP): (SLCP) achieving full legality 225; addressing Lenin, Vladimir 23, 61, 188–189, the United Nations 222–223; 262–263, 264 alignment with Soviet Union 221; Leninist revolutionary model 13 building bridges 227–228; candidates Levantine communism 96–98, 109 for legislative elections 226; El Watan Lévy, Simon 231, 235n45 newspaper 219; in favor of Lewis, Bernard 244 independence 223–224; forced Liberation Fighters (CDL) 206–207 underground 223–224, 225; formation Libertarian Socialist Movement 272, of 219; Independence Manifesto 277–278 219–220; influence in political arena linear power relations 3 225–227; Moroccoization of 220–221; Lozeray, Henri 219 party membership 221; print media and 222; protest demonstrations by Madoyan, Artine 95 223; strategy of 222; supporting Mahgoub, Abdel Khaliq 184, 186, 188, nationalist government 224–225 191, 196 Moroccan Democratic Way 15–16 Maoist groups 20 Moroccan Labour Union (UMT) 224 Marty, André 219 Morocco: border disputes 227, 228; Marx, Karl 21, 243 communism in, origins of 217–218; Marxism: colonialism and 105n7; Constituent National Assembly 226; criticism of 7; Egyptian Marxism 273; coups 229; Front for the Defence of Egyptian patriotic orientation on 156; Constitutional Institutions (EDIC) as an evolutionism 261; Gramscian 226; influenced by Spanish Civil War Marxism 252; Iranian 52–53; social 218; Justice and Development Party transformations and 7; (PJD) 232; National Consultative vernacularization of 185–186, 189, 196 Assembly 225; national movement Marxism Islamism, defectors from 252 224–225; National Union of Popular Masud, Abdallah 80 Forces (UNFP) 226; Party of Matar, Found 196 Liberation and Socialism (PLS) 306 Index 228–229; Party of Progress and 170; Fifth Congress 175; Fourth Socialism (PPS) 229–232, 235n37; Congress 175; incorporating the PDU political upheaval 227; as refuge 171; leadership of 175; Marxist- colony 219; Roosevelt Clubs 221; Leninist ideology of 174; PDU Sahara policy 230–231; schism of 1970 influence on 181; reorganization of 229–231; Socialist Union of Popular 175; as vanguard party 181–182 Forces 230; Socialist Youth congress National Liberation League (NLL) 135, 217; Soviet relations with 234n25; 137 Spanish communists influencing 218; National Progressive Front 74, 118, 121, world war years of 219–220; see also 126n20 French Communist Party (PCF), National Progressive Unionist Party 162 Moroccan Communist Party (MCP) National Union of Popular Forces Morsi, Fuad 159 (UNFP) 226 Mossadegh, Mohammad 30, 51–52 New Communist List (RAKAH) Moussa, Salama 153–154, 157, 165n4 138–139 Mouvement pour le triomphe des libertés New Dawn (FJ: Egypt) 157 démocratiques 203 (see Movement for new left feminism 295 the Triumph of Democratic Liberties New Left groups 20 (MTLD) Nezami Hezb, Sazman 52 Movement for the Triumph of Nimeirie’s regime 190–194 Democratic Liberties (MTLD) 203 Nixon, Richard 53 Mubarak, Hosni 162–163 Nohra, Maurice 104, 106n16 Muhammad, Ali Nasir 171, 173, Nonaggression Pact 97 177–178 Non-Aligned Movement 244 Muhammad, Madeeha Anwar 254 non-capitalist development theory 8–9, Mursi, Fouad 246 86 Muslim Brotherhood 245–246, 249–251, non-governmental organizations (NGOs) 269, 280n10 14–15 non-oil-producing rentier states 10 Nasir, Ali 182 North American colonialism 25–26 Nasir, Butrus Abu see Vasili, Petros North Yemen, reunification of 179 Nasser, Gamal Abdel 25–26, 84, 138, Numan, Yasin Said 181 157, 159 Nuqrashi, Mahmoud 158 Nasser government 112, 159–160, 164, Nuri, Suleyman 63 269–270 Nasserism 248, 269, 273 Obad, Ali Saleh 179–180 Nassif-Debb, Marie 101, 103, 106n19 Occidentosis theory 250 National Committee of Workers and October Revolution 61 Students (NCWS: Egypt) 158 Oghlu, Heidar Amou 45 National Consultative Assembly, Oil Nationalization Bill 51 Morocco 225 oil-rentier economies 10–11 National Coordination Committee for Oliver, Roland 195 Democratic Change in Syria and Omar, Jarallah 179, 180 Abroad 126n29 Omari, Adil 275 nationalism 5–6, 8 see also Arab Operation Ajax 52 (Ajax Operation?) nationalism Organisation de la résistance populaire National Liberation Army (ALN), (Organisation of the Popular Algeria 204 Resistance, ORP) 209 (see National Liberation Front (FLN), Organisation of the Popular Algeria 204–207, 209, 210 Resistance, ORP) National Liberation Front (NLF), Organisation of Palestinian Communists Yemen 19; Accomplishing National 143 Democratic Liberation programme Organisation of the Popular Resistance 174–175; challenging British authority (ORP) 209 Index 307 Organization for the Communist Action Peyk-e Saadat-e Nesvan (Messenger of in Lebanon (OCAL) 258, 260–262, Women’s Prosperity) 47 264–265, 282, 283–287, 289 Pishevari 49–51 Organization of the Lebanese Socialists Poali Zion party 131 259, 260–261, 264 Popular Democratic Front for the Ottoman Empire 60, 75, 92, 169, 241 Liberation of Palestine (PDFLP) 259 Palestinian People’s Party 144–145 Popular Front for Change and Palestine: Arab national movement 134; Liberation 126n30 colonizing 130; demand for Popular Front for the Liberation of independent Arab state in 137–138; Palestine 259 General Arab Strike 133–134; Istiklal Popular Socialist Party of Egypt 271 Party 134; national communism Port Workers’ Union 82 135–137; partition of 98–99, 136; Pouyan, Amir-Parviz 54 revolution 261; Soviet Union’s support power, differential accumulation of 2–3 for partition of 99, 122, 136, 145; (differential accumulation of power) violence outbreaks 133–135; Primakov, Yevgeny 190–191 Zionist movement in 132; see also progressive authoritarian regimes 8 Israel Palestine Communist Party (PCP): Arab Qazanchi, Kamil 82 communists in Gaza Strip organizing Quwatli, Shukri al- 26 under 137; attrition rate 133; Berger as leader of 93; Comintern directives for Radi, Husayn Ahmad al- 84 131–133; Jewish membership 139; Rahhal, Husayn al- 75–76 Lebanese People’s Party as branch of Rashid Rida, Muhammad 241–243 93–94; reaching out to native Razmdideh, Asef 53 inhabitants 133; re-establishment of Reda, Rafik 106n16 142–145 Reich Cabinet 47 Palestine Liberation Organisation (PLO) religious fundamentalism 168 140, 142–143 rentier policies 10–11 Palestinian communists 139–142 Revolutionary Socialists organization Palestinian Liberation Organisation 101 162–163 Palestinian National Guard 144 Reza Khan (Reza Shah) 46–47 Palestinian Women’s Union 287–289 Reza Shah, Mohammad 47 Pan-Arabism 258–260 Rézette, Robert 218 Parti communiste algérien see Algerian Riashi, Iskander al- 92 Communist Party (PCA) Rifai, Suleiman al- 159 Parti de l’avantgarde socialiste, the Riffi, Chouaib 228 Socialist Vanguard Party (PAGS) 200, Rif War 217 209–212 rights-based feminism 295–296 Party for Socialist Power 70 Rodinson, Maxime 105n7, 243 Party of Liberation and Socialism (PLS) Rosenthal, Joseph 3, 153, 164–165n2 228–229 Roudani, Brahim 224 Party of Progress and Socialism (PPS) Roy, M. N. 22, 130 229–232, 235n37 Rubai Ali, Salim 171, 177 Pavlowitch 63 Rufail, Nuri 78 Peace-Partisans’ Union (Egypt) 157 Russian Revolution 17 Peoples’ Democratic Union (PDU) 168, Russian Social Democratic Labor Party 171, 172, 181–182 264 People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen (PDRY) 168, 173, 176 Sa’ad, Ahmad Sadiq 157 People’s Liberation (Egypt) 157 Sabri Abdallah, Ismail 246 People’s Republic of South Yemen 170 Sadat, Anouar al- 252 (see Sadat, perestroika 20, 69 Anwar) 308 Index Sadat, Anwar 27–28, 161–162 of 260; on failure of petite bourgeoisie Sadik Saad, Ahmed 275 263; fusion with Organization of the Sadr, Muhammad al- 83 Lebanese Socialists 260–261; on Sa’id, Rif at al- 249 Marxism as an evolutionism 261; Said, Samih 269 (see Said Abud, Samih) Marxist-Leninist teachings and Said, Sheikh 64 262–263; organizational model 265; Said Abud, Samih 270, 272, 275, 276, reinterpreting Marxism 261 277–279 Socialist Party of Egypt 245, 246 Said Saadi, Mohamed 232, 235n40, 249 Socialist People’s Party of Egypt 162 Salam, Adel 86 Socialist Popular Alliance Party 163, Salam, Saeb 100 166n24 Salfiti, Fahmi 140 Socialist Union of Popular Forces Salman, Yusuf 77, 79, 80–82 (USFP) 230 Sayel, Saif 180 Socialist Unity Party 70 Schuman, Robert 222 socialist Zionists 130 Schwartz, Hillel 157 social movements, objectives of 4 scientific socialism 114 Solidarity Club 76 Second Congress of the Third Soud, Ghias Youn 120 International 22, 23, 130 South Arabia 169–170 secularism 16 South Yemen 172–173, 179, 263 Serfaty, Abraham 216, 218, 223 Soviet eastern policy 61 SFIO (French Section of the Workers’ Soviet Republic of Gilan 46–47 International) 217 Soviet Union: adapting socioeconomic Shabiba youth group 170, 171 project to pre-industrial society 21; Shabibi, Muhammad al- 81, 83 Arab military collaborations with Shariati, Ali 6–7 27–28; backing Nasser 26; Black Sea Sharif, Aziz 80 incident 63–64; break with China 20; Shari Yunis, Omar 275 communism stages 17–19; economic Shawi, Nicolas 98, 100 relations with Sudan 190; foreign Shaykh Hamud, Ali al- 84 policy in MENA region 17–25; foreign Sheikh, al Shafie Ahmed el- 184 policy in Turkey 60–62; friendship Shi’ite activists 101 treaties 5; influence in MENA region Shishakli, Adib 111 24; influence in Middle East 25–27; Shubra al-Khayma Mechanized Textile influencing Yemeni Socialist Party Workers’ Union 251–252 172–174; International Aid Fund Shukri, Ibrahim 245 124–125n6; Iraq treaty of Friendship Shukur, Ali 82 and Cooperation 87; losing interest in Shumayyel, Ibrahim Naji 82 Arab communist parties 19; Morocco Shumayyil, Shibli 91, 92 relations 234n25; opening up to Sidqi, Ahmad 147n6 indigenous movements 25–26; Sidqi, Bakr 79–80 Palestinian conflict and 26; providing Sidqi, Ismail 158 arms to Arab governments 113–114; Sion, Paole 95 revolutionary needs vs. foreign affairs Sivan, Emmanuel 203 23–24; strategic role of Middle East Six-Day War 27 for 27–28; supporting Arab General Smeral, Boumil 147n8 Strike 134; supporting Palestine social democracy: Iranian immigrants partition 99, 122, 136, 145; supporting and 45; transformation to 20 Turkish communists 64; Syria and 26, social democratization 20 110–111, 117; Syrian Communist Social Democrat Workers’ Party of Party and 110–113; Treaty of Rapallo Russia 45–46 see also Bolshevik Party 24; two camps doctrine 18; see also Socialist Labour Party newspaper 252 Bolshevik Party, Communist Socialist Lebanon (SL): connecting with International (Comintern) European networks 260–261; creation Stalin, Joseph 17–18, 19, 50–51, 97, 98 Index 309 Stanzel, Volker 175 Syrian communists, supporting Bachar state capitalism 10–11 al-Assad’s government 123 Subhi, Mustafa 62 Syrian Democratic People’s Party 120, Sudan: Aglo-Egyptian Treaty 186–187; 124 applying Marxism to 188–189; Syrian-Lebanese communism: beginnings economic relations with Soviet Union of 91–92; Communist Party of Syria 190; independence agreement 187–188; and Lebanon 95–98; evolution of self-rule, right to 187; working-class 116–117; Lebanese People’s Party movement in 186 (LPP) 92–94; native peoples distrust of Sudan Communist Party (SCP): adopting 92; Shi’ite activists loyal to 101; split socialism 185–187, 189; Arab between 97; unionism and 93; see also communists shunning 184; disbanding Lebanese Communist Party (LCP) of 194–195; effectiveness of 189; Syrian-Lebanese Communist Party fallout with Soviet party 191–193; (SLCP) 109 founding of 185; internal conflict 196; Syrian Lebanese Socialist Party 95 labour movement and 186; Nimeirie’s regime and 190–192; opposing Soviet Taef Accord 288, 291–292 (see Taif Union 184; refusing Soviet line 190; Accord) Soviet recognition of 185; Soviet Tahrir Square 277–278 Union demands on 189–191; as Taif system 291 transgressor of Soviet trust 194; theory production as political practice vernacularizing Marxism 185–186, 274–277 189, 196 Thorez, Maurice 204 Sudan communists 185 Torres, Ana 234n25 Sudan Trade Union Federation 187 Traboulsi, Fawwaz 260, 264–265, 284, Suez Canal: crisis in 84, 166n20; 297n4 reopening of 173 trade union movement 30, 37n15 Sulayman, Ahmad 185, 193–194 trasformismo 8, 37n8 Sultan, Leon 218, 219 Treaty of Rapallo 24 (see Rapallo, Treaty Sultan-Galiev, Mirsaid 22 of) Sultanzadeh, Ahmad 46 Trotsky, Leon 24 Suwaydi, Tawfiq al- 81 Tudeh Party 30; branches of 49; CIA Sykes-Picott Agreement 90 coup and 51–53; establishment of Syria: as agricultural country 110, 124n3; 47–48; frustration with 53–56; gaining Ba’athist factions takeover in 27; recognition 48–49; membership totals Corrective Movement 117, 119; 49; outside of Iran 57–58; Soviet independence from France 109; favouring 50; survival theory 54; see National Progressive Front 74, 118, also Iran 121, 126n20; recriminations to USA Tuma, Jamil 77 123; rejecting dictates of United States Tunisia, French Communist Party in 5 124; Soviet military bases in 27; Turbai, Hasan al- 252 supporting Jordan’s Palestinian move- Turk, Riad el- 118, 120, 124 ment 117 Turkey: adopting democratic constitution Syrian Baath Party 260 65; alliance with Russia 62; Ankara Syrian Communist Party (SCP): government 63; anti-American Ba’athism and 113–116; Ba’athists in protests 67; anti-imperialist youth power 121–122; under Bakdash movement 67; Black Sea incident 121–122; glory days of 116–117; 63–64; communist youth movement ideological-internal split in 118–120; 67–68; DISK (Revolutionary in independent Syria 109–110; socialist Confederation of Labour Unions) transformation programme 116; 68–69; Draft Treaty of Friendship 62; strategy of 111–112; unified 106n15; friendship treaties 5; Kurdish uprisings USSR and 110–113 64; May Day celebration 68–69; Syrian communists 19 military coup in 69; Party for Socialist 310 Index Power 70; Penal Code 65; Proletarian women: abused women 293; NGOs in Revolutionaries 66; as satellite of Lebanon 295; political activism of American Cold War empire 65; as 295; violence against 292–293 security concern to Soviet leadership Workers and Peasants Party 160 71; socialist party in 65–67; Socialist Workers of Zion, Left 131 Unity Party 70; Soviet eastern policy Workers Party of Turkey (TIP) 65–67 for 60–62, 71–72; United Communist Workers’ Vanguard (Egypt) 157 Party of Turkey 69–70; Workers Party of Turkey 65–67; see also Communist Yata, Ali 219, 220, 221, 222, 228, Party of Turkey (TKP) 229–230 Turkish communists, Soviet support for Yazbek, Youssef Ibrahim 93–94 64 Yemen 28; Ali Nasir coup 173–174; Turkish Empire 90 communist movement in 170; Joint Turkler, Kemal 68–69 Meetings Party (JMP) 180–181, 182; Turok, Ben 186 land reform in 176; national democratic revolution in 175; as part Ulyanovsky, Rostislav 191 of British India 170; Peoples’ Unified Egyptian Communist Party Democratic Union (PDU) 168, 171, 159–160 172; People’s Democratic Republic of Unified Workers’ Party 162 Yemen (PDRY) 168; reunification of Union démocratique du Manifeste 179; socialization of economy in algérian 203 175–176; Soviet relations with Union of Egyptian University Teachers 172–174; Yemeni Socialist Party (YSP) 276 168; see also National Liberation Union of the Oil Workers (Iran) 47 Front (NLF), Yemeni Socialist Party United Arab Republic (UAR) 112, 113 (YSP) United Communist Party of Turkey Yemen Arab Republic (YAR) 173 (TBKP) 69–70 Yemeni Socialist Party (YSP): evolution United Nations: Decade of Women of ideology 174–177; factionalism in 297n2; GAD (gender and 177–179; founding of 168; objectives development) 293–294; human of 179; party membership 177; development approaches 293–294; reorganization of 172; reunification of Palestine partition plan 136–137, 140, 179–181; Soviet influence and 259 172–174, 177; tribalism and 179; United Political Organization of the UPONF changing name to 171–172; National Front (UPONF) 171–172 as vanguard party 181–182 United Soviet Socialist Republics see Yératzian, Aram 95 Soviet Union Young Egypt Association 245 Urabi, Mahmoud Hosni al- 154 Youssoufi, Abderrahmane 15, 231 USSR see Soviet Union Zade, Sultan 64 Vasili, Petros 76–77 Zaghloul, Saad 155, 165n3 Vilner, Meir 136 Zahedi, Fazlollah 52 Vishinski, Andrei 49 zakat 253–254 Zaki, Ahmed 269 Wafdist Vanguard 157 Zedong, Mao 25 Wafd Party 154–156, 157, 165n3, 246 Zhdanov, Andrei 18 Warburg, Gabriel 189 Zionism 132, 146 Warthbah protest 82–84 Zirkavilov, Ilya 194 wife beating 293 Zuwayyed, Ghali 77