Mussolini's Propaganda Abroad: Subversion in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, 1935-1940

MUSSOLINI’S PROPAGANDA ABROAD

This is the first major study in English of Fascist Italy’s overseas propaganda. Using British, Italian and French documents, it is also the first investigation into the relationship between Mussolini’s regime and Arab nationalist movements. This new account covers propaganda and subversive activities engineered by the Italian government in the Mediterranean and the Middle East from 1935 until 1940, when Italy entered the war. It assesses the nature of the challenge brought by the Fascist regime to British security and colonial interests in the region. Fascist propaganda, in particular in the Arab Middle East, must be regarded as an expression of Mussolini’s foreign policy and his attempts to build an Italian empire that would stretch beyond the Mediterranean, gaining control over the exits, Gibraltar and Suez, which were in the hands of the British and the French. The activities of individual agents and organisations are carefully reconstructed and analysed to highlight the seemingly contradictory objectives of the Italian government: on the one hand, Rome was courting the Arab nationalist movements in Egypt and Palestine, which were seeking the support of external forces capable of providing political, financial and military backing needed to overthrow foreign rulers; on the other, the regime was promoting further territorial expansion in Africa. These aspects build into an excellent picture of this fascinating period of modern history. This book will be of great interest to all students and scholars of politics, media, Italian history and propaganda. Manuela A. Williams is lecturer in Modern European History at the University of Strathclyde. Her current research interests include propaganda and political communications, the history and politics of modern Italy, and the history of the Middle East.

STUDIES IN INTELLIGENCE SERIES General Editors: Richard J. Aldrich and Christopher Andrew

BRITISH MILITARY INTELLIGENCE IN THE PALESTINE CAMPAIGN, 1914–1918 Yigal Sheffy BRITISH MILITARY INTELLIGENCE IN THE CRIMEAN WAR, 1854–1856 Stephen M. Harris SIGNALS INTELLIGENCE IN WORLD WAR II Edited by David Alvarez KNOWING YOUR FRIENDS Intelligence inside alliances and coalitions from 1914 to the Cold War Edited by Martin S. Alexander ETERNAL VIGILANCE 50 years of the CIA Edited by Rhodri Jeffreys-Jones and Christopher Andrew NOTHING SACRED Nazi espionage against the Vatican, 1939–1945 David Alvarez and Revd. Robert A. Graham INTELLIGENCE INVESTIGATIONS How Ultra changed history Ralph Bennett INTELLIGENCE ANALYSIS AND ASSESSMENT Edited by David Charters, A. Stuart Farson and Glenn P. Hastedt TET 1968 Understanding the surprise Ronnie E. Ford INTELLIGENCE AND IMPERIAL DEFENCE British intelligence and the defence of the Indian empire 1904–1924 Richard J. Popplewell ESPIONAGE: PAST, PRESENT, FUTURE? Edited by Wesley K. Wark

THE AUSTRALIAN SECURITY INTELLIGENCE ORGANIZATION A unofficial history Frank Cain POLICING POLITICS Security intelligence and the liberal democratic state Peter Gill FROM INFORMATION TO INTRIGUE Studies in secret service based on the Swedish experience 1939–45 C. G. McKay DIEPPE REVISITED A documentary investigation John Campbell MORE INSTRUCTIONS FROM THE CENTRE Andrew Gordievsky CONTROLLING INTELLIGENCE Edited by Glenn P. Hastedt SPY FICTION, SPY FILMS AND REAL INTELLIGENCE Edited by Wesley K. Wark SECURITY AND INTELLIGENCE IN A CHANGING WORLD New perspectives for the 1990s Edited by A. Stuart Farson, David Stafford and Wesley K. Wark A DON AT WAR Sir David Hunt KCMG, OBE (reprint) INTELLIGENCE AND MILITARY OPERATIONS Edited by Michael I. Handel LEADERS AND INTELLIGENCE Edited by Michael I. Handel WAR, STRATEGY AND INTELLIGENCE Michael I. Handel STRATEGIC AND OPERATIONAL DECEPTION IN THE SECOND WORLD WAR Edited by Michael I. Handel CODEBREAKER IN THE FAR EAST Alan Stripp INTELLIGENCE FOR PEACE Edited by Hesi Carmel INTELLIGENCE SERVICES IN THE INFORMATION AGE Michael Herman

ESPIONAGE AND THE ROOTS OF THE COLD WAR The conspiratorial heritage David McKnight SWEDISH SIGNAL INTELLIGENCE 1900–1945 C. G. McKay and Bengt Beckman THE NORWEGIAN INTELLIGENCE SERVICE, 1945–1970 Olav Riste SECRET INTELLIGENCE IN THE TWENTIETH CENTURY Edited by Heike Bungert, Jan G. Heitmann and Michael Wala THE CIA, THE BRITISH LEFT AND THE COLD WAR Calling the tune? Hugh Wilford OUR MAN IN YUGOSLAVIA The story of a secret service operative Sebastian Ritchie UNDERSTANDING INTELLIGENCE IN THE TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY Journeys in shadows Len Scott and Peter Jackson MI6 AND THE MACHINERY OF SPYING Philip H. J. Davies TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY INTELLIGENCE Edited by Wesley Wark INTELLIGENCE AND STRATEGY Selected essays John Robert Ferris THE US GOVERNMENT, CITIZEN GROUPS AND THE COLD WAR The state–private network Edited by Helen Laville and Hugh Wilford PEACEKEEPING INTELLIGENCE New players, extended boundaries Edited by David Carment and Martin Rudner SPECIAL OPERATIONS EXECUTIVE A new instrument of war Edited by Mark Seaman MUSSOLINI’S PROPAGANDA ABROAD Subversion in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, 1935–1940 Manuela A. Williams

MUSSOLINI’S PROPAGANDA ABROAD Subversion in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, 1935–1940

Manuela A. Williams

First published 2006 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada by Routledge 270 Madison Ave, New York, NY 10016 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2006 Manuela A. Williams

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2006. “To purchase your own copy of this or any of Taylor & Francis or Routledge’s collection of thousands of eBooks please go to www.eBookstore.tandf.co.uk.” All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. 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 for this book has been requested ISBN 0-415-35856-6 (Print Edition)

TO MY HUSBAND PETER AND SON DYLAN

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements Abbreviations

xi xii

Introduction

1

PART I

The interwar period

15

1 The challenge of nationalism: restructuring the British empire

17

2 A European Muslim power: Italy’s policies in the mare nostrum and the Red Sea

30

3 Fascist Italy challenges the Anglo-Saudi partnership

44

PART II

Palestine and the radicalisation of Arab struggle: Italian and German propaganda, 1935–1940

49

4 The origins of the unrest: the sale of land

51

5 Italian activities in Palestine: Mussolini as ‘The Sword of Islam’

63

6 Nazi Germany in the Middle East: the Auswärtiges Amt and the Palestine question

90

ix

CONTENTS

PART III

Italian propaganda in Egypt: Egyptian politics, Italian communities and Arab nationalism

107

7 Challenging the old system: Italian activities in British and French colonies

109

8 The Arabisation of Egyptian nationalism

118

9 Structure and forms of Italian propaganda

124

PART IV

Defending the empire: British imperial propaganda and counter-intelligence, 1936–1940

145

10 The war of words: British cultural diplomacy and counter-propaganda in the Middle East

147

11 Monitoring the enemy: British intelligence and counter-intelligence services in the interwar years

159

12 Mussolini’s secret army: Italian intelligence services from the First to the Second World War

173

Conclusion

182

Notes Bibliography Index

188 221 235

x

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I would like to thank the many people and institutions who have made this study possible. This book began as a doctoral thesis and I owe a debt of gratitude, first of all, to my then supervisor and subsequently series editor, Professor Richard Aldrich, for his invaluable help, patience and constant encouragement; to Dr Gary Rawnsley for his precious insights and for introducing me to the fascinating study of propaganda. I am very grateful to the British Academy which, first by supporting my doctoral studies and then through a research grant, has effectively made this research possible. I am also indebted to my external examiner, Professor Philip Taylor, for his very useful comments; to Professor Conan Fischer, my former Head of Department, for having allowed me to complete this study at the height of the teaching season; to Dr Lotta Hedman for challenging my assumptions; to Dr Robert Mallett for pointing me in the right direction; to Professor Simon Tormey for his advice at the beginning of this research; to Angela Barthie for her excellent work in the French archives; to all my colleagues in the History Department, University of Strathclyde, for their moral support and friendship. Staff at the archives where I collected most of my documentation – especially at the Public Record Office in London, the Archives and Special Collections, University of Durham and the Service Historique de l’Armée de Terre, Vincennes – were most helpful and efficient. I also acknowledge the libraries of the Universities of Nottingham, Cambridge, Leeds, Durham and Newcastle, and the Middle East Centre, St Antony’s College, University of Oxford; for indispensable financial support, the British Council, the Gilchrist Educational Trust, the School of Politics and the University of Nottingham, and in particular Professor Paul Heywood who helped the final stages of my doctoral research. Last but not least I would like to thank my parents, my grandparents and my husband Peter for their loving support throughout the years; Monica Lagazio for her enduring friendship; Alison Parker for her kind understanding; and all my friends for their much appreciated encouragement. Finally, I would like to mention my son Dylan, who kept me awake for many long nights giving me the opportunity to complete the last chapters. xi

ABBREVIATIONS

AEO AIR CAB CID CO DDI DGFP DSO EIAR FO GC&CS GFM GHQ GUF IB INF IOLR IPI IRCE JIC MCP MEIC OVRA PRO RAF SHAT SIA SIE SIM SIME SIS SSI WO

Agence de l’Egypte et de l’Orient Air Ministry Cabinet (Papers) Criminal Investigation Department Colonial Office I documenti diplomatici italiani Documents on German Foreign Policy Defence Security Officer Ente Italiano di Audizioni Radiofoniche Foreign Office (Papers) Government Code and Cypher School German Foreign Ministry (Italian and German captured documents) General Headquarters Gruppi Universitari Fascisti Intelligence Bureau Ministry of Information India Office Library Records Indian Political Intelligence Istituto Nazionale per le Relazioni Culturali Joint Intelligence Committee Malayan Communist Party Middle East Intelligence Centre Opera Volontaria di Repressione Antifascista or Organizzazione di Vigilanza e Repressione Antifascista Public Record Office, Kew Royal Air Force Service Historique de l’Armée de Terre Servizio informazioni aeronautiche Servizio informazioni dell’esercito Servizio informazioni militare Security Intelligence Middle East Secret Intelligence Service (British) Sigint Signals Intelligence War Office xii

INTRODUCTION

Moslems all over the world, though by no means united in their political and economic views or in social conditions, show an extraordinary unity in sentiment. They react in an identical manner and almost spontaneously to any question which affects the treatment of Moslems in any country. This reaction may be exploited by agitators, but is neither created nor directed by them.1 This statement, which seemingly reflects widespread perceptions of the Muslim world following the launch of the ‘war on terror’ in 2001, is in fact part of a broader review of British communication and publicity strategies in the Middle East conducted by the newly established Ministry of Information in August 1939. War in Europe would break out within less than a month, but until then security and communications in the Middle East had been somewhat overlooked. Poor co-ordination between intelligence agencies and the lack of a clear strategy to win the hearts and minds of the Muslim populations had severely weakened Britain’s already precarious relations with the Arab populations and nationalist forces. This left the door open for penetration by hostile forces. During the two last decades there have been significant advances in the field of intelligence history and propaganda studies, which have been generally held to have revolutionised our understanding of the approach, outbreak and subsequent course of the Second World War. However, little attempt has been made to examine the clandestine activities of the Mediterranean powers and, in particular, to assess Italian efforts to challenge the British and French colonial presence in the Middle East during the late 1930s and early 1940s. Nor has there been any substantial attempt to address the obverse of this subject, the British counter-intelligence effort against Italian espionage, subversion and propaganda, or to integrate this theme with British colonial and security policy throughout the Middle East. Secondary literature dealing with the twentieth-century history of the Middle East and the British empire has so far given a narrative and 1

INTRODUCTION

somewhat one-dimensional account which underrates the challenge brought by the Italian Fascist government to the British imperial system in the Middle East. Furthermore, the broader issue of Italian media and cultural propaganda has so far received little attention, beyond limited work on British responses to Italian broadcasts in Egypt and Palestine.2 This stands in contrast to a vast programme of scholarly research that has exhaustively explored the building of state propaganda machines in Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union. In Italy, during the last three decades, some historians and journalists have approached the study of the Fascist regime, focusing on the ‘mechanisms of consensus’ generated by Mussolini’s domestic propaganda, in particular on the eve and during the course of the Ethiopian campaign. These studies have emphasised the relationship between government and media – or more specifically the press – through an analysis of contents, criteria and models offered by journalistic practices intended to broadcast the rhetoric and epic of Italy’s colonial adventure.3 More generally, the volumes by Philip Cannistraro and Victoria De Grazia on Fascist manipulation of public consensus, produced respectively in 1975 and 1981, are still the most widely employed reference works.4 The latest additions to the library shelves are mostly concerned with analysing the implementation of Fascist propaganda during the Second World War. In The Illusion of Victory W. Vincent Arnold provides a fairly comprehensive picture of state propaganda and public perceptions during the conflict, while Mussolini’s Last Republic by Luisa Quatermaine draws attention to the controversial debate surrounding the Italian Social Republic and the activities of the reformed Ministry of Popular Culture.5 However, despite the increasing interest that Fascist propaganda has received of late, little work has been done to analyse and assess Fascist overseas propaganda during the interwar years. This study seeks to address these omissions and will provide a comprehensive analysis of Fascist attempts to subvert the British imperial structure by engaging in a war of words to win the favour of the Arab nationalist leadership. During the course of this study several elements will be identified in order to produce a more coherent analysis of the complex phenomenon of propaganda. First of all, defining the context in which propaganda occurred is considered to be of great significance. The present study attempts to relate Italian propaganda to the set of political, economic and social circumstances that had undermined British imperial policy in the Middle East. It examines how the problems of the British administration in the region and the increasing tension between the British authorities and the Arab nationalist leadership were exploited by Italian propagandists and how the social and political environment contributed to develop the main features of Italian propaganda in the area. 2

INTRODUCTION

A second element central to this study is the purpose of Italian propaganda. The promotion of Fascist ideology among the Middle Eastern populations was thrust by a political rather than ideological drive insofar as propaganda was carefully employed to expand the economic and military capacity of Fascist Italy. In addition to this, resentment generated by postFirst World War territorial settlements, together with Italy’s desire to see its status as a great power internationally recognised, played an important role in shaping Mussolini’s colonial ambitions. Therefore, for the purpose of this study, Fascist propaganda in the Mediterranean region and the Middle East will be mainly regarded as an instrument of peacetime diplomacy, a tool in the hands of the Italian government designed to further strategic and foreign policy objectives. And the Mediterranean dimension remained a constant feature of Italian foreign policy well after the demise of the Fascist regime. The special relationship with the Arab Middle East should be regarded neither as an isolated incident nor as a peculiarity of Fascist foreign policy: so much so, that in the midst of the Cold War, seeking to create an Italian sphere of influence in the Middle East, to assert its leadership in Europe and at the same time to act as an agent of the US in the turbulent years of the Suez crisis, Rome offered its services as a mediator between the Arabs, the US and Europe.6 The Italian government played this role repeatedly throughout the 1980s, during the tragic events of the Achille Lauro and the Sigonella crisis. ‘Successful propaganda campaigns tend to originate from a strong, centralized and decision-making authority that produces a consistent message throughout its structure’.7 The organisation of the propaganda machine and the interaction of all its components are at the core of any research into activities designed to influence individual and collective perceptions and attitudes. The structure of the Fascist communications organisation has so far received little attention from either historians or propaganda scholars. The relative scarcity of primary documentation may account for this lack of interest. This study aims to identify and define the infrastructure supporting the work of Italian propagandists, before engaging in an examination of the forms and contents of Fascist propaganda. Although not entirely centralised, the Italian propaganda machine was mainly co-ordinated by the Ministry of Popular Culture whose synergy with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs guaranteed the smooth propagation of information overseas. Several departments and agencies were allocated responsibility over separate aspects of propaganda and communications. From an analysis of available Italian sources, the whole organisation seems to have been efficiently run; propaganda thus appears as the product of a well-oiled machine, a network of co-ordinated and skilfully linked governmental departments. The strong interdependence between foreign policy and overseas propaganda is emphasised by the presence of Galeazzo Ciano – the mastermind behind the first nucleus of propaganda 3

INTRODUCTION

organisation – as head first of the Ministry of Press and Propaganda and then of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. As Italian propaganda in the Middle East failed to achieve its long-term objectives, the shortcomings and contradictions of Italian policy towards the Arab world became more manifest, undermining the foundations of a fragile partnership between Rome and the Arab capitals that propaganda had helped to forge. Having identified the propagandist, the structure organising propaganda activities and the techniques employed, this study will focus on the targets and recipients of the Fascist campaign. Seeking to accelerate the dissolution of Britain’s political, economic and military hegemony in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, Mussolini spurred on the Arab populations and nationalist movements in their quest for an immediate end of the old colonial and Mandatory system. In particular, here attention will be given to the nature of the relationship between nationalist leaders and Mussolini’s regime after Italy had suppressed the Senussi revolt in North Africa, invaded Abyssinia and assembled troops on the border between Libya and Egypt. The Arab world did appear substantially divided between those who denounced the brutalities of Italy’s administration in Libya and imperialistic designs in East Africa, and those, like the Syrian journalist Emir Shakib Arslan, willing to portray Mussolini as the defender of the nationalist cause against the repressive policies of the two main European colonial powers. In truth, the contradiction between Italy’s imperialistic ambitions and its anti-colonialist propaganda was clearly sensed by large sectors of Arab public opinion.8 In Palestine, for example, although the press controlled by the Mufti of Jerusalem had repeatedly displayed a fairly benevolent attitude towards the Italian campaign in East Africa, and despite the intensifying Arab resentment towards the Mandatory government – ‘guilty’ above all of having encouraged the arrival and settlement of thousands of European Jews – the threat to the survival of a small nation like Ethiopia was initially perceived with great discomfort. In 1936, however, as emotions grew violent and unrestrained, some of the circles that had opposed Mussolini’s expedition in Abyssinia came to applaud Italy’s successes and the blow inflicted to Britain’s international prestige. As early as 1936, the Arab leadership seemed on the way to develop and perfect a long-term strategy of exploiting great-power rivalry, a strategy subsequently fully resumed by Nasser who based most of his crucial decisions in foreign policy on the conflicting interests of Britain, the United States and the Soviet Union. The chronological framework of this study is delimited by two important events: 1935, when Mussolini’s expansionist intentions became clear after the invasion of Abyssinia, and 1940, when Italy entered the war, thus shifting its focus onto other geo-political areas previously under British influence (such as Thailand) and reducing to a certain extent its clandestine commitment in the Middle East, in favour of direct intervention on 4

INTRODUCTION

Germany’s side. Three main themes run parallel in this research: first of all, Italian propaganda and subversive activities in the Middle East are analysed within the context of Italian foreign policy and Mussolini’s attempts to achieve a position of unchallenged power in the Mediterranean and the Middle East. Second, the impact of the awakening of Arab nationalism on British imperial and strategic security interests in the region will be explored. Third, questions will be asked concerning the nature of the British response to Italian activities in the Middle East and the role played by Fascist Italy in Britain’s deteriorating relationship with the Arab world. In particular, there will be consideration as to whether Britain could have shored up its position with a more co-ordinated counter-intelligence structure, and whether regional political dynamics had by then accelerated the unstoppable decline of Britain’s imperial presence in the area, rendering it intrinsically insecure against propaganda and subversion. All the above themes are inextricably linked to a further subject, the broader activity of the Italian secret services in the Mediterranean before and after Italy signed the Axis Pact, including their relations with the services of the Axis powers. Questions remain as to the use of the intelligence services by Italian foreign policy-makers. Due to the extreme scarcity of both primary and secondary sources this subject is likely to remain in the shadows for the foreseeable future. In a country like Italy that has so far laboured to come to terms with its controversial recent history it is not surprising that the study of intelligence services has been generally disregarded. The very few memoirs cast a dim light over the history and development of the Italian intelligence system; only a handful of books have so far ‘dared’ to give an account of the activities of the numerous Italian intelligence agencies, while the bulk of relevant primary sources is still widely unavailable to the general public, hidden in inaccessible military archives.9 Propaganda is often regarded as an intrusive and manipulative practice perpetrated at the expense of a free flow of information and ideas within civil society. The term ‘propaganda’ originated in 1622 when Pope Gregory XV established the Sacra Congregatio de Propaganda Fide (Holy Congregation for Propagating the Catholic Faith) with a dual mission: to re-conquer those countries lost to Protestantism, and to promote the Catholic faith among the pagan populations of the New World. Due to its often questionable use over the centuries, the word ‘propaganda’ has acquired strong pejorative connotations. During the twentieth century in particular, the creation of refined and efficient state ‘propaganda’ machines strengthened the perception of propaganda as a tool in the hands of antidemocratic regimes and a menace to individual freedom. Scholars have for a long time endeavoured to formulate a satisfactory definition of propaganda. As early as 1937, the newly born Institute for Propaganda Analysis attempted to identify the ‘devices’ employed by 5

INTRODUCTION

propagandists to successfully appeal to and influence the feelings and perceptions of the general public, warning that ‘the intelligent citizen does not want propagandists to utilize his emotions, even to the attainment of “good” ends, without knowing what is going on’.10 Several studies have generally portrayed propaganda as the deliberate and systematic attempt to spread ideas and influence attitudes and behaviours; others have emphasised the element of deceit contained in the process of ‘propagating’ ideas rather than in the message itself. This, according to some scholars, makes it increasingly difficult for the recipients of the message to understand if and how they have been influenced. Political propaganda in particular is thus believed to generate a uniform and unquestioning audience, for it ‘aims, either wittingly or unwittingly, at producing whole nation groups in which all individuals think, act and feel alike’.11 Although often elusive, a comprehensive definition of the term ‘propaganda’ is regarded as consequential to any analysis of the phenomenon and its effects. Some scholars, considering the legal implications of propaganda, have come to define it as the ‘systematic attempt through mass communications to influence the thinking and thereby the behaviour of people in the interest of some in-groups’.12 Others have focused on the purpose of the communication process underlying propaganda. Here, once again, the intentional nature of the process and its ‘organised regularity’ are emphasised. Propaganda is thus defined as the ‘deliberate and systematic attempt to shape perceptions, manipulate cognition, and direct behaviour to achieve a response that furthers the desired intent of the propagandist’;13 or, very similarly, as the ‘deliberate attempt to persuade people to think and behave in a desired way’, which would benefit those organising the persuading.14 Assuming the above definitions, this study will attempt to analyse Italian propaganda, divesting the process of communication and persuasion from implicit moral judgement and from more sinister connotations, focusing on intentions, objectives and means employed by Fascist propagandists in the Middle East. In the 1930s technological developments and the ideological entrenchment of opposite principles of liberal democracy and authoritarianism created in Europe a climate conducive to the flourishing of propaganda activities. The social consequences of the 1929 economic depression have also been attributed with great significance in forging a new relationship between the state and the media during the interwar years. Attempting to rebuild the foundations of a more stable social, political and economic life, governments sought the support of mass communication organisations whose assistance was believed indispensable to achieve the desired level of popular consensus. Media manipulation became a widespread practice in governments striving not only to consolidate their societies, but also ‘to produce a legitimate reason for the possession of power by political leaders’.15 6

INTRODUCTION

In the twentieth century with the advent of more sophisticated technological media, the communication between citizens and their governments – which many describe as the essence of public opinion – underwent profound changes. As a result, there has been a shift from direct to more ‘mediated forms of communication in which a third party intervenes in the communication process between sender and recipient’.16 Propaganda, whether employed by totalitarian regimes or by democratic governments, is often regarded as part of the process of communication between civil society and governmental institutions. Over the last 100 years, both totalitarian and democratic states alike have resorted to the use of propaganda to attain political objectives whether at home or abroad. The difference, it has been remarked, rests on diverse, almost opposite, approaches to the employment of techniques of persuasion.17 Totalitarian regimes have appeared more conscious of the advantages offered by modern techniques in various fields and especially in communications, and have proved eager to employ them without hesitation. Conversely, democratic states have embraced and applied technical developments in human communications with more reluctance, unwilling to be perceived as breaching the traditions and moral principles underpinning democratic societies. Thus, when in 1934 Fascist Italy began its first radio broadcasts in Arabic to the Middle East, British officials were still opposed to any employment of propaganda – indelibly associated with falsehood and manipulation of public opinion – to limit the possible damages of Mussolini’s ‘air’ campaign. The structure of the Italian propaganda machine, so relatively unknown, might at first appear rather elementary and not as cohesive as the better-studied example masterminded by Goebbels in Germany. In reality, it was a rather complex organisation, presiding over both internal and overseas propaganda requirements of the Fascist regime. On the eve of the Abyssinian conflict, the Fascist machine for domestic propaganda was further stretched and fully deployed in order to obtain maximum popular consensus on the imminent military campaign. The Italian nation as a whole, in an effort that crossed class and, sometimes, ideological boundaries, was mobilised to support the ‘legitimacy, goodness and “fatality” of the African expedition’.18 Between spring 1935 and autumn 1936 the Italian government expanded the budget allocated to propaganda; Mussolini’s control of domestic public opinion was achieved by propagating the Fascist message through radio, press, books, songs, postcards, photographs and documentaries, employing the full spectrum of available media for a total cost of forty million Italian lire.19 The activity of the Italian press and especially of war correspondents during the Abyssinian conflict deserves a brief but special mention. Some 200 Italian journalists and writers had been accredited to report from the war front, in short to celebrate the advance of Italian troops and glorify Mussolini’s colonial enterprise. Only a few of them, an exiguous contingent, found it difficult to 7

INTRODUCTION

reconcile their own moral imperatives with the propaganda directives imparted by the Ministry of Press and Propaganda and by its Secretary, Count Ciano, who was soon to join them in Ethiopia. Immediately after the war, most reporters, together with some members of the party and military hierarchy already mentioned, produced a collection of memoirs that highlighted the exotic, epic and sometimes frivolous aspects of the conflict. As it has been remarked: The scenery of Ethiopia was majestic and there was an abundance of material, but what these writers lacked was a valid justification for the war – a moral justification. Despite their diligent attempts to present it in a favourable light, despite the tricks they used, despite all their talent, it remained a war of conquest.20 The creation of the Ministry of Press and Propaganda in June 1935 (in May 1937 renamed the Ministry of Popular Culture) was intended to centralise the process of formulation and implementation of domestic and overseas Fascist propaganda: From this moment on . . . thousands of messages, some crafted with subtle malice, others with effective coarseness, reach the Italians through 530,000 private radio broadcasting stations, 11,000 radio receivers donated to schools and organisations sponsored by the regime, 81 daily newspapers and 132 journals of political opinions, news bulletins and documentaries of the Istituto Luce.21 With the establishment of the Ministry of Popular Culture, Italian efforts to engineer an efficient propaganda machine reached their climax. As early as 1933, Mussolini had begun to appreciate the significance and role of propaganda as a political and diplomatic instrument for his designs of consolidation of domestic power and overseas expansion. In August 1933 Galeazzo Ciano, Mussolini’s son-in-law and protégé, was appointed head of the regime’s Press Office, which would soon be transformed into an Under-Secretariat for Press and Propaganda. Ciano, directly supported by Mussolini, devoted resources to strengthen and expand the existing structure: his activity and control rapidly extended from the press to the cinema, theatre and radio. A year after Ciano’s appointment, with an increased budget the Under-Secretariat for Press and Propaganda included seven directorates: Italian press, foreign press, propaganda, cinema, theatre, radio and tourism. It has been emphasised that Ciano’s conception of how a propaganda organisation should be constructed and operated was strongly influenced by the way Goebbels had restructured the Nazi propaganda apparatus, centralising the decision-making core and, at the same time, devising a number of specialised sections.22 At this early stage 8

INTRODUCTION

in Italo-German relations, however, Ciano appeared more receptive to the organisational model provided by the German propaganda structure than attracted to the ideology informing Goebbels’s activities. The idea of an efficient machine that could co-ordinate and unify politics, information and culture for propaganda purposes was not unfamiliar to Fascist Italy and it had been the subject of recent debates in some intellectual circles affiliated to the regime. German progress to that end was studied and assessed with great care and interest.23 In 1935, the publication in the Official Gazette of detailed figures related to the propaganda expenditures of the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Under-Secretariat for Press and Propaganda for the years 1933–34, 1934–35 – and including estimates for 1935–36 – gave the measure of the importance the Fascist regime ascribed to the use of propaganda. Over half of the expenditure was allocated to maintenance of Italian schools abroad, with the intention of preserving and strengthening the links between Italy and Italian nationals living overseas. Schools as well as other cultural institutions, however, were often utilised to attract local sympathisers of Fascist Italy and to promote the benefits offered by friendly relations with Mussolini’s regime. The total propaganda expenditure for the year 1934–35 came to over 67,000,000 Italian lire. According to British sources this amounted to 3 per cent of the Italian government’s overall expenditure, a price the Italian authorities considered worth paying not only to perpetuate the italianità – Italian character – of Italian emigrants, but also to advertise ‘to the world at large the cultural legacy of ancient Rome and the progress in various fields to which the Fascist revolution had inspired the new Italy’.24 With the creation of the Ministry of Popular Culture the regime broadened its control over the cultural sector. It has also been remarked that as the Ministry was renamed, the word ‘propaganda’ was dropped: a clear indication of the negative connotations attached to the term and practice of propaganda. Some, within the regime, had argued that this ‘ugly word’ should be expelled from the Fascist vocabulary and that the Italian people wanted to be informed, not propagandised.25 The Ministry of Popular Culture expanded its remit and administrative authority, increasing in size and reforming some of its key bureaux concerning press and domestic and overseas propaganda. It is worth noting here that the Ministry’s Propaganda Bureau was reorganised into a number of sections following the same geographical areas utilised by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs.26 This certainly facilitated exchange of information between the two institutions and opportunities for co-ordinating propaganda and subversive activities, especially in areas like the Middle East. This study, divided into four parts and twelve chapters, is structured following a geo-political division of Italian activities in the Middle East, rather than a chronological order. Such organisation of the material makes 9

INTRODUCTION

it possible to construct a more cohesive analysis of the specific features of Italian intervention in individual areas of the eastern Mediterranean and the Near East, for the strategies adopted by Italian propagandists were aimed at providing the most suitable response to local socio-political conditions, and would mostly rely on the existing consular and community structures. This study focuses mainly on two areas, Palestine and Egypt, and touches on the Arabian peninsula, without, however, neglecting to mention parallel cases of Italian propaganda in other North African and Middle Eastern countries. The choice is not arbitrary; it is primarily determined by available sources which indicate Palestine, Egypt and the Red Sea region as the main targets for the co-ordinated activities of the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Ministry of Popular Culture. Part I, comprised of three chapters, concentrates on the interwar period, sketching the landscape of British and Italian strategic and diplomatic policies in relation to the Mediterranean and the Near East. This is essential in order to understand the social and political environment in which Italian propagandists operated; it also serves to define the nature of Britain’s subsequent response to Italian subversive intervention in view of the security and imperial concerns that had informed the course of action undertaken by the British government. Chapter 3, in particular, is concerned with the challenge brought by Italian propaganda to the delicate diplomatic equilibrium in the Arabian peninsula, where – as in Egypt – British influence was indirectly exerted through a network of formal agreements and informal partnerships. This chapter will assess Mussolini’s attempts to consolidate the Italian presence on both shores of the Red Sea through an increasingly aggressive campaign to win the co-operation of the Yemeni authorities. Italian radio propaganda and subversive activities – mainly co-ordinated by the local consular offices – are set against Saudi–Yemeni rivalry for control over regional strategic locations and economic resources. The effects of Italian propaganda endeavours are examined within the context of what appeared to be a stable Anglo-Saudi partnership. Italy’s intervention in the peninsula, Germany’s interest in cultivating trade relations with the Saudi kingdom and, above all, the escalation of the conflict between Arab populations and governments and the British authorities over Palestine – all these elements placed a considerable strain upon the long-term Anglo-Saudi ‘special relationship’. Part II, also including three chapters, constitutes the core of this study. It deals with events in Palestine between 1935 and 1940, and in particular with the 1936–39 Arab rebellion. The ambiguities of Britain’s policies towards both the Arab and the Jewish communities in Palestine, the increasing tension that characterised the relations between the British Mandatory authorities and the Arab nationalist leadership, and the gathering of consensus and respect around the Arab nationalist movement, were all circumstances carefully exploited by Italian propaganda makers. Part II 10

INTRODUCTION

also aims to outline the structure and development of the Italian overseas propaganda machine during the five years preceding Italy’s entry into the war, and attempts to examine similarities and divergences between the policies implemented by Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany in relation to the Middle East in general, and more specifically to the Palestine question. The impact of Palestine’s deteriorating stability and tumultuous internal affairs on Arab relations with the European powers is of great significance. On the one hand, it is one of the key elements in the rapid demise of Britain’s presence in the Arab Middle East, and in the creation of a surprisingly united Arab front against the perpetuation of colonial rights in Europeancontrolled territories. On the other hand, it was conducive to an awkward and paradoxical alliance between some sectors of the Arab nationalist leadership and intellectual circles, and the Axis powers. Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, however, responded differently to calls for support coming from the Arab quarters: the latter refused – at least until 1938 – any official engagement that could result in overturning Britain’s position in the Middle East. The former welcomed and actively encouraged any form of co-operation with local movements that would boost Italy’s relations with the Arabs in view of a future expansion of Italy’s sphere of influence in those areas formally or informally administered by the British government. The implementation of Fascist subversive policies in one of Palestine’s strategically most prominent neighbours, Egypt, is the subject of analysis in Part III of this study, in particular in Chapters 8 and 9. Here two lines of investigation are pursued: the first one aims to define the local network – Italian consular offices, educational institutions and community structures – upon which the government in Rome relied in order to execute its propaganda directives. The second is intended to trace the impact of both Egyptian domestic politics and events of international relevance – such as the Arab rebellion in Palestine and the Italo-Abyssinian conflict – on the contents of Italian propaganda messages and the practices adopted by Italian propaganda makers. Furthermore, the adoption of pan-Arab models greatly contributed to transforming the Egyptian nationalist movement and strengthening the relationship between Egypt and other Arab and Muslim countries; this, in turn, further undermined Britain’s position in Egypt and created an audience to a certain extent receptive to Fascist propaganda. Also in Part III, Chapter 7 focuses on the campaign of cultural propaganda and subversive activities orchestrated by the Fascist regime in British- and French-controlled territories in the Middle East and North Africa, which intensified in the months following the outbreak of the Abyssinian crisis and was intended to consolidate the ties between Italy and the Muslim world. Part IV of this study examines British political, diplomatic and intelligence efforts to counteract Italy’s policy of expansion in the Mediterranean and the Middle East. In particular, it attempts to evaluate the 11

INTRODUCTION

nature of Britain’s counter-propaganda strategy, aimed to prevent the formation and strengthening of a political and military alliance between Fascist Italy and the Arab nationalist movement at large. Part IV considers three aspects as essential to an understanding of Britain’s interaction with regional and international players in the Middle Eastern political scenario. Chapter 10 outlines the strategy adopted by the British government to offset the effects of the propaganda war waged by the Fascist regime. More specifically, it focuses on the interwar debate over the use of propaganda – after the successful experiments of the First World War – as an effective diplomatic tool, as persuasive means to attain domestic consensus about Britain’s imperial commitments, and as an acceptable and necessary instrument to reach the minds of a disenchanted and increasingly hostile Arab world. Chapter 11 is concerned with the role played by British intelligence and counter-intelligence services in helping shape the perception afforded in London of Italian activities in the Middle East and, more generally, of regional dynamics threatening the stability of Britain’s direct administration and informal links in the area. In the late 1930s, the weakness of the relatively poorly developed British counter-intelligence structure became particularly evident in the Middle East, where competing agencies – mainly understaffed – often provided incomplete and questionable information about internal or external forces undermining the cohesion and security of the empire. The security dimension of imperial policy was certainly not overlooked in London. Nevertheless, lack of coordination between the disparate governmental departments and regional agencies in charge of monitoring undesirable developments in the territories controlled by the British crown did not favour a comprehensive appreciation of regional interactions or the formulation of a coherent political strategy aimed at retaining the Arab world as a close partner. Finally, Chapter 12 will run through the major interwar structural developments shaping the growth of the highly fragmented Italian secret services, whose success during the 1930s and early 1940s largely depended on the initiative and abilities of talented individuals rather than the effectiveness and cohesion of the organisation. At the core of this study are British, French and Italian military and diplomatic archival sources, as well as British, Italian and German published documents. The main body of Italian primary sources here examined comes from the Public Record Office, London, and consists of over 100,000 photostats and some transcripts of official documents made by the Allies after the fall of Rome in 1944. It includes invaluable documentation from the Italian Ministry of Popular Culture, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, and Mussolini’s Secretariat. Copies of this material are available also at the National Archives in Washington DC, and have recently become available at the Archivio Centrale dello Stato in Rome. It is also worth remembering that the Foreign Office political files contain a great 12

INTRODUCTION

number of official transcripts of Radio Bari broadcasts in Arabic from 1934 until 1939, a rare documentation whose most detailed collection can be found in Rabat (Archives Générales du Royaume) and Florence (Archivio Nazionale). Finally, it should be remembered that evaluating the impact of propaganda on public opinion is an elusive task, for there is no reliable method that would uncover a clear correlation between a particular propaganda campaign and the change in attitudes and behaviour of the target audience of that campaign. While broad assumptions can be made, we should be wary of attributing particular shifts in public perceptions solely to the influence of propaganda, as it is never certain whether public opinion was influenced by specific messages or would have reached particular conclusions because of the interplay of diverse factors.

13

Part I THE INTERWAR PERIOD

1 THE CHALLENGE OF NATIONALISM Restructuring the British empire

The predominant contention of the existing literature is that, in the interwar period, the place of Africa and Asia in international politics was rather marginal. Asia and Africa as perceived by western colonial powers, and their place within the imperial policies implemented by Britain during the interwar years, have been the subject of several studies. These have focused on devolution of European colonial responsibilities and the search for an international post-colonial world order. Aside from the ‘Far Eastern Question’, the non-European world seems to have achieved little impact on the global system. In Britain in particular much attention was devoted to problems and dynamics affecting the imperial structure – and in particular India – but this was often perceived as divorced from current international affairs. With respect to the Middle East, between 1922 and 1935, British policy-makers were confident that imperial interests were secure from internal and external threats; they concentrated, therefore, ‘on the mechanics of management’.1 This relative neglect of Africa and Asia by statesmen and diplomatic scholars has been attributed to more pressing concerns about the stability of the European political scene. The challenge brought by the rise of new revisionist powers, fascist Italy and Nazi Germany, as well as the Soviet Union, prompted calls to redefine the relationship between the great powers, and to build a more peaceful international order regulated by the League of Nations and still dominated by European political and economic priorities. Thus, most colonial territories and dependencies in Africa and Asia remained confined within the European imperial system and very few of the crises which erupted in the colonial world attracted the attention of international diplomacy.2 Furthermore, some historians acknowledge that within the vast landscape of imperial history production the Middle East has for a long time played the role of the poor relation. While the heart of the formal empire, and especially India and tropical Africa, have so far received a great deal of attention, imperial historians have often been wary of applying those categories devised for the study of imperialism to examine political, social and economic dynamics in the post-Ottoman Middle East. For the Middle East appeared as a badly 17

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

assorted group of culturally diverse, economically peripheral and politically ill-defined territorial entities, bound to Britain by more or less formal agreements and treaties. At the crossroads between Europe and the East, during the first two decades of the twentieth century the Middle East had gradually acquired importance as a vital passage to the other half of the empire, but its distinctive geo-political features would prove traditional colonial practices totally inadequate. The acquisition of a position of influence in the Middle East required the British imperial machinery to depart from its established administrative path and explore new avenues of co-operation in a region that ‘was no remote protectorate to be governed on a shoestring and garrisoned with a corporal’s guard of local levies’.3 At the end of the First World War, the geo-strategic position of Britain as a colonial power was still dominant, while its political predominance in the overseas territories and economic activity at the metropolitan centre began to show signs of fatigue. The British empire stretched from Canada as far as New Zealand, including most of the East African territories, a great part of the Middle East and the Indian subcontinent. At the peace conference in Versailles, Britain and its allies were left with the legacy of the German colonies and the break-up of the Ottoman empire. For Britain and France in particular, the opportunity of colonial expansion was irresistible. Most of the former German colonies were taken over by countries of the British Commonwealth under mandates from the League of Nations: Australia was then given the administration of part of New Guinea, New Zealand was responsible for Samoa and South Africa for German South-West Africa. Britain, finally, was given Tanganyika and obtained the Mandate over Palestine, Iraq and Transjordan, former dependencies of the Ottoman empire. In fact, as early as 1916 Britain and France had reached a secret understanding over the partition of the Ottoman empire after the war. Under the terms of the Sykes–Picot agreement, the Middle East was divided into spheres of influence: Britain would gain Palestine, Transjordan, Iraq and much of the Persian Gulf, an area where the British government had sent an expeditionary force from India.4 Together with the pre-existing protectorates of Egypt, Cyprus and Aden, the new mandates had created a ‘belt of influence’ between the Mediterranean and India. France also benefited from the dismemberment of the Ottoman empire by acquiring control over Syria and Lebanon. The creation of a mandate system following the 1919 peace settlements was regarded as a compromise between the idealist and anti-imperialist commitments of the American presidency and the desire of Britain and France to retain control over those territories acquired during the war. According to some historians, in 1920 the decision of the US Congress not to ratify the Treaty of Versailles or to join the League of Nations provided the European colonial powers with ample scope to strengthen the authority of the Mandatory administrations in the Middle East and Africa. Under 18

THE CHALLENGE OF NATIONALISM

the system implemented in the early 1920s, the Mandatory powers, Britain and France, were not allowed to annex the territories assigned, but were granted almost unlimited administrative authority over them. Conversely, the League of Nations’ rights of supervision were reduced to a bare minimum.5 Although not officially part of the empire, the British Mandates would be subjected to Britain’s political, economic and military control. Keen to transform its colonial relations into more informal partnerships, the British government appeared broadly content with the outcome of postwar territorial settlements. The fragmented colonial administrative structure, however, was not capable of coping with territorial enlargement or providing a unified approach to imperial policy. After the First World War, the scale and scope of British responsibilities across the Middle East were not matched by an adequate system that would efficiently co-ordinate the formulation of central and imperial policies, and their implementation at regional levels. The division of responsibilities within the British government which followed postwar settlements further exacerbated existing problems of jurisdiction, overlapping administrative authority and conflicting interests. The break-up of the Middle East into areas administered by different ministries – Foreign Office, Colonial Office, India Office and War Office – and by a plethora of governmental departments and sub-agencies considerably undermined the effectiveness and consistency of Britain’s political control. Furthermore, tensions at the heart of the imperial machinery between the government in London and the government of India made the reorganisation of the administrative apparatus all the more arduous. The rapid rise and demise of ad hoc committees that would deal with Middle Eastern affairs added nothing but confusion and greater opportunities for interdepartmental bickering.6 In 1921 the establishment of a Middle Eastern Department within the Colonial Office was considered a necessary step to improve the cumbersome system that had allowed inter-departmental duplication of functions, and to reconcile Mandatory obligations with requirements of imperial control. The new department would be responsible for the Mandated territories and Arabia, while the Foreign Office retained control over Egypt – whose transfer to the Colonial Office would have amounted to an official annexation to the British empire – Aden, Turkey and Syria.7 The fundamental divergences between Foreign Office and Colonial Office became more evident in 1937 following the recommendations of the Peel Royal Commission which called for a partition of the Palestinian Mandate. This disagreement found its origins in the different ways the two departments had evolved and operated. Arab demands and concerns often met with a sympathetic response from the Foreign Office which had in time developed closer and more formalised relations with Arab and Muslim states. Conversely, the Colonial Office, whose dealings embraced both Zionists and 19

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

Palestinian Arabs, was less inclined to consider the issue of Arab unity as central to any decision concerning Britain’s policy towards Palestine and the Middle East in general.8 The reorganisation of Britain’s colonial administration did not solve the long-term problem of overlapping responsibilities between departments whose political and commercial interests lay in some of the most strategically and economically valuable Middle Eastern states. The struggle for political control over the Middle East and, in particular the Gulf states reignited towards the end of the 1920s and persisted until well after the Second World War. The divergent perspectives and agendas set by the imperial authorities in London and the government of India resulted in a confrontation between the Foreign Office and the Indian authorities, both eager to increase and strengthen their operations in the Persian Gulf, an area of great significance for the expansion of strategic air routes and the exploitation of inestimable oil resources.9 Despite the reinforcement and extension of British control, before spring 1939 the Mediterranean and the Middle East did not constitute a priority in British strategic plans. Moreover, the three services had come to perceive the defence of the region in different terms. The Middle East appeared almost neglected within the army conception of global strategy; the navy considered the whole area as a strategic centre that would allow the fleet to move from west to east, a fast passage to Singapore where ultimately Britain’s naval interests rested. Finally the air force, which in the 1920s had been involved in the ‘aerial policing’ of the Middle Eastern territories and Mandates, gradually shifted its commitments to Europe in response to the growing size and power of the German Luftwaffe. Under these circumstances, by 1935 none of the three services was engaged in planning for the defence of the Mediterranean in case of war. Before the outbreak of the Abyssinian war, the Suez Canal was the only area included in imperial defence plans; within British imperial strategy, the Mediterranean was still considered a ‘subordinate communication system whose role was to enhance British security in areas distant from the taming influence of the main fleet’.10 Beyond the temporary exclusion of the Mediterranean and the Middle East from the military and strategic set of priorities lay economic and political factors. British-controlled territories east of Suez were regarded as far more valuable than the Mediterranean and Near East in terms of investments, trade and markets and as a source of raw materials. Middle Eastern oil represented only 20 per cent of British total petroleum imports against the 50 per cent coming from Venezuela, the United States and the Dutch West Indies. Although apparently strong and consolidated, the British empire had already begun an important phase of descent. The first signs of a serious fracture in the internal cohesion of empire came from India and Egypt. In 1916, the British rulers of India were facing the increasing discontent of 20

THE CHALLENGE OF NATIONALISM

Indian nationalists. The situation rapidly took a turn for the worse and the British government had to act to counter the spreading Muslim and Hindu agitation. In these circumstances, the Viceroy of India, Lord Chelmsford, urged the government in London to issue a declaration about the political future of India. The declaration was announced in Parliament after long discussions on 20 August 1917 and provided for an ‘increasing association of Indians in every branch of the administration and the gradual development of self-governing institutions with a view to the progressive realisation of responsible government in India as an integral part of the British Empire’.11 In 1918, the new reform proposals put forward by the Secretary of State for India, Edwin Montagu, recommended further progress towards ‘responsible government’ in the provinces for matters including education, public health and agriculture, while the British governors retained control over the most important areas of finance, law and order. The ambiguity of terms like ‘responsible government’, which was by no means to be considered the equivalent of full independence, led to additional complications. The recommendations of the Montagu–Chelmsford Report were embodied in the Government of India Act of 1919; Indian nationalists, who had hoped for radical changes in the constitution in order to acknowledge the right of India to self-determination, were bitterly disappointed. Under the India Act, a ‘dyarchical’ system of government was created: governmental departments were divided into two categories, one ‘reserved’ for officials responsible to the British administration and the other ‘transferred’ into the hands of Indian ministries. At the centre there would be a representative body with a bicameral central legislature, but the Viceroy and his council, to which three Indian members were to be appointed, still retained the executive. In the end, the power of the Viceroy was limited only by the fact that he was now asked to consult the legislative assembly, whose majority was constituted by elected Indians. The outcome of this complex process of renovation was that half of the provincial government became responsible to the legislative council and the other half was accountable to the governor.12 However, inaugurated in 1921, this system allowed Indians to hold office in the provinces for the first time. In the long term, the structure put into place by the India Act was not as efficient as it was meant to be: it resulted in ‘an inherently unstable dyarchy. It was unstable because the proper division of functions between the centre and the provinces would always be arguable; in fact, a tug-ofwar ensued that ended by eroding the authority of the Government of India’.13 The shift towards more indirect rule, and in some cases even informal administration, was intended to revitalise the empire, but in fact introduced significant structural problems. Until the end of the First World War, British dominance in Egypt had appeared stable and permanent. Egypt had been regarded for a long time as a point of extreme strategic importance due to the Suez Canal, a 21

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

precious communications route, in the belief that the country that retained influence in the region between the Nile and Persia would control the transit to India. The British troops had arrived in Egypt in August 1882; the Egyptian territory was at the time an autonomous province of the Ottoman empire, following the successful struggle waged by Mehemet Ali, the founder of the dynasty that ruled Egypt until the 1952 revolution, against the central government in Costantinople. As British interests in Egypt developed, the government in London had two alternatives: either to annex Egypt to the British empire or to declare it a protectorate. As the debate went further, annexation came to be perceived as destabilising and counterproductive, for it would endanger the basis of Anglo-Egyptian collaboration. Hence the institution of a protectorate was announced in Egypt in December 1914. However, as in India, the economic, political and military pressure of the First World War exacerbated existing disquiet among the Egyptians. Under war conditions, the British government tightened its control over the Egyptian administration while Egyptian nationalists, whose aspirations had been frustrated by the establishment of the British protectorate, were pushing to obtain self-government for Egypt. Wartime strategic plans induced the British to turn Egypt into a vast base for military operations in the Mediterranean; the imposition of restrictions and economic burdens fell heavily upon the fellahin and even the old-established privileges and immunities were crushed as a result of the closer control Britain was exerting in Egypt. The drastic measures adopted were resented among the notables and in the towns, whereas in the countryside price inflation and the unpopular system of conscription were sources of further friction. The end of the war opened a phase of unrest and political struggle that only ceased in 1922 when the protectorate over Egypt was unilaterally abolished. Already in 1918, a group of Egyptian politicians had called for a ‘programme of complete autonomy’ for Egypt, where the British government would only retain control over the debt administration and the facilities of the Suez Canal. Agitation among the politicians at the top increased when Sir William Brunyate, the Judicial Adviser, drafted a series of proposals to reform the administrative system in Egypt. Under the new scheme, the Capitulations (a source of foreign extra-territorial privileges) were to be abolished and a bicameral legislature would be created to include an upper house where the majority of members would consist of British officials and representatives of the foreign communities. The creation of this new ‘constitutional device’ was clearly intended to protect ‘the interests of the foreign colonies while eradicating the last vestiges of foreign interference in internal Egyptian administration’.14 Brunyate’s reform generated a storm among the notables and inside the court, an eruption that soon spread to other sectors of Egyptian society: the ulama, the religious elite, became especially active in giving voice to the hostility 22

THE CHALLENGE OF NATIONALISM

the higher classes had expressed towards the new measures that were to be introduced into the protectorate. Through the influence of sheikhs and preachers, almost all Egyptian society was drawn into a great show of discontent and after a few weeks violent disturbances erupted all over the country. The upheaval had more than one face: on the one hand it was an anti-imperialist response to the latest decisions taken by the British government, on the other it had disguised the struggle for power between the court and the dissident aristocracy led by the nationalist Sa’d Zaghlul.15 Unable to foresee the consequences of his decisions, the Deputy High Commissioner, Cheetham, assumed that exiling the nationalist leadership would cut the roots of the insurgency; as a result, Zaghlul and three other associates were deported to Malta. Disorders broke out immediately and the British found to their surprise that the revolt had spread from the top to the base of Egyptian society. In spring 1919, the government in London created a commission under Lord Milner to examine the causes of the recent uprising and the future of the protectorate. The Milner Mission arrived in Egypt in late 1919, when the disturbances had already died down. The Milner Mission was received in Egypt with a great degree of scepticism, if not hostility. The central committee of the Wafd party had called for a general boycott of the Mission on three grounds: (1) the international nature of the Egyptian question would be undermined by bilateral negotiations with the British government; (2) the objective of the Mission was to negotiate on the basis of the protectorate, an institution which the Egyptian people did not recognise; finally (3) political agreement could not be reached as long as Egypt was under martial law.16 During the last months of 1919 and early in 1920 the boycott of the Milner Mission of inquiry gathered force in secular as well as religious sectors of Egyptian society, marking an important phase in the formative years of modern Egyptian nationalism. The search for an indirect formulation of British rule now began in earnest. In May 1920, Milner sent Lord Curzon a set of general conclusions and provisional recommendations: the essence of Milner’s proposals was the retraction of British direct authority in Egypt, which was to be replaced by a treaty granting Egyptian internal autonomy. The new system would be based not upon the sovereignty acquired in 1914, but ‘upon the willing cooperation of Egyptian politicians under a more flexible system of influence and control, and the definitive reversal of any tendency towards incorporating Egypt into the British empire on the model of India or tropical Africa’.17 At this stage, Milner found it preferable to draw Zaghlul, now head of the Wafd or ‘Delegation’ party, into negotiations. The discussions over the independence of Egypt and its international status soon reached an impasse: the concessions that the British government was ready to make were not satisfactory in the eyes of the Egyptian negotiators. Britain demanded continued control over important sectors of Egyptian 23

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

administration and, especially unacceptable for Zaghlul and his colleagues, over its foreign affairs. However, unwilling to break off the talks and admit publicly the failure of their meetings, in August 1920 Milner and Zaghlul agreed on a declaration of intent that would constitute the basis for further formal negotiations between the representatives of the two parties. Egypt would be granted independence but would remain bound to Britain by a treaty of alliance that would entitle the government in London to maintain its authority over delicate questions involving foreign interests in Egypt. The controversy over the future of the protectorate remained open. During the following two years, the cabinet was engaged in discussing the terms of the Milner–Zaghlul agreement in an attempt to appease Egyptian nationalists without endangering British influence in the region. Eventually, despite the numerous objections to Milner’s proposals, the British government, forced by Viscount Allenby, conceded formal independence to Egypt. Although bitterly divided over the future of the protectorate, the cabinet had finally reached ‘the conclusion that British interests were best served by the slackening of imperial control over Egypt’s internal affairs so far as was compatible with the preservation of Britain’s essential monopoly of foreign influence in the country’.18 Consequently, with the Allenby Declaration of February 1922, Britain retained responsibility for the defence of Egypt as well as freedom to intervene in Egyptian domestic matters whenever imperial or foreign interests were called into question. The position of Egypt and the Suez Canal as vital strategic and economic assets of the British empire was clearly expressed by the Committee of Imperial Defence in October 1923: from the point of view of Imperial Defence the vital requirement is the security of the Suez Canal. It is also of great strategic importance to maintain our aerial establishments in Egypt . . . which constitute our supply centre for the whole of the Middle East.19 The 1923 constitution, promulgated on 19 April, sanctioned the formal independence of Egypt and the beginning of parliamentary government. The controversies generated by the provisions put in place by the constitution and growing tension between the autocratic palace and the rest of the Egyptian political establishment resulted in years of turbulent parliamentary life. The constitution was vaguely based on the Belgian model, although with strong authoritarian connotations. It declared Egypt to be an independent state with Islam as its religion and Arabic its official language. It also provided for extensive powers to the monarchy, reserving to the King privileges that tended to greatly undermine the authority of both the cabinet and the parliament. The struggle for power between cabinet and parliament on one side, and the palace on the other, characterised the 24

THE CHALLENGE OF NATIONALISM

first few years of the young and fragile Egyptian parliamentary democracy. The Wafd and its supporters called for a new constitution that would remove the influence of the King on the policy-making machinery; the palace strove for the opposite. The King obtained a temporary victory in 1930, when the Prime Minister Ismail Sidqi, leading a pro-palace government, abolished the 1923 constitution and drafted a new one, further strengthening the powers of the monarch.20 The limitations of the 1923 constitution and the unsatisfactory arrangements for the administration and defence of the Suez Canal would cause more disputes between the Egyptian and the British governments, eventually resulting in political unrest which in 1936 threatened the stability of the Egyptian cabinet.21 The Anglo-Egyptian treaty of 1936 offered a temporary, though longawaited, solution to the question of control over imperial communications. Twenty years later, renegotiating the treaty and maintaining the same clauses proved to be an elusive objective. Britain’s military presence along the canal had come to be regarded by the new Egyptian regime as an unacceptable infringement of the country’s full territorial sovereignty. The attenuation of the imperial presence in Egypt is an example of the new ‘policy of disentanglement’ adopted by the British government in the interwar period. In the aftermath of the First World War, Britain’s strength and financial resources had been seriously diminished. Economic retrenchment and payment of war debts had reinforced the general aversion to imperial and military commitment abroad; the formal structure of colonial subordination was therefore redirected into a search for a system of influence and partnership. The climax of this process was reached at the Imperial Conference of 1926, when the Balfour doctrine declared the dominions to be autonomous Communities within the British Empire, equal in status, in no way subordinate one to another in any aspect of their domestic or external affairs, though united by a common allegiance to the Crown, and freely associated as members of the British Commonwealth of Nations.22 The creation of an informal system of dependency was particularly successful in those countries whose economic development and public finances ‘might all depend upon the preservation of an economy organised around the constant inflow of capital and the constant outflow of those commodities which London would buy to service the debt’.23 Within the framework of this informal empire, Britain retained its role of main creditor exerting its influence in areas where no constitutional pronouncements or official commitments were required. The evolution of Britain’s relationship with Siam during the first three decades of the twentieth century constitutes another example. The shift towards a covert and yet more 25

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

powerful form of dominance in Siam was directed by the Bank of England and the Foreign Office. In the early 1900s, the British succeeded in acquiring the important position of Financial Adviser, thus ensuring control over Siamese financial and economic matters, in order to favour British trade and investments in the region. Subsequently, Britain’s power became stronger in the 1920s and 1930s, when Siam’s currency was based upon sterling and the Siamese government had expressed its hope that loans could be raised in the City of London. At the same time, the Siamese economy became involved in the development of a South Asian market of raw materials controlled by Britain, whose main centres were India, Malaya and Siam.24 The Bank of England, central to the extension of informal influence in Siam, was also playing a major role in Iraq and Egypt. Indeed the staff of this semi-informal empire often moved between the three territories. Economic considerations were not the only driving force behind the creation of an informal network of power. At the end of First World War, the emergence of nationalist movements, especially in the Middle East, India and Ireland, and separatist tendencies in Canada and South Africa threatened the foundations of imperial unity. Abolishing Britain’s formal supremacy would remove a cause of complaint without destroying, indeed even enhancing, British influence in the former colonies. Meanwhile delegating power to pliant but moderate nationalists would provide a buffer between the colonial metropole and the indigenous populations. If the Egyptian people resented British presence on their territory, London believed that ‘with intelligent management there was no incompatibility between Egyptian nationalism and Britain’s imperial requirements’.25 Although the Allenby Declaration of 1922 had recognised Egyptian independence, the government in London still reserved full freedom to intervene in four fundamental issues, one of which was Sudan. The Egyptian constitution promulgated in 1923 had eventually resulted in a compromise between the general design to establish a constitutional monarchy and the aspirations of King Fuad who did not want to see his power diminished. The autocratic and ambitious tendencies of the King had caused the intervention of the British government on several occasions; the action undertaken by the High Commissioner was particularly forceful when monarchist and nationalist members of the constitutional commission attempted to declare Fuad King of Egypt and Sudan. Under the terms of the 1899 Anglo-Egyptian Condominium, Sudan was jointly administered by London and Cairo; however, following the Egyptian revolt in 1919, the Egyptian presence in both the army and the administration of Sudan had come into question. After the Mahdist revolution in 1881, Sudan had enjoyed a long period of pacification under the British and Egyptian administration. The terms of the 1899 Anglo-Egyptian Agreement, or Condominium, provided for a 26

THE CHALLENGE OF NATIONALISM

Governor-General to be nominated by the British government but formally appointed by the ruler of Egypt, at that time officially part of the Ottoman empire. Below the Governor-General, the old decentralised structure of the Turco-Egyptian empire was still operative with a series of provincial ‘governorships’. The Governor-General, as well as the provincial governors and lower-ranking district officials, were British appointees. During the first two decades of the Condominium Egypt acted as a nominal partner, for its territory was also occupied and administered by the British crown.26 The emergence of a strong Egyptian nationalist movement and the abolition of the protectorate, which resulted in the formal independence of Egypt, gave rise to anti-British feelings and nationalistic aspirations among the educated class created by the government to hold positions of responsibility within the administration of Sudan. In search of more effective ways to administer the country, the Anglo-Egyptian rulers introduced in 1924, and maintained for the following ten years, the practice of indirect rule. It consisted of empowering the traditional tribal authorities, thereby attempting to curb financial costs and remove them from the central government, and at the same time reducing the vast bureaucratic apparatus which had enlarged the ranks of the modern educated elite now opposing the British administration. But indirect rule in Sudan, as in the rest of the empire, brought with it as many problems as it resolved. Indirect rule required a skilled and subtle administration of British interests in overseas territories, a sophisticated interaction between local authorities and the British government which should not be perceived as interfering in the internal affairs of its partners. The British empire, however, was not adequately supplied with the sort of experienced individuals capable of reforming the old imperial practices and implementing new directives, and the shortcomings of indirect rule laid the empire open to aggressive competitors. Those seeking to undermine Britain’s relations with its overseas possessions through propaganda and subversive activities benefited from the weakening of the British imperial structure. Simultaneously, a situation of instability which offered opportunities to opponents was emerging in Palestine, where Britain had assumed control after the Great War. Following the Sykes–Picot pact in 1916, disagreement had arisen between London and Paris over the future of Palestine, where neither government had completely abandoned its claim to absolute sovereignty. The desire to strengthen the British position, thus increasing the possibility of the establishment of a British administration in Palestine, was one of the reasons underpinning the approval of the Balfour Declaration in 1917. Aiming at winning the sympathy of the Zionist movement and therefore hoping to influence the attitude of Russian and American Jewry towards the war, the cabinet had delayed several months before issuing the final draft of the statement related to the creation of a Jewish national home in Palestine.27 The support given to the Zionists clashed with other 27

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

engagements previously undertaken by the British government to promote the independence of the Arabs. Arab nationalists, who had hoped to include Palestine in a future Arab state, were deeply disappointed and also irritated by the ambiguity of promises that Britain was now ready to deny. Furthermore, many British officials in Palestine felt disturbed by the new line adopted by the cabinet and some even began ‘to sympathise with the idea that the British government’s pro-Zionist policy involved an injustice to the Arabs of Palestine’.28 Even Churchill, at the time Under-Secretary at the Colonial Office, had expressed his anxiety about British involvement in the Middle East with the partition of the Ottoman empire and had regarded Britain’s sponsorship of Zionism as an element that would further destabilise the already unsettled region.29 The friction between newly arrived Jewish immigrants and Palestinian Arabs was to become the distinctive feature of social and political life in Palestine during the 1920s and 1930s.30 The anti-Jewish riots in Jaffa of May 1921 resulted in some fifty Jewish fatalities and the suspension of Jewish immigration to alleviate political tensions and appease Arab grievances. This left the leaders of the Yishuv (Jewish community) increasingly dissatisfied and frustrated at the government’s conciliatory attitude towards the Arabs. The period that ensued was one of relative calm, with the British High Commissioner, Sir Herbert Samuel, attempting to provide a constitutional framework to complement an even-handed administration of Palestine. The events of August 1929 were a violent public reminder of the ancient dispute over the Western Wall in Jerusalem. Beyond the historical incident, ‘fundamental matters of religious faith and national identity’ were in contention: the Jews maintained that the site, including the outer wall of Herod’s temple, was a holy place for the Judaic religion and a relic of past glory.31 The Muslim Arabs argued that the prophet Mohammed had tied his steed there after a night’s journey from Mecca to Jerusalem. The climax was reached in August after acts of provocation by both sides. The disturbances and anti-Jewish violence that followed spread from Jerusalem to the rest of Palestine and left a toll of destruction and death that contributed to further escalate the Arab–Jewish conflict. The 1929 riots were also conducive to the gradual reformulation of Britain’s attitude towards Zionism and the Palestine question, a fundamental shift of policy that became apparent when Arab hostility towards the Jewish presence in Palestine culminated in the 1936 rebellion. The impact of the 1936–39 Arab rebellion in Palestine on Britain’s presence in the region became even clearer in the summer of 1939. The newly created Ministry of Information, still in its infancy, produced a comprehensive report on the state of British–Muslim relations around the world and formulated a set of guiding principles which should inform any future propaganda strategy. Since the end of the First World War, the British empire had grown in size while losing most of its internal cohesion, its porous structure thus 28

THE CHALLENGE OF NATIONALISM

becoming easy prey to internal centrifugal forces and external competitors. But the threat of propaganda and subversion from rival powers was not new to British policy-makers and colonial administrators. Italy’s attempts to establish friendly relations with Arab governments and to gain the trust of the nationalist movement mirrored its strategy in the Indian subcontinent during and after the Great War. German activities in Afghanistan and understated assistance to Indian nationalist fringes were intended to unsettle the stability of the British Raj, thus facilitating Germany’s expansion and penetration of what was regarded as ‘the neuralgic trouble spot on the immense body of the Empire’.32 Franz Von Papen recollects in his memoirs that the geo-strategic rules of the war played a significant part in Germany’s approach to the Indian question: We did not go so far as to suppose that there was any hope of India achieving independence through our intervention, but if there was any chance of fomenting local disorders we felt it might limit the number of Indian troops who could be sent to France or other theatres of war.33 As Fascist Italy embarked on a propaganda mission across the Mediterranean and throughout the Middle East, the vulnerability of the British imperial structure, and the tenuous relations between London and its subjects and partners, provided invaluable opportunities for Italian propagandists.

29

2 A EUROPEAN MUSLIM POWER Italy’s policies in the mare nostrum and the Red Sea

‘Italy’s historical objectives have two names: Asia and Africa . . . These objectives of ours have their justification in geography and history. Of the great western powers of Europe, the closest to Africa and Asia is Italy.’1 In 1934, when this speech was delivered, Mussolini’s imperial ambitions clearly stretched beyond the geographical boundaries of the Mediterranean, directly challenging the international status quo and the colonial assets of France and Britain. Italy had for a long time been regarded as a key player in diplomatic and commercial affairs, connecting countries around the Mediterranean basin. Since the days of the Venetian republic, Italian had become the foremost international language for political interactions and commercial transactions outside the Ottoman empire. The French, in their first attempt to reinforce cultural and economic relations with the Ottoman Middle East, recognised the significant position attained by Italy during its long years of trading partnership with the Ottoman empire, and often employed Italian emissaries and business agents as French consular representatives in the region.2 During the last two decades, analysis of Italy’s foreign policy under the Fascist regime has been the object of scholarly debates, thus opening new lines of inquiry until then neglected by traditional historical literature. Historical research has so far mostly focused on Mussolini’s personal leadership, portraying the unfolding of Fascist domestic and international policies through a merely descriptive narrative that has often failed to investigate the interaction between political agents beyond the chronological sequence of events. The relationship between Fascist state machinery and policies adopted, for example the impact of domestic considerations upon the shaping of foreign policy, or the interplay of diverse factors within the foreign policy decision-making process, has hitherto been almost unexplored. In postwar Italy scholarly research has been dominated by explanatory hypotheses contained in the work of Renzo De Felice and his followers who, in an atmosphere still permeated by the memories of the civil war, have repeatedly offered a fairly benevolent and subtly revisionist portrait of the Duce. In broad terms, the argument underpinning 30

A EUROPEAN MUSLIM POWER: ITALY’S POLICIES

De Felice’s interpretation of the Fascist regime denies any aggressive policy intentionally pursued by Mussolini against Britain and its overseas interests. On the contrary, it emphasises that Fascist Italy genuinely sought peaceful co-existence with the British government and nation, at a time when concerns within the Italian government about the repercussions of Germany’s expansion in Central Europe were growing stronger.3 This chapter does not seek to join the somewhat belated academic debate about the wider nature of Mussolini’s foreign policy; instead, it sets out to outline the historical framework of the interwar years, with particular reference to Italy’s colonial ambitions, so as to enable a better understanding of the political dynamics of the late 1930s. Notwithstanding this objective, this study as a whole will offer substantial evidence supporting the argument that Mussolini’s expansionist policy in the Mediterranean and the Middle East was backed by his diplomatic manoeuvring in the space between the over-stretched British empire and the military and political threat posed by Nazi Germany. This section is concerned with examining the unfolding of Italy’s foreign policy in relation to the Mediterranean and the Middle East rather than to Europe. Nevertheless, to isolate regional aspects of the foreign policy adopted by the Italian government throughout the 1920s and 1930s would detract from a comprehensive understanding of Fascist Italy’s position in the international arena. Therefore, reference will be made to some of the major steps undertaken by the Italian government within the European political context. Italian imperialist sentiments that had led the Liberal regime towards the conquest of Libya and Eritrea grew stronger under the Fascist government. Some historians have traced a thread of political continuity from pre-Fascist Italy to the Fascist era, especially in the field of foreign and imperial policy. From this point of view, Mussolini appears to have inherited policy and tactics from Francesco Crispi, the Italian Prime Minister between 1887 and 1896, ‘transplanting them – with more brutal and tragic consequences – into a mid-1930s context’.4 Already at the beginning of the century, Enrico Corradini, the founder of the Italian Nationalist Association, using the Marxist concept of class struggle, affirmed that Italy was a proletarian nation, whose relationship with the surrounding countries was the same as that between workers and bourgeois. Demographic expansion was a sign of Italy being a ‘young nation’ and imperialism was therefore justified as a way to provide land for those who at present were obliged to emigrate.5 Mussolini built upon Corradini’s myth of international class war to thrust his own challenge at the western ‘plutocracies’, Britain and France, whose demographic ‘exhaustion’ had, in the Duce’s view, doomed them to decline. The projection of new Italian ideas overseas was a constant theme. Generally regarded as ‘the last among the great or the first among the little’, Italy enjoyed a geographical position right in the centre of the 31

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

Mediterranean and could include in its ‘areas of national interests’ Asia Minor, the Middle East, part of the Arabian peninsula, Ethiopia, Eritrea, Libya and the Aegean islands.6 Imperialist ambitions, generated at the turn of the century by the need to compensate for a failing foreign policy and humiliating defeats (such as Adowa in 1896), became an integral part of Fascist propaganda. National greatness was believed to be expressed in terms of prestige and expansion, while Fascist ideology carefully exploited the postwar resentment spread among those Italians who held that Italy’s victory in the First World War had been ‘mutilated’ by the Entente powers in the peace settlements. Mussolini’s attempts to convert Italy into a ‘truly modern state’ also corresponded to his desire to improve the image of a defeated and defeatist Italy currently projected at home and overseas. The ‘Fascist revolution’ would serve the purpose of reshaping the public impression of a small, ‘disorderly’, cowardly people, thus transforming Italy into a new, vigorous, determined and aggressive nation. In sum, according to some historians, ‘Fascism would yet accomplish the task at which the Risorgimento had failed, the task of “making Italians” ’.7 However, besides political ambitions, ideological drive and national pride, economic considerations strongly influenced Italy’s policy of expansion in the Mediterranean and the Levant. For centuries trade with the eastern Mediterranean had enriched Italian ports and markets. In the 1930s more than half Italy’s oil and a fifth of its imported iron and cotton came from the Middle East. Textile exports to Egypt were highly remunerative, while maritime and air services from and to the Middle East had become a considerable source of income: ‘revenues from sea transport, from investments in banking and insurance were indispensable in helping Italy close the gap between her imports and exports. She intended to enlarge that income, and at the expense of Britain and France’.8 The Fascist ‘modern state’ was destined, in Mussolini’s view, to achieve a position of prestige among the great powers. The Duce’s policies south of the Italian peninsula became rather ambiguous. On the one hand, he would back the emerging forces of Arab nationalism and Zionism against the old European colonial powers. On the other, he actively pursued the expansion of Italian control over the Mediterranean, North and East Africa, and all those territories where the emerging forces of nationalism were increasingly engaged in opposing the old colonial system. Already in the 1920s, Mussolini had begun to seek to extend Italy’s commercial links with some of the Middle Eastern countries, North Africa, Yemen and the Black Sea, as well as promoting cultural ties through the Associazione Nazionale Missioni Italiane all’Estero and the Dante Alighieri Society. The establishment of new cultural institutions and Italian universities in the Near Eastern capitals and in Africa was aimed to disseminate Italian culture, while Rome sought to replace Paris as a protector of the missions and the Catholic Church in the Middle East.9 32

A EUROPEAN MUSLIM POWER: ITALY’S POLICIES

As Italy began to be active in the Mediterranean, and in particular in the western end of the Mediterranean, friction with the French government increased. One of the contentious issues was Tunisia and the status of the Italians living in the country. Because of its proximity to Italy, Tunisia had been for a long time a natural destination for Italian emigration. At the end of the First World War, there were approximately 110,000 Italians in Tunisia whose rights were regulated by three conventions dated 1896. In legal terms they were still Italian citizens, but the French government seemed increasingly disposed to impose French nationality on the foreigners resident in Tunisia. The fact that London had negotiated a separate settlement for British nationals resident in French colonies embittered the dispute between Paris and Rome. To reach a comprehensive colonial agreement with France proved to be a difficult task. Apart from concessions in Tunisia, the French were opposed to adjustments to the frontiers of Libya as well as to political and economic compensations in Ethiopia. Negotiations between Rome and Paris succeeded only in 1935: under the Laval–Mussolini pact Italy agreed to abandon its claims in Tunisia, in return gaining a free hand in economic matters in Ethiopia, while French interests were maintained in the Djibouti–Addis Ababa railway zone. Another source of discord between the two governments was Tangier, where Italian claims were also very strong. The city, whose importance was due to its strategic position at the entrance to the Mediterranean, had been placed under international administration by the 1906 Act of Algeciras. Although 600 Italians lived in Tangier and some 100,000 in Morocco, Italy was excluded from the international conference called in 1923 to draft a new statute for Tangier. French objections to Italy’s admission were inflexible. From the strategic and commercial point of view, the city was ‘a sensitive spot to Italy as it was to Britain’ and a restricted conference would not have damaged Italian material interests in the area.10 Italy’s exclusion was mainly regarded as an attack on its prestige and gave rise to indignation among the nationalists and Fascists in Rome. Italy believed it had attained the status of a great power under the Fascist regime, which should entitle its government to an equal share in the administration of the Mediterranean. In his memoirs, Raffaele Guariglia, director of African affairs at the Italian Foreign Ministry under Mussolini, maintained that Italy was at that time striving to introduce the principle of international control over exits from the Mediterranean, based on co-operation and equality among all those countries that shared common interests in the region. Italian efforts were misunderstood and Mussolini’s government was accused of attempting to jeopardise European security. If Britain, advocating a policy of equilibrium in the Mediterranean, was not against Italian admission to the conference, France, on the contrary, was engaged in containing the increasing influence Rome was exerting in the area.11 Despite Guariglia’s claims that Italian intentions in the 33

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

Mediterranean had been misread, Mussolini’s manoeuvring in North Africa was met with resistance in Paris. French obstinacy prompted Mussolini to seek support from Spain. However, although a Spanish–Italian commercial agreement was signed in November 1923 and the visit of King Alfonso to Rome seemed to prelude an Italo-Spanish pact, the Spaniards were not ready to upset France. Economic, strategic and colonial considerations prevented the head of the Spanish government, Primo de Rivera, from entering a coalition that would inevitably be turned against France. Mussolini had to wait until 1928 before obtaining an Italian share in the administration of Tangier. French predominance in the western Mediterranean was frustrating Mussolini’s plan to revive the ancient Roman empire in the mare nostrum.12 When Italy turned eastward, it had to face several unresolved issues: first of all, the question of the Dodecanese, ethnically Greek but part of the Ottoman empire and occupied by Italy during the Turco-Italian war of 1912. After the First World War and the dismemberment of the Ottoman empire, the Greek government challenged Italian de facto sovereignty over the islands and claimed the Dodecanese. Tied to the Dodecanese question was the problem of Italian claims to British territories in Africa. Article XIII of the Treaty of London provided that Italy should be granted equitable compensation in case Britain and France enlarged their colonial possessions in Africa. In 1920, Lord Milner and the Italian Foreign Minister, Vittorio Scialoja, agreed that Britain would cede the oasis of Jarabub, on the border between Egypt and Libya, and Jubaland, a region of East Africa sharing frontiers with British Kenya, Italian Somaliland and Ethiopia. The Milner–Scialoja Accord soon became part of a broader post-colonial settlement which included the Middle East. When Italy, disappointed by the Treaty of Sèvres, asked for a larger Jubaland as compensation, the British government replied by linking the Jubaland question with Italy’s policy in the eastern Mediterranean. Italy could, therefore, ‘buy a larger Jubaland by ceding the Dodecanese, a proposition any Italian statesman would have found difficult to entertain seriously’.13 After long negotiations, the dispute was finally settled in July 1923 with the Treaty of Lausanne, which closed the Dodecanese issue by accepting Italian sovereignty over the islands. Despite the often favourable outcome of its disputes with France and Britain, during the first half of the 1920s Italy’s status as a colonial power was still peripheral, as it rested mainly on three territorial possessions, Libya, Eritrea and Somalia. One of them, Libya, was becoming increasingly problematic because of the strong resistance led by the Senussi movement and the difficulties encountered by the Italian army in its attempts to subdue the rebels. Notwithstanding Mussolini’s plans for Mediterranean hegemony, Italy was still far from showing a potential as a twentiethcentury military power. Some historians indicate, among the reasons for 34

A EUROPEAN MUSLIM POWER: ITALY’S POLICIES

mediocre military performance, lack of raw materials, manufacturing capacity and capital, as well as of scientific and technological progress. The poor allocation of resources and the insufficient co-ordination of the three armed forces seem to have contributed to aggravate the existing problems. The very nature of Mussolini’s Mediterranean strategy should have implied that the navy and air force were to be given priority in funding allocation; the army should have been modernised, with an emphasis on the quality of amphibious, mechanised and airborne units. Nevertheless, using its power as a dominant service and main ally of the Fascist regime, the army succeeded in gaining the biggest share of the financial resources, maintaining a large, scarcely trained and obsolete infantry.14 The early 1930s marked the beginning of a new aggressive policy towards the Middle East. The rise of the threat of an expansionist Germany opened the way for Mussolini to play an initial role of balance between major power blocs. At the same time, the growing popular consent generated by both Arab nationalism and Zionism attracted the attention of the Fascist regime. Mussolini’s campaign, which aimed at winning the favour of Arabs and Jews, was paradoxical and complicated. Rumours of possible Italian claims to Syria, Lebanon and Palestine were echoed in British reports to the Foreign Office; the Italian authorities seemed engaged in persuading the Syrians to present a petition demanding an Italian mandate in the area. The propaganda campaign orchestrated by the Italian government was in fact designed to cover most of the Middle Eastern region. The Fascist message was conveyed through schools (such as the Salesians and the institutes of the Cardinal Ferrari College), cultural institutions, meetings and conferences. The need to renew the old friendship between the East and Italy was emphasised by Mussolini himself. At the Oriental Students’ Conference held in Rome in December 1933, the Duce reminded the audience of the political role played by the Roman empire in the Near East: More than twenty centuries ago, Rome succeeded in uniting the East and the West and while the West was under the rule of Rome, in Syria, Egypt and Persia, the relations between Rome and the East were friendly. . . . Now Rome and the peoples of the Mediterranean are prepared to restore the factor of unity under Fascist renaissance and this is the object of this conference.15 Italian ties with the Arab world were progressively expanded and reinforced: during their frequent visits to Palestine, Syria and Egypt, Italian journalists, members of parliament and commercial agents sought to establish closer relations with the local Muslim leaders. Italy’s interest in the Arab world, according to some scholars, found its origins in Rome’s 35

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colonial ambitions, which were more vigorously manifested after 1912, when Libya was added to Somalia and Eritrea to form the first nucleus of the resuscitated Roman empire. In this light Italy, whose overseas territories where inhabited predominantly by Islamic populations, began to regard itself not only as a European but also as a Muslim power. Religious interests in Palestine, or the Holy Land, and commercial and economic objectives in the Red Sea contributed to draw the Italian government – well before the advent of Fascism – towards the political and ideological dynamics of the Arab world.16 The network of propaganda activities created by Fascist Italy seemed to meet with consent in some Arab circles. The disappointing results of the recent democratic experience in Egypt and the inability of the well-established parliamentary democracies (i.e. Britain and France) to prevent severe economic, social and political crises had greatly impressed Muslim intellectuals. In Egypt in particular, the totalitarian and aggressive ideologies of Fascism and Nazism had had a considerable impact on those intellectuals who looked at the parliamentary and democratic system with disenchanted eyes. Interest in the Italian and German models was undoubtedly linked to the ‘resurgent wave of Islamic sentiments’ that had induced several thinkers and writers to move from western liberal ideas towards more Islamic conservative positions.17 Moreover, the attraction exerted by the new regimes could be explained by their economic and political recovery after the First World War, and their achievements in the fields of industry, trade, rural development and science. In a country like Egypt, fighting against rapidly deteriorating socio-economic conditions, the totalitarian model could become very attractive. Even more appealing were the efforts, publicised by the Italian and German governments, to improve public welfare, increase job opportunities and promote cultural activities. In their attempts to discover the secret formula that had boosted the Italian and German economies, some Egyptian intellectuals began to advocate Fascism and Nazism ‘as credible alternatives to the deteriorating model of parliamentary democracies’.18 Thus, authoritarian principles were adopted by ‘Young Egypt’ and by other organisations supported by the Egyptian youth, while the daily and periodical press paid a great deal of attention to domestic and international changes brought about by Mussolini and Hitler.19 In fact, not all the Arab and Egyptian intellectuals were favourably impressed by the Italian and German examples. The admiration for Fascism and Nazism expressed by part of the Egyptian intelligentsia was balanced by widespread disapproval of totalitarian ideas voiced by broad circles belonging to the intellectual elite. For those who were still ‘devoted adherents of democracy’, the terms Fascism and Nazism became synonyms for abusive regimes.20 Above all, Italian and German regimes were denounced as tyrannical and considered as blameworthy, for they under36

A EUROPEAN MUSLIM POWER: ITALY’S POLICIES

mined the very foundations of democracy by abolishing public liberties and systematically violating human rights. With the Italo-Ethiopian war of 1935–36, the direct menace of a militaristic and expansionistic Italy produced a major shift and many of those who had previously sympathised with the Fascist regime began to retract the unconditional admiration expressed for the Italian dictator. Italy appeared to be the country which, displaying disregard for international agreements, had attacked and invaded the civilised nation of Ethiopia and so threatened the peoples of Africa and Asia. Towards the end of 1930s, even Germany, heretofore immune from criticism among the Egyptian intelligentsia, came to be perceived in a different light. As events in Europe fast progressed towards war, the Anschluss with Austria, the partition of Czechoslovakia, and the apparent impotence manifested by the democratic powers increased the concern of intellectuals in Egypt. The Nazi and Fascist regimes were posing a serious threat to small and weak states like Egypt and rejection of totalitarian ideologies gathered strength even in those circles that had previously sought friendship with the Italian and German dictators. Notwithstanding Italy’s intention to appear as a ‘Muslim’ power, in his intricate effort to exploit the forces of nationalism the Duce was also seeking to establish new, more profitable relations with the Zionist movement. In the aftermath of the First World War, the increasing AngloItalian rivalry in the Middle East and the policy of rapprochement with the Vatican had induced Mussolini to oppose Zionism as an instrument of British intervention in the Middle East. The Balfour Declaration (1917) had allowed the creation of a Jewish national home in Palestine and this was seen as a danger for Italian expansionist designs in the area. Moreover, the Duce and some other Italian nationalists began to fear that an influential Zionist movement could act as a rival nationalism and therefore alienate the Italian Jewish community. However, in the early 1930s Mussolini, in search of a more successful approach to the Middle Eastern question and still lacking a coherent long-term policy towards the dominant forces in the Near East, ‘was determined to maintain (and if possible enhance) his reputation as a friend and protector of the Jews’.21 Mussolini’s relations with the Italian and the international Jewish community were rather tortuous; eager to play the role of mediator between the Jews and Nazi Germany, the Duce ‘resumed his diplomatic tightrope-walking between the two, alternately attacking and defending both’.22 During the first half of the 1930s, the increasing rivalry with Hitler, the deterioration in German–Italian relations, and the need to present to western public opinion the superiority of ‘Roman’ Fascism over ‘the crude Teutonic imitation’, prompted Mussolini to deepen his relationship with the Zionist leaders.23 In the period between 1934 and 1935, the Italian dictator met some of the most charismatic figures of the Zionist movement, assuring them of his support for a Jewish national home. In fact, Mussolini was 37

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hoping to replace the British, championing the creation of a Jewish state small enough to be accepted by the Arabs, and at the same time able to open the door to Italian influence in Palestine. In Palestine, Mussolini could rely on the Revisionist movement as a potential ally against the British presence in the area. Since the early 1990s scholarly research has cast new light on the seemingly ambiguous relations established between the Jewish Revisionist movement and the Nazi and Fascist regimes. Recent studies have sought to prove that the alliance between a Fascist power and a Zionist movement was not as paradoxical as it might have at first appeared, as both Fascism and Zionist Revisionism find their ideological roots in the interwar European radical right.24 On pragmatic grounds the already divided Revisionist leadership was also looking for a country that would support the establishment of a Jewish state, thus hoping to compel the British government to relinquish its Mandatory control over Palestine. The private correspondence between Vladimir Jabotinsky, leader of the Zionist Revisionism, and Isacco Sciaky, the Italian Revisionist theorist, is enlightening. In the early 1930s, the Revisionists’ attempts to open a dialogue with the Fascist regime intensified. In 1932, Jabotinsky approached the Italian embassy in Paris through an intermediary. He made his feelings towards Italy and Fascism clear and hoped to be able to count on the support of the Fascist regime. His shortterm objective was to create a special school in Italy for those who wished to visit the Middle East; in return, Jabotinsky promised to boost Italian propaganda in Palestine. After all, Jabotinsky would later claim that his activities as propagandist for the Fascist regime dated back to his youth in Ukraine: when working as a journalist he began encouraging young people to study in Italian universities rather than in France or Eastern Europe.25 However, officials of the Italian Foreign Ministry were rather uneasy at the prospect of a meeting between Mussolini, as requested by Jabotinsky, and the Revisionist leader, for such an audience could be exploited by Zionist Revisionists in Palestine.26 Sciaky encouraged Jabotinsky to persevere in his efforts to make contact with the Duce. The ‘Italian option’, however, vanished during the Second World War, immediately after the Italian defeat in Greece, while the chances of dialogue with Nazi Germany were destroyed as soon as news of the destruction of European Jewry reached Palestine. In any case, to the rest of the Zionists, Mussolini never sounded very convincing. Italian colonial aspirations were not limited to the Near East and North Africa. The impoverished state of Eritrea had urged Italy to establish trading links with the Arabian peninsula as early as 1915. The clash with British interests was immediate. Britain had occupied Aden as early as 1839 and had gradually signed agreements with the rulers of Arabia, acquiring the status of hegemonic power in the Arabian peninsula. Supported by British financial assistance, local chieftaincies began to consoli38

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date their governments, develop a bureaucratic apparatus and demarcate their frontiers. Britain then concluded two treaties with the Saudi state, the biggest territorial entity in the region, securing Saudi independence and promising to protect it from external threat. Despite sporadic tensions, the British–Saudi alliance continued successfully to settle the disputes arising in the area. In the first half of the 1930s, the Saudi–Yemeni territorial dispute and subsequent Italian involvement in it ‘challenged the effectiveness of the British–Saudi cooperation in controlling the region’.27 From the early 1920s, the Italian government was interested in establishing its presence in Yemen, containing Saudi expansion in the area and therefore undermining Britain’s influence as the main ally of the Saudis. In his search for economic advantages and security for his East African colony, Mussolini turned his attention to Yemen and Asir. In Yemen a process of strengthening central government was carried out by Imam Yahya with Italian support. Seeking to expand its rule over neighbouring territories, Yemen found itself in competition with the Saudi state: the territory of Asir, bordering Saudi Arabia and Yemen, became the object of a long dispute between the two countries. From 1915 Italy took action to win the favour of the ruling elite in Asir, the Idrisi family, causing great concern among Foreign and India Office experts who could foresee the consequences of Italian expansionist designs to the eastern coast of the Red Sea.28 In 1921, Italian attempts to obtain oil and mineral concessions from the Idrisi leadership intensified: large quantities of arms and ammunition as well as gifts of cars and brides were all intended to induce the Idrisi to abandon the alliance with Britain and establish a preferential partnership with Italy. The Italians were pressing for permission to open a consulate in Hodeidah, to create a local agency of the Marittima Italiana shipping line and, most important, to be granted concessions in the Farasan Islands. Facing the refusal of the Idrisi, who were unwilling to endanger their relations with Britain, the Italian government sent Arab agents to Asir in order to bribe local sheikhs and their tribes. The increasing pressure put on the Idrisi by the population of the Asir coasts would, it was hoped, benefit Italy. Meanwhile, the attempts of Imam Yahya to expand the Yemeni realm by occupying Idrisi tribal areas further complicated the already intricate events in the region. In 1927, Yemeni troops armed by Italy steadily advanced into the territory of Asir. Due to lack of finance, the Idrisi found it increasingly difficult to purchase the arms and ammunition necessary for the defence of the area. The Idrisi had no alternative to accepting the loans offered by the Italian government in return for the Farasan concessions. Eventually, the intervention of Ibn Saud saved the Idrisi and a Saudi governor took over the administration of Asir in accordance with the Mecca Agreement that the Idrisi had signed with the Saudi state. With the arrival of the Saudi envoy, ‘the Idrisi lost almost all freedom of action – but to lose it to a Moslim Power was preferable to 39

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

becoming an Italian pawn by which the Idrisis’ policies would be subjugated to Italian aims and aspirations in the area’.29 Nevertheless, the Idrisi were left in power and by summer 1927 there were rumours of renewed Italian activities in Asir. Italian propaganda became increasingly effective among the tribesmen of the area and soon even the Idrisi found it difficult to oppose pro-Italian elements. Fascist emissaries succeeded in persuading the Idrisi to interrupt the operations of the Red Sea Petroleum Company on Farasan and then to grant the concession to the Italians. Italian agents were so successful among the local population that the Farasan islanders expressed their desire that the islands should be handed over to Italy. At the end of the First World War, both Britain and Italy had hoped to establish friendly relations with Yemen. However, the unresolved question of the Aden Protectorate, still under British control, and the support given by London to Imam Yahya’s enemy, the Idrisi family, turned out to be advantageous to the Italians. Italian penetration in Yemen began in the form of a commercial partnership but soon evolved into a close political relationship between the two countries.30 After 1923, a series of contracts and agreements were signed by the governments of Rome and San’a: Italy was granted the customs contract for al-Khukhah and al-Mukha and a monthly sailing was allowed between Massawa and al-Mukha. In 1924, Imam Yahya concluded an agreement with an Italian company to build a telegraph line between al-Mukha and San’a; the stations would be run by Italian operators. British hopes of a rapprochement with the Imam were dashed when Italy and Yemen signed the 1926 Treaty. Italy recognised the Imam as King of Yemen and the complete independence of the country and guaranteed that it would not interfere in its internal affairs. Italian assistance to Yemen began immediately with supplies of telegraph equipment, medical staff, arms, ammunition and planes. The military equipment was sent to the tribes of the Protectorate who would support the Imam’s claims to the territory. At this stage Italian activities seemed mainly intended to undermine or at least contain British influence in a region, the Red Sea, where Italy was trying to realise its colonial aspirations.31 Even before concluding the agreement with Italy, the Imam had asked Mussolini to help Yemen in the construction of a road and landing strips for planes in an area close to the Aden Protectorate. Italian relations with the Yemeni government generated anxiety in London; the activities of Fascist Italy were jeopardising not only the security of the imperial route through the Red Sea, but also the business of British companies operating in the neighbouring territory of Asir. For this reason, the British government, through diplomatic channels, sought to reach a compromise with its Italian counterpart. Talks between the two representatives opened in Rome in October 1926. Britain was mainly interested in establishing the principle that no foreign power should achieve hegemony on Kamaran and Farasan islands. The Rome Under40

A EUROPEAN MUSLIM POWER: ITALY’S POLICIES

standing was signed in 1927 and the two parties agreed to preserve the status quo in the Arabian peninsula and abstain from intervention in the case of conflict between any Arab governments. Moreover, Italy recognised Britain’s special interest in the area and its desire to maintain free and safe communications with India; Britain, on the other hand, accepted that Italy was concerned about the security of its African colonies and did not wish to see any other European power become predominant on the eastern side of the Red Sea. Finally, both countries agreed to respect the economic and commercial freedom of Italian and British citizens in the region. The Anglo-Italian discussions in Rome opened a period of détente between the two governments, especially in their approach to political and economic affairs concerning the Arabian peninsula. Nonetheless, differences emerged when Ibn Saud began to complain about Italian intrigues and attempts to undermine the political stability and cohesion of the region. The Saudi King was particularly distressed by the presence and growing influence of Italian agents in the Yemeni administration. Italian anti-Saudi and pro-Yemeni propaganda in Asir was also a cause of great concern in Jedda. Almost simultaneously, aware of Saudi complaints, the Italian government claimed that Ibn Saud, backed by British agents, was indirectly provoking the Imam to open hostilities. By the end of the 1920s, a conflict between Saudi Arabia and Yemen over Asir appeared imminent and the British government decided to embark on a series of attempts to reach an agreement with the Imam over the Protectorate. The failure of these efforts led to RAF bombardments of Yemeni territory, including those areas of the Protectorate recently conquered by the Imam’s army. While backing the Imam in the confrontation with the Saudi state, Italy was not yet ready overtly to oppose Britain or to lose influence in Yemen. On the other shore of the Red Sea, however, the encroachment of Italian interests brought a new challenge to Britain’s imperial and strategic assets. Italy’s operations in Abyssinia were regarded as too close to the heart of imperial communications and were therefore monitored with great concern. The Italo-Abyssinian war and its subsequent military and diplomatic implications for the political international system have been the subject of extensive and detailed historical research. It is beyond the scope of this chapter to produce a comprehensive assessment of such a complex episode; instead, it will concentrate on some of the salient features of Mussolini’s diplomatic manoeuvring and military endeavours to create an empire. Increasingly frustrated by Britain’s and France’s presence in the Mediterranean and Africa, not long after seizing power the Duce had revived the old Italian nationalist dream of acquiring Ethiopia, one of the few territories outside Europe that remained untouched by the scramble for colonies. An incident at the oasis of Walwal between Italian-led tribesmen and an Anglo-Ethiopian boundary commission fuelled tensions 41

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

between the Italian government and the Emperor of Ethiopia, Haile Selassie. By the autumn of 1934, Italy’s diplomatic preparations for the acquisition of Ethiopia had begun. Talks with the new French Prime Minister Pierre Laval resulted in general agreement between Italy and France over their disputes in Africa. The Laval–Mussolini Accords of January 1935 settled some of the most urgent issues concerning French and Italian colonies in North Africa, in particular the status of Italians in Tunisia and the question of the boundary between Libya and Tunisia. As far as Ethiopia was concerned, Laval ceded to Italy all French economic interests in the area and allowed Italian financial participation in the railway from Addis Ababa to Djibouti. The ambiguity of Laval’s phrase that gave Mussolini a ‘free hand’ allowed the Duce to make the interpretation that France was willing to ignore the possible use of force by the Italian government in Abyssinia. Believing he had secured French support for his military expedition in Abyssinia, Mussolini was now hoping to obtain Britain’s tacit, or even reluctant, consent. But negotiations with the British government proved to be lengthy and full of obstacles. In June 1935, Sir Robert Vansittart, Permanent Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office, drafted a proposal that suggested a diplomatic solution to the Abyssinian question, whose repercussions on European internal security and peaceful co-existence were causing great concern in London. The Vansittart plan suggested that Britain should cede a corridor across British Somaliland to Ethiopia including the port of Zeila, thus providing Ethiopia with an outlet to the sea. In return, Haile Selassie would grant Italy substantial territorial concessions in the Ogaden. Vansittart’s plan never came to fruition and the dispute between Italy and Ethiopia was taken to the League of Nations. Diplomatic activities behind the scenes and France’s and Britain’s irresolution were not conducive to a favourable outcome. On 18 September 1935 the recommendations of the League’s Committee of Five were rejected by Mussolini, although after a moment of hesitation. On 3 October, the Duce ordered the bombing of Addis Ababa, while his armies crossed the borders of Italian Eritrea and Italian Somaliland. The condemnation of the aggression by the League of Nations and the call for sanctions against Italy under Article XVI of the Covenant gave new grounds for tension between Italy and Britain, now responsible, together with France, for negotiating a resolution of the conflict.32 By the end of the First World War the British empire comprised a swathe of disparate territories bound to the crown by a variety of formal and informal relationships managed through a web of overlapping bureaucratic structures. This patchy system was scarcely cohesive and highly vulnerable, and offered plenty of opportunities to rival external forces determined to end Britain’s supremacy in the Mediterranean and the Middle East. Italy, embittered by the outcome of the postwar territorial 42

A EUROPEAN MUSLIM POWER: ITALY’S POLICIES

settlements, actively sought to jeopardise the fragile equilibrium reached by Britain and France in the Middle East. The ambitious Fascist regime nurtured dreams of colonial expansion and the achievement of greatpower status for Italy. However, the resurgence of Rome’s former glories had to be supported not only by commensurate political and military prestige in the international arena, but also by economic advancement and constantly available financial resources. In the years that followed the First World War, Italy hoped to extend its sphere of influence in the Middle East and to secure those territorial gains that had been promised by the western powers in return for entering the war on their side. But when territorial acquisitions and commercial concessions came to be discussed, Italy felt left out. Italian claims for oil concessions in Asiatic Turkey and economic expansion in the Middle East were firmly rejected by Britain, and the two countries became entangled in a dispute that was only partially settled in 1923.33 During the interwar years the Middle East, the most recent and least cohesive of Britain’s imperial acquisitions, was targeted by European Revisionist powers eager to further their political and economic objectives east of the Mediterranean. The challenges to Britain’s most strategically significant possessions, and especially India, were multiple. While Italy concentrated its diplomatic efforts and subversive manoeuvring on achieving a high degree of co-operation with nationalist forces in the Levant, North Africa and the Red Sea, Germany and the Soviet Union were alarmingly active in the Northern Tier states, namely Turkey, Iran and Afghanistan.34 Throughout the years of the Weimar Republic and during the second half of the 1930s, Germany’s involvement in the region had further destabilised the precarious equilibrium between competing British and Soviet policies. The Northern Tier, which during the 1920s and early 1930s had acted as a buffer zone between Britain and the Soviet Union, would soon become a battleground for ideological and religious movements and powerful political and economic interests, signalling the end of West European predominance in the region and the beginning of the East–West confrontation that would last throughout the Cold War.

43

3 FASCIST ITALY CHALLENGES THE ANGLO-SAUDI PARTNERSHIP

During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, Britain had strengthened its position in the Arabian peninsula, taking advantage of the gradual weakening of the Ottoman administration. A long-standing partnership forged with Ibn Saud – one of the most prominent local rulers and subsequently King of Saudi Arabia – guaranteed the protection of Britain’s economic and strategic interests in the region throughout the interwar years. However, the 1930s marked a turning point in the foreign policy of Ibn Saud: dramatic developments in international affairs, rather than domestic necessities, prompted the Saudi King to reconsider his relations with his powerful European ally. In 1936, the outbreak of violence in Palestine, the escalating Italian activities in the Middle East and the Red Sea, and fear of German intervention in the Arab world deeply affected Saudi relations with neighbours and fellow Arab countries, as well as the Saudi attitude towards the deterioration of diplomatic relations in Europe. The development of a pan-Arab consciousness throughout the Middle East was given impetus by the violent events in Palestine. The Saudi government, which had until then paid little attention to Palestinian internal politics, offered its good offices to mediate between the Arab community and the Mandate authorities. The position of Saudi Arabia was in those circumstances rather delicate as Ibn Saud ‘could not publicly declare his sympathies with the Palestinian Arabs without antagonising Britain, whose support he still needed, if possible, in the Red Sea’.1 However, as he was seeking to obtain the recognition and trust of his Arab neighbours, the Saudi King could not betray the Arab nationalist cause. Still attempting to maintain a precarious diplomatic equilibrium, Ibn Saud joined Arab governments and nationalist leaders in their condemnation of the 1937 Peel Report, which recommended, as a solution to social unrest in Palestine, the partition of the Mandate into a Jewish and an Arab state. Ibn Saud’s desire to increase Saudi influence in the Arab world and to strengthen his country’s geographical boundaries was significant in determining the course of his foreign policy during the second half of the 1930s. Following the confrontation with Yemen and Transjordan in the late 44

ITALY CHALLENGES THE ANGLO-SAUDI PARTNERSHIP

1920s and early 1930s, safeguarding Saudi Arabia’s territorial integrity had become a prime concern. The focus of Saudi policy was consequently shifted to ‘regionally recognized, permanent, and demarcated boundary lines and active co-operation with neighbours’.2 Italy’s invasion of Abyssinia and proactive policy in the Arab world proved that Britain was no longer the sole dominant power in the Mediterranean and the Middle East. Ibn Saud regarded the Italian presence in the Red Sea with great concern, fearing the impact of Anglo-Italian rivalry on the security and stability of the Arabian peninsula. The 1938 Anglo-Italian Agreement – designed to ease the tension between London and Rome generated by the Abyssinian conflict and by subversive activities carried out by Italian agents in the Middle East – was not well received in Saudi Arabia. Ibn Saud interpreted the agreement as a sign that ‘a joint Anglo-Italian protectorate’ had been placed over his country to maintain the status quo in the eastern peninsula.3 Concerned about the gradual weakening of Britain’s position in the Arab world – which could eventually damage Saudi interests in the region – the Saudis turned to the Axis powers and opened negotiations with Rome and Berlin, hoping to agree a halt to further Italian encroachment in the peninsula as part of this process. Saudi overtures to the Axis powers began in 1937, following the escalation of violence in Palestine and the publication of the Peel Report.4 Ibn Saud approached the German government – with which he shared an aversion to the establishment of a Jewish state in the Middle East – asking for a public statement on Palestine, and for arms and aid to support the rebels. However, the Nazi government appeared initially reluctant to get involved in the Middle East – a region regarded by Berlin as strategically vital for the British empire – at a time when Germany was still seeking an agreement with Britain giving Hitler a free hand in Central and Eastern Europe. As tension in Palestine mounted throughout 1938, the German government was motivated to reassess its strategy on the Middle East and its relations with Arab countries. In 1939, following the personal intervention of Fritz Grobba, German Minister in Iraq, Berlin opened a dialogue with King Saud, although the German authorities remained unwilling to become entangled in internal Arab affairs and rivalries, and wary of arousing Italian suspicions and resentment.5 Nevertheless, in July 1939, Saudi representatives reached an agreement with the German government on the delivery of rifles, small arms and ammunition. The German invasion of Poland in September 1939 and Britain’s subsequent declaration of war made the consignment impossible. Tentative Saudi overtures to the Italians proved to be more successful. The Fascist government had actively encouraged the development of closer relations with Saudi Arabia, making offers that Ibn Saud could not refuse. Throughout the 1930s, the Italians had been engaged in widespread 45

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

networking activities with official governments and local Arab chiefs. In 1938, broadcasters from Radio Bari could boast about the friendship of the Emir of Kuwait, a regular listener to Radio Bari and keen reader of Italian publications.6 Italy’s relations with the Yemeni government were a cause of particular concern for Ibn Saud, notwithstanding Yemeni assurances that their dealings with Italy did not pose a threat to Saudi security.7 Italian propaganda in the peninsula had increased since 1935, when the Fascist authorities – already enjoying the success of their Arabic broadcasts – began distributing copies of Libyan newspapers which praised Italy’s treatment of North African Muslims and criticised Britain’s policy in Egypt.8 In order to provide a justification for the invasion of Abyssinia – which had negatively affected Arab feelings towards Fascist Italy – the Italian legation in Jedda also distributed a number of pamphlets describing the atrocities committed by raiding parties of Abyssinians on ‘peaceful Italian workmen’ immediately before the outbreak of the hostilities.9 The British authorities, concerned with the increasing presence of North African and Italian publications in Saudi Arabia, attempted to trace how Italian anti-British material had entered the country. It appeared that parcels of newspapers addressed to the Italian legation arrived at the Jedda post office, where they were opened by Italian officials. Some copies were given to postal employees, the rest were circulated in the bazaar.10 The acrimonious tone of anti-British articles gradually intensified: attacks were mainly directed against ‘the hypocritical British [who] while pretending to defend the poor Abyssinians against the Italians, were dropping fire on the heads of Indians, killing poor people in Palestine and undermining Arab freedom in the “nine districts of Yemen” ’.11 Understanding Arab sensitivity on the Palestine question and deep resentment at Britain’s handling of the disturbances, it is surprising that British officials in the Saudi peninsula claimed that Fascist propaganda was unlikely to have a great impact in Saudi Arabia: ‘Perhaps it may impress the ignorant Arab listeners in other countries’.12 By contrast, the reaction in London was far more circumspect. The Foreign Office was aware that Fascist activities in the region were designed to corrode Britain’s relations with the Arab populations and to promote ‘those aspects of Italian policy which may, from the superficial point of view and the untutored Arab mind, be contrasted most effectively with the less spectacular achievements of the policy of this country’.13 Yet discussions concerning the measures to be adopted in order to halt the spread of anti-British activities as well as the formulation of an effective counter-propaganda strategy appeared to be at a very embryonic state. Although suspicious of Italy’s friendly approaches and displeased with ‘the use of the Moslem Holy Land as a basis for foreign propaganda’, Ibn Saud was also attracted to the benefits of closer relations with Rome.14 Italy’s subsidies to Ethiopian Muslim pilgrims wanting to travel to Mecca 46

ITALY CHALLENGES THE ANGLO-SAUDI PARTNERSHIP

were welcomed by the Saudi government whose finances had been badly affected by the loss of revenue caused by the world depression and the subsequent decrease in the number of Muslims visiting the holy cities in annual pilgrimages. In 1937 the Italian authorities in Ethiopia and representatives in Jedda made every effort to facilitate the pilgrims’ transport and accommodation in Mecca, helping some 1,900 Ethiopians reach the holy places, where they would publicly praise the ‘generosity’ of Mussolini.15 Italy’s pressure on Ibn Saud to buy Italian arms also grew stronger throughout 1937 and 1938. Still eager to appease his British partners without missing a profitable deal, Ibn Saud delayed his final decision and approached the British government, hoping to obtain arms supplies from London. He claimed that he was not trying to play one country against another, that the Italians had offered to supply him with Italian or German rifles or machine guns, and that he proposed to keep them in play. . . . He did not want to accept anything from the Italians, but, on the other hand, he did not want to offend them.16 In 1938, after protracted negotiations, Ibn Saud accepted an Italian shipment of six aircraft and ten pieces of artillery, together with the promise of free training for six Saudi pilots. Although the developments that took place during the second half of the 1930s caused – according to some scholars – the ‘undoing of the SaudiBritish strategic cooperation’, the outbreak of the war in Europe prompted Ibn Saud to side with his western ally.17 The feelings and opinions of the population of Saudi Arabia concerning the likely outcome of the hostilities were divided, but Ibn Saud appeared confident of a final allied victory: ‘There were few, if any, who wished to see Germany win the war, there were many who rejoiced to see France and England, who, in their opinion, were holding down the Arabs in Palestine and Syria, take some bad knocks’.18 The significance of the Palestinian question in Anglo-Saudi relations should not be overlooked. The outbreak of violence in Palestine generated calls from all over the Arab world to the Saudi King, who was urged to break with his powerful ally and come to the rescue of his Muslim brothers of Palestine.19 Although unwilling to openly antagonise Britain, Saudi Arabia – together with Iraq – wished to be involved in the search for a solution to the Palestine question in order to both promote Muslim solidarity and enhance Saudi prestige in the Arab world. As the Peel Commission continued its inquiries into the disturbances in Palestine, Ibn Saud submitted a four-point proposal supporting the claims of the Arab community. The proposal called for a complete amnesty for the Arab rebels, the total suspension of Jewish immigration, legislation to protect 47

THE INTERWAR PERIOD

Arab Palestinian landowners, and finally a constitutional government for Palestine.20 His message to the British government was strong: The Balfour promise was that the Jews should be given a national home in Palestine, not that the whole of Palestine should be given to them as a national home. Moreover, it was stipulated that no harm should be done to the original Arabs. The Jews who have already emigrated to Palestine could be regarded as the fulfilment of the promise made by Great Britain.21

48

Part II PALESTINE AND THE RADICALISATION OF ARAB STRUGGLE Italian and German propaganda, 1935–1940

4 THE ORIGINS OF THE UNREST: THE SALE OF LAND

The 1936 Arab upheaval in Palestine and the events that led to it are central to any comprehensive understanding of the development of British imperial policy during the interwar period. Moreover, they set the political and social background against which Italian propagandists operated. Not only were the problems faced by the British administration in Palestine, and the increasing tension between the British authorities and the Arab nationalist leadership, clearly exploited by the Italian government for propaganda purposes, but the social and political environment also served to develop the salient features of Italian propaganda in the area. In other words, Italian propaganda appears to have been both organic and responsive. Palestine is central to the purposes of this study for two reasons. First, because its complexity – the interconnection between two antagonistic communities fighting over the right to inhabit and rule the same land, at that time administered by an increasingly resented European colonial power – draws out important nuances in the thinking of Fascist powers. Second, because the pivotal role of the Palestinian Arab rebellion in undermining British relations with the Arab world as a whole, by generating a wave of public support and feelings of deep empathy throughout the Middle East, induced even the most moderate Arab leaders eventually to move towards pan-Arabist positions. To understand the demise of Britain’s position in the Middle East, the growth and development of Arab nationalism must be appreciated. By the mid-1920s, this had brought to the Arab masses a new level of national awareness and laid the foundation of the search for a national identity, not only related to the Muslim religion and Arabic language as elements constituting the broader Arab nation, but also linked to specific geographical and territorial entities. This in turn owed something to the exploitation of new media. The main aim of this study is not to conduct a critical inquiry into the ideas underpinning the evolution of Arab nationalism; however, as the nationalist movement grew in importance and prestige among the Arab populations, it became a natural counterpart to the representatives of the British government in Palestine and throughout the Middle East, and a 51

AXIS PROPAGANDA IN PALESTINE

potentially invaluable ally for Italy. Britain’s handling of the Arab riots had further fuelled Arab resentment while leaving the Jewish community increasingly concerned about its relations with the British authorities and its security in the Palestinian land. The Arab nationalist movement had gained more credit among Arab rulers and, according to Chaim Weizmann, at that time head of the Jewish Agency for Palestine, was largely used as an instrument of pressure and a tool for bargaining in the dispute between the Arabs and the British government. He asserted quite unambiguously: ‘the movement, which is crude in its nature, which tries to work up hatred of the British and the Jews, looks to Mussolini and Hitler as its heroes, and is supported by Italian money’.1 However, it is uncertain whether as early as 1937 the potential of the Arab nationalist movement as a future political opponent had been fully appreciated by Britain. This chapter aims to provide as comprehensive a picture of the political origins of the Arab insurrection in Palestine (which lasted until 1939) as is needed to define the political and social environment in which Italian propaganda attempted to win the hearts and minds of the Palestinian Arabs, in the hope of shaking the foundations of the British Mandate administration. As early as 1941, commentators were examining different sources of concern for the British authorities in the Middle East, other than the activities of Italian propagandists: No doubt, Axis propaganda has had some influence on Near Eastern opinion; yet its importance should not be overestimated. Much more significant in creating an anti-British climate of opinion have been the social, cultural and political conditions in the various countries themselves.2 The Arab unrest of 1936–39 changed the nature of the relationship between the two main communities and the Mandatory power as well as the political discourse in Palestine. The reaction of the British government to three years of insurgency was the adoption of a substantially ambiguous ‘policy of equilibrium’ which was meant to offset the increasing pressure brought by Arab nationalists – who had blamed the British authorities for the sale of Palestinian land to the Jewish newcomers – but also by a newly established Jewish community anxious to see fulfilled those aspirations that had been officially endorsed in the Balfour Declaration. Against this backdrop the examination of Italian propaganda and subversive activities in Palestine becomes more meaningful, especially when due attention is paid to the increasingly strained relations between the governments in London and Rome, the former seeking to maintain its position of prestige in the Middle East, the latter striving to acquire new centres of power in the eastern Mediterranean. As early as 1930 the Palestinian newspaper Falastin reported, quoting Italian sources, that Italy intended to 52

THE ORIGINS OF THE UNREST: THE SALE OF LAND

take over the Mandate administration of Palestine from Britain and that the Arab community ‘would welcome an Italian Mandate in order to be absolved from the results of the Balfour Declaration’.3 Italian propaganda in the Levant and the Middle East had in fact begun in the 1920s with an increase in cultural exchanges between the two sides of the Mediterranean and had intensified in 1934 after the creation of Radio Bari. The 1936 riots in Palestine constituted an important card in the hands of Count Ciano and the Italian Foreign Office and Ministry of Press and Propaganda. With the 1937 Gentlemen’s Agreement (see p. 87) and the subsequent 1938 Easter Agreement, Italy and Britain seemed to have reached an understanding about their respective positions in the Mediterranean; as a result Mussolini called for the cessation of Italy’s anti-British propaganda and subversive activities in the Middle East, especially in Palestine. Nevertheless, the evidence shows that Italian efforts to meddle in the relations between Britain and the governments and populations of its Mandates and former colonies did not stop although they were scaled down. The outbreak of the hostilities in Europe and Italy’s entry into the war on Germany’s side led to renewed Axis activities in the British and French Middle East, where the early successes of Germany’s military operations – such as the collapse of France – and the antagonism between Mandatory authorities and local populations were exploited to produce a defeatist atmosphere, a prelude to what was presented as Britain’s imminent débâcle. British officials looked with suspicion and a degree of anxiety at Mussolini’s attempts to rekindle Italy’s old friendship with the populations of the Levant. However, Italian activities in Palestine, though supported by a network of collaborators in the upper spheres of Palestinian intellectual and political life, could not alone pose a serious threat to the long-term presence of the British Mandatory authorities in the area. The alliance between the Palestinian nationalist movement and Fascist Italy was prompted by some ideological affinities and mainly by political considerations, for the nationalist leadership was in search of an external promoter that would guarantee the necessary political, military and economic backing to the Arab cause. Nevertheless, despite becoming instrumental in the confrontation between the Mandatory government in Palestine and the new militant forces emerging from the nationalist movement, the activities promoted by the Italian government did not enjoy widespread support among the Arab community and political and intellectual groups. In the mid-1930s, British officials in Palestine still seemed reluctant to acknowledge that the main challenge to the old imperial order and to the system of mandates could emanate from forces inside the territories administered by Britain and France – forces that were now ready to coordinate their actions across the frontiers imposed by the break-up of the Ottoman empire and to channel their activities through more organised 53

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and efficient political bodies. The development and expansion of the Arab nationalist movement, even in its more regional manifestations, were often overlooked in London, where Arab requests for a quick transition to an independent and self-determining form of government were repeatedly regarded as low-key subversive activities. Some British intelligence officers in the Middle East expressed open scepticism about the medium and longterm political implications of the Arab movement: I cannot help feeling that too much is made of the pan-Arab movement . . . it is difficult to believe that pan-Arabism is now, or likely to be in the future, a permanent policy and a force which will dominate the actions and policy of Arab countries in the future.4 The same officer again: the present controversy is fundamentally Arab v Jew, rather than Britain v Arab nation. There is no common front in Palestine, not even among the Arabs. . . . To say that the movement is not gaining some ground would be unsound, but I think that once the Palestine squabble is settled, with some satisfaction to the Arabs, the movement will tend to decrease.5 Palestine was an important nexus for British strategic and political interests in the region and accordingly London was reluctant to relinquish its control over it. Palestine was a strategic nodal point for air, land and sea communications, a buffer zone that would protect the Suez Canal from any attacks coming from the north, a link with the Fertile Crescent and a potential base to control the eastern Mediterranean.6 Other considerations of a political nature dominated British decisions related to Palestine. Under the Mandate of the League of Nations the British authorities were responsible for the administration of Palestine and the introduction of self-governing institutions for both the Arab and the Jewish communities. Nevertheless, the British government had shown growing determination to maintain its direct presence in Palestine and therefore avoid either the transfer of the Mandate to other European powers or granting independence to the Arab and Jewish communities. The first option was out of the question, as one of the main European powers, Italy, was successfully endeavouring to establish profitable relations with the Jewish Revisionist movement and the Palestinian Arabs. Furthermore, any solution of the Palestinian issue presented Britain with potential international complications. On the one hand, the British authorities feared that consenting to Jewish political requests would increase the hostility of large sections of Muslim society throughout the empire. The potential dangers of this in 54

THE ORIGINS OF THE UNREST: THE SALE OF LAND

areas like India had been underlined in previous decades by unrest over issues such as the future of the Caliphate. On the other hand, supporting Arab aspirations would generate resentment and suspicion among world Jewry.7 The policy adopted by the British government in Palestine during the early 1930s was therefore intended to deal even-handedly with the demands of the Jewish and Arab communities, while avoiding the intervention of external forces in support of either of the two sides. One of the first objectives of the ‘comprehensive balanced policy’ approved in London was the synchronised political, economic and demographic development of the two communities so that the interests of each group would be protected and Britain could maintain untroubled control over Palestinian internal affairs. As a first step to guide the progress of the Arab community, the British authorities had to prevent massive illegal Arab immigration from the neighbouring states. Second, it was necessary to monitor the process of modernisation of traditional political parties and the formation of new institutions within the Arab community. To guard against the dangers and the extremes of political transformation, the British government of Palestine established close and ‘paternalistic’ relations with the local notables and in particular with the two most prominent families, the Hussainis and the Nashashibis. However, British attempts to control and isolate the Palestinian Arab leadership in the long term proved to be unsuccessful. In the early 1930s, the Hussainis and the Nashashibis had already initiated manoeuvres to create links with the pan-Islamic movements emerging in the region, thus undermining the policy of isolation embraced by the British government.8 Later in 1938, Whitehall was still seemingly committed to even treatment of the aspirations of both the Jewish and the Arab communities. However, the initial impartiality was gradually giving way to a more accommodating attitude towards the demands of the Palestinian Arabs. Malcolm MacDonald, at that time Secretary of State for the Colonies, recommended that the cabinet should not choose between Jews and Arabs, but endeavour to fulfil its obligations to both sides. Keeping the promises made by the British government and by the League of Nations to Jews and Arabs nevertheless appeared increasingly problematic, if not unattainable, and it was regarded as a dangerous option in the event of a conflict with Germany. Britain’s duty was to protect its own national, Commonwealth and imperial interests, which would be best served with the support, or at least neutrality, of both contenders in Palestine. As Britain could already rely on a co-operative attitude from the Jewish community, the Mandatory government, according to MacDonald, should do its utmost to prevent the Arabs from joining the Axis powers, an alliance which could bear catastrophic consequences for Britain’s strategic interests in the event of war.9 British relations with Palestinian Arab society had begun to deteriorate 55

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in the early 1930s. The Arab community of Palestine had embarked on more militant and intense activities designed to respond to the threat of new large-scale Jewish immigration and to British ineptitude or lack of political determination to end it. The radicalisation of the Arab political struggle led to the creation of new political parties and to the outbreak of strikes and violent demonstrations. Historical and social circumstances had presented the Arabs with the opportunity of gaining experience in the use of firearms. After the decline of the Ottoman empire, the beginning of a period of unrest and anarchy, together with the concurrent failure of the authorities to provide a satisfactory level of security, had encouraged many Arabs to acquire arms for personal defence. Furthermore, the British Mandatory authorities had recruited and trained young men from the Jewish and Arab communities, employing them in the local police and gendarmerie. It has been estimated that by 1936 about 8,000–10,000 Palestinian Arabs had gained basic military and police experience.10 At the centre of Arab hostility and embittered relations with the British authorities was the acquisition of Palestinian land by newly arrived Jewish settlers. Meanwhile, the persecutions in Nazi Germany and the difficult economic and social conditions elsewhere in Eastern Europe were forcing Jews to seek refuge in the United States, Canada, Australia, Britain and the British empire. However, because of the restrictions on immigration quotas applied by these countries, Palestine soon began to attract unprecedented numbers of Jews, due to its relative ease of entry. By the mid1930s, massive Jewish immigration had further destabilised the precarious equilibrium between the Palestinian Jews, the Arab community and the British Mandatory authorities. As the Jewish community grew numerically stronger, Arab distrust and resentment also increased. In this febrile climate of social discontent and ethnic hatred, violence had already erupted at the end of the 1920s. Looking at the progress towards independence made by other Arab countries – such as Egypt, Iraq, Syria and Transjordan – the Arabs of Palestine regarded the Jewish settlements (allowed and encouraged by the Balfour Declaration) as means to perpetuate the British presence in the area and to hinder the development of Palestine into an independent state. Eventually, it was feared, the Jewish community would become preponderant and would take over control of the country. One of the main issues in dispute was that of land sales. Jewish funds raised in Europe and America were used to buy land at high prices from Arab landowners who would immediately acquire liquid wealth. The Arab tenant farmers, on the other hand, felt that these deals seriously damaged their economic interests. As the newcomers from Europe took possession of the land, they preferred to hire Jewish labourers, thus leaving Arab farmers out of work. By the beginning of 1935, Arab grievances had turned into agitation against land sales. The upheaval of the following 56

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three years did not succeed in curtailing land acquisition by Zionist buyers, and the purchases of land by the Jewish National Fund provided solid foundations for Jewish claims over Palestine.11 An intense campaign against land transactions was promoted by the Mufti of Jerusalem Haj Amin al-Hussaini. Historical literature on Palestinian Arab politics has emphasised the role of Haj Amin al-Hussaini as the promoter of the Palestinian nationalist movement.12 His political career stretched from the end of the First World War until his death in 1974. His struggle against the British authorities in Palestine and the Zionist movement broadened the spectrum of his followers, turning a local conflict into a pan-Arab fight for independence. Haj Amin was a leader whose personality generated a great deal of controversy: extremely ambitious and sometimes prone to resort to intrigues, he nevertheless left his imprint on the Palestinian Arab nationalist cause. His radical views and increasing hostility towards British forces in the region, and towards a Jewish community which was constantly growing in numbers and strength, led him eventually to join the Axis front. The history of Amin al-Hussaini is partially embellished by myths. Religious scholars are still hotly debating whether his family’s claim to be the descendants of the prophet Mohammed has substantial grounds. The Mufti was born at the end of the nineteenth century (the precise date is still disputed) into one of the chief families of Palestine. His studies at the University of al-Azhar in Cairo were never completed, as he enlisted in the Ottoman army at the outbreak of the First World War. However, by then Amin al-Hussaini had already gained respect and the title of Haj, having travelled to Mecca with his mother during the summer of 1913. The war saw him fighting in the Ottoman army, although his relations with the Turkish commanders became increasingly tense. As his loyalty to the Ottomans rested primarily upon ‘feelings of identification with Islam’, the policy of progressive Turkification and secularisation imposed in the Arab provinces began to erode his trust in the Ottoman empire.13 Released from the army on medical grounds, Amin al-Hussaini soon became involved in the nationalist cause and took an active role in organising the nascent Palestinian nationalist movement. The first step of his long and contentious career as a Palestinian and Arab leader was his appointment in 1921 to the office of Mufti of Jerusalem. The status of the Mufti, for a long time considered a minor official in Ottoman Palestine, had increased as the city of Jerusalem had grown bigger and more important. The British administration deliberately enhanced the position of the Mufti, hoping to reach the heart of the Arab religious community; when Jerusalem was established as the capital of Palestine, the Mufti of Jerusalem became the representative of Islam in Palestine. In March 1921, the Mufti Kamil al-Hussaini, half brother of Amin, died after a long illness. The campaign to find his successor 57

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mobilised rival clans of Palestine, and the search for a religious leader soon generated bitter political contention. It has been argued that despite the ideological unity that existed within the Palestinian community, a constant struggle for power had fuelled tension between the most distinguished families of Jerusalem.14 The Hussaini family and their supporters threw their weight behind Amin. However, at the end of the elections that took place in April 1921, Haj Amin emerged at the bottom of the poll. The British High Commissioner would therefore appoint one of the three men who had received the highest number of votes. The candidates at the top could claim experience, religious education and training that had made them more qualified for the office of Mufti. The Hussainis, nevertheless, would not easily relinquish this important position and mounted a vigorous campaign to influence the High Commissioner in his final choice. Religious organisations, tribal chieftains and even Christian leaders inundated the government offices with their petitions and memoranda. They asked for the results of the elections to be invalidated as the composition of the college of electors did not meet the requirements of Ottoman law. The British authorities and the High Commissioner, Herbert Samuel, were fully aware of the political implications of the wave of protest that had swept Palestine immediately after the elections. The popularity enjoyed by Amin al-Hussaini, regarded as a rising star in Palestinian Arab politics and charismatic leader of the nationalist movement, combined with a policy of equilibrium between rival clans pursued by the British government in Palestine, induced Sir Samuel to endorse Amin al-Hussaini’s candidature. Persuading one of the three nominees to withdraw was relatively easy; with Haj Amin now in the main list, the High Commissioner could proceed with the appointment. The office of Mufti of Jerusalem was only the first step in Amin al-Hussaini’s career as a religious and political leader of the Muslim community in Palestine. In 1922, a year later, again backed by some high officials within the British military administration, he was elected president of the Supreme Muslim Council, a body that controlled Muslim affairs, including mosques and religious schools and courts. The British authorities had championed the career of Haj Amin, hoping to acquire a moderate interlocutor, if not a friend, in enemy lines. In his memoirs, Norman Bentwich, at that time legal secretary of the British government in Palestine, recollects the pledge made by Amin al-Hussaini to the High Commissioner before his appointment as Mufti: he declared ‘his earnest desire to co-operate with the Government, and his belief in the good intention of the Government towards the Arabs. He gave assurances that the influence of his family and himself would be devoted to maintaining tranquillity in Jerusalem’.15 The years that followed witnessed the deepening of the Arab–Jewish conflict and a radical shift in the relations between the British government in Palestine and the Arab community. 58

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In the mid-1930s, the political interaction between the British authorities in Palestine and the Arab community was further complicated by a sectarian division within the Arab camp. Following the old feudal rivalry between the two main families, the Nashashibis and the Hussainis, new political parties emerged to fill the political gap left by the demise of the Arab Executive Committee, which had failed to influence the decisions taken by the British government in relation to the administration of Palestine. The newly formed political entities were to break that sense of apparent national unity that characterised the years of the Arab Executive. The Nashashibi and Hussaini families would contribute by founding, respectively, the National Defence Party and the Palestinian Arab Party; the former rejected pan-Arab ideology and ennvisaged the achievement of an independent Palestine through co-operation with the British government; the latter stressed its ties with the pan-Arab movement and its request for independence without concessions to the rights of Jewish immigrants.16 The arrival of a fast-growing number of European Jews had put relations between Arab masses and British authorities under considerable strain. The media’s exaggerated reports presented alarming figures that increased Arab fear of an imminent Zionist take-over of Palestinian land. The incidents that followed, involving Jewish settlers and Arab fellahin, were a sign of the frustration and anger felt among the Arab community, where new militant groups had been created for the purpose of attacking Jewish and British targets around the area. Among the most ruthless were the Qassamites, who, from the beginning of the 1930s, embarked on a series of violent acts of murder and sabotage against Jewish immigrants. In 1935, attempting to curb social discontent and at the same time to keep a delicate balance between Arabs and Jews, Whitehall had accepted the proposal made by Sir Arthur Wauchope – who had succeeded Herbert Samuel as High Commissioner – concerning the establishment of a legislative council in which representatives of both communities would sit together. The plan, though endorsed by the Colonial Secretary, failed to please the pro-Zionist opinion and did not generate much enthusiasm in the Arab camp either. The position of the Zionists in Britain was made clear by Chaim Weizmann who, despite his personal commitment to co-operation with the British authorities – a commitment shared by most of his fellow Zionists – could not endorse Wauchope’s views on the scope and functions of the legislative council.17 In March 1936 the High Commissioner’s proposal was defeated in parliament, thus opening a period of serious unrest and marking ‘the failure of Wauchope’s policy of reconciliation of the two races’.18 The Mufti of Jerusalem was now presented with a difficult task: on the one hand, he had to maintain his prestige as a militant leader; on the other, he could not endanger his relationship with the British government, which he was still hoping to persuade to accommodate Arab demands. As 59

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the legal and illegal immigration of European Jewry became the focus of the clash between Palestinian Arabs and the British Mandatory government, the Mufti began to organise Arab opposition to the spreading practice of land sale. His personal hostility towards Zionism influenced him to concentrate his efforts against the Jewish presence on Palestinian soil, thus opening his activity to severe criticism. In particular, his detractors objected that he had placed the Zionist question at the centre of his political protest, failing to recognise and deal with the real source of the problem, the British administration of Palestine; perceived as too accommodating in his relations with the British authorities, he was then described ‘as a tool in the hands of the British’.19 These remarks were, however, wide of the mark. The Mufti’s role behind the scenes at the beginning of the Arab revolt in 1936, the subsequent hardening of his position towards the Mandatory government, and his collusion with Italian and German agents turned him into a hostile figure whose activities had become central to any discussion on Britain’s policy towards Palestine. Scholarly research concerned with the history and socio-political development of Mandatory Palestine in the 1930s is rather voluminous and very comprehensive. This chapter does not aim to question the findings of past and current studies on the subject, but rather to employ available literature in order to sketch broadly the environment in which Italian propagandists devised a strategy intended to win the confidence of the Arab nationalists. The Arab unrest in Palestine began in 1936 with sporadic outbursts of violence and reached its peak on 19 April with attacks on Jewish targets and on 21 April with the general national strike called by the Arab Higher Committee. The nationalists hoped to achieve three main objectives: to halt the mass Jewish immigration to Palestine; to ban land sales to the Jews; and to establish a fully independent Arab Palestinian state. As violence against Jews and British personnel intensified, it became clear that the cautious and diplomatic approach adopted by the High Commissioner was proving unsuccessful. The rift between military and civil authorities over means to be used to restore peace and security deepened, for the primary intent of the armed forces and the police was to bring the disorders to an end as quickly as possible, whatever the political implications of the measures adopted. The civil administration of Palestine, on the other hand, feared that strong action would further upset the already embittered Arab community and was more concerned about the social conditions that had determined the insurrection. The contrasting views afforded in different governmental departments eventually ‘led to mutually exclusive, if not always contradictory policies’.20 In May 1936 a military solution, however, seemed to have gained more credit. Through the strengthening of the British garrison in Palestine and the adoption of tougher policies, British forces regained control of the towns while the centre of the rebellion moved to the countryside, where 60

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Jewish settlements, civil infrastructure, police and army installations came under the constant threat of attacks from guerrilla groups. Violence continued throughout 1936 with the military authorities increasingly frustrated by Wauchope’s attempts to appease the Arabs and by his reluctance to sanction plans for active counter-insurgency measures.21 This initial phase of civil disorders in Palestine ended with the arrival of the Royal Commission headed by Earl Peel in charge of investigating the social and political context that had generated the unrest and producing recommendations that would enable the authorities to bring the situation under control. The High Commissioner’s inability to restore order was severely censured by the military and did not help his personal relations with the Jewish community in Palestine or the Zionists in London who were bitterly disappointed by his suggestion that the Peel Commission should propose a suspension of Jewish immigration to Palestine. In a long letter to the Colonial Secretary Ormsby-Gore, Chaim Weizmann vented his rage at Britain’s handling of the riots: Complete inaction; paralysis of Government; surrender to crime; demoralisation of the Civil Service – non willing and able to do their duty prevented by the faintheartedness of their superiors; denial of justice; failure to protect the lives and property of lawabiding citizens, both Jewish and Arab; in short, a condition of things unthinkable in any other part of the British Empire. . . . The Palestine Administration did not wish for riots, but has done very little to prevent them; has let things go from bad to worse; has allowed the situation to get out of hand, and the country sink into anarchy.22 The Royal Commission conducted its inquiry in Palestine from November 1936 until January 1937; its findings were made official in July 1937 in a climate of relative calm with a low level of violence, although tension between Jews and Arabs remained high. The Peel Report suggested a few measures to improve security in the area, but it mainly underlined the need for a drastic solution to the controversy between the two communities: the partition of Palestine into a Jewish state and an Arab one. The proposal generated mixed reactions in the governmental departments responsible for Palestinian affairs, and even within the cabinet opposition to the plan allowed only for the approval of the principle of partition, without any commitment to its details.23 The Zionists themselves showed lack of enthusiasm and the Arabs publicly expressed their dissatisfaction and anger. Violence resumed in the summer of 1937 and led to the arrest of several Arab leaders when the Arab Higher Committee was declared illegal. The Mufti, dismissed from his office of President of the Supreme Council, fled to Lebanon. 61

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Despite the intensification of anti-insurgency measures and military and police operations, the activities of the rebels continued to escalate and reached a climax in 1938. The British authorities, who by November 1938 had opted to abandon the partition plan, decided to pursue a joint diplomatic and military effort intended to open a dialogue with the Arabs through the mediation of representatives of other Islamic states, and at the same time to restrain violence by displaying a firmer grip on the country. One of the main obstacles encountered concerned the reliability of the Palestine police force whose Arab members were regarded as too strongly tied to the local community to be fully trusted. The outcome of long talks between the British government, Arab mediators and Palestinian Arabs was the White Paper on Palestine published on 17 May 1939, after the disturbances in Palestine had begun to die down. In broad terms, the White Paper provided for the establishment within ten years of an independent Palestinian state and called for restrictions to be imposed on Jewish immigration and land purchase in Palestine. It had been clear from the onset of the negotiations that Britain was dramatically reconsidering its previous commitment to the Zionist dream of a national home, and was moving towards an official endorsement of Arab nationalistic demands in Palestine a few months before the outbreak of the conflict in Europe.

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5 ITALIAN ACTIVITIES IN PALESTINE Mussolini as ‘The Sword of Islam’

It is important to appreciate that the nature of the relationship entertained by Fascist Italy with Arab nationalist movements and the Palestinian leadership was rather singular. In search of a more dignified place in the history of contemporary colonial enterprises, Italy had sought to build and consolidate an empire, occupying those few territories in North and East Africa that still remained independent. The strategy adopted by the Italian government in dealing with the defiant populations of Libya involved not dialogue but repression, and the imposition of a stern regime on its North African colony did not endear Mussolini’s Italy to the Arab masses. Mussolini’s imperialistic ambitions in the Mediterranean were not part of a hidden agenda. To achieve a position of power in the mare nostrum, Italy had to seek an alliance with forces that could challenge the British imperial and Mandatory system from within. The most interesting aspect of Italy’s complex Middle Eastern policy was the unlikely partnership between an aspiring colonial power and an anti-colonial movement. In order to further its political and economic interests in the Middle East and Levant, Italy needed to ensure the friendship and compliance of the Arab nationalists, who in turn would gain the protection of Mussolini’s government, the necessary diplomatic and political leverage, and financial and military support to overthrow the British administration in Palestine. The alliance between Fascist Italy and Arab leaders would be forged by propaganda. The main task awaiting Italian propagandists was to erase the violent colonial record of Italy in North Africa and Ethiopia, and to promote the image of Mussolini as the champion of modern Islam. However, the response generated by Italian propaganda in the Arab world, and in particular in Palestine, was neither unanimously positive nor proportionate to the efforts made by the Italian government. Suspicion of the real aims of Mussolini’s policy in the Middle East and resentment at his colonial undertaking in Africa dominated the feelings of the majority of Arab leaders, eventually leaving the success of Italian propaganda confined to limited factions of the nationalist movement. The dominant interpretation of this period suggests that after the 63

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creation of the Axis pact Mussolini’s intentions in the Middle East became evident and thereafter Italy fully embraced the Arab cause, especially in Palestine and Yemen.1 However, this now stands in need of reassessment. Documents of the Italian Ministero degli Affari Esteri (the Italian Foreign Ministry) reveal that even in 1935 the Italian government was inclined to lend its moral support to a Palestinian Arab community which was striving to obtain guarantees from the Mandatory power against the massive arrival of Jewish immigrants. The political appreciation of the Palestinian events of 1935 and 1936 circulated within the Italian government illustrates sensitivity to the deepening of the racial and religious divide that was threatening the political stability of the whole area. The opportunity to attack British conduct in Palestine could not be missed. The Italians perceived the tumultuous circumstances that led to the beginning of the 1936 Arab revolt as the result of a substantially ambiguous policy formulated by the government in London whose ultimate objective was the defence of its imperial interests and the creation of an efficient naval base in Haifa that would accommodate the British Mediterranean fleet. Despite having initially tried to win the sympathy of the Arabs without generating discontent among the Jews, the British government had eventually succumbed to the ‘influence of the Zionists’. According to Italian sources, the very few concessions granted to the Arab Palestinians were offset by measures adopted in favour of the Jewish community: after the long dispute over the establishment of a legislative council that would take into account Arab grievances, the British authorities in Palestine had endeavoured to regain popularity among the Jews by granting legal status to many of those who had entered Palestine illegally and allowed the new colonists to purchase arms for their own defence in case of unprovoked aggression.2 In the increasingly violent Arab–Jewish dispute over Palestinian land, the Italian government seems to have taken a fairly explicit position in support of Arab claims. The reason for this is not to be found in any antiSemitic prejudice motivating the decisions taken in Rome, but in political and strategic considerations: in the eyes of the Italians, a powerful and independent Jewish community in Palestine, and eventually a Jewish state, would provide a solid and permanent base for Britain in the Mediterranean. The arrival of Jewish immigrants was then seen within the context of a deliberately aggressive policy carried out by the Zionist movement with the complicity of the British government, an expedient aiming at reducing the Arabs of Palestine to a numerical minority. Hence, the turbulent and sometimes extreme reaction of the Arab community, through petitions, rallies and protests that were gradually turning into riots. The objective was to defend Palestinian soil ‘against Jewish conquest’, obstructing Jewish immigration, placing a veto on land sales and introducing an independent local government. Facing a ‘mortal threat’ to their very existence and an opponent that had found support with the British High Com64

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missioner, the Arabs had begun to defend their rights and the course of events in Palestine was regarded in Rome as a prelude to more dramatic future developments.3 Italian endorsement of the Arab cause became even more explicit as a clear division into camps gradually emerged both in Europe and in the Middle East. Thus Italian propaganda bluntly presented the Axis coalition as the saviour of the Arab world. In a communiqué issued in the name of the Axis powers and broadcast in English, Italian propagandists claimed: The Arab populations of the Levant must be freed from the yoke of their present masters interested only in their capitalistic and imperialistic achievements. . . . Arab patriots in Palestine, Egypt, Iraq, Syria and Trans Jordan – and all those who have not been contaminated by British gold – know well the consequences of Britain’s rule, they know how much grief and bloodshed Britain has caused in Palestine and in the other Arab countries; finally they know that it is in the interest of Fascist Italy that the Arab nations of the Levant attain their freedom and independence.4 Despite outright Italian support of Arab nationalist demands, Italy’s prestige in the Arab world had been seriously undermined by the war in Abyssinia. Italian officials complained that the Palestinian press had unanimously expressed disappointment in its commentary on Italian policy in East Africa. On the one hand, the Jewish press echoed the call for international sanctions against Italy put forward by the British government at the League of Nations; on the other, Arab newspapers and periodicals voiced Arab solidarity with their Muslim brothers of Abyssinia who were fighting for freedom against another imperialistic European power. Above all, officials in Rome were quite certain that, after the first wave of indignation that had seized Arab public opinion against the Abyssinian ‘adventure’ had subsided, Italy would gradually succeed in regaining the trust of the Arab masses and leadership, eager to find an external champion for their cause. However, they asserted that Britain had plotted to incite the Arabs against Italy, exploiting the threat of Italian colonial ambitions. The results were not promising and the increasing influence exerted by the Fascist government over the Arab Palestinian nationalist movements had become a reason for concern in London. According to Italian documents, the chiefs of the British Intelligence Service in Palestine were growing increasingly suspicious and paranoid, to the extent that ‘they would see Fascist agents everywhere’ and use all means to prove ‘the false rumours that Italy had financially backed the Palestinian tumults’.5 The British authorities in Palestine, however, believed that Italian activities in the Middle East – of which they claimed to have seen substantial evidence – were also part of Mussolini’s war plans, intended to keep Britain ‘fully 65

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occupied in her Mandated Territories’ during the hostilities. The development of the crisis over Abyssinia had not encouraged a rapprochement between Rome and London: Italy was reported to hold bitter feelings towards the British government, which it accused of ‘stirring up not only the Abyssinians . . . but the natives of Italian Somaliland and other countries surrounding Abyssinia’.6 Accordingly, Rome’s indignant denial of any Italian involvement in Palestinian affairs contrasts with the view afforded at the Foreign Office in London, where police reports and telegrams from British representatives in Palestine sometimes gave detailed accounts of anti-British propaganda and activities organised by Italian agents and their Arab collaborators. Thirdcountry sources also suggest that Italy had enlisted the service of some key figures within the Arab nationalist movement in Palestine. In September 1940, the Italian Foreign Minister Galeazzo Ciano told the German ambassador in Italy that for years he had maintained constant relations with the Grand Mufti, of which his secret fund could tell a tale. The return on this gift of millions had not been exactly great and had really been confined to occasional destruction of pipelines, which in most cases could be shortly repaired.7 British documents show that the network of activities that had been at the centre of complaints filed by the British authorities in Palestine had been activated by individual agents (for a long time believed to be the only source of Italian propaganda) and by prominent figures of the Arab intelligentsia, and were sometimes co-ordinated by central agencies like the Arab Propaganda Bureau in Rome, as well as the Italian consulate in Palestine. Information about the functions and activities of this special Arab Propaganda Bureau is rather scarce; it seems that it was created in early 1935 and that influential writers and journalists as well as leading personalities of the Arab communities, like the Mufti of Jerusalem, were invited to get in touch with it. Contacts were provided by Emir Shakib Arslan and Ihsan Al-Jabiri, recurring names in the Foreign Office files, and members of the Syrian–Palestinian delegation at the League of Nations in Geneva.8 The intense activity of Shakib Arslan, controversial journalist, writer and politician, will be examined later in this chapter. The principal obstacle encountered in attempting to analyse the structure and purpose of Italian propaganda in the Middle East (and in this case in Palestine) is the scarcity of a wide range of Italian primary sources that would allow a cross-examination of the information contained in the files compiled by the Foreign Office and the Colonial Office in London. Nevertheless, the collection of captured Italian documents held at the Public Record Office – duplicates are also in the Archivio Centrale dello 66

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Stato in Rome and in the National Archives in Washington – offers an invaluable insight into the developments and modus operandi of the Italian propaganda machine. Although the number of files dealing specifically with Italian activities in Palestine is limited, the overall volume of material on Italian propaganda efforts in the Middle East, North Africa and, later, Portugal and South America allows a comprehensive view of the intricate relationship between different agencies and governmental departments involved in the scramble for the Mediterranean. It is therefore possible, given the broad range of British sources, available Italian documentation and perspectives offered by third-country material, to advance a reasonably systematic analysis of Italian propaganda activities and to escape from the problems of a fragmented and anecdotal series of facts as recorded by British officials and diplomats in London and Palestine. Looking at Palestine in the crucial years 1935 and 1936, it is possible to observe that the operational pattern adopted to conduct propaganda in that area rather differed from the one that had characterised Italian activities in Egypt. This seems to reflect a Palestinian social and political environment that was crucially distinct from the Egyptian, and in which Italian agents had to deal with markedly different circumstances and actors. First of all, the local government was under the direct control of Britain, thus removing the possibility for Italy to find precious allies and sympathisers in the higher or middle spheres of the administration. Second, political interactions in Palestine were not based on bilateral relations, or antagonism, between Britain and the Arab leadership and population: a further element, the numerically growing and increasingly powerful Jewish community, contributed to create the complex Palestinian triangle. Having already presented Italy as the champion of the Arab people, despite the Abyssinian parenthesis, Mussolini and his government could not and would not avoid taking sides, supporting once again the demands of the Palestinian Arab community against a resented Mandatory government, and an even more resented community of Jewish newcomers, seen as the guarantor of Britain’s perpetual presence in the Mediterranean and the Middle East. The main vehicle of Italian propaganda against British policy in Palestine was information, distorted information according to British sources, disseminated not only through press and radio broadcasts but also through books, pamphlets, leaflets, cartoons and all types of visual and verbal communications: pamphlets like Ce que fait l’Italie pour l’Islam et l’Afrique, explaining in the text and emphasising with images that Italy cared about the moral and physical welfare of the Muslim populations by building schools, mosques, hospitals and community centres in its African colonies;9 or more gruesome publications like What the League of Nations Does Not Want to See containing pictures illustrating atrocities allegedly committed by Abyssinians against Italians and their supporters, incendiary material whose distribution in Palestine seemed greatly to concern the 67

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local British authorities.10 More pamphlets found their way into Arab households in countries like Egypt, where young Fascist men began to distribute propaganda material in French and Arabic, such as Abyssinia and Slavery, outlining atrocities and violations committed by the Abyssinians not only against the Italians, but also against local Muslim communities.11 In the modern international system the encroachment of one country’s interests into the domestic affairs of another through means of propaganda has come to challenge international legal and social conventions. Thus, it has been observed, propaganda has become ‘the tool upon which most interests with ramifications in several states rely to make themselves effective within what is technically a foreign jurisdiction’.12 The structure of the machinery in charge of promoting Italian interests overseas, though not explicitly defined in the Italian material at present available, can be inferred by examining internal correspondence between various ministries and Italian representatives overseas. The Italian Foreign Office was apparently responsible for setting the guidelines for the administration of propaganda, and for ensuring their compliance with the main objectives of Italian foreign policy.13 The Ministry of Popular Culture would take control of the operational aspect of propaganda. Departments like the Radio and Television Directorate within the Ministry of Popular Culture were responsible for specific aspects of Italian domestic and overseas propaganda and would often work together with other departments, in particular with the Ministry of Communications. The Ministry of Popular Culture (or Minculpop) would act as a centre for the co-ordination of the numerous activities in which Italian agents were engaged, setting up budgets, allocating funds and giving instructions to Italian diplomatic offices and independent agencies abroad as to the targets of Italian propaganda undertakings.14 In the early months of 1941 the increasing pressure of the war and the counter-propaganda campaign organised by the British government prompted the Italians to update their ‘information system’ to cover Portugal and South America. Radio Roma broadcasts came under scrutiny in late 1940 when Italian consular authorities informed the Foreign Office and the Ministry of Popular Culture in Rome of the poor quality and inadequate achievements of Radio Roma transmissions. Complaints were made – and solutions were promptly put forward – about news bulletins, often out of date especially if compared with the broadcasts of American, British and German stations; it was also pointed out that the propaganda messages were not sufficiently incisive and aggressive; other failings were the inaccurate pronunciation of news readers speaking in foreign languages, and the repetitive nature of Radio Roma music programmes that could no longer please the general audience.15 Radio Roma had been set up to broadcast news and various propaganda material in Italian, French, English, German, Portuguese and Spanish. Italian embassies and consular 68

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offices, in particular in South America, had been given the task of collecting news reports and improving communications between local press agencies and the Italian ministries in charge of propaganda, thus favouring the exchange of information between Italy and several South American countries.16 Italian representatives abroad were very active and had been granted a certain degree of autonomous initiative in relation to the administration of funds allocated for propaganda purposes and the choice and recruitment of local agents. The Italian embassy in Lisbon, among others, submitted a request to increase the budget allocated to Radio Roma in Portugal so as to improve the service, and laid out a detailed proposal concerning modifications to be made to the radio broadcasts together with new initiatives to enhance the effectiveness of Italian propaganda not only on the air but also through the press.17 The structure of the Italian propaganda machine underwent several changes during the second half of the 1930s. Improvements designed to accelerate the procedures through which the messages of Fascist Italy were disseminated were more or less successfully implemented. The Istituto Nazionale per le Relazioni Culturali con l’Estero (IRCE) was established by Count Ciano immediately after Italy left the League of Nations in December 1937. The main objectives behind the creation of IRCE were first of all to promote and improve bilateral cultural exchanges between Italy and most European and non-European countries. Second, IRCE was considered to be the answer to the practical problems that had hindered the work of Italian propagandists abroad, in particular the lack of coordination between existing departments and bodies, in the attempt to simplify and bring under unified control the diverse initiatives undertaken to foster an understanding of Italian culture overseas.18 Since its establishment, IRCE had been assigned the complex and ambitious task of coordinating all the activities related to the dissemination of Italian culture abroad, and it set about reorganising and developing strategies to improve means through which Italy projected its image overseas. The distribution of Italian books to foreign retailers was one of the first issues addressed. IRCE’s intervention resulted in the adoption of measures intended to create an efficient network able to facilitate export and delivery, cut costs for both retailers and buyers, and introduce advertising practices that would increase the profile of Italian literature abroad. Other initiatives sponsored by IRCE were incentives for the publication of bilingual dictionaries – knowledge of the Italian language was considered consequential for gaining an international audience more receptive to Italian propaganda – an increase in the number of scholarships available to foreign students interested in studying in Italian universities or other educational institutions, and the promotion of a series of conferences and lectures on various subjects. The most onerous task, however, was to organise the production 69

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of a comprehensive information package making Italy’s history, economy and past and present social and cultural issues easily available to foreign readers.19 Thus the Italian propaganda machine evolved into a more structured system where personal initiative was undoubtedly welcome but mainly when it came to implement general principles and guidelines usually set by the Italian Foreign Office. One of the instruments of Italian propaganda abroad from 1938 were the so-called Nuclei di Propaganda all’Estero, groups of Italian citizens engaged in propaganda activities abroad, whose members were chosen among the residents of the local Italian community by Italian diplomatic representatives. Their names and personal details were apparently filed and kept in a confidential system at the Ministry of Popular Culture.20 But to what extent had Italian endeavours succeeded in gaining prestige among the Palestinian Arab political and intellectual leadership? Evaluating the effects of propaganda has always been considered a challenging and problematic task, especially at a time when survey techniques such as interviews and questionnaires could not be employed. However, as the relationship between the British government in Palestine and the Arabs became thornier, in London the threat of Italian propaganda in the Middle East was perceived as more serious than it probably was. British politicians might have been caught unprepared and looked with bewildered eyes at the hostile campaign waged by what had long been perceived as a friendly country. If Italy’s intentions had been difficult to discern during the Mussolini era, preconceptions about the nature of Italian policy and the ‘significance of tradition’ in Anglo-Italian relations had severely hindered any realistic assessment of the goals of Italian foreign policy.21 Furthermore, it seems that at this stage Britain was reluctant to acknowledge that the source of its troubled relations with the Middle East lay not in Italian subversive activities, but in the very nature of British policy towards Palestine and the Middle Eastern region as a whole: a substantially ambiguous policy as far as Palestine was concerned, where British attempts to maintain a position of equilibrium between the two communities had failed to obtain the full confidence of the Jewish population, while frustrating the aspirations of the Arab community and endangering the old ties that linked Britain to the Arab world. This situation provided ample opportunities for Axis propagandists. The increasing friction between the British authorities and the Arab notables and community in Palestine was exploited by Italian propagandists who saw it as a widening fissure in the British imperial position in the Mediterranean. Italy had always felt British naval supremacy and presence in the Mediterranean as a threat to its own ambitions and achievements in foreign policy. Less than ten years earlier, Mussolini had laid out the plan for an Italian nation with imperialistic aspirations: ‘A nation that has no free access to the sea cannot be considered a free nation; a nation that has 70

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no free access to the oceans cannot be considered a great power; Italy has to become a great power’.22 Because of Italy’s clear desire for colonial glories, the Italians did not always find a well-disposed interlocutor in the Arab leadership. Mussolini’s ambitions were well understood by the Arabs, despite the fact that he had publicly manifested his appreciation of Arab culture and stated his endorsement of the Arab struggle for selfdetermination. Given this ambiguous track record, the Arabs did not approach the possibility of a formal or informal understanding with Italy without caution and suspicion, especially after the Abyssinian war. The allure of Fascist propaganda, however, had proved successful in some quarters. Sponsored studies and trips, as well as cultural exchanges between Italian students and their Arab counterparts, had created more opportunities for Italian propagandists to work closely with an educated elite that one day would constitute the ruling class of the future independent states of the Levant. Fascist ideology mixed with resentment at the ‘imperialistic policy’ of western democracies had begun to permeate the official speeches and communiqués of grateful Arab students resident in Italy: ‘The Arabs, more than anyone else, understand and despise democratic principles, which are appealing in theory, but in practice are unashamedly materialistic, exploitative, the real enemy of any ideal and true freedom. They have come to represent for us the harshest slavery’.23 More pragmatically, some Arab leaders had already come to think that keeping the door open to a friendly Italy was worthwhile if the ultimate objective was the achievement of an independent Arab Palestine, emancipated and free from external interference. British officials began to look with apprehension at leaders like the Mufti of Jerusalem, who gradually moved towards more amicable relations with the Axis powers.24 The Arabs, he asserted, were a free nation and without the help of a European power they would not see their aspirations fulfilled; the opportunity and prospect of financial backing were there and should not be missed.25 British diplomats in Palestine believed that the Arab nationalist leaders were considering what stance to take in case of war in Europe. Those who were entertaining close and friendly relations with Italy and those who were more detached from the Fascist government shared the same hope of creating a united Arab front and making the most of the ‘embarrassment occupying the Powers in the interests of Arab nationalism’.26 The interests of both Italy and the Arab nationalists would be best served by a situation of unrest in Palestine; the common objective would prompt an improbable alliance between Mussolini and the nationalist leaders who were hoping that hostilities in Europe ‘would bring about a modification of present policy in a sense more favourable to the Arabs’.27 Those in the forefront of the campaign against the settlement of a strong Jewish community supported by the British administration in Palestine encouraged the Arab populations to 71

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side, in case of war, with those powers willing to eradicate the Zionist threat: ‘if Italy promised to deliver them from the Zionist peril, they should extend their hands to her’.28 Arab politicians were repeatedly reported to have expressed the hope that the main European powers would become involved in the Abyssinian conflict so that, in the new climate of emergency, the British government would be forced by circumstances to assent to the requests of the Arab nationalists.29 British officials were concerned that the Palestinian Arab newspaper Al diafa’a, whose stance in regard to the Italo-Abyssinian dispute had until then been strongly pro-Ethiopian, had, for the first time, given public voice to Arab hopes and expectations in the event of a war involving the European Mandatory powers. Under the heading ‘We want war as a last resort to save the country’, Al diafa’a claimed that during recent developments in the Abyssinian crisis it had maintained an objective position, and had refrained from expressing feelings or encouragement for any of the conflicting sides, so as to provide readers with information ‘without any colour or tinge’. However, accepting the number of people in the Arab world who were calling for a cessation of hostilities, Al diafa’a had decided to enter the debate, presenting the case in favour of a war that would result in fulfilment of the Arabs’ legitimate aspirations. Those who were speaking and acting in support of a cease-fire had regard only for their private interests: We want war as young men of a new generation and not as a group of old men always inclined to be submissive. Immigration and land sales can only be stopped by war. . . . The East could be saved by the clashing of the armies of Imperialistic nations together; Palestine could be saved when the English become unable to interest themselves in the Jews and the Arab Federation will be realized by English need for the Arabs. A war would weaken our opponents and will make the Zionist dreams an unavailing myth.30 The worries of the British authorities were somehow mitigated by the strong hope, and sometimes certainty, that the majority of the Syrian panArab leaders favoured an alliance with Britain, which they believed would safeguard the interests of Syria and facilitate the creation of an Arab confederation with Britain’s blessing, especially in the case of France deciding to side with Italy.31 Nevertheless, Britain’s reliance on the friendship of Syrian nationalists did not do much to improve the state of affairs in Palestine: the Syrians seemed more concerned with their relations with the French Mandatory authorities; moreover, the strong connection between the Arabs of Syria and those of Palestine – clearly evident in Geneva where there was a unified Syrian–Palestinian delegation representing the two 72

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nations at the League of Nations – made the alliance between the Syrian nationalists and the British government highly unlikely. Thus, if Britain seemed to swing between overestimating the Italian threat and an excessive confidence in its immovable position in the Mediterranean and the Levant, Italy appeared sometimes too confident about its own appeal to the Arab leaderships who, surprisingly, did not regard the Italian option as fundamentally the most suitable, but just the one that was more convenient in the current circumstances. The ‘honeymoon’ of Italy and the Arab world, or at least what the Italians perceived as their special relationship with Islam, appeared reinvigorated by Italy’s entry into the war in June 1940. In Iraq the Italians found that 95 per cent of the Muslim population favoured the Axis powers and welcomed Italian successes in Somalia. There was no love lost between Arabs and the British government: ‘They [the Muslims] hate the British and are eager to throw the Jews into the river Tigris’.32 The Palestinian crisis had by then irrevocably damaged British relations with the Arabs, but Italy did not gain from Britain’s failure as much as it expected. Nevertheless, the Italians had succeeded in enlisting the services of some of the best-known personalities in Arab intellectual circles. Among them was Emir Shakib Arslan, whose name had appeared very frequently in reports and police summaries sent to the Foreign Office since 1934. The Foreign Office did actually file a report containing information on all the most prominent figures in Syrian politics. The name of Shakib Arslan opens the list with an assessment that reveals, on the one hand, mistrust of the activities carried out by the Syrian writer and, on the other, contempt for the effectiveness of his work. La Nation Arabe, the publication created in Geneva by Shakib Arslan in 1930, was described as ‘an incendiary and puerile journal’; the portrayal of Arslan himself was certainly no more flattering: ‘He has been bought lock, stock and barrel by Italian Intelligence Service, for whom he will be as ineffectual as ever. [He] Figures on the Palestine Black List. Intelligent, self-seeking, treacherous’.33 The Palestine Black List was the roster of individuals considered most dangerous by the local Special Branch. This assessment indicates that the Foreign Office enjoyed only a shallow comprehension of the changes in the Palestinian and Arab political panorama. As we shall see, the partnership with Fascist Italy, though very fruitful in some respects, severely undermined the efficacy of the activity of Shakib Arslan and the strength of the message he sent to Arab intellectual circles wary of, and sometimes hostile towards, the imperialistic designs of Mussolini. As far as the brief personal profile is concerned, Arslan was, according to almost all sources, clever and driven by the need to fulfil his personal ambitions; however, defining him as ‘treacherous’ implies that at one time he must have offered his support and loyalty to the Mandatory authorities in Syria and Palestine. But Shakib Arslan, like many other Arab intellectuals – with the notorious exception 73

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of the Mufti of Jerusalem – had never hidden the ultimate purpose of his activity, the full independence of Mandated territories and former colonies from the direct or indirect rule of the European colonial powers. In administering its territories in the Middle East and in dealing with its now semiindependent ex-colonies, Britain was relying on a political and intellectual class that was no longer willing to compromise with the central government. Thus, Foreign Office experts were once again playing down the role and aspirations of the Arab nationalist movement and hoping to place the source of the threat elsewhere, outside the Middle Eastern region. This was an exercise in self-delusion. The activities of Shakib Arslan are central to any understanding and evaluation of Italian propaganda in Palestine of which he was the principal promoter. Important in himself, he also stands as a recurring element in a complex pattern of practical and intellectual links between Italian officials and Arab nationalists. A writer, journalist, politician and diplomat in a wide sense, Shakib Arslan is representative of a generation of Arabs born and brought up under the Ottoman empire, who were suddenly confronting the emergence of a powerful Arab nationalist movement and the new concept of an Arab national state. Born in 1869 in a Lebanese village and a member of a Druze family, Shakib Arslan received a broad Arab and French education at a Christian preparatory school and subsequently completed his studies in Islamic sciences and Ottoman Turkish at the governmental institution of Madrasah al-Sultaniyyah. His literary talent was rather precocious: at the age of fourteen he saw his first poetry published in Arabic journals, and four years later his collection of poems Prémices was published as a book. The seven years spent at the Christian Maronite school provided him with access to the intellectual and literary circles of Beirut and Damascus; his flair for writing would help him in his future career as a journalist and politician, gaining him respect and admiration as well as criticism for the often ambiguous political stance reflected in his articles and prose. Although he did not take his education to university level, Shakib Arslan enjoyed the acquaintance and protection of some of the most influential political and religious thinkers of his time, like the theologian and Islamic reformer Muhammad Abduh. At the outbreak of the First World War, Arslan, still loyal to the imperial policies of the Ottoman empire and its universal Islamic aspirations, decided to make his personal contribution and joined the Ottoman army. Here, he formed the first of his unwise associations: although many Arabs had initially given their support to the Caliphate in its war against the western powers, many had also distanced themselves from those Ottoman rulers, like Ahmad Jamal Pasha, whose policy of terror had alienated large sectors of Syrian opinion from the Ottoman government. Arslan’s relations with Jamal Pasha, as twenty years later with Mussolini, generated suspi74

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cion and disapproval, by linking him ‘in the minds of many Arabs to the harsh regime of the most hated of Turks’.34 During the final years of the war, Arslan was in Istanbul, fulfilling his responsibilities in the Ottoman parliament. In 1918 he was sent to Berlin to act for the Ottoman cause. But the collapse of the empire was imminent; in Germany, Arslan learnt of the victory of the Allies and the armistice. He believed it dangerous to return to a British-occupied Istanbul and preferred to remain in Europe, travelling from Germany to Switzerland, Russia and Italy, always following with great attention the political developments in the Levant. Arslan’s exile in Europe lasted for almost twenty years until 1937, when the French authorities in Syria, attempting to encourage dialogue with the moderate fringes of the Arab nationalist movement, granted him and his long-time collaborator, Ihsan Al-Jabiri, permission to make their way back to Syria. Shakib Arslan’s life and work, with all their contradictions, are emblematic of an Arab intellectual class whose Islamic upbringing had been ‘contaminated’ by a western education, by the principles of self-determination and the idea of nation-state; an intelligentsia which nurtured the aspiration to create a community of Arab independent states throughout the Middle East, bound together by the common matrix of Islam. During the first years of his European exile, Arslan’s political horizon was enlarged considerably; until then he had been committed to promoting the interests of a single nation, Syria; now, the scope of his intense political and literary activity had broadened to encompass the issues of Arab nationalism and anti-imperialist struggle. He travelled extensively from Berlin to Rome and Brussels to preside, co-ordinate or simply participate in a variety of protest activities that increased his popularity among the other Arab exiles and refugees in Europe as well as his compatriots in his homeland. Arslan had, by the early 1930s, defined his ‘mission’ as a leading figure and promoter of a number of cultural and political nationalist movements that were flourishing in the Middle East and North Africa. He employed his talent as a writer to ‘internationalize the issues facing the Arab-Islamic lands under European domination and to galvanize ArabIslamic opinion into recognition that only through mutual assistance based on common Islamic bonds could they gain independence and restore the proper social order’.35 Arslan’s simultaneous engagement on many fronts, however, generated mixed feelings. While some expressed their admiration of his fervour and total dedication to the Arab cause, others were more sceptical and saw him as an ambitious manipulator, a meddler and a political agitator. His past alliance with some of the most ruthless Ottoman commanders had not been completely forgotten or forgiven; to regain the esteem of many of his previous followers, Arslan was now determined to put ‘his words and his pen at the service of the Arab movement and Arab unity, acting as a 75

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mediator and, by embracing an impeccable Muslim orthodoxy, he attempted to dispel the mistrust that he might have caused among the Arabs’.36 An objective reconstruction and analysis of Arslan’s endeavours and achievements could not but recognise that he was motivated both by deep feelings for the history and culture of his people, as well as belief in the righteousness of the Arab cause, and by desire for personal success, so that he saw his role as a leading ambassador of the nationalist cause in Europe as a means to fulfil his personal ambitions. Arslan found himself blessed by fortune; he landed in the right place at the right time. His peregrination throughout Europe had brought him to Geneva, where the presence of the secretariat of the League of Nations and a large number of political refugees welcomed by the Swiss government had combined to create an unrivalled forum for world politics as well as a unique centre for the defence of the rights of the Arab peoples.37 Geneva hosted numerous Arab committees and delegations whose ideas were circulated through a number of pamphlets, journals and publications of various natures. It was in Geneva in 1930 that Shakib Arslan, together with Ihsan Al-Jabiri, founded the periodical La Nation Arabe, organ of the Syro-Palestinian delegation in Europe, in order to present to the Western world the demands of a nation which has projected its civilising light across the darkness of the Middle Ages and the ruins of the Greco-Roman world and thus served as one of the principal agents in the formation of the modern world.38 A monthly review of politics, literature, economics and social issues, La Nation Arabe was intended to publicise Arslan’s personal engagement in supporting the claims of his people, as well as being a voice of the whole Arab nation who had recently become aware of the importance of solidarity and common intents in the strive for independence. The struggle to acquire sovereignty over the Middle Eastern region, far from isolating the Arab world, would integrate and anchor it to international society: We will prove that the Arab nation deserves, in the light of its past and present, to join the club of civilised nations and we will maintain that its admission will strengthen the spirit of peace and solidarity between East and West, for the benefit of the League of Nations.39 It is interesting to observe that, though primarily intended to support ideologically the fight against the European presence in the Levant, La Nation Arabe was a francophone publication. It has been argued that this choice was designed to ensure a wide diffusion and range of readers throughout 76

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Europe, as well as guarantee access to the contents to those Muslim readers whose knowledge of Arabic was too slight to allow comprehension of Arabic texts.40 Between 1930 and 1938, thirty-eight issues of La Nation Arabe were discontinuously published and mostly sponsored by Arslan’s personal finances, providing the Syrian writer with invaluable opportunities to cultivate useful contacts in the political establishments of some of the European powers. It was during the years in Geneva and through the pages of La Nation Arabe that Arslan sought a rapprochement with the Italian government whose violent conquest of Libya and imposition of a ruthless regime on the Libyan populations had been received with dismay by Arab public opinion. When Italy, seeking to rehabilitate its image in the Middle East and North Africa, adopted a more conciliatory attitude towards the Arabs of Libya, Arslan found that the Syro-Palestinian cause and his own paper could benefit from precious political and financial support. The new alliance inflicted a severe blow to Arslan’s restored credibility among Arab intellectuals, leading him into some of the ‘most twisted polemics of his career’ and subjecting him ‘to fierce attacks on his integrity’.41 Western governments, which had kept a vigilant eye on Arslan’s attempts to secure Germany’s involvement in the Levant on the Arab side, looked at his association with Mussolini with increasing suspicion. It was feared that, if Arslan succeeded in persuading his fellow Arabs that the Italian invasion of Abyssinia was not the type of enterprise that had been pursued by the other European colonial powers, and that the Muslims under Italian rule – unlike their brothers in the French and British Mandates – enjoyed the respect and protection of their rulers, then Italy could exploit Middle Eastern tensions and deepen the rift already existing between the Mandatory powers and the Arab nationalists. Arslan’s friendship with Mussolini began in 1933 and the Italian Foreign Ministry hoped that gaining Arslan’s acquiescence would move Italo-Arab relations in a different direction. The brutal repression of the Arab tribes of Libya, and especially the atrocities and summary executions perpetrated in Libya under the stern regime imposed by the Italian Colonel Graziani, had set the rest of the Arab world against Italy. Shakib Arslan had accepted Mussolini’s invitation to Rome on condition that Italy softened its policy towards the populations of Libya and allowed those Libyan tribes that had been deported to be repatriated. The effects of the deal that had allegedly been struck in Rome soon became evident. In the September– October 1934 issue of La Nation Arabe, the tone of Arslan’s commentary on Italy’s colonial policy is extremely friendly, especially considering the anti-colonialist and anti-imperialist ideological tendencies within the Syro-Palestinian delegation and the Arab nationalist movement, whose aspirations had always driven Arslan’s work.42 It was not an easy task, but the Syrian journalist seemed to have accepted the challenge to turn 77

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Mussolini from the villain of Libya and the ruthless invader of Abyssinia into the champion of modern Islam. The article ‘Italy in Eritrea. Comparisons with the Other Colonial Powers’ gives manifest praise to Italy’s virtues and successes in administering Abyssinia compared with the despotic yoke the Muslims of other nations, ‘although more advanced than those of Eritrea’, had been brought under.43 One cannot but wonder whether the intense rhetoric used by Arslan was intended as a skilful appeal to the emotions of the reader or genuinely reflected the author’s Italophile feelings and gratitude for the ‘wise and fruitful policy adopted by Italy in its East African colony’, where Muslims had been awarded seats in the higher ranks of the administration, where the Islamic faith and Arab culture and language were protected by benevolent Italian patronage. Italy had, according to Arslan, mended its torn relations with the Arabs, the deplorable events of Libya belonged to the past; finally and ‘luckily the “duce”, whose spirit and superior feelings did not match the measures taken, and who had never agreed with foolish initiatives, has without delay put right the harm caused’.44 Arslan’s partnership with Mussolini, whether based on sincere esteem of Italy’s conduct in North and East Africa or on a convenient convergence of interests, soon produced its fruits. Apart from financial contributions to his precarious publication, Arslan acquired solid political backing for his campaign against the British and French presence in the Middle East. Arslan was probably not so naive as to be deceived in his judgement of the real aims of Italy’s foreign policy; he was using Italy to further Arab grievances and aspirations as much as Italy was endorsing the Arab cause to enhance its prestige in the international arena. In a letter published by the Palestinian newspaper Al moqattan in 1935 and allegedly addressed to the Mufti of Jerusalem, the Syrian writer declares his satisfaction at the understanding reached with Mussolini, and his trust in the Italian authorities who would ‘not dare’ treat the Arab populations ‘in the same manner as did France and Great Britain’. From the letter it is possible to infer that arrangements for a co-ordinated propaganda campaign had been made between Arslan and Mussolini and that, when war was imminent, those arrangements were to be executed as soon as possible. The Propaganda Office in Rome – which some have identified with the Italian UnderSecretariat for Press and Propaganda – would provide the necessary material for publication and distribution to other newspapers in Palestine. One line of propaganda was suggested by Arslan himself, giving grounds for speculation as to how much constraint was given by the guidelines issued by the Propaganda Office and how much freedom was left to the individuals behind the news desk in deciding the subjects to tackle and the targets to attack. Arslan, at least, seemed to be determined to transform Italy’s colonial adventure in Abyssinia into Italy’s triumphal liberation of the Muslims of Abyssinia: ‘My opinion is this, that we should seize the opportunity of the 78

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dispute between Italy and Abyssinia in order to show the Islamic world the evils of the Abyssinians towards the Mohammedans’.45 The publication of the letter caused great agitation in the Arab political circles of Palestine. According to British sources, the Arab community, still resentful about the harsh regime imposed by the Italian authorities in Libya, believed in the authenticity of the document, despite the disclaimers of the people personally involved, and regarded with distrust the understanding reached between some of the community leaders and the Italian government. The Foreign Office reported that Ihsan Al-Jabiri had admitted, in private conversations, that the Syrian–Palestinian delegation and the Italian government had agreed on a common agenda: Italy would ease the pressure on the Muslims of Libya and in return the Arab press would soften the campaign against Italy’s policy of repression in North Africa. Furthermore, Ihsan Al-Jabiri made clear that Italy had played and intended to maintain a key role in supporting the Arab quest for independence, and that Italy’s involvement in the Middle East would probably go well beyond press propaganda and radio broadcasts: he privately declared (although it is not mentioned whether to an Arab confidant or a British official) that ‘Italy greatly assisted Iraq in securing its independence’, while Mussolini had promised further assistance to Syria and expressed sympathy for the Arabs of Palestine in their fight against Zionism.46 Whether forged or authentic, the correspondence between Shakib Arslan and the Mufti of Jerusalem continued through the pages of the Palestinian newspapers. In April 1935 Al jami’a Al Islamiya published another letter from Shakib Arslan urging Amin al-Hussaini to abandon his friendly policy towards the British government in Palestine and join the ranks of the opposition. Voices from the nationalist camp had begun to raise doubts about the reliability of the Mufti and his commitment to the Arab cause. Arslan, by his own admission already engaged in promoting Italian propaganda, was not enticed by the prospect of a diplomatic solution of the Palestinian question and political negotiations with the British authorities. His mistrust of the British government and representatives was deep: ‘Flattery, bribery and policy are useless with them. No one can trick them for they are the cleverest tricksters. . . . Softness is a language which the Englishman does not understand. The Englishman understands only opposition’.47 By the spring of 1935 Arslan’s rapprochement with Italy had become the focus of debate among Arab intellectuals and a hot issue dividing Palestinian public opinion. A series of articles published in La Nation Arabe and other Palestinian papers in defence of Italian policy towards the Muslims of Ethiopia seriously damaged his reputation in some important Arab nationalist circles. Attacks on Arslan’s friendship with the Italian authorities came from several quarters. On the pages of the newspaper Al Ahali the former Minister of Finance of Syria made some stern comments 79

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about the nature of Arslan’s much advertised assistance to the cause of the Palestinian Arabs. Chiaker Nimat Chiabani singled out Shakib Arslan, considered as an instrument in the hands of Italian propagandists, and blamed his exploitation of the Islamic conference in Geneva as a forum where the objectives of Italian imperialism would be promoted: If the mission of Emir Arslan was indeed intended to help the Muslims against the mandatory power, we would be grateful to Emir Arslan. The truth is that this conference will be used to betray the Muslims and to serve the interests of Italy.48 The Italians did not appear excessively troubled by the remarks of the Syrian politician whom they regarded as a discredited figure in Arab nationalist circles, and whose words were dismissed as ‘symptoms of devious British propaganda’.49 The confrontation between those who had sided with Italy and those who were still refusing dialogue with Mussolini’s government produced a rift within the nationalist movement and the Arab Palestinian press. The Mufti, who had until then refrained from joining either side officially, now seemed to lead, together with the rest of the Hussaini family, the proItalian faction, while the rival family of the Nashashibi was at the head of the faction voicing opposition to Italian propaganda. The debate went along the lines of family and tribal rivalry as well as ideological and political boundaries. As the Hussaini-dominated Palestine Arab Party found itself more entrenched in a position of hostility towards the British authorities, the Nashashibis, who had recently promoted the creation of the moderate Defence Party, developed a more conciliatory attitude towards the Mandatory power, preferring co-operation with the British administration to radical antagonism.50 Shakib Arslan’s campaign to reconcile Arab readers with the Italian government took two directions. On the one hand, in the Italophile Al jami’a Al Arabia, he did not indulge in extolling the merits of Italy’s policy in Abyssinia but tried to appeal to the pride of the Arab Palestinians, inciting them to free the Palestinian land from British rule.51 On the other hand, from the pages of La Nation Arabe the message was more subtle, arguing that the Muslim populations of Abyssinia, despite constituting a numerical majority within the Ethiopian empire, were subjected to unequal treatment by the Christian government: it’s the Christian side that has gradually extended the rule of the Negus over all the Muslim provinces of the present empire: they [the Christians] have got hold of the most prominent positions within the administration and the army, and they have preserved the feudal structure of the regime.52 80

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[W]hat we will never tolerate is the treatment inflicted on the Muslims of this empire, regarded as an inferior race to the Christians.53 Implicit was the message that the defeat of the Christian government of Abyssinia should be received with satisfaction by the Muslim Arabs whose Ethiopian brothers had been liberated from an oppressive regime and could expect more equal treatment under the Italian administration. Later on, in 1936, his arguments became more complex. Shakib Arslan maintained that, despite disapproving of Italy’s annexation of Ethiopia, the Muslim world could not but place its trust and hopes in the Italian government which had promised to rule the country without prejudice or preference towards either of the two communities. Answering the remarks of those who expected him to vigorously oppose Mussolini’s aggressive policy in East Africa, Shakib Arslan pointed out the inconsistencies in the arguments put forward by those who were in favour of a tougher policy of sanctions against Italy. Italy’s invasion of Abyssinia, which had outraged Europe and a great part of the Arab world, was undoubtedly a deplorable act of aggression; nevertheless, no less suffering and no less harm had been caused by France’s and Britain’s colonial policies in Syria, Palestine, Transjordan and North Africa. The western world had then remained silent; in the years preceding the creation of the League of Nations, no international forum had been created to defend the violated rights of the Arab peoples. In his fervent polemic to justify his own dubious political endorsement, Shakib Arslan highlighted the ambiguity of the European moral stance on the Abyssinian crisis: We have refused to take a stand against Italy’s aggression of the Ethiopian empire, we have refused to take a stand against Italy alone and without addressing our protest against Britain, France, Russia and Holland, the first of which has brought under the yoke 150 million Muslims, the second 25 million, the third 35 and the fourth 55, entire populations who have been oppressed, exploited and deprived of their freedom and fundamental rights.54 As he strenuously attempted to defend his bona fides and reputation, Shakib Arslan accused his detractors of having been bought by the British Intelligence Service and of acting in support of France’s political interests, notwithstanding their professed hostility towards any imperialist policy.55 The controversy over his role in furthering Italian propaganda in the Arab world marked the final decade of Shakib Arslan’s life. The strength of his personal defence could not overcome the outburst generated by the dramatic and sudden reversal of his original hostility towards Italy, and the suspicion that his chaotic finances had somehow benefited from his new 81

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alliance with the Italian government. Shakib Arslan’s rejection of all accusations was in vain, such was the deep distrust of Italy felt by the majority of Arab political leaders and intellectuals. In the end, for those who remained ‘unconvinced by Arslan’s explanation for his conciliatory attitude towards the Italian presence in Libya and Ethiopia, there was one other possibility – he had betrayed his principles for money’.56 Information, as we have seen, was the most effective medium used by the Italian government and its agents for propaganda purposes. Information through the press and other printed publications, however, had a limited range of recipients, an elite which was not only literate but also had had access to higher education and could, therefore, take part in the debate concerning principles of self-determination versus practice of colonialism. A large proportion of the Arab populations, particularly in Egypt and Palestine, would have remained oblivious to the message of the Italian propagandists if radio broadcasts had not become one of the main instruments of international propaganda in the 1930s, an instrument used by totalitarian regimes for ‘ideological and nationalistic expansion’.57 Technological improvements in wireless communications had created a powerful and effective tool for domestic and international propaganda. The key to the success of radio broadcasts was simple: the radio relied upon the spoken word, thus affording a more personal and direct approach than other media; it was capable of reaching the masses, regardless of their geographical location, social status, education or ideological affiliations; and finally, in the absence adequate jamming devices, radio transmissions were extremely difficult for the British to silence. The success of Radio Bari with its broadcasts in Arabic was not overlooked by the British government of Palestine. The official estimate in November 1935, only twenty months after the creation of Radio Bari, gives an indication of the favourable response generated by its broadcasts in Palestine: Over 10,000 licences have already been issued and receiving sets are in use in most Arabic speaking towns from Beersheba and Gaza in the south to Acre and Safad in the north. Broadcast news is becoming increasingly popular in Arab cafes. Villagers come regularly during evenings to Jaffa to listen-in by this means and through private sets there is little doubt that Bari broadcast enjoys wide publicity: occasional reproduction in local press, even though it is for the purpose of criticism may add to this publicity.58 Radio Bari was created in 1934 by Galeazzo Ciano, at that time head of the Fascist propaganda machine. Initially, Arabic programmes were broadcast three times a week and reached the Italian colony of Libya as well as the French and British territories of Morocco, Tunisia, Egypt and Palestine 82

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and part of the Red Sea region. They consisted mainly of Arab music, aimed at favourably impressing the listeners, news, likely to reach a wider audience in an area of high illiteracy, and finally talk shows.59 Already during the summer of 1935, Radio Bari was broadcasting every day and had extended the length of its well-received programmes. By the end of 1935, Radio Bari broadcasts were becoming increasingly popular, especially in Arab cafés: ‘Bari’s combination of propaganda and entertainment quickly won the station a following in the Middle East’.60 Its Arabic broadcast news contained a section dedicated to international events, mainly related to Italy and, after the creation of the Axis, to its allies, Germany and Japan. Mussolini’s speeches and diplomatic initiatives by the Italian government either in the Middle East or in Central Europe and the Balkans were carefully echoed by the programmes of Radio Bari. Interestingly, the Arabic broadcasts appeared to be very discreet about the Italian empire, often leaving out of the bulletin news from Somalia, Ethiopia or other regions where Italian policies could be open to criticism. Reports of events in the Middle East were considered interesting as long as they underlined the contrast between the positive role played by Italy and the repressive measures adopted by Britain and France. As a result, ‘areas such as Egypt and Palestine, where the relationship between western democracies and Arabs was strained, were the ones that hit the headlines’.61 The powerful implications of broadcasting to a foreign audience had caused numerous debates within the International Broadcasting Union. Pressure to formulate regulations for international broadcasts increased to the extent that the League of Nations had begun to address the problem in 1931. However, it was only in 1936 that the League of Nations decided to outlaw aggressive propaganda and deliberate incitement of insurrection. Ultimately, it was agreed to ban broadcast material ‘which, to the detriment of good international understanding, is of such character as to incite the population of any territory to acts incompatible with the internal order or the security of a territory of a High Contracting Party’.62 In reality, the measures adopted by the League of Nations affected only those countries willing to observe them. Germany – which had left the League of Nations in 1933 – and Italy did not sign the international agreement; Italy, in particular, had already set up a provocative and hostile radio propaganda campaign abroad, thus breaching the international conventions on that matter. Radio Bari was not the only station broadcasting to the Middle East. An important medium of communication and propaganda, especially where only few people could read newspapers, the radio was becoming increasingly popular. All the strategic areas were covered by programmes of Arab news and music; most radio stations soon began to publish periodicals containing articles dealing with the events of the month, the 83

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political situation in the Arab world, historical and literary subjects and very often a summary of previous broadcasts. Among the prestigious and most followed stations was Radio Cairo, created in 1934, whose daily news bulletins were broadcast in Arabic, French, English and Hindustani. Radio Jerusalem, like Radio Cairo, was installed by the Italian Società Marconi; the radio station was run by Jewish personnel and gave priority to topics and affairs related to the Jewish community.63 During the unrest of 1936, the Arabs boycotted Radio Jerusalem’s programmes and the station’s offices were devastated by a bomb. Radio Baghdad began in 1936 as a private experiment set up in the royal palace; by 1937 it had increased the number of programmes and employed an entire orchestra to play Arab music. The list of radio services in the Middle East includes Radio Tripoli, Aden, Beirut and Algiers. Although appreciated by Arab listeners, the Italian broadcasts of Radio Bari were not welcomed by the British authorities: immediately before the Abyssinian war, at the height of the tension between Rome and London, police in Jerusalem were closing cafés and meeting points where people usually gathered to listen to Radio Bari.64 By 1938, widespread interest in the political developments in the Middle East and feelings of friendship towards Arab populations had been expressed not only through Italian and British broadcasts, but also through the programmes of German and Soviet radio stations, while Japan had announced the imminent creation of regular broadcasts in Arabic.65 Since 1935 the importance and influence of the Italian broadcasts in Arabic grew to such an extent that by 1937 the High Commissioner for Palestine could observe that almost 60 per cent of licence holders in Palestine were regular listeners to Radio Bari.66 The situation in Palestine compared unfavourably with the reception of Bari transmissions in Transjordan: British officials were rather pleased to report that in Transjordan only 100 licences had been issued, mainly in Amman. Jordanian listeners, according to British reports, seemed to choose ‘more authoritative’ sources: ‘those listeners in Trans Jordan who are intelligent enough to be interested in world affairs – and they are the majority – know English and prefer to listen to English station(s)’.67 The war of words waged by the Italians ultimately presented the British government with a dilemma: either to re-enter the field of propaganda successfully pioneered by Britain during the First World War, or to allow the totalitarian regimes of Europe to proselytise and gain control over the nationalist movement and the forces of opposition in the Middle East. In the summer of 1936, two years after the first Arabic broadcast from Radio Bari, the British authorities in Palestine still seemed wary of using counter-propaganda to contain the increasing popularity of Italian transmissions and to open a dialogue with those sections of the Palestinian society already distrustful of Britain’s policy towards the Arab community. The High Commissioner for Palestine, Sir Arthur Wauchope, pointed out the dangers of employing radio broadcasts 84

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for propaganda purposes, as they could turn out to be detrimental to the image of the British government in Palestine: The temper of the Arab people is too strong as their conviction of grievances is too fixed to be influenced much by broadcasting. . . . Government communiqués were broadcast throughout disturbances and if broadcasting services were used for the dissemination of propaganda the effect would be to throw doubts upon the accuracy of the communiqué.68 How the British government decided to counteract the threat posed by international propaganda in Britain’s Mandated territories and former colonies throughout the Middle East will be examined in a subsequent chapter. By the end of 1935, the British authorities in Palestine began to complain that the tone and substance of Radio Bari broadcasts had become increasingly malevolent, coinciding with a resurgence of Italian activities in the area, intended to infiltrate Arab circles and gain the support of the nationalist movement. British officials feared that there was reason to believe that the messages broadcast from Bari could generate negative feelings towards Britain among Arab listeners.69 Italian broadcasts did not rely on subliminal effects; on the contrary, the targets and contents of the messages were plain and obvious, as was the political slant given to all news bulletins. Throughout 1935 and well into 1936, Radio Bari emphasised the increasing friction and mistrust between the British government of Palestine and the Arab nationalist leadership, giving prominence to the agenda of those factions within the nationalist movement who had taken an uncompromising stand against Britain and were more likely to side with Italy in the long-running dispute over sanctions following the Abyssinian crisis. Newspapers, political parties and organisations, activist leaders who had opposed British rule in Palestine were quoted at length during the main news bulletins broadcast by Radio Bari. In April 1935, the Italian station broadcast the whole text of a statement of policy by the Palestine Arab Party, run by the Hussaini family, whose main objectives were the abolition of the Mandatory administration, the subsequent achievement of complete independence for Palestine, and opposition to the creation of a Jewish national home. The wide popularity enjoyed by those who were fighting the British presence in Palestine was stressed by speakers on Radio Bari who adduced, as proof of the prevalent anti-British feelings, the fact that the gathering at the Conference of the Palestine Arab Party was ‘the greatest real national meeting that Palestine had ever known since the introduction of the Mandate’.70 News bulletins and broadcasts from the southern Italian station continued to address a wide range of themes, always underlining the failures of the Mandatory administration 85

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in Palestine and the ‘repressive nature’ of British imperial policy, and encouraging those collective initiatives – like the Muslim conference organised in Geneva under the patronage of Shakib Arslan – that could pave the way for Arab independence.71 The core of the messages sent by Radio Bari broadcasters was an emotional appeal, mostly intended to ignite the resentment of Arab listeners, thus deepening further the fracture between Palestinian Arabs and British authorities, driving both sides towards irreconcilable positions. In October 1935, Italian speakers from Bari reported that some Jewish companies in Tel Aviv had received arms shipped from Belgium and smuggled into Palestine, probably ‘in good understanding with the [British] Government’.72 Arab public opinion was alarmed and outraged. In this manner Italian propaganda could always play on fears and resentments, warning that recently imported consignments of arms were ‘intended for Arab breasts’ and that the Arabs of Palestine should be aware that the Jews were protected by the British authorities and acted with the complicity of the government in London.73 The British government was criticised, for it had not proved responsive to the demands of the Arab peoples either in Palestine or in Egypt or in the rest of the Arab world; by contrast, Bari broadcasters praised Italy as the only power that sympathised with the Arabs and had endeavoured to promote their cause.74 By the end of 1935, officials from the Colonial and Foreign Offices were urging the British government to take action against the increasingly abusive Italian broadcasts containing ‘puerile’ messages, ‘presumably adapted to the average puerile Arab mind’.75 Views differed as to the significance and the seriousness of the recent broadcasts; Italian propagandists seemed to have broadened the range of their attacks, concentrated no longer on British Mandatory administration, but directed more in general against Britain’s policy in all its present and past colonies. Some departments found that, though ‘silly and childish’, the broadcasts of Radio Bari should be dealt with by diplomatic measures.76 The views afforded at the Colonial Office and the Foreign Office in relation to Italian broadcasts were rather different: while the Colonial Office was calling for a formal complaint to the Italian authorities, the Foreign Office believed that there was not sufficient material for a diplomatic protest and that it would be counterproductive to begin a controversy with Rome at a time when relations between the two countries were already tense. Moreover, Foreign Office officials were doubtful whether eventual steps taken to counteract Italian radio propaganda would produce satisfactory results: ‘experience in other countries has shown that political propaganda over the ether is very difficult to put a stop to’.77 The escalation of anti-British Italian propaganda in Palestine had forced the British government to reappraise its attitude to radio broadcasts and the strategy to contain the possible damage Bari Radio could cause to 86

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Britain’s image in the Middle East. Several meetings and discussions took place towards the end of 1935. Interfering with Bari’s wavelength was considered technically possible but politically inadvisable: ‘jamming’ Bari broadcasts would involve breaching international regulations and the source of the ‘accidental’ interference could be easily detected, giving Bari broadcasters more material for their anti-British propaganda. Moreover, the Admiralty and the War Office were concerned that the British wireless services could be subjected to retaliation and that as a result ‘the Italians would interfere very seriously not only with British broadcasting, but with British naval and maritime wireless as well’.78 The cessation of hostile propaganda from the Bari station became one of the core issues during negotiations between the British and Italian authorities over a future Mediterranean agreement. Diplomatic action was then preferred to more drastic measures; among the proposals put forward was to make the termination of offensive broadcasts from Bari a precondition for the withdrawal of some of Britain’s battle cruisers from the Mediterranean.79 However, Italian broadcasts in Arabic generated repeated debates in Britain concerning the importance of propaganda as an element of peacetime international affairs that could no longer be ignored, and pointed out the need for the British government to formulate an adequate institutional response. Italian propaganda in Palestine kept its momentum for a few years, exploiting the situation of political and social unrest that was undermining Britain’s presence in its own Mandate. Eventually, the pressure brought by the intensifying Fascist campaign in the Middle East and the Levant forced the Italians and the British to look for a settlement over the major object in dispute: the Mediterranean Sea. The Gentlemen’s Agreement of January 1937 was a first step in this direction. The Anglo-Italian declaration called for freedom of passage through the Mediterranean, and stated that neither government would seek to modify the status quo or intervene in the domestic affairs of the territories in the Mediterranean area. The agreement resuscitated Anglo-Italian relations which had suffered a severe blow following Italian operations in Abyssinia. However, after the initial satisfaction expressed by both sides, no real progress towards peaceful co-existence in the Mediterranean region was made. Italy insisted on obtaining recognition of its conquests in East Africa and of the proclaimed empire of Abyssinia. The British government, on the other hand, and in particular its Foreign Secretary, Anthony Eden, subordinated any step to meet Italy’s requests to the withdrawal of Italian military aid to Franco and the cessation of anti-British propaganda in the Middle East.80 Throughout 1937 the picture of Italian propaganda activities in Palestine remained substantially unchanged.81 However, although ‘sensational and incorrect’ broadcasts from Radio Bari continued undisturbed throughout 1937, the British government in 87

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Palestine was employing more resources to curb the wave of anti-British propaganda that had swept the region. The suspension of the Arabic newspaper Al jami’a Al Islamiya, suspected of collusion with Italian agents and from whose columns Arab nationalists had given voice to their hostility towards the British authorities, was one of the first measures undertaken.82 But Italian activities appeared to have expanded from cultural and information propaganda to a more direct engagement in the internal affairs of Palestine. Italian money, though not officially confirmed, seemed to flow through the Higher Arab Committee into the hands of extremist nationalists, and Italy was now openly providing technical and military training to Arab mercenaries willing to fight on the side of the Palestinian rebels.83 The role of the Mufti of Jerusalem as intermediary between the Italian government and sections of the nationalist camp in Palestine had now become clear to the British Mandatory authorities. Shakib Arslan, from Geneva, would act as an intermediary between the Mufti and the Italians.84 The increased activity of the Fasci – Fascist organisations that co-ordinated Italian communities abroad – the proliferation of Dopo lavoro (After work) clubs – recreational associations open to the Arabs that acted as centres for the dissemination of propaganda, supervised by reliable members of the local Fascio – the involvement of pro-Italian Catholic clergy, the distribution of books that emphasised the achievements of the Fascist regime at home and abroad, were all features of Italy’s renewed efforts in Palestine.85 Throughout the first half of 1937 relations between the governments in Rome and London remained tense. In April 1938, after long on-and-off negotiations, the two sides met to sign the Easter Agreement. By the terms of the agreement, Italy and Britain pledged once again to abstain from manoeuvres that would endanger the status quo not only in the Mediterranean but also in the Red Sea. The British government agreed to recognise the Italian empire in Abyssinia in return for a settlement of the Spanish question and Italy’s reduction of its armed forces in Libya. The two governments agreed to exchange information about their military movements in the region, and in Annex 4 Italy undertook to cease its anti-British campaign in the Middle East and especially in Palestine.86 Italy’s hostile activities in Palestine seemed to have waned as a result of the agreement. Broadcasts from Radio Bari were reported to have softened their tone since January, although part of the local press still maintained fairly violent opposition to the Mandatory government.87 The temporary cessation or decline of Italian propaganda coincided with increasing animosity towards the Italian government, expressed in bitter comments in part of the Arab press. British officials in Palestine attributed the change in attitude among the Arabs partly to the loss of subsidies from the Italian government, but mainly to resentment caused by the suspicion that Italy had been ‘exploiting the Arab cause for her own benefit’.88 Although no 88

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longer fully engaged in anti-British activities, Italy strove to maintain good relations with the Arab world by devoting resources to build schools, hospitals and monasteries, undertakings which would bring credit to Italy’s policy and help to propagate the Fascist message to the Arabs.89 Palestine had been at the centre of Italian propaganda in the Middle East mainly because the events there in the second half of the 1930s had galvanised the Arab nationalists who began to believe that the end of Britain’s and France’s rule in the Middle East was imminent. Italy took side with the Arabs against the Mandatory governments and the Jews who, though regarded as an extension of western power in Palestine, had in fact very few friends in the British Foreign Office. As the war broke out in Europe and Italy strengthened its ties with Germany, the terms of the Easter Agreement became void. By the end of 1940, Italian activities in Palestine were not as preponderant as they had been, for Italy had broadened the scope of its overseas propaganda and was simultaneously engaged in various other geographical areas. Italian embassies in Portugal, South America and Iran, in the Indian sub-continent and the Far East were by then providing the logistic support for Italy’s propaganda activities.

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6 NAZI GERMANY IN THE MIDDLE EAST The Auswärtiges Amt and the Palestine question Throughout the 1970s and 1980s scholars devoted increasing attention to the Third Reich’s overall approach to Middle Eastern affairs, and in particular to the aims of German policy on Palestine during the interwar period. An assessment of German foreign policy in relation to the Palestine question is beyond the scope of this chapter. Among several studies focusing on individual aspects of German strategy in the Middle and Near East, Francis Nicosia and Milan Hauner have produced exhaustive scholarly research dealing respectively with Nazi Germany’s relations with Palestine and Axis strategy in India.1 This chapter therefore aims to draw on the existing literature to examine similarities and divergences between Nazi Germany’s and Fascist Italy’s policies towards the Middle East in general and more specifically towards the turbulent changes affecting the precarious balance between the three major political actors in Palestine, exploring the extent to which Rome and Berlin were already pursuing common objectives in the Middle Eastern region. It cannot be emphasised too strongly that in the 1930s Arab overtures to the Fascist and Nazi regimes in Europe rested primarily on the strategic advantages envisaged in an alliance with a European power that could challenge the British presence in the region. Nazi Germany was regarded by Arab nationalists as the most attractive ally: its scant involvement in the Middle East seemed to guarantee that Germany held no future ambitions in the Arab world, while the ideological appeal of its doctrines was drawing part of the Arab intelligentsia closer to the theories and practice of national socialism. In fact, until the end of the 1930s, when military and strategic priorities induced the government in Berlin to reassess its Middle Eastern policy, the German Foreign Ministry refused to enter into formal agreements with the leaders of the Arab nationalist movement, or even to lend its support to the Arab cause on an informal level. Notwithstanding the common aversion to the Jewish race, the Nazi regime was not willing to back the Arab quest for independence and sovereignty over Palestinian land and, paradoxically, resorted to a secret understanding with the German Jewish community that would facilitate Jewish emigra90

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tion to Palestine. In Berlin, considerations of a practical nature had overcome the ideological and racial distaste for European Jewry who, by virtue of the new agreement, would contribute to the growth of the German economy and foreign trade by promoting the export of German goods to Palestine. Nazi Germany, unlike Mussolini’s Italy, had not revealed an immediate interest in Middle Eastern affairs. At a time when Berlin was seeking an accommodation with London, the Middle East was regarded as a British sphere of influence and as an area upon which German foreign policy could make no claims. From the early 1930s until 1937, the German government appeared remarkably indifferent towards the growing admiration voiced by certain Arab circles, particularly in Palestine and Iraq. German policy towards the Middle East had been fairly consistent since the end of the First World War. With the defeat and collapse of the Ottoman empire, Germany had lost a precious ally in the region. Having to come to terms with the disintegration of its military, economic and political might, Germany relinquished any claim to exert direct influence in the Middle East, thus accepting the postwar settlement and Anglo-French pre-eminence through the Mandates. From the Weimar Republic and throughout the early years of the Third Reich, Germany tried to establish political and economic relations with the newly born Middle Eastern states, without challenging British and French positions in the area. Considerations of a strategic as well as a racial nature determined the broad objectives of Hitler’s approach to the Middle East: aiming at building up a status of predominance within Europe, Nazi Germany was hoping to reach some form of understanding with Britain and was therefore carefully avoiding any challenge to British imperial interests throughout the world. At this stage, the German government deliberately refrained from lending conscious support to the independence movements that were acquiring more power and credibility among the Arab populations; the Third Reich was essentially reluctant to back a ‘racially inferior’ group against an Anglo-Saxon power. Nevertheless, national socialist ideas had an electrifying effect on nationalists throughout the colonies of the Middle East and Asia. In Palestine, the disciplined and militaristic order of Fascist and Nazi organisations became widely popular among the radical fringes of the nationalist movement. Since the end of the 1929 revolt and throughout the 1930s, British officials in Palestine closely monitored the activities of the main nationalist parties. In 1935, they reported that the leadership of the Palestine Arab Party was working towards the creation of organised groups of young Palestinians on the Fascist and Nazi models. These paramilitary organisations would function in support of the nationalist movement and occasionally ‘serve as a striking force’.2 The paramilitary character of such groups was stressed by the recruitment procedure and by the use of distinctive uniforms: ‘The members will be specially selected 91

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reliable and able-bodied young men with special badges and uniform and will take an oath of allegiance’.3 More often, nationalists throughout the British empire sought an alliance with Germany which would provide them with the powerful military and financial backing necessary to their fight for independence. Their association with the Nazi regime, however, ultimately failed to secure the wider support of their comrades and of sympathisers with the nationalist cause. In India one of the leading figures of the nationalist movement, Subhas Chandra Bose, had long worked towards the establishment of closer relations with Germany before making his way to Berlin in April 1941. Bose hoped to persuade the German government to issue a declaration in favour of a free India. Furthermore, he envisaged the creation of a free Indian government in exile, set up in Berlin, and recognised and financed by a loan from the Third Reich. The new government would use German support to carry out anti-British propaganda and to organise a military force of 50,000 men, the number that Bose believed was needed to drive the British out of India, especially if combined with a large popular insurgency within the Raj.4 However, German response to Bose’s proposals and to the prospect of an official involvement in the internal affairs of the British Raj was rather cold. Several considerations shaped the course of action taken by the Nazi regime to the requests of the Indian nationalists, not least Bose’s unrealistic contention that the Indian people were ‘on the verge of a united uprising against their rulers’, together with Hitler’s strong reluctance to recognise governments in exile for countries far from the Reich and his personal contempt for the Indian race.5 Bose had already had proof of German sentiments towards the Indian population. In 1936 there were a series of assaults on Indian students by mobs in Germany, Goering launched public attacks on Gandhi, derogatory articles appeared in the Nazi press and acts of racial discrimination against Indians living in Germany became more frequent. Bose was moved to write a disheartened letter to the German secretary general of the Indian Institute in Munich.6 Like several other nationalist leaders, especially those from the Arab world, Bose, in his quest for external help to stamp out the British colonial presence in India, had consciously or unconsciously decided to ignore Hitler’s intense racial prejudices against the population of the Indian sub-continent, regarded as a non-Aryan subject race. However, though uneasy about the racist emphasis of Nazi ideology, Bose seemed, according to some, attracted to the discipline that had informed political life and society in the Reich, and was reported to have said that his own personal philosophy ‘amounted to a synthesis between National Socialism and Communism’.7 While in Germany Bose, who had hoped to obtain a joint Axis statement in favour of India’s independence, decided to seek assistance from Mussolini. He travelled to Italy and met Count Ciano, the Italian Foreign Minister, but his welcome was no warmer than 92

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the one he had received in Germany. Ciano observed in his diary that Bose’s proposals had been considered in Berlin ‘with a great deal of reserve’. He continued: ‘Nor must we be compromised, especially because the value of this upstart is not clear. Past experience has given rather modest results’.8 The outcome of Bose’s negotiations with the Axis powers in Europe fell short of his initial expectations. Those nationalists who, before him, had optimistically turned to the Reich seeking support for their campaigns against French and British colonial administrations had seen their hopes disappointed by Germany’s strategic priorities in continental Europe and in the colonial world, as well as by racial bias. Bose obtained the go-ahead for the creation of an Indian Legion trained by the German Wehrmacht, but the number of volunteers from German prisoner-of-war camps willing to join was unsatisfactory. More successful were his attempts in November 1941 to create a Free India Centre from which he intended to conduct his anti-British propaganda campaign. A powerful transmitter helped to broadcast news to the Indian sub-continent in more than half a dozen locally spoken languages including English; programmes were made more attractive to Indian listeners by the introduction of Indian music – Radio Bari had already pioneered a concoction of music, news bulletins and commentaries that had encountered the favour of listeners in Arab cafés – together with scheduled services that would appeal to different Indian religious and political communities. Bose, however, needed a firmer commitment. In May 1942, he obtained from Mussolini full support for a declaration on the independence of India and of the Arab populations of the Middle East. However, after being informed of Hitler’s opposition to such a declaration, the Duce broke his promise during a meeting with the Fuehrer in Salzburg.9 Throughout the 1930s, while German diplomats worked to promote Germany’s economic expansion in the Middle East, the Foreign Office in Berlin made it clear that the Third Reich would not provide any assistance to the Arab nationalist cause against Britain. Germany did not revise its attitude towards the Middle East and the Levant until the outbreak of the Second World War. Hitler’s policy had long been based on the assumption that Germany’s strategic interests would be best served before 1939 by supporting Great Britain’s imperial position in the Middle East, while the aims of his Italian ally in the Eastern Mediterranean after 1939, and those of Vichy France after 1940 in North Africa and Syria, became part of Germany’s own war aims.10 Despite the well-advertised German disinterest in the Middle East, in 1935 rumours spread that the German government was secretly offering 93

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its military and financial support to the Negus (Emperor) of Abyssinia in the imminent Italo-Abyssinian conflict.11 The repeated complaints made by the Italian embassy in Berlin did not help to improve relations between Rome and the Third Reich, already strained by disagreement over the Austrian question. During the summer of 1935 Italian distrust of German activities in Abyssinia became obvious to a German Foreign Ministry eager to deny any Nazi German involvement and to restate German neutrality in the Italo-Abyssinian dispute. News of German supplies to Abyssinia had circulated after German diplomatic representatives had been approached by an emissary of the Negus appealing for a direct German contribution to the Abyssinian cause. It was stressed that the common political interests of Germany and Ethiopia lay in a weak Italy incapable of implementing its aggressive foreign policy in East Africa or in Austria. To that end, the German and the Abyssinian governments had to work together. The envoy asked for 3 million marks for the purchase of arms in Europe; this sum would enable the Negus to acquire ‘30,000 rifles together with ammunition, and a considerable number of machine guns’, and so arm his troops ‘to the extent that they could offer the greatest possible resistance to the Italians’.12 The German refusal was clear and categorical, although by August 1935 it was suggested in Berlin that German supplies had begun to arrive in Abyssinia. The German propaganda machine was then instructed to prevent the publication of news that could ‘be interpreted as showing favour to one side’, thus endangering the safety of the German colony in Abyssinia.13 In the Arab world, the immediate enthusiasm for national socialist Germany proclaimed in several nationalist circles was based on mistaken similarities. Considered a fellow victim of Anglo-French imperialist designs and therefore heavily penalised by the postwar settlements, Germany appeared to the Arabs as a potential ally in the struggle for independence from the British and French presence in the region. The seeming miraculous economic recovery of Nazi Germany after its defeat in the First World War and the stagnant years of the Weimar Republic also helped to enhance the prestige of the Third Reich in the Arab world. Moreover, the anti-Jewish programme, one of the cornerstones of the new Nazi doctrine, was cheered with passion by an Arab community increasingly unsettled and rancorous after a wave of Jewish immigrants had taken possession of part of the Palestinian land. But the Arab leaders had misunderstood the significance and objectives of national socialist Germany and failed to realise that the ideology of Hitler’s regime ‘placed the Semitic Arabs at the bottom of its racial hierarchy’.14 Notwithstanding Nazi aversion to the Semitic race, whether Arab or Jewish, the Arab leadership strove to establish closer ties with a reluctant Germany and, impressed by the disciplined militaristic and nationalistic posture adopted by the German National Socialist Party, actively worked towards the creation of national socialist 94

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parties in the Middle East, sharing the principles and structures of the German prototype. The Nazi regime had generated a high degree of expectation, especially among the Palestinian Arabs, who were counting on German support to fight the newly arrived Jewish settlers. But Germany’s relations with Palestine were complex and, at times, perverse. Following the increase in antiSemitic manifestations and the hostility of the government, by the mid-1930s a large number of Jews had already begun to flee Germany; many of them heading for Palestine.15 However, the process of policymaking on the Jewish question, which would imply the definition of Germany’s relations with Mandatory Palestine, was not as straightforward as one might have expected, as the various party agencies and governmental departments appeared far from agreeing on a unanimous approach to the whole issue. Although the final decision lay with the Fuehrer himself, ideological rather than diplomatic considerations were proving divisive in the Nazi camp, preventing until 1938 the formulation of a united official line on the implementation of anti-Jewish measures. While some had been advocating the physical liquidation of the Jews since the very beginning of the Nazi regime, others advocated the creation of closed ‘reservations’ for the Jews in overseas territories excluding Palestine. A large proportion of German institutions including the Gestapo generally underlined the desirability of a Judenrein Germany, regardless of the ultimate destination of the exodus of the German Jews.16 The German authorities could not miss the opportunity to reduce the Jewish presence in Germany and at the same time prevent the concentration of Jewish population in neighbouring states. As a result, the Nazi government reached an understanding with the Zionist organisations in order to facilitate Jewish emigration to Palestine. Under the terms of the 1933 Haavara Agreement, Jewish emigrants could transfer part of their financial assets to Palestine in the form of German exports; these would be sold on the Palestinian market and the immigrants would receive in return payment from the importer in Palestine.17 The transactions would be co-ordinated by the Haavara office with headquarters in Palestine and its German counterpart, the Trenhand Stelle, considered by the British authorities in charge of immigration to be ‘a reliable institution recognised by the German government’.18 The economic advantages of this agreement were welcomed at the German Foreign Office: the international boycott that had followed the early anti-Jewish legislation in Germany was threatening the development of an ambitious economic plan that would have reinstated Germany as one of the great powers.19 The Haavara Agreement would not only assist the Nazi government in removing a large proportion of German Jewry who did not meet the immigration requirements of most destination countries; it would also help ‘to neutralize the effectiveness of the anti-German boycott by making 95

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Palestine, increasingly a spiritual and national center for world Jewry, a major importer of German goods’.20 Attempting to keep a low profile and secure the tolerance of the British authorities, the Nazi political organisation in Palestine adopted a policy of non-intervention in the internal affairs of the British Mandate and ordered its members to refrain from involving non-German citizens in Nazi activities and propaganda. Despite the presence of German secret agents and an organised Nazi party, Palestine was still regarded ‘as unfavourable ground for political contact with the Arabs, because it was under British administration and possessed a Jewish intelligence force partly employed by the government, which on several occasions had proved a nuisance’.21 The intensifying clash between Arab nationalism and British and French Mandatory policy in the Middle East increased the importance of Germany’s role as a political sponsor of the Arab cause. In Palestine, where the irreconcilable aims of the Arab nationalist movement, the Jewish community and the British government had created friction that would soon develop into open conflict, Arab leaders channelled their efforts to secure German diplomatic and military assistance. Of particular relevance in this respect was the tireless activity of the German Minister in Baghdad, Fritz Grobba. Grobba lent a sympathetic ear to the requests made by Arab governments and organisations in support of Arab objectives in Palestine. Since the early 1930s he had relentlessly worked to expand German trade with Iraq and Saudi Arabia, after 1935 becoming increasingly involved in political dealings outside that area. However, in his endeavours to further Germany’s economic interests in the Middle East, Grobba was not always given a free hand. His personal view of Germany’s position in the Near East and the Levant differed from the guidelines issued by the German Foreign Office. There was a major disagreement between the German ambassador in Baghdad and the government in Berlin, as for Grobba, the goal of German Middle East policy was in the Middle East itself – increasing German economic and political power and influence in the region – while the goals of the Hitler regime were to be found in Europe, preparing for European war.22 Grobba implemented a policy he did not entirely endorse; in his vision, Germany’s ultimate economic and political achievements in the Middle East would never threaten Britain’s imperial interests. He called for a quick withdrawal of German support for Jewish migration to Palestine and at the same time for a public and clear stance in favour of Arab demands in Palestine, thus attempting to consolidate Arab friendship with Germany.23 Grobba promoted, or attempted to promote, Germany’s active role in 96

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the Middle East, de facto challenging the view adopted at the Foreign Office in Berlin whereby the whole region was increasingly considered Italy’s sphere of interest. On 24 October 1936, the day before Italy and Germany signed the agreement that prepared for the creation of the Axis, Ciano and Hitler met to define Italian and German strategies in Spain and the Mediterranean. Hitler is said to have acknowledged that the Mediterranean was ‘an Italian sea’ and that any change in the balance of power in the Mediterranean should be in favour of Italy; likewise, he emphasised German rights to expansion towards the East and the Baltic Sea. Defining the limits of action, according to Hitler, would avoid any future clash of interests between Rome and Berlin.24 Germany’s position on Italy’s involvement in Spain and aspirations in the Mediterranean had already been made clear by Hitler’s envoy in Italy, Hans Frank. In his conversation with Mussolini, Frank gave assurances that the Third Reich had ‘neither interest nor aims in the Mediterranean. . . . Italy has a right to positions of privilege and control in the Mediterranean. The interests of the Germans are turned towards the Baltic which is our Mediterranean’.25 Nevertheless, most scholars seem to agree that supporting a strong Italian presence in the Mediterranean did not imply a tacit approval of Italy’s plans for encroachment on British territories in the Middle East. Until 1938 Hitler would not only refrain from interfering in the internal affairs of the British empire – attempting, however, to obtain the return of at least one of Germany’s old colonies as a supplier of raw materials – but also refused to endorse Italy’s imperial claims over Britain’s overseas possessions. The policy implemented by the German government in the Middle East remained unmodified even after the outbreak of the Arab revolt in Palestine during the spring of 1936. The sudden and dramatic turn taken by events in Palestine was greeted almost with indifference among both German officials and the press. Facing the intensifying pressure from countries like Iraq and from Arab leaders like the Mufti of Jerusalem, Germany did not go further than expressing sympathy for Arab self-determination in Palestine, still refusing to grant assistance in any form to the rebels, as this would have a clear negative impact on Anglo-German relations. German and British records seem to suggest that financial and military assistance to the Arab insurgents in Palestine was provided by other Arab states and possibly by the Soviet Union and Italy. Germany did not lend its support to the Arab cause in any form other than a bland propaganda campaign in the national press during summer and autumn 1937, when the conclusions of the Peel Commission became known. Until 1935 German law had prohibited the import and export of weapons; after that date, a consortium of German corporations was created to co-operate with the government in the sale of German weapons abroad. However, the main objective of Germany’s arms sales was not to expand its military influence in other regions outside Europe, but rather to ‘earn foreign currency with which to 97

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purchase foreign food and raw materials’. Most of the arms exports to countries outside Europe went to South America, while the penetration of Middle Eastern, Asian and African markets was made more difficult by the presence of other European colonial powers in those areas. Still reluctant to upset the fragile relationship with the British government, Nazi Germany pursued its arms export policy in those countries where it would be less likely to encounter British opposition. Afghanistan and Iran, where the British political presence was feebler, were considered primary targets. The success of the trade initiated with Afghanistan and Iran induced the German government to shift its interest towards Iraq. Despite having achieved formal independence in 1932, Iraq was bound to Britain by the Anglo-Iraqi Treaty of 1930. A clause contained in the treaty stated that Iraq, though dependent on British military supplies, could purchase arms from other sources if Britain was unable to meet its requirements. Following the military coup of October 1936, the new regime attempted to lessen Iraq’s reliance on Britain and to inaugurate a more profitable partnership with Germany. The arms sale agreement between Iraq and Germany was signed in December 1936 and did not cause strong resistance in London. Although concerned by Germany’s activities in the Middle East, British officials were told by the representatives of the German consortium that the government in Berlin, and ‘especially the Ministry of War, preferred to work with Britain rather than against her in the matter of arms sales in the Middle East’.26 However, the publication of the recommendations of the Peel Commission in July 1937 sparked a debate within the German cabinet, eventually leading to a reassessment of the key elements of Germany’s policy in the Middle East in general and Palestine in particular. During the months preceding the publication of the Peel Report, speculation regarding its conclusions fuelled Arab protest and generated reservations among German diplomats and officials about the outcome of the system put into place by the Haavara Agreement. The Commission’s report, according to rumours in the press, seemed to consider the idea of partitioning Palestine into Jewish and Arab zones, prior to the eventual creation of autonomous states.27 German representatives throughout the Middle East argued that if Germany persisted in supporting Jewish migration to Palestine, it would not only lose the prestige previously acquired among the Arabs, but might also be confronted ‘with a Jewish State which would become the centre of Germanophobia, would boycott German goods, and would seal the fate of German institutions and settlements in the Holy Land’.28 It is paradoxical that Germany, whose anti-Semitic policy had advocated the persecution of the Jews and their expulsion from German soil, was the country that, most of all, contributed to the development of an increasingly strong Jewish community in Palestine. The creation of an independent country run by Jewish authorities was regarded as undesirable by German officials who believed that it would be in the inter98

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est of Germany to maintain the political division of Jewry. Alarmed by the turn taken by the Palestinian crisis, in June 1937, the German Foreign Minister Neurath laid out the main principles of German policy on Palestine: The formation of a Jewish State or a Jewish-led political structure under British mandate is not in Germany’s interest, since a Palestinian State would not absorb world Jewry but would create an additional position of power under international law for international Jewry, somewhat like the Vatican State for political Catholicism or Moscow for the Comintern.29 Once the report of the British Royal Commission was published, the German Foreign Ministry became engaged in discussions attempting to address some of the key issues raised by the partition plan proposed by the Peel Commission, first of all the ‘burning question’ of the 2,000 German settlers, some living in areas that would fall within the boundaries of a Jewish state with Tel Aviv as a capital. The representatives of the German settlements had made clear to the German consul general in Jerusalem that the existence of German colonies in a Jewish state ‘would in the long run be impossible’; according to the general opinion shared by the German colonists, once they had created a Jewish sovereign state, the Jewish people would do their utmost to displace ‘the German settlers by means of boycott and other measures’.30 In the event of their remaining in the country after the hand-over, the German colonists would ask for guarantees from the League of Nations and the British Mandatory power. One of the main concerns expressed in Berlin was related to the future of the Haavara Agreement and whether it should be revised or terminated, in the light of the recent proposals of the Peel Commission. It was argued that the policy of emigration previously adopted by the German government, far from undermining Jewish power, was promoting the creation of a centre of world-wide Zionism, thus eventually alienating the consensus that Nazi Germany had succeeded in gathering among Arab masses and leaderships. The growing acrimony that characterised the debate in the high-ranking circles of the German cabinet meant that Hitler actively intervened to resolve the question of Jewish emigration to Palestine. In the end, despite all considerations against it, the Fuehrer decided that Jewish migration and deportation should be encouraged ‘by all possible means, regardless of destination’.31 It appears that from the summer of 1937 and throughout 1938 the Gestapo and SS acted on behalf of the German government, seeking to get around quotas imposed by the British authorities in Palestine in order to further Jewish illegal immigration in the region. Adolf Eichmann contributed to the expulsion plan by providing special trains ‘for the “illegals”, who, according to one source, were by the end of 99

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1938 arriving in Palestine at the rate of one thousand a month’.32 German estimates report that of the 120,000 Jews who appear to have left Germany after 1933, some 40,000 emigrated to Palestine and another 40,000 were scattered in the rest of the world. The advantages for the German economy were considerable: it was estimated that the Palestine transfer alone, causing ‘an additional export of goods’ and therefore lucrative as far as foreign exchange was concerned, amounted to 70 million Reich Marks. Looking at future prospects that could combine Jewish emigration with an increase in exports and overseas trade, German officials found that the Haavara Agreement should be kept in existence in the interests of the German economy.33 As the partition scheme died, and with it the immediate danger of an independent Jewish state, the Nazi government no longer needed to worry about the consequences of Jewish emigration. However, the scare that had followed the publication of the recommendations of the Peel Commission had initiated a process of reappraisal of the main objectives of German policy towards the Middle East. During the ‘hot’ days of summer 1937, though not yet interested in supporting Arab struggle against a Jewish state, Berlin began to work to strengthen its ties with the Arab governments. Reactions by international public opinion and governments to the conclusions of the Peel Report had been mixed: the two parties directly concerned, Jews and Palestinian Arabs, had expressed their dissatisfaction, for opposite reasons, at the way Palestine was to be carved up. Among the western powers, the US was obviously sympathetic to the formation of a Jewish state in Palestine, Britain was, in the eyes of German representatives, seeking to boost its presence in the Middle East through the partition scheme and France did not foresee its interests in the area jeopardised by the creation of two new independent territories. The protests of the Arab countries, on the other hand, seemed to be characterised by disunity, although strong attacks came from the new Iraqi regime and, later on, from Egypt.34 The Mufti of Jerusalem, Haj Amin al-Hussaini, did his best to create an anti-Zionist front, attempting to exploit the underlying antagonism existing between Britain, France and Turkey on one side, and Italy and Germany on the other. He approached German representatives in Jerusalem, expressing his appreciation for German press comments against the partition plan and the creation of a Jewish state and, hoping to gain even more direct support for the Arab struggle against the Jewish newcomers, he declared the intention of sending an agent to Germany to discuss German and Arab interests now converging in the Middle East.35 Still reluctant to engage in an open commitment, the Nazi government was exploring all possible measures that would prevent or hinder the formation of an independent Jewish state in Palestine. Several proposals were put forward by German diplomats and Foreign Ministry officials in order to maintain the friendship of the Arab world. These included the 100

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establishment of a network of contacts with other European governments aiming to promote joint action against the implementation of the partition plan, as well as financial and military support to the Palestinian Arabs through third countries. However, German good intentions did not produce tangible results: the government of the Third Reich did not find it convenient in financial terms to divert or block Jewish emigration from Germany to Palestine. Moreover, German foreign policy still depended on friendly relations with Britain, relations that ‘under no circumstances [should] be put under an unnecessary strain’, while diplomatic steps in favour of the Palestinian Arab cause should be carefully examined, given the ‘notorious political unreliability of the Arabs’.36 Although Germany never initiated active collaboration with Arab governments and leaders despite the common opposition to the creation of a Jewish state in Palestine, ties between Berlin and the Arab states grew stronger over the years. In the late 1930s, the German propaganda machine became engaged in an intense campaign intended to exploit Arab resentment of British administration of Palestinian affairs and to present Hitler as the champion of Arab independence. Not directly involved in the Middle East, Germany could claim that in its impartial view, conditions in Palestine reflected Britain’s brutal repression of the Arab struggle for selfdetermination. Palestine was used in Nazi domestic and external propaganda, by press and radio services, which began broadcasting in 1938. The events that followed the publication of the Peel Report became ‘an inexhaustible source of stories – true, half-true, or false – illustrating Jewish and British wickedness, and permitting lavish expressions of German sympathy for the Arab cause’.37 The virulent tone that characterised German press articles and radio broadcasts was regarded as one of the factors contributing to the growing hostility of the Arabs towards the British administrators. By 1938, the German press and broadcasting services had given full publicity and support to the Arab rebellion in Palestine, while emphasising the ‘inhuman methods’ adopted by the British army to curb the uprising. ‘The attention of the world has been drawn to the brutal methods and acts of terrorism perpetrated by the Palestine British troops’; ‘New atrocities of the English troops towards the Arabs are reported from Palestine’; ‘A dastardly and shocking incident is reported from Cairo’; ‘Unhappy Palestine is an inferno’, cried ostensibly dismayed German broadcasters.38 The widespread sympathy that the fight of the Arab Palestinians had generated across the Middle East facilitated the work of German propagandists; the British could only acknowledge the wound inflicted by the Arab insurrection on Britain’s relations with the Arab world: ‘Our weak spot is Palestine. It was an embarrassment long before I left the country; it is a far greater one now; it is an extremely dangerous weapon in the hands of our enemies’.39 And dangerous and insidious German propaganda sometimes appeared especially when German 101

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diplomatic representatives were able to exploit both traditional propaganda outlets such as newspapers and other printed material and radio broadcasts and warm personal contacts. Although their propaganda often appeared to be ‘too blatant’, the Germans had succeeded in creating a social network of minor government officials and members of the middle class. In Iraq, for example, German diplomats went ‘out of their way to cultivate the friendship of the Iraqis and to entertain them’.40 German propaganda, notwithstanding its slow and uncertain start, gathered pace in 1939 following attempts to co-ordinate the activities of Fascist and Nazi secret agents and propagandists. This resulted in a resurgence of Axis activities in the Middle East. The British had received information that an agreement between German and Italian authorities concerning centralisation of propaganda in the Arab world had led to a joint Italo-German approach. The Germans had established their headquarters in Cairo and the Ministry of Propaganda was spending £3,000 a month on propaganda and espionage activities in Egypt alone.41 Furthermore, spreading their net beyond Egypt, German diplomats worked to strengthen Germany’s ties with local notables and chieftains throughout the Middle Eastern region by dispensing large sums of money, and promoted the creation of a number of ‘Kulturklub’ run by Arabs who had been educated in Germany or were Nazi sympathisers; these clubs served not only as centres for the mobilisation of Arab discontent but also as cover for paramilitary activities.42 German propaganda generated a great deal of concern in London and contributed to the deterioration of Anglo-German relations. In 1939, with the White Paper the British government abandoned the partition plan and dramatically restricted Jewish access to Palestine. The feared Arab– German collusion had not yet materialised although the Arabs had repeatedly promised that if Britain gave priority to Zionist requests, the Arab world would seek friends among Britain’s enemies. At the outbreak of the Second World War, the British government had to face new challenges: although pro-German feelings were not on the increase in the Arab Middle East, three years of counter-insurgency in Palestine had left bitterness and resentment in the hearts of many Arabs. This was coupled with a ‘widespread doubt’ as to whether the Allies were strong enough to win the war and with the more dangerous opinion that ‘Allied influence [was] the main hindrance to the full development of Middle Eastern independence’.43 In Palestine, the majority of Arabs had reassuringly sided with the Allies, although among the rebels, Hitler was rapidly gaining popularity. Strategic and military priorities dictated by the conflict meant that the British authorities in Palestine could take drastic action against the Arab insurgents: The time has now come to place Arab ‘rebels’, ‘town terrorists’ and all who encourage and harbour them, on the same footing as 102

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the armed forces of Hitler’s Germany, and to deal with them accordingly, without mincing words and without velvet gloves.44 However, as well as extinguishing the last sparks of the uprising, the British needed to persuade Muslims across the Middle East and the Indian sub-continent that supporting Germany would lead to their enslavement. What better opportunity than that offered by the annual Haj pilgrimage to distribute souvenirs and propaganda leaflets which emphasised the Allies’ war aims and reinforced Muslims’ fears and sentiments: The Arab nations are Semitic and the Muslims of India have noble Arab blood flowing in their veins. They will be treated with a kind of humiliation and cruelty which would be certainly worse than what has been meted out to the German Jews in Europe.45 Nevertheless, when war broke out in Europe, some Arab leaders, and in particular the Mufti of Jerusalem, worked frantically to establish official relations with the Nazi government, hoping to obtain immediate support for a general Arab uprising that would drive the Jews and the British out of Palestine. Their ultimate objective was to induce the Axis powers to release a declaration promising, in return for Arabs’ services, that any postwar settlement of the Palestinian question would take into consideration Arab wishes. A congruent Axis alignment against the British position in the Middle East was formally emerging from these negotiations, pointing to future trouble. Analysis of Italy’s and Germany’s positions on the Palestinian question and, more generally, on political developments in the Middle East underlines the contrasting approaches taken in Berlin and Rome, notwithstanding the ideological proximity of the two regimes. Throughout the 1930s, Germany and Italy did not pursue a common policy in the Middle East, for the main objectives of their foreign policies were clearly divergent. Germany’s aspirations to a leading role within Europe led the German Foreign Ministry to adopt elsewhere a policy of appeasement with Britain and to abstain, until 1938, from manoeuvres that could upset British strategic and imperial interests outside Europe. Italy, however, had found itself increasingly involved in the dispute between the British authorities and Arab nationalists over the independence of Palestine and the right of the Arab peoples to self-determination, championing the opposition to the British Mandatory rule and hoping to replace the old colonial system with a new one, where the imperial lineage of modern Italy would finally be recognised. The relationship between Fascist Italy, Nazi Germany and Arab nationalism was not only based on commonality of pragmatic intention but also reinforced by ideological affinities. It is no coincidence that in the late 103

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1930s a series of paramilitary youth organisations were created in Syria, Palestine, Iraq and Egypt. They shared with the prototypical Fascist and Nazi youth organisations the cult of discipline and uniforms, the belief in the resurgence of a heroic past, distrust of the parliamentary system, and the use of militaristic means to achieve political objectives. In the 1930s the political struggle against the rule of Mandatory powers went through a process of radicalisation. Throughout the Middle East a new and bettereducated middle class emerged as a more radical political force, rejecting the conservatism of the old Arab guard who had failed to secure independence through co-operation with the western rulers, and calling for a more militant approach to the nationalist cause. The reformulation of Arab nationalism and the redefinition of the relationship between nationalist leadership and Mandatory authorities generated new political bodies dominated by an intelligentsia that had assimilated European ideological constructs and acquired more sophisticated methods of political confrontation. Scholars who have examined the genesis and historical and ideological development of Arab nationalism have placed different emphases on the contribution of external forces to the formation of nationalist movements in the Arab world. However, it is generally acknowledged that among the crucial elements underlying Arab nationalism was ‘the influence of Fascism and Nazism as a model for unifying nationalism based on a “community of strength” ’.46 Germanophilia was in many cases a distinctive feature in the work of some of the most influential nationalist intellectuals. It resulted from a feeling of empathy with the ideologies that had distinguished Germany’s intellectual history, which stemmed from the absorption of ideas underpinning the work of nineteenth-century German philosophers, and in particular from the strong influence exercised by German idealism and romanticism.47 Subsequently, admiration for the German and Italian models and their processes of unification that had led to the formation of single nation-states through the fusion (and consequent elimination) of fragmented political entities attenuated the substantial differences between the core of the nationalist doctrine as conceived by Arab intellectuals and reformers, and the aggressive face displayed by nationalism as the official credo of the Fascist and Nazi regimes. For nationalism had acquired in the Arab world, and particularly during the interwar period, the colour of an anti-colonial struggle in the name of selfdetermination, whereas nationalism in Italy and Germany was conducive to a more belligerent and expansionist foreign policy. Thus, militarism and nationalism became the main characteristics of the foreign policy adopted in Rome and Berlin, intended to revenge the humiliations of the postwar period, reshape the existing and resented pattern of international affairs as established by the Treaty of Versailles, and to affirm the intellectual superiority of one race. Mussolini’s calls for the creation of an Italian empire 104

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were clearly based on nationalistic justifications: ‘We have a right to Empire as a fertile nation which has the pride and will to propagate its race over the face of the earth, a virile people in the strict sense of the word’.48 Germany and Italy ultimately displayed the same imperialistic ambitions directed, however, towards different geographical areas. While the German government devoted all its efforts to improving its position within Europe, Italy had begun a frantic search for new allies in the Middle East. As a result, Berlin approved and implemented an agreement reached with the Zionist leaders and the German Jewish community that would release Germany from the pressure of the international boycott and from its Jewish population, exporting to Palestine German goods together with German Jewry. Italy preferred to side with the Arabs, who were fighting to remove the last vestige of British imperial presence in the Middle East and to prevent the Jewish settlers from creating their national home in Palestine. At this time, Germany’s and Italy’s interests were apparently conflicting. Towards the end of the 1930s, the increasing tension between Britain and Germany did not change Berlin’s policy towards the complex state of affairs in Palestine: contacts between German officials and Arab nationalists remained sporadic, while Palestine still served as a primary destination for Jewish immigration and the Middle Eastern policy of the Auswärtiges Amt continued to be subordinate to the question of Germany’s expansion in Europe.

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Part III ITALIAN PROPAGANDA IN EGYPT Egyptian politics, Italian communities and Arab nationalism

7 CHALLENGING THE OLD SYSTEM Italian activities in British and French colonies In 1935, Italian propaganda in the Mediterranean and the Middle East acquired unprecedented vigour. The outbreak of the Abyssinian conflict and the subsequent need to rally an increasingly hostile Arab public opinion added new impetus to the activities of Italian agents in the Middle East and North Africa. As the Italian government organised through its local representatives a vast campaign designed to persuade the Egyptian political and intellectual elites that an alliance with the Fascist regime would help Egypt achieve complete independence from Britain, agents close to the Residency began to warn the British authorities: an intensive press campaign is now being conducted in Egypt on behalf of Italy. The Arabic papers report that the Italians have spent more than £25,000 in propaganda. . . . It is obvious that it is the intention of the Italians to do all possible to discredit the British, and it is reasonable that this campaign will be intensified in the near future . . . the feeling against Great Britain has grown, and been greatly intensified of late as a result of the Italian inspired news and articles.1 The rapid increase in Italian propaganda generated considerable concern in London, although the British authorities seemed to delay the adoption of diplomatic measures designed to contain the negative impact of Italian activities on the already tense relations between Egypt and Britain. However, due to the peculiar status of Egypt – an independent state where, nevertheless, the British government retained much control over some key areas such as foreign policy, the judicial system and military strategy – Britain was not completely free to decide on its course of action. Repeated complaints from the British High Commissioner to the Egyptian palace were intended to keep pressure on the King and his entourage, often regarded as too partial to their Italian friends and advisers. If the court appeared to some as very receptive to the prospect of a partnership with Mussolini’s regime, the Egyptian government – in particular under the 109

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direction of the Wafd party – proved to be reluctant to succumb to the alluring messages of Italian propaganda. Italy had been active in French- and British-controlled territories since the mid-1920s with a policy intended to generate economic benefits and trade concessions in the Levant, North Africa and the Arabian peninsula. In the early 1930s, however, Italian intervention became more targeted and Italian propagandists focused their efforts and resources on those sectors of Egyptian society – educated youth groups and radical fringes of the nationalist movement – believed to be more sensitive to Italian calls. Italian interests in the Mediterranean and especially the Middle East expanded and intensified from the mid-1930s. To extend Italian influence in the Arab world, including those areas under British and French control, the Fascist government set up a co-ordinated propaganda campaign, employing a wide variety of means available at that time. This initial effort consisted mainly of cultural propaganda aimed at strengthening Italian ties with the Arab peoples ‘by praising Italy and the Fascist system’.2 The Italian government organised a number of initiatives, along with the sponsorship of Arab press publications, distribution of Italian publications, the foundation of schools and hospitals, the creation of a news agency in Cairo and the institution of Radio Bari. If the aim was originally to restore Italian prestige after the Senussi massacre and the dramatic events in Cyrenaica, the outbreak of hostilities in Abyssinia produced a sudden change in the propaganda campaign orchestrated by the government in Rome. Attacks on British policy in the Middle East became more frequent and direct; attempting to encourage Arab unrest in a region where Britain’s presence was strongly resented, the Italians were hoping to keep British troops engaged in security duties and therefore prevent them from intervening in the Ethiopian war. As a consequence, the Arabian peninsula, Egypt and Palestine, where the British authorities seemed particularly vulnerable, were soon identified as the main targets for Italian propaganda. The history of Italian propaganda activities in the Middle East dates back to the end of the First World War. In the aftermath of the war, the newly born Fascist movement seemed to sympathise with the nationalistic aspirations of the Middle Eastern peoples with whom it shared suspicion and resentment of the British and French colonial systems. The Fascist leadership established close relations with the Arab nationalists, whose initiatives were soon championed and publicised by the Italian press, generating among British officials fear of a possible collusion between Italy and the Islamic activists. Open Italian support for the Arab cause decreased slightly during the first years of the Fascist government, although the Italians were still keen on promoting a positive image of their country to the Arab world. This ‘indirect’ propaganda was mainly carried out through the numerous Italian colonies in the eastern Mediterranean. 110

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Reorganised to highlight new political and social structures, the Italian colonies thus became a showcase for the achievements of the metropolis.3 In the mid-1930s, Italian communities in Egypt would play a significant role in furthering contacts and exchanges between Fascist Italy and the Egyptian educated youth. With the Lateran Pacts and success in the 1929 election, Mussolini ‘reached the high plateau of his career’ and the Fascist government seemed to consolidate power.4 Italy appeared prepared to undertake a more active role in the international arena. Rome increased its diplomatic initiatives and official contacts with the Arab world and in particular with the leaders of Arab nationalist movements. Attempting to undermine British and French influence in the Near East, Italy began secret talks with some of the radical fringes of Arab nationalism. As early as 1928, the Italian government had established relations with some of the most influential Syrian nationalist leaders. During the 1920s, French rule had caused considerable discontent in Syria and Lebanon; unrest had turned into open revolt in 1925, when the Lebanese Druzes received support from the Arab nationalist circles of Damascus in their fight against the Mandatory power. Although the French succeeded in bringing the hostilities to an end in 1927 and negotiations over the future of Syria were soon resumed, Syrian leaders and the French government remained deeply divided over some of the articles of the proposed constitution, which had been rejected by the French High Commissioner Ponsot. The Italians took immediate advantage of the mistrust and rancour that separated the two sides and carefully encouraged the aspirations of some members of the Syrian Assembly who were preparing for an armed revolt.5 Relations between Italy and the Syrian nationalists grew so close that the Misak Party became actively involved in promoting a secret understanding between the leaders of the other nationalist movements and the Italian government. By virtue of this agreement, Italy would provide political, economic and military support to the cause of Syrian national sovereignty and in return the new Syrian government would support Italian commercial and political interests in the region. Italian intervention was thus intended to weaken French control over the Mandates in the Levant.6 Eventually, in 1935, as Italian propaganda intensified following the Abyssinian conflict, most political forces in Syria grew increasingly uneasy about their connection with a European power that was expanding its colonial possessions at the expense of small Muslim countries. Low-key Italian activities in Syria continued throughout the 1930s, and from 1936 were specifically aimed at providing support to the Palestinian Arabs. In the early months of 1941, Italy resumed its propaganda efforts in Syria, thus attempting to raise the profile of Mussolini’s regime by persuading the Syrians of the virtues of Fascist Italy, of its economic and social achievements, and of its sincere desire 111

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to promote political independence and economic development in the Arab Middle East.7 Italy’s position on the policy of Mandates in the Middle East was reflected in Oriente Moderno, a periodical of Middle Eastern (and especially Islamic) culture, history and affairs published by the Oriental Institute in Rome. Severe complaints about the French administration in Lebanon were formally expressed by the Maronite Patriarch in his Green Book printed in 1936, extracts from which were widely quoted in Oriente Moderno. The Patriarch, remembering the first talks with the French delegation in 1919, emphasised that the French Mandate had originally been welcomed by the Lebanese people. It was believed that the French government would ‘prepare the ground for future Lebanese independence, by developing national feeling and leaving in the hands of the Lebanese people the organisation, administration and justice of their country’.8 History, however, had taken a different course and after seventeen years the French had failed to fulfil their promises of political independence and economic prosperity. Instead of creating an administrative system that could be regarded as a model for the Middle East, the French government was still exerting direct control over Lebanon. The calls of the Lebanese leaders, including the Patriarch, remained unheard: ‘As a loyal friend of France, we have expressed our complaints to the French authorities in good faith and with clear intentions; as a consequence we have been suddenly regarded with hostility by the High Commissioner and the Foreign Ministry’.9 The Levant was not the only area under French administration targeted by the Italian government. Mussolini had decided to move into French North Africa from the Italian colony in Libya, attempting to win the favour of the Algerian ulama. In the early 1930s, however, Mussolini was not regarded with favour by the Algerian people and religious caste. The ‘great enemy of Islam’, as he was described, was resented for his aggressive colonial policy and his ambition to extend Italy’s rule over what remained after the dismemberment of the Ottoman empire.10 In 1934, Mussolini’s endeavours to establish friendly relations with the North African Muslims failed again.11 Not even the opening of the Oriental Congress in Rome could obliterate the memories of the bloodshed in Tripolitania and repeated Italian invitations to the Congress were perceived as ‘a new trap of colonialism’. However, after Mussolini decided to enlist the collaboration and services of the Syrian writer Shakib Arslan, the tone of the Algerian ulama began to soften. Arslan, in his long propaganda campaign from the pages of the periodical Chiheb, claimed that he had turned to Mussolini in the interest of the pan-Islamic cause. To a suspicious Muslim intelligentsia, outraged that Mussolini was declared the protector of Islam during a state visit to Libya in 1937, Shakib Arslan presented the convenience of an alliance with Rome.12 If Italian foreign policy could prove 112

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advantageous to the Arab cause against the two main colonial powers (France and Britain), then, he argued, the Muslim world should try to profit from the outcomes of such a policy without investigating the reasons underpinning Mussolini’s conduct. In the late 1930s, Arslan’s persistent campaign to persuade Algerian religious circles began to produce its first results. Notwithstanding the distrust of Rome’s imperial ambitions, part of the Algerian ulama began to believe that the Italian threat could be used ‘to support their demands and to deal with the intransigence of the French colonialists’.13 Plans for more incisive propaganda activities in Algeria had already been made in Rome. In 1937, the Italian authorities were still trying to reach large sectors of the Algerian public and befriend the leading core of the religious establishment. To this end, radio broadcasts seemed the most appropriate choice. The quality of the broadcasts and of their reception was considered of great significance in order to guarantee a positive projection of Italy in North Africa, and the search for wavelengths that would allow the best reception lasted well into 1938.14 The Italian Ministry of Popular Culture, having received some positive feedback from Islamic circles in North Africa, quickly provided for the extension of Arabic broadcasts to Algeria. A new and more targeted schedule would include factual programmes where Arabic speakers would address the audience in local dialects, discussing issues at the forefront of public debate.15 Italian cultural propaganda in the Middle East and North Africa dramatically increased in the early 1930s, targeting mainly students and the Arab nationalist intelligentsia. The considerable variety of publications sent directly from the Ministry of Popular Culture to Italian embassies, consulates and representatives abroad was instrumental in promoting the messages of Italian propaganda. The production of a wide range of books, journals and periodicals increased noticeably with the outbreak of hostilities in East Africa and was primarily intended to praise the achievements of the Fascist regime and emphasise the Italian role in the international, and more specifically Middle Eastern, political arena. Academic and cultural institutions were also opened to a larger Arab membership, Italian schools organised trips to Italy for Arab students, while the Italian government encouraged and promoted the creation of a Confederation of Oriental Students in Europe based in Rome. However, Mussolini’s attempts to win Arab support were not always successful: Italian manoeuvres were still regarded with suspicion in some Arab circles such as the Arab Youth Committee of Geneva, which boycotted the rally organised in Rome by the Oriental Students in 1933 and denounced it as ‘an instrument of Italian imperialism’.16 Italian interest in the colonial world was not restricted to the Middle East, but extended as far as the Indian sub-continent. Italian support to Indian nationalist movements gradually developed and reached a peak at 113

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the beginning of the 1940s, immediately after Italy entered the war. As early as 1931, the Italian government had already considered inviting two representatives of the Indian Chamber of Commerce and two Hindu leaders: one of them was Gandhi.17 However, Axis propaganda activities in India before the outbreak of the Second World War were rather sporadic and there is no evidence suggesting that they had been co-ordinated by any Nazi or Fascist agency. Notwithstanding its erratic nature, Fascist propaganda in the Indian sub-continent was routinely monitored by British intelligence officers. At the peak of the Abyssinian crisis, pamphlets were distributed by the Italian Ministry of Press and Propaganda to various embassies and consular offices throughout India for translation and immediate distribution.18 Some of the literature disseminated by the Italian consul general in Calcutta was so inflammatory that Sir Robert Vansittart asked the Italian government to swiftly remove the zealous diplomat. The Italians were trying to undermine the credibility of British accounts of atrocities committed by Mussolini’s troops in Abyssinia: It is a proved fact that only England and her Dominions and Colonies have uttered statements about poisonous gas employed by Italian troops. In the rest of the world, no responsible personality has made such statements, and even the press of the rest of the world has confined itself to reproduce, in some instances, the news of British telegraphic agencies, the bad faith of which is well known.19 As well as distributing anti-British propaganda, the Italian authorities were also engaged in observing and keeping contact with members of the Indian nationalist movement. Instrumental to this end were not only diplomatic agents but also Italian reporters in the region. Salvatore Aponte from the Italian newspaper Corriere della Sera received clear instructions from his editor and from the Minister of Press and Propaganda: Remain in India to make very careful observations of events there and of the Nationalist movement. Send some interesting reports at once by telegram and follow up with articles in the same tone by air mail. Interview Gandhi and the most accessible Nationalist leaders. Send photographs of incidents by air mail.20 And probably the most ‘accessible’ leader, who became of crucial importance for the anti-British campaign in India during the Second World War, was Subhas Chandra Bose, considered, together with Nehru, an heir to Gandhi within the leadership of the Congress Party. However, despite Bose’s search for potential anti-British allies in Europe, political developments in India and the possibility of a strategic alliance with Indian nation114

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alists were not yet regarded as priorities by the German Foreign Ministry in Berlin or by the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs.21 From the Mediterranean to the Indian sub-continent, Italian activities extended across a region that had become highly sensitive for British security: long-established commercial links with the Arabian peninsula had prompted the Italian government to pursue an active policy in the area. In particular after the invasion of Abyssinia and the subsequent increase in the military presence in the Red Sea, Italian activities in Arabia acquired major significance. In 1938, for example, British agents warned of widespread Italian propaganda and intrigues in the dispute over rights to succession to the throne of Yemen, and complained that most ministers and high officials of the crown were in Mussolini’s pay books.22 In the late 1920s the Yemeni government played on Italy’s ambition to rival the longestablished British–Saudi partnership on the Arabian peninsula, and asked for military support. However, Mussolini was not yet prepared to openly antagonise Britain and was therefore taking cautious steps. Despite Yemen’s formal approaches, the Italians seemed reluctant to commit to giving it any form of military and political assistance which could seriously endanger Italian relations with the British government. Italy was placed in a delicate position: on the one hand, backing the cause of the Imam against a very powerful opponent such as Britain would have unpleasant international repercussions; on the other, the lack of a positive response to the Imam’s requests could introduce an element of strain in Italo-Yemeni relations.23 The Italian government was exploring other opportunities to keep a strong presence in the Middle East. Although unwilling to send military supplies, Italy intended to strengthen its partnership with the Yemeni government by helping it to consolidate its internal power, create modern institutions and develop the economic infrastructure of the country; the result would be a strong, powerful state, capable of generating respect not only among neighbouring countries but also in the West.24 In a memorandum assessing present problems and future policies to be adopted by the Italian government towards the British–Saudi–Yemeni dispute, it appears that the Imam had been induced to resort to Italian help by the subtle antiBritish campaign carried out by the Italians in Yemen in order to increase the existing friction between San’a and London. The outcome of Italian activities had been a slow but effective economic penetration, allowing Italy to benefit from almost half of Yemeni exports. The British government which, according to Italian diplomats, had never agreed to share responsibilities in an area vital for the interests of the empire, strove to restore its initial influence over the Yemeni state. The Imam, threatened by the British–Saudi coalition, eventually had no alternative but to take advantage of British and Italian rivalry.25 In 1933, Mussolini’s colonial ambitions became clear. The new, more 115

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determined and expansionist Italian policy on the shores of the Red Sea generated great concern in London and Paris, where the two governments were making ‘concerted efforts to limit the spread of Italian influence’.26 Towards the end of the year, when conflict between Yemen and Saudi Arabia became inevitable, Mussolini decided to support the Imam’s claims to the disputed territory of Asir, while Britain took the side of its old ally Ibn Saud. The outbreak of hostilities and the early success of the Saudi army certainly did not improve relations between Rome and London, each blaming the other for the failure of the Rome Understanding. When the British government sent troops to Yemen in order to secure the safety of British nationals, the Italians took similar action, hoping also to be in a position to provide political and military assistance to the Imam. However, as the belligerents reached an agreement and Saudi troops withdrew from the occupied territories, the foreign military presence in Yemen was no longer welcome, and British and Italian warships had to leave Yemeni waters. Mussolini’s attempts to create a permanent base in Yemen had momentarily been halted and, by 1935, it became clear that Italy had shifted its expansionist designs to the opposite coast of the Red Sea. On the eve of the Abyssinian conflict, despite the decrease in Italian secret activities in Yemen, British diplomats appeared concerned about Italian plans to obtain a foothold on the Yemeni coast. Even the Imam, fearing Mussolini’s intentions, had rejected an Italian request to allow casualties to convalesce on the Sheikh Said peninsula. The King of Yemen had also inquired about possible military supplies and assistance from Britain for the fortification of Sheikh Said. The British government had no objection to providing armaments to Yemen for internal defence; however, concern was expressed by the Foreign Office about the possibility of a conflict between Italian and Yemeni troops, when British arms ‘would raise issues of major importance to Anglo-Italian relations’.27 The government in London was, therefore, considering all the steps to be taken in case Italy moved to occupy part of Yemeni territory, either by virtue of an agreement with the Imam, or by aggression, which would constitute a breach of the Rome Understanding. Due to its geographical position at the extreme southern end of the Red Sea on the Arabian side, the Sheikh Said peninsula enjoyed a vital strategic position. If the Italians succeeded in conquering it, they could mount artillery both in the Sheikh Said fort and at the corner of Eritrea on the opposite shore, thus controlling the entrance to and exit from the Red Sea.28 Furthermore, the British had to confront rumours that they were also contemplating the occupation of Sheikh Said. These rumours were without foundation, according to officials in London, as Britain was committed to respect not only the engagement contracted with the Italians in 1927, but also the clauses of the 1934 Anglo-Yemeni treaty, which regulated the frontier between Yemen and the Aden Protectorate.29 116

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Nonetheless, the Italian government appeared uneasy about British intervention, especially in the area of Sheikh Said. The Italian consul in Yemen, Cavaliere Pasqualucci, employed local informers to investigate whether the British government had offered military or financial support to the King of Yemen or was in any way involved in the fortification of Sheikh Said, to which the Italians attached great importance. British diplomats seemed rather irritated by the renewed Italian activities in an area that Britain did not seek to acquire for itself, but did not wish to fall into the possession of any other European power. However, Italian apprehension had to be considered as indicative of the recent improvement in Anglo-Yemeni relations, in particular after the Abyssinian war when the imperialistic design of Fascist Italy became more manifest.30 But the Abyssinian conflict, as the British quickly discovered, did not thwart Mussolini’s attempts to penetrate the southern end of the Arabian peninsula. Muslim leaders in the region were attentively watching the unfolding of the conflict on the opposite shore of the Red Sea as well as the deepening international crisis. The tribes of the British protectorate of Aden were not unaware of the political and military developments taking place in East Africa. However, the population of Aden was broadly regarded as loyal to the British crown, although it was feared that ‘discontented elements . . . may be tempted to take advantage of any threat to British power at Aden and the unruly Bedouins may try to plunder the outlying parts of the Aden settlement’, while the attention of the British authorities was distracted by the dispute with Italy.31 The Abyssinian crisis, which had led some Muslim and nationalist leaders to reconsider their relations with Fascist Italy and Mussolini’s claims to be the protector of Islam, did not appear to have significantly damaged the rapport developed over the years between the Yemeni crown and Rome, perhaps because that rapport hinged on shared strategic and financial interests that had brought the two sides together in the early 1930s. In Yemen, crown and cabinet remained relatively unfazed by the Abyssinian dispute to the extent that all Yemenis who wished it were allowed to travel to Eritrea and serve under Italian command.32

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8 THE ARABISATION OF EGYPTIAN NATIONALISM

Arab nationalism has been a constant theme throughout this study, for it was the force that corroded the structure of the British empire from within. It is worth remembering that during the interwar years Egypt critically shifted from traditional – and West-friendly – values to the adoption of more militant and pan-Arabic models, which gradually reshaped its national identity and brought it right to the heart of the Arab world. As Italy’s ambitions to replace Britain as the leading colonial power in the Middle East began to emerge, the gap between the Fascist authorities and Egyptian militant nationalist groups – who had initially been inclined to ‘identify with Mussolini, the enemy of the British enemy’ – became unbridgeable.1 In Egypt, the escalating tension between nationalist forces and British representatives, together with the emergence of a pan-Arab orientation within the nationalist movement, created favourable conditions for the Italian government to promote a closer alliance with some Egyptian political and intellectual circles. During the interwar years, and in particular in the late 1930s and early 1940s, Egyptian national consciousness moved from values based on a glorious Pharaonic past to the adoption of a shared Arab and Islamic identity. The Arabisation and Islamisation of Egyptian national identity had profound repercussions on Egyptian society and political interactions. The new pan-Arab orientation in Egyptian cultural identity and foreign policy culminated in 1945 with the creation of the Arab League. However, it was in the late 1920s and in the 1930s that the seeds of transformation were planted. Several elements are believed to have combined to generate a climate conducive to the rise of Arabism in pre-revolutionary Egypt. ‘A complex web of historical, political, social, economic, ideological and cultural factors’ – among them, the increasing political, economic and strategic importance of Egypt within the Arab region; Egyptian claims to leadership of the Islamic world; growing support in Egypt for the struggle of Arab Palestinians; a strong intellectual movement calling for cultural, educational and scientific co-operation among Arab countries; the rise of literacy, improvements in transportation 118

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and the widespread dissemination of new communications media – these were all factors instrumental in promoting a pro-Arab trend in Egyptian society.2 The nature of this shift in cultural and political national trends has long been discussed by scholars. Some have emphasised the political as opposed to ideological connotations of Egyptian Arabism; others have focused on the dichotomisation between the pan-Arab orientation adopted by the Egyptian palace and the secular and liberal tendencies that characterised the policy of the nationalist Wafd party.3 This study, however, is not concerned with any investigation of the ideological and political nature of the Arabisation of Egyptian nationalism; the revival of Islamic and Arabic thought has been exhaustively examined by numerous scholars during the last forty years.4 Instead, it is important to try to identify those sectors of Egyptian society that may have lent a sympathetic ear to Italian antiBritish propaganda. As mentioned before, the diffusion of literacy and new forms of communication not only created a fertile ground for the emergence of pan-Arab thought, but also helped shape an audience to whom Italian propaganda was likely to appeal. Egyptian nationalism was an increasingly powerful social and political force with which both the British – attempting to preserve the last vestiges of the empire – and the Italians – striving to acquire an internationally recognised imperial status – had to contend. In the 1970s and 1980s new studies on Arab nationalism challenged the traditional narrative that had somewhat overlooked the impact of international historical developments and regional dynamics on the emergence and evolution of nationalist movements in the Arab world. The new narrative offered a decentralised angle, ‘examining the centripetal momentum of pan-Arabism from the perspective of the particular Arab state or society’.5 The peculiar historical and ideological characteristics of the Egyptian nationalist movement cannot be overlooked. A territorial nationalism that had drawn on the heritage of the Nile Valley and the golden age of Egyptian history gradually gave way to a pan-Arab and Islamic concept of national identity. Political, economic and social conditions helped to shape the new emerging forces that challenged the traditional establishment as well as the old nationalist leadership. Even the Wafd party, at the forefront of the political battle for independence and self-determination in the aftermath of the First World War, had lost considerable support among those sectors of Egyptian society it had for a long time represented. The Wafd seemed to have lost its radical edge, become incorporated in the new parliamentary democracy and engaged in an endless power struggle with the palace, while the British government had proved reluctant to abandon its last claims to the Suez Canal. Towards the end of 1935, during the turbulent negotiations over the renewal of the 1923 constitution, the Wafd’s position on Britain appeared so weak that an increasing number of political opponents 119

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accused the party of seeking the favour of the British government in order to remain in power. The evolution of Egyptian nationalism from its Pharaonic themes to the recognition of inextricable historical, cultural and linguistic links with the other Arab nations coincided with the emergence of a more radical young generation of nationalists – the children of an increasingly strong urban middle class – who demanded a meaningful place in the political arena. For this new generation of militant nationalists, Egyptian nationalism was the key to the redemption of Egyptian society from the ‘frustration, bitterness and rage’ caused by long years of contention with the European colonial powers. Thus ‘nationalism was charged with arming the Egyptian national movement with the values, norms and means which would convert it into a militant defence force capable of an effective cultural, political, social and economic response to “aggressive Western imperialism” ’.6 The return to Islamic and Arab values marked the transition from an ideological tradition that had come to symbolise a western-orientated elite to acceptance of a historical and cultural legacy that would be used to redefine Egyptian collective identity. The shift from the values, contents and symbols of post-First World War Egyptian nationalism affected the whole spectrum of political and cultural forces in Egypt. Even the Wafd party – by some scholars regarded as averse to embracing the new trend – began to soften its policies towards Egypt’s involvement in the Arab world. Internal political circumstances, the need to regain popularity among domestic public opinion, and renewed inter-Arab co-operation prompted the Wafd to reassess the Egyptian position within the Arab Middle East. Returned to power from 1936 until the end of 1937, the new Wafdist government did more than its predecessors to promote amicable relations and political co-operation between Egypt and its Arab neighbours, although within the frame of a substantial ‘Egyptianist’ outlook of regional affairs.7 It is worth mentioning that, although nationalist movements were often regarded by the Italian government as a prospective ally in the power struggle for hegemony in the Mediterranean, the Wafd proved to be elusive, if not hostile. Fascist Italy and the Egyptian Wafd were never very close: the Italian government had generated a great degree of suspicion and hostility due to its links with the Egyptian palace and its ruthless policy in North and East Africa. Furthermore, the democratic parliamentary principles underpinning Wafdist policies were incompatible with the militarism and authoritarianism of Fascist ideology. The Italian government was well aware of the distrust and animosity felt within the Wafd and expressed by the Egyptian press close to the nationalist party.8 The Egyptian newspapers Al Jehad and Al Balagh, for example, voicing Wafdist concerns, campaigned against ‘Italian atrocities in Libya’, the inhuman treatment of the Senussi tribe, and the ‘martyrdom of Omar el-Muktar’.9 However, Italian claims 120

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that Al Balagh was controlled by the British government were wide of the mark. Towards the end of 1935, Radio Bari reported that the Egyptian press was unanimously criticising the policy of the Prime Minister Nessim Pasha, considered to be too easily influenced by Britain. Among the newspapers at the forefront of the campaign, Al Balagh stated that England had taken ‘advantage of the weakness of the present cabinet to make Egypt a British colony and to return to the regime of 1914’.10 In the early and mid-1930s, the emergence of militant and regimented youth organisations – such as the Muslim Brotherhood, the Wafdsponsored Blue Shirts, the Green Shirts, the Italian Fascist Black Shirts and Young Egypt – was a clear sign of the transformation of the core values of Egyptian nationalism. Some scholars have emphasised that these newly born groups ‘imitate fascist behaviours and symbols and, while spreading continual violence, had the effect of rapidly and irrevocably undermining Egypt’s parliamentary system’.11 The anti-parliamentary tendencies and paramilitary behaviour manifested by youth organisations in Egypt certainly appealed to the Italian authorities who were looking for an amenable interlocutor. Among these nationalist movements was Young Egypt, created in 1933 – and subsequently transformed in 1936 into a political party – as a ‘patriotic society’ working to reform the social and political system in Egypt. The paramilitary structure of the organisation and the ‘martial spirit’ promoted by its members were complemented by the use of a wide range of modern propaganda techniques. Young Egypt found its small but loyal core supporters in the middleclass educated youth of the Egyptian University in Cairo, and in a young generation of teachers, intellectuals and governmental bureaucrats. Direct action, marches and rallies were often organised by members of Young Egypt, together with propaganda through the press and pamphlets. It has been observed that pressure was brought on public officials through the publication of open letters and the collection of signed petitions calling for such things as British evacuation of their military forces from Egypt and the Sudan, the abolition of the Capitulary system and Mixed Courts, and the introduction of universal military conscription in Egypt.12 A set of favourable circumstances had therefore created the opportunity for the Italians to further a mutually beneficial partnership with some Egyptian organisations. Through the channels opened by Ugo Dadone (see pp. 131–132) and his Egyptian collaborators, the Italians successfully approached the leadership of Young Egypt. It appears that the Italian legation had instructed Anis Daoud to enlist Young Egypt’s co-operation in an anti-British campaign. The Italian government seemed prepared to back 121

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the Egyptian cause to the extent of ‘assisting a revolution to secure full Egyptian independence’.13 Financial assistance would be provided by an unspecified bureau located in the premises of the Giornale d’Oriente. In order to ‘inflame Egyptian public opinion as much as possible against Great Britain’, the Italian consular authorities suggested that the main points of the propaganda campaign should be: (1) Egyptian application for membership of the League of Nations; (2) the restoration of Egyptian rights in Sudan; (3) the abolition of the Capitulations; and finally (4) the recognition of the Egyptian right to protect the Suez Canal.14 The effects of the Italian manoeuvres soon became visible. Attracted to Fascist anti-parliamentarian ideas and to the financial support promised by the Italian government, Young Egypt made an active contribution to the pro-Italian and anti-British campaign orchestrated in Rome. Ignoring the wave of indignation that had swept over Egyptian public opinion after the invasion of Abyssinia, at the end of October 1935 members of Young Egypt sent a petition to King Fuad, demanding that Egypt should remain neutral in the Abyssinian dispute. Moreover, a telegram endorsing Young Egypt’s petition was addressed to the Grand Chamberlain by Mohamed Hassan Gohari in the name of the inhabitants of a district in Cairo. The accord with Italian emissaries proved to be advantageous for Young Egypt. Numerous reports concerned with the activities of Young Egypt and, in particular, of its leaders arrived at the Foreign Office at the end of 1935. As Ahmed Hussein and Fathi Rawlan, respectively president and secretary of Young Egypt, decided to leave for a trip to Europe, the British authorities began to follow the activities of the organisation closely. The purpose of the tour, that would include London among other European capitals, was to denounce British policy in Egypt or, as the periodical Oriente Moderno claimed, to ‘enlighten British public opinion and present it with the adverse consequences British society would suffer if Egyptian independence was not recognised’.15 Ahmed Hussein and Fathi Rawlan had apparently received the sum of £500 from a non-identified Italian source as a contribution to their travel expenses.16 During their European tour, Hussein and Rawlan seemed determined to promote Young Egypt’s cause while trying to appease an already apprehensive British public opinion. The pamphlet produced by the Egyptian movement and entitled Egypt and Great Britain. What Young Egypt Has to Say to British Public Opinion presented Egyptian claims and complaints in a rather conciliatory tone. The core of their argument was that Egyptian independence was ‘natural and right’.17 The Egyptians bore no hatred towards the English people, but could not tolerate British interference in the internal affairs of Egypt. The pamphlet summarised almost fifteen years of turbulent Anglo-Egyptian relations, since the formal declaration of Egypt’s independence in 1922. However, Egypt could not enjoy its full independence if the British government retained the right to intervene in 122

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Egyptian policy whenever British interests were perceived to be in danger.18 Aware of their newly acquired, though limited, freedom, the Egyptians were prepared to defend it. The already precarious equilibrium was further strained by Britain’s interference in Egyptian domestic affairs and this had generated a wave of violent demonstrations in November 1935. Notwithstanding the resentment that separated the two sides, Young Egypt seemed to call for an agreement that would bridge the gap between the rancorous Egyptian population and British politicians: We, the extremists, as we have come to be designated, are not less sincere than other political bodies in our desire to effect an honourable understanding with Great Britain. We are not less willing than the others to become her ally, and to rally to her side, and place all our resources at her disposal, whenever she needs our help.19 In return, the document demanded that Egypt should be finally granted complete freedom, independence and sovereignty even in those areas previously left under British authority. In Egypt, the activities of Fascist propagandists succeeded in gaining access to some nationalist and intellectual circles, but their overall longterm impact on the relationship between Cairo and London appears rather negligible. Far more consequential – although at that time often overlooked by British observers – was the gradual transformation of the Egyptian nationalist movement, which brought Egypt out of its territorial and cultural boundaries, and promoted the strengthening of political and cultural links with other Arab and Muslim countries. In 1936, the beginning of the riots in Palestine accelerated the adoption of pan-Islamic and panArab models in Egyptian society, thus helping Egypt develop into one of the leading nations of the Arab Muslim region.

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Until September 1935, the significance of Italian propaganda efforts in the Middle East had been somewhat overlooked by the government in London. At the India Office, anxiety was generated in 1934 by the speech in which Mussolini emphasised the expansion of Italian influence in the Middle East. The Foreign Office, however, seemed to adopt a more cautious approach and decided that no action was to be taken in response to Mussolini’s statements.1 However, after the Italian invasion of Abyssinia and the subsequent support given by Britain to the policy of sanctions advocated by the League of Nations, Italian subversive activities in the Middle East were regarded as a serious danger to British interests in that area. The government in London was forced to acknowledge the threat posed by Italian propaganda, particularly when Britain was confronting the increasing animosity of Arab nationalist groups and the deterioration of internal security in Egypt and Palestine. In 1935, not only the British government but also public opinion and the press began to express alarm at the bold policy conducted by the Italians in the Middle East. In September 1935, The Times reported that anti-British propaganda was being carried out by Italian sources in Cairo as well as in Palestine and among the Indian students in Rome. Even more concerning, the broadcasts of Radio Bari were spreading tendentious news ‘apparently intended to exalt Italy and belittle Great Britain in the eyes of Europe, especially in regard to the administration of native races’.2 Italian propaganda in Egypt was a source of major concern for the British government. The Suez Canal, a vital area for Britain’s imperial communications, was becoming increasingly important for Italy in its effort to expand the empire in East Africa, so much so that as the Abyssinian crisis soured relations between Rome and London, the Italian Foreign Ministry asked the consulates of Alexandria and Port Said to supervise the creation of a local branch of the intelligence service responsible for monitoring movements around the Canal area. It was recommended that Italian consular staff in Egypt should consider employing ‘Italian subjects who are entirely trustworthy and reliable and who can go about the Canal zone on 124

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[?plausible] pretexts [?incognito or otherwise] without rousing suspicion and afterwards report what they have seen’.3 Claims over the Suez Canal were made by Mussolini’s government in 1939, when the Italians alleged that the original project of the Canal was drawn by a fellow countryman, Luigi Nardelli, and then taken over by the French engineer Ferdinand de Lesseps. The Italians bitterly complained about the ‘illegal set-up’ of the company managing the Canal and about the toll Britain was imposing on ships navigating through Suez, thus contravening the spirit behind public works like the Canal.4 Furthermore, the importance not only of the Canal but of Egypt as a whole for the strategic and commercial interests of Italy was clearly acknowledged by the Germans, who in November 1939 expressed doubts as to whether Egypt would find a place in the new order. The Germans were quick to recognise ‘Italy’s long-established claims that Egypt has always been within her sphere of protection and that she actually needs Egypt as an outlet for her surplus population’, and conceded that it was doubtful whether they could ‘bring Italy into the war, unless we give a formal promise to consider her vital interests in Egypt’.5 British diplomats believed that the Italian government would employ all means to escalate the tension between Britain’s authorities in Egypt and the local population. Concern generated in London was mainly related to the Italian campaign of intrigue in Egypt rather than to the development of Italy’s military power. The British Chiefs of Staff believed that the Italian army had gained from technological improvements but the enthusiasm and the efficiency of its officers were still low. The foreseeable threats posed by Italy consisted of air attacks, sabotage and especially attempts to encourage internal disorders in Egypt. The possibility of a full-scale invasion was almost ruled out despite the numerical superiority of the Italian armed forces in Libya, compared to the British presence on Egyptian soil. Nevertheless, the assessment of Italian military capability did not greatly change even after the outbreak of the Abyssinian war. The Chiefs of Staff maintained that the strategic situation in the eastern Mediterranean, the precarious communications between Italy and Libya and topographical difficulties would prevent the Italians from mounting an ambitious operation against Egypt.6 However, news began to circulate concerning a possible Italian attack on Egypt in the event of a war with Britain following the Abyssinian crisis. The Italians claimed to be in a position to invade Egypt, diverting most of their forces into Sudan where the British contingent was relatively small. Once they had penetrated Egypt from the south, the Suez Canal would become an easy target. The Italians were also planning to increase their forces in Cyrenaica to 150,000 to allow a simultaneous attack on Egypt from the south and the east.7 Whether this was black propaganda spread by the Italians in order to put pressure on the British and Egyptian authorities or whether this was the result of fictitious rumours disseminated by the British seeking to 125

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justify the tightening of security and defence measures in Egypt is hard to ascertain. Italian propaganda in Egypt gathered momentum following the increasing international tension in East Africa. The Italians, concerned by the mounting hostility expressed by most of the Egyptian press, began to explore more effective ways to raise the profile of Fascist Italy to the detriment of Britain’s influence in the upper Nile region. Galeazzo Ciano took a direct interest in the matter and suggested that existing publicity outlets and press activities should be strengthened. In particular, he proposed the creation of a news bulletin under the aegis of the Italian legation in Cairo, which in form and contents ‘would meet the special demands of public opinion in Egypt’.8 The new organ would make use of material provided by the Italian publication Giornale d’Oriente and by intercepts supplied to a wireless receiving set ‘to be installed in a suitable place with due secrecy’.9 Overall, supported by a well-connected network of agents, coordinated by the Italian consular offices and relying on the infrastructures of the Italian community in Egypt, Fascist propaganda carefully attempted to exploit domestic political feuds and nationalist sentiments emerging among Egyptian political and intellectual forces. Egypt occupied a special place in Britain’s security and colonial policy. The country was not only conveniently placed at the centre of imperial communications, but also enjoyed a political and cultural role of great importance in the Arab world. Egyptian newspapers were read in Syria and Palestine, Egyptian nationalist movements and the leading party, the Wafd, were the most committed to parliamentary democracy, and the University of al-Azhar in Cairo was the cradle of Islamic culture while the large and long-established foreign community acted as a trade link with European countries.10 The Italian community was particularly keen to promote the image of a triumphant Italy. In August 1935, when Mussolini’s son and son-in-law arrived in Port Said, British sources reported that approximately 3,000 Fascists travelled from all over the country to the town. A crowd of 20,000 people, including those resident in the area, invaded Port Said: Those who travelled by car scattered coloured leaflets bearing fascist slogans in the streets. Some were in uniforms. . . . They were noisy and aggressive. . . . The demonstration has not done any good to Italian name. The overbearing behaviour of the Fascist contingents has disgusted local people.11 Two years before, the King and Queen of Italy were greeted by a large crowd and 15,000 children singing traditional Italian songs when they inaugurated the Italian hospital Umberto I in Egypt, ‘boasting the most modern facilities in the whole of Africa’.12 The British authorities were 126

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fully aware of the invaluable propaganda opportunities offered to the Italians by the opening of educational and medical facilities in the Middle East. The Italian Consul General and the Latin Patriarch in Palestine, as well as Italian representatives in Egypt, were very proactive: lavish official ceremonies were organised to celebrate the opening of the ‘large and expensive’ Italian hospital in Kerak, and also the ‘equally large and important’ hospital in Amman (both in Transjordan) which was inaugurated by the Italian Crown Prince.13 The operational pattern of Italian activities in the Middle East varied greatly from country to country. Italian propagandists devised strategies that would best suit the set of local political and social conditions so as to create a more receptive environment for the promotion of Fascist Italy. Italian propaganda in Egypt did not manifest itself merely through the broadcasts of Radio Bari. Far more important was the local dimension of Fascist activities in Egypt, where Italian diplomats and agents and their Egyptian contacts relied on the infrastructures and support of a broad Italian community settled in Cairo, Alexandria and Port Said. Italian communities in Egypt had enjoyed a degree of prosperity and amicable relations with their Muslim neighbours at least until the Abyssinian crisis, when suspicion and resentment towards Italy’s aggression rapidly spread among the Egyptian population. In the aftermath of the invasion of Abyssinia, as tension between Italy and Britain increased, the British authorities began to assess the position of Italian residents in Egypt in the event of a conflict involving Italy, Britain and Egypt.14 From the legal point of view, the dilemma specifically concerned Italians enrolled in Fascist groups based in Egypt. It was unclear whether Italian nationals who at the outbreak of hostilities put themselves under the orders of the officers of the local Fascist organisation and committed acts of sabotage ‘should be considered as Italian troops and therefore treated in accordance with the laws of war or whether they should be considered as Italian civilians who can be punished in the manner in which civilians can be punished’.15 Legal advisers to the Residency, together with the Foreign Office, felt that no distinction should be made between Italians in civilian clothes and those in Fascist uniforms, as any hostile activity conducted during wartime by residents in Egypt would amount to high treason, and as such could be punished with a death sentence.16 The legal status of the Italians in the event of war was no small concern given the size of the Italian community in Egypt. Italian census data revealed that in 1936 18,548 Italians lived in Alexandria, some 17,300 in Cairo and around 600 in Port Said. Community life was centred upon a number of cultural, political and recreational associations such as the Fascio, the Società Nazionale Dante Alighieri, the Circolo Italiano Dopolavoro and the Associazione Nazionale Combattenti, all controlled by the government in Rome.17 These organisations – whose members often 127

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operated behind the scenes on behalf of the Italian authorities – did not always appear directly involved in promoting Fascist political propaganda or other activities intended to undermine the internal stability of Egypt and relations between the Egyptian government and its British counterpart.18 The activities of the Italian communities overseas have been the subject of recent historical research. In particular, the role of Italian immigrants to the United States and the extent to which they were actively promoting Fascist policies, culture and values have received considerable attention. Efforts were made to accelerate the process of fascistizzazione of the Italian immigrants and the second generation of Italo-Americans; in addition, lobbying through organisations such as the Ordine Figli d’Italia in America and the Fascist League of North America was intense. Successful Italo-American professionals and businessmen, the so-called prominenti, were some of the most important and effective conduits of Fascist propaganda, although once Mussolini fell out of favour in America they did not hesitate to denounce Fascism as quickly as they had embraced it.19 The Italian authorities appeared extremely proud of the status and achievements of Italian residents in Egypt. At the end of 1936, the Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs – assessing the activities of Italian nationals in the upper Nile valley – claimed that the ‘solid, close and patriotic Italian community in Egypt was still providing an outstanding example of the achievements of Italian citizens abroad under the direction of the [Fascist] regime’.20 The social profile of the Italian population of Egypt was rather diversified, including skilled workers, clerks, professionals and entrepreneurs. Some had achieved positions of responsibility within the structures controlled by the Fascist government, others had attempted to enter the high circles of the Egyptian political establishment. The architect Ernesto Verucci Bey acquired so much credit within the Court that his position generated strong suspicion in Britain. British diplomats warned King Fuad that his preference for Italian advisers would cause friction between the palace and the Residency.21 The King, however, firmly defended Verucci’s integrity and confirmed the palace’s commitment to further the interests of Egypt and its British ally. Though regarded as a vehicle for Italian influence within the Court, Verucci – a Freemason and as such an antagonist of Mussolini’s regime – was probably an unwilling promoter of Fascist propaganda among the King’s entourage.22 Other leading figures gravitating towards the palace were regarded with suspicion by the British authorities. The Foreign Office complained forcefully to the King that the new Italian ambassador in Cairo, Ghigi, was the source and inspiration of an insidious propaganda ‘careful to avoid any obvious pro-Italian bias and to concentrate rather on Egypt’s aspirations and alleged grievances against us [Britain] with a view to securing her neutrality’.23 Reports of collusion between the Court and Italian agents eventually implicated the Egyptian Grand Chamberlain, Ali Maher. In 1935, 128

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throughout that delicate phase of constitutional transition and political ferment, Ali Maher was using his diplomatic talent to promote an agreement between all political parties and therefore create a ‘solid national front’. The senior Egyptian politician assured Sir Miles Lampson, the British High Commissioner, that his means and objectives would not be detrimental to British interests in Egypt. Despite the suspicions of the Foreign Office, Ali Maher stated ‘emphatically that any allegation that he had been involved with Italian Legation or other Italian source was utterly groundless’.24 After the death of King Fuad in 1936, Ali Maher helped renovate Egyptian political life, creating common ground for ‘both the politicians of the establishment and the emerging movements of the new generation’.25 The means employed by the Italian government to open new channels of communications with broader sectors of Egyptian society – and not only the Court or the political establishment – were very varied. Attempting to engage in a dialogue with the Egyptian educated urban class, the Italians began to implement an educational programme that would expose Egyptian students to the history and culture of Fascist Italy. Starting at the primary level, the Italian authorities offered numerous incentives to pupils interested in topics concerning contemporary Italy. The two Italian elementary schools in Cairo, for example, provided special subsidies and support to children from non-affluent backgrounds: shoes in winter, sandals in summer, aprons, books and stationery, together with free meals, were given to poor children to encourage them to register in schools run by the Italian authorities. In the only Italian secondary school in Cairo, all subjects – mainly vocational or art-related – were taught in Italian, while books on Italian history and literature were distributed as a reward to the most deserving students. Following strict Fascist traditions, every morning pupils entering the school had to salute the head teacher in the Fascist way.26 Egyptian universities were also targeted by the Italian propaganda machine. Italian staff at the Faculty of Arts of the Egyptian University in Cairo liaised directly with Italian ministries in Rome, and actively promoted cultural exchanges by providing financial support to Egyptian students who wished to undertake short-term courses at Italian universities.27 Cultural and educational exchanges had always been regarded as a key area for the activities of Italian propagandists. This was acknowledged by British officials in the Middle East who had urged the government in London to co-operate with its regional counterparts in order to establish regular exchange programmes for parties of teachers and students who wished to visit the United Kingdom during the summer vacation. The Italians had successfully and ruthlessly exploited their connections with education institutions in Egypt and Palestine, providing special discounts for parties interested in visiting Italy; for example, the equivalent of £10 per person would cover a return ticket from Palestine as well as two to three 129

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weeks’ stay in Italy. This was a very profitable investment for the Fascist government as the British bitterly recognised: ‘Several parties of this kind have been organised in recent years and have had the effect of making the visitors regard Italy as a friendly power if no more’.28 Undoubtedly, the Italian government’s long-standing ability to use education institutions and youth groups for propaganda purposes proved to be invaluable. The regimentation of Italian youth, just as in Nazi Germany and the Soviet Union, was achieved through the creation of a number of state-controlled or affiliated organisations that would cater for the indoctrination of Italian young people from the cradle to adulthood. The Gruppi Universitari Fascisti (GUF, Fascist University Groups) were probably among the closest and most fanatical supporters of the regime and enthusiastically embraced their role as propagators of Fascist policies and culture both at home and abroad.29 Their frequent visits to other universities in Europe and America would generate numerous opportunities to eulogise the achievements of Mussolini’s regime and the Italian communities overseas. In 1934, for example, 350 members of the GUF travelled to New York and Chicago. They were greeted by thousands of Italo-Americans and Italian emigrants when they took part in the celebrations for Columbus Day and the University Games. Italian cameras filming the athletic competitions rested on the triumphant smile of a young Italian athlete: ‘I am delighted to have won for Fascist Italy, the Duce and the Italian emigrants in America’.30 Back in Egypt, the Italian government had shored up its underground activities following the escalation of tension in East Africa. Having witnessed the growing hostility of the local press, the Italian representatives employed all their connections and means of persuasion to limit or even prevent the publication of damaging anti-Italian material, and began to lobby some Egyptian political circles to further the Italian cause. Forecasts of increasing and widespread anti-Italian propaganda in Egypt prompted the Under-Secretariat for Press and Propaganda in Rome to formulate a strategy aimed at containing the damage and possibly engineering an alliance with more friendly sectors of the political and intellectual establishment. A more proactive Italian involvement in Egyptian affairs was advocated, and the main targets of renewed Italian activities were to be the press, the Coptic Church and leading Islamic figures. As far as the press was concerned, the Italians were seeking to establish closer relations with some of the major newspapers and in particular with those linked to the Wafd party. Through its agents in Egypt, the Italian Under-Secretariat for Press and Propaganda would provide the Egyptian press with complete articles and news bulletins in Arabic ‘tailored to the taste of the general public and conforming to the peculiar style of each newspaper’.31 To this end, the importance of well-informed, well-connected and reliable agents was not underestimated. All the activities were to be undertaken in secrecy 130

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and with no apparent link to the official representatives in Egypt. It was suggested that a Signor Cignolini – head of the Fascio in Alexandria and member of the editorial board of the Giornale d’Oriente – should be responsible for the entire operation.32 The deterioration of Anglo-Egyptian relations had created fertile ground for Italian subversion. By the mid-1930s, the number of reports on Italian propaganda sent to the Foreign Office increased considerably. One of the names recurring in most memoranda and police reports was that of Ugo Dadone, who seems to have eventually replaced Cignolini as a coordinator of Italian propaganda in Egypt.33 Former chief editor of the Giornale d’Oriente and personal friend of Mussolini, Ugo Dadone was sent to Egypt by the head of the Ministry of Press and Propaganda, Count Ciano. In July 1935, Dadone became the head of the Agence de l’Egypte et de l’Orient (AEO), established as the Italian Press Bureau.34 The AEO was created to disseminate news from Italy and in particular information related to the Italo-Ethiopian conflict. The agency operated under the supervision of the Italian consulate in Cairo and received directives from the Ministry of Press and Propaganda in Rome.35 The bulletins issued daily in French and Arabic by the agency had strong pro-Italian and anti-British connotations. However, British representatives in Egypt believed that the AEO was executing more subversive tasks as it soon appeared that its other function consisted ‘in buying up newspapers and journalists with a view to their making pro-Italian propaganda’.36 Dadone, who had inherited the organisation of Italian propaganda in Egypt from Signor Galassi, editor of the Giornale d’Oriente, had begun to create a large and efficient machine. Dadone had been very proactive in seeking and enlisting the co-operation of local agents. Through the mediation of Anis Daoud, translator of the newspaper Kawkab-el-Sharq, he had apparently succeeded in reaching many prominent Egyptians, as well as the leaders of the Young Egypt movement. The Italians were prepared to support the activities of groups whose demands and claims could undermine Britain’s influence in Egypt. Dadone, in his endeavours to build bridges with the nationalist press, seems to have provided financial support to relaunch Al Sakha, Young Egypt’s newspaper, and arranged to subsidise the newspaper El Wadi in return for a more sympathetic approach to Fascist Italy.37 After the outbreak of riots in November 1935, searching for new contacts among Egyptian intellectuals and students, Dadone instructed one of his agents, Antoun Yacoub, to procure for him a list of names of lecturers and students of the al-Azhar University in Cairo and the University of Alexandria.38 Attempting to establish links with nationalist circles and press organs, Ugo Dadone also enlisted the co-operation of Antoun Yacoub, an employee of the Agenzia Telegrafica Italo-Orientale, to approach and bribe the Arabic newspapers Al Balagh and Al Ahram.39 131

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Since his arrival in Egypt, Ugo Dadone had prepared and implemented a strategy aimed to improve the local press and information service.40 Dadone’s activities were conducted under the direction of the Italian representatives in Egypt, and Dadone himself seemed proud and confident that his work had ‘only generated complaints from the British authorities in Egypt’ who had demanded that he should be court-martialled.41 The Italian legation in Cairo also confirmed that Dadone’s work – and in particular his contribution during the Abyssinian war – had been ‘extremely effective . . . as far as political matters, military preparations and propaganda were concerned’.42 However, on the eve of Italy’s entry into the Second World War, Dadone precipitously fled from Egypt – where he left all his possessions – and moved back to his home country. In September 1940 he was once again sent by the Ministry of Popular Culture to North Africa to resume his contacts and activities on behalf of the AEO. A long dispute followed his transfer to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Rome over the payment of a monthly income to Dadone from the Ministry of Popular Culture. Dadone believed he was entitled to keep his initial salary as a director of the AEO or to receive a redundancy payment, as stated by the employment law.43 The dispute lasted throughout the first few years of the war and the Ministry of Popular Culture repeatedly denied having instructed Dadone to take over the organisation and running of the AEO in Cairo.44 Financial considerations had prompted the Italian Ministry of Popular Culture to distance itself from one of the most prominent and efficient agents in the Middle East. In 1935, developments in both international affairs and Egyptian domestic politics had opened a new range of opportunities for Italian propagandists in Egypt. The importance of Egypt in British strategic plans appeared even more manifest in the aftermath of the Italian invasion of Abyssinia. The British government was therefore eager to formulate the principles underpinning Anglo-Egyptian co-operation in case of further developments in the already unstable international situation. The three main questions discussed at the Foreign Office in September 1935 regarded the application of economic sanctions against Italy as prescribed by the League of Nations; the Egyptian position in the event of hostilities between Britain and Italy; and finally, the defence of the Suez Canal from direct Italian attacks or sabotage.45 If Egyptian collaboration was believed to be indispensable, the methods and extent of such a partnership was more difficult to define. The very delicate position Britain held in Egypt required the government in London to adopt a cautious approach in order to reassure the increasingly nervous Egyptian government and public opinion. Consequently, British officials suggested that the idea of involving Egypt in economic sanctions against Italy should be abandoned. As Italy was one of the principal buyers of Egyptian cotton and had also been granted the status of most favoured nation in all commercial matters, the policy advoc132

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ated by the League of Nations had generated great anxiety in Cairo. Any attempts by the British government to force the Egyptians to co-operate would therefore have serious repercussions on relations between London and Cairo. Nevertheless, a co-ordinated Anglo-Egyptian policy was considered essential in the event of a war between Britain and Italy, and also to protect the Suez Canal. The Foreign Office stated clearly that any arrangement had to be worked out with the Egyptian government, avoiding the adoption of extreme and unpopular measures that would appear to endanger the status Egypt had enjoyed since the 1922 Declaration.46 A completely different perspective dominated the discussions among Italian diplomats who were no less anxious than their British counterparts. In January 1936, the Italian ambassador in Cairo summarised for Mussolini the state of Italo-Egyptian relations since the beginning of the Abyssinian campaign. The constant improvement of Italian relations with Egypt had suffered a major set-back after the invasion of Abyssinia. It is worth remembering that in the early 1930s Italian security policies in Libya had created friction between Rome and Cairo. After the capture and execution of the rebel Omar el-Muktar, a wave of anti-Italian disorders had swept across the Arab world and concentrated in Egypt. As a result, the Italian authorities had decided to organise a vigorous campaign to counteract the effects of the Arab propaganda. The ultimate object was to improve Italy’s image among the Arab populations and restore Arab confidence in the Italian government.47 The Abyssinian crisis was to produce similar effects. Due to cultural and religious affinity between the populations of East Africa and Egypt, the Egyptian government and public opinion had immediately sympathised with the victims of Italian expansionist ambitions. The Italian government had since been engaged in a strenuous effort to persuade the Egyptians of its clear intentions and good faith. The Italians, however, claimed that Britain was actively pursuing a policy aimed at undermining Italy’s good relations with the Muslim populations of the Mediterranean. Italy, which was taking the challenge to the heart of the British empire, began to feel victimised by Britain’s attempts to contain the effects of hostile propaganda. The Italian authorities complained that particularly in Egypt, where British influence was stronger than anywhere else, it had become difficult to defend the interests and position ‘acquired by fascist Italy after long and laborious efforts’.48 Egyptian concerns about the Italian military presence along the Libyan borders were increased by British reinforcements. Italian diplomats in Cairo complained that Britain’s propaganda portrayed Italy as a threat, an aggressive and imperialistic nation that would end Egyptian independence and reduce Egypt to the status of a province. In the event of a conflict between Italy and Britain, the Egyptian government, ‘submissive instrument of the British Residency’, was consequently expected to intervene on the British side.49 As apprehension increased among Egyptian 133

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politicians, Mussolini was induced to issue an official statement clarifying Italian international conduct. He resolutely denied that the Italian government was planning to attack Egypt and maintained that all steps taken in Libya were purely precautionary. Moreover, Italy was determined to avoid any action that would cause the Abyssinian conflict to expand; in Mussolini’s words, Italy had always pursued and would ‘continue to pursue a policy of true, warm and genuine friendship with the Egyptian people and its government’.50 However, the friendly nature of Italian attempts to win the favour of the Egyptian government and people did not reassure the British government. The large volume of British archival material on Italian propaganda gives an insight into the way the British authorities understood and reacted to Italian activities in Egypt. Italian influence over the press was perceived in Britain as an interference in Egyptian internal affairs and likely to produce unwelcome results: ‘it encourages the Egyptians in favouring extreme nationalist demands, it is an inadmissible intervention in the relations between our two countries calculated to prejudice the harmonious co-operation which both governments desire’.51 The British representatives asked the Egyptian government to take immediate action; but the failure of the Egyptian authorities to fight a war of propaganda was due primarily to lack of funding. British remonstrances, however, soon reached the Egyptian Prime Minister, Tewfik Nessim. As Britain stressed that Fascist subversion was affecting not only Anglo-Egyptian interests but also co-operation between the two countries, Tewfik Nessim promised that a sum of £1,000 would be granted to the Interior Ministry for press propaganda.52 Through their own channels and agents, the British began to map the network created by Fascist propagandists. It soon became clear that the Italian publication Giornale d’Oriente and the Italian legation were at the centre of the propaganda campaign in Egypt.53 Attempts to bribe Egyptian journalists were soon disclosed to the British diplomats in Egypt. The Italians seemed particularly interested in gaining access to press organs close to the Wafd party. Tewfik Diab – editor of the Wafdist newspaper AlJehad – was offered a deal in which the Giornale d’Oriente would supply news and articles to Al-Jehad and also meet any cost incurred by the Egyptian newspaper. The editor immediately rejected the proposal, saying that ‘the only capital of “Al-Jehad” was its honesty and that it would not lend itself to Italian propaganda’.54 The first concerted British attempts to reduce the impact of Italian propaganda were made at a diplomatic level. As Sir Robert Vansittart, UnderSecretary at the Foreign Office, expressed Britain’s concern to the Italian ambassador in London, British diplomats also approached the Italian representative in Egypt to put an end to Italian schemes there. The Italian ambassador in Cairo, Ghigi, denied personal involvement in antiBritish propaganda activities and gave assurances that no members of the 134

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legation staff had sought to bribe Egyptian politicians or the press. On the contrary, local Italian news agencies had been prevented from publishing reports that would sound ‘unwise and unfriendly’ to Britain.55 Further denials were made by the Counsellor at the Italian embassy, Vitetti, who suggested that the allegations were the result of an astute campaign carried out by the Egyptian nationalists, and were aimed at exploiting the precarious relations between Britain and Italy, in order to obtain concessions from the government in London.56 A number of smaller diplomatic incidents fuelled the tension between Rome and London. The acrimony between the British and the Italian governments rapidly increased after Marshal Balbo, the Italian governor of Libya, expressed his bitter criticism of British interference in the dispute between Rome and the Senussi leaders. It seemed as if Italy had now decided to retaliate, after the British representatives in Egypt had made formal complaints about Italy’s subversive undertakings in the Middle East. Marshal Balbo not only denied the existence of any plan for propaganda in Egypt, but also accused Britain of bribing the Senussi refugees there, preventing them from returning to Libya. The migration of Senussi from Egypt to Libya had increased between January and June 1935 and then ceased, despite Italian incentives. British officials, rejecting the allegations as unfounded, maintained that material inducements held out by the Italian authorities in Libya were not enough to remove from Arab minds the memories of the ruthless campaign ordered by General Graziani in Cyrenaica. Doubting the value of Italian promises, the Arabs were therefore reluctant to cross into Libya; the Foreign Office could easily explain the diminishing number of Arabs returning to Libya ‘without any need for attributing it to British machinations’.57 The controversy deepened further, as Marshal Balbo ‘clearly’ implied, in the eyes of the Foreign Office, that the British authorities intended to arm the desert tribes to protect the western frontier of Egypt. Marshal Balbo appeared unperturbed: ‘but if an inconceivable cataclysm should happen I think that on the frontier we should only find armed bands of Arabs. The British are too intelligent to risk action with European troops against Italians’.58 The Italian subversive campaign acquired new vigour as AngloEgyptian relations began to deteriorate dramatically. The dispute over the new constitution had embittered Egyptian political life. In October 1935, the Wafd, calling for an immediate return to the 1923 constitution and negotiations for a treaty with Britain, had placed the Prime Minister, Tewfik Nessim, in an uncomfortable position. If the Prime Minister failed to meet these demands, the Wafd would go over to the opposition in parliament. Tewfik Nessim did not enjoy a good political reputation, being opposed by the nationalists, who regarded him as a British puppet, and by the Court. Nessim’s weakness had made him the hostage of circumstances 135

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and consolidated his intention to resign as he felt ‘unable to fight against the Wafd, King and perhaps Italian intrigue’.59 The situation soon resulted in widespread political unrest. In November, the Foreign Secretary, Sir Samuel Hoare, made clear Britain’s view on the constitutional issue. He stated that, though not opposed to Egypt’s return to a constitutional order, the British government objected to the restoration of ‘the constitution of 1923 or the constitution of 1930 because the former had proved unworkable while the latter is against the will of the people’.60 In December, the Foreign Office tried to dispel the idea that Britain was ‘intervening to impose any veto on a return to Constitutional life or attempting in any way to dictate the form of the law on which that Constitutional life should be based’. When consulted, the British government had expressed its position on the controversial issue of the constitution, emphasising, however, that the Egyptian Prime Minister ‘should take steps with a view to the drafting of an organic law which should better meet his country’s requirements’.61 Nevertheless, Britain was seen as imposing the outcome of a process that should have been led by Egyptian political institutions. Egyptian public opinion was outraged; on the opening day of the university’s autumn semester, the students took their protest to the streets of Cairo. Demonstrations in the following weeks turned into riots and ended in violent clashes with the police. The most serious incidents produced a number of casualties, exacerbating the tension between the two sides. During one of the confrontations with the police, a young leader of the Cairo secondary school students, Gamal Abdel Nasser, was grazed on the forehead by a bullet. Britain blamed Wafd’s intransigence for the outbreak of disturbances, claiming that anti-British protests appeared to be co-ordinated by the Wafd and encouraged by the palace. The atmosphere was, as the High Commissioner emphasised, ‘distinctly turbid’, with all the Egyptian political parties ‘aligned in a spurious union’ against Tewfik Nessim and the British government.62 Furthermore, it was acknowledged that the Italians were carefully observing the dramatic developments: The danger at present is more in a general deterioration of AngloEgyptian relations than in the outbreak of wide-spread and violent disorder, and in such conditions the possibility of Italian exploitation and even financial support of anti-British movements increases the inherent dangers of the situation.63 According to Sir Miles Lampson, there was already concrete evidence of Italian incitement of Egyptian protesters and a strong suspicion that the recent storming of the British consulate had been done at Italian instigation. Italian representatives appeared to be engaged in frantic activities during those turbulent days: 136

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we know that Patrizi, the Colonial Attaché of the Italian Legation, was very active in a taxi all day yesterday photographing the conflicts between the demonstrators and the police and injured persons and that the Italian Minister was employed up till 3 o’clock in the morning translating extracts from the Nahas speech and sending them with his comments to Rome.64 The Italian press gladly took the opportunity to voice Egyptian discontent and back Egyptian demands for emancipation and independence from British influence. Relations between the Italian and British governments had entered a phase of bitter contention over the outcome of the Abyssinian crisis and the implementation of sanctions against Italy as advocated by the League of Nations and Britain. Having previously been attacked for its imperialistic and aggressive policy in East and North Africa, Italy was trying not only to divert international attention from its colonial problems, but also to prove that Britain’s support for the rights of oppressed peoples was a mere façade. Ample coverage was given to the Egyptian demonstrations by Oriente Moderno throughout November and December 1935.65 Giving an account of the circumstances that led to the upheavals in Cairo and other major Egyptian cities, Oriente Moderno re-examined the whole issue of the new constitution. It referred to the main points of the Egyptian proposal to the British government, which stated that the Egyptian government intended to take direct responsibility for the defence of its territory; that it was the appropriate time for London and Cairo to sign a treaty which would secure the co-operation of both sides and achieve Egyptian autonomy; and finally that such agreement would entail the end of the Capitulations and Egypt’s entry into the League of Nations. The Italians supported Egyptian requests which appeared to be ‘fair and deserved to be satisfied’, especially since Britain was championing the rights of the underdeveloped countries in Geneva and claiming to be in favour of self-determination and the independence of peoples. As Italy endeavoured to be considered the champion of Egypt’s political rights, the language and tone of Fascist propaganda became more aggressive: ‘Instead, . . . Mister Hoare on 9 November at the Guildhall made those pronouncements that reveal the devious meaning of the British and their intention to intervene in the internal affairs of Egypt’.66 The view echoed a speech given by the leader of the Egyptian Liberal Party, who publicly complained that the government of Tewfik Nessim was a screen used to hide British rule, and that Egypt had lost control over its internal affairs.67 However, the British authorities in Egypt were not willing to take the blame for the recent riots and for the deterioration in Anglo-Egyptian relations. Having denied that the speech of Sir Samuel Hoare of November 1935 was the main cause of public discontent, British officials emphasised 137

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domestic economic and political factors as conducive to the outbreak of the unrest: first of all, difficulties encountered by Egyptian graduates in obtaining satisfactory employment and the failure of the government to meet students’ expectations; second, the efforts of rival political parties to gain control over the students and utilise their support for sectarian purposes; and last but not least, the exploitation of the present state of social and political turmoil by Italian propaganda. The Italian government was accused of supplying arms to the rebel students and encouraging them to join Italian athletic clubs where they would receive basic military training.68 Negotiations between British and Egyptian delegations were tense and continued into the spring of 1936, with the Italians claiming that the standpoint reached by the two parties in May threatened to bring the talks to a quick and unsuccessful conclusion. If this proved to be the case, the Italian authorities were informed by reliable sources that the Wafd party leader, Nahas Pasha, was ready to resume violent action.69 Throughout the disturbances, the message of Fascist Italy was promoted not only by individual agents, sympathetic newspapers and Italian-sponsored publications. The Arabic broadcasts of Radio Bari also disseminated Italian attacks on Britain’s conduct in Egypt. Interestingly, no material concerning the history and structure of Radio Bari has yet been found. In Egypt, the vilification of British policy through the broadcasts of Radio Bari was a consequence of the long dispute over economic sanctions against Italy to be decided by the League of Nations. The Italian government and public opinion resented Britain’s attempts to influence the Egyptian government to support the measures advocated by the League of Nations. Already in September 1935, Radio Bari began to voice Italian anger and the dispute between London and Rome turned sour: ‘Besides, the League of Nations represents, for England, an instrument of power and a guide to the solidarity of the Empire’.70 During the autumn of 1935, immediately before the Egyptian government approved economic sanctions against Italy, constant attacks on British imperialistic policy and appeals to the Egyptian population to refuse to be associated with British manoeuvres constituted the core of Italian programmes. The tone of the broadcasts alternated between compassionate understanding and threats. The following two examples are taken from Radio Bari extracts and are indicative of the different and often contrasting messages sent by Italian radio propaganda. In the first, Italy – one of Egypt’s major trading partners – warned of unpleasant economic consequences if the Egyptian government decided to give in to British pressure: If Egypt allows herself to be advised by England and applies economic sanctions against Italy, Italy will do the same against Egypt and it will be Egypt and not Italy who will be the loser. The 138

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conditions of the fellah are bad enough as it is and the loss of such a good purchaser would bring ruin to Egyptian markets.71 Two days later, Italian rhetoric appealed to the emotions and resentment of the Egyptian nation. It has been argued that Italian broadcasters were not only concerned with keeping the audience informed about events in Egypt and Palestine, but also tended to ‘misinterpret the facts and accompany such “news” by blatant encouragement of anti-British violence’.72 The language used in the passage below is rather dramatic and the attack against ‘immoral’ British policy was much more violent, and so departed from past precedents. By contrast, the example of Italy, as champion of the oppressed, shines.73 Egypt, it was claimed, had been dragged into the controversy between the Italian government and the League of Nations without having received sufficient information. Egypt, it was asserted, was basically in the hands of British rulers: . . . you poor Egyptians who are dragged about like lambs by those egoists, the English, who now make a brave and brotherly nation like yourselves suffer. We shall open the eyes of all the Moslems throughout the world to this false, egotistical, cowardly and imperialistic policy, the British policy which holds more than three-quarters of the Moslem world under its thrall. We shall therefore warn all our brothers against the hostile attitude against a nation so brave and chivalrous as Italy. We shall make them respect our Fascism, our sacred religion. We will let them see how Italy defends her Moslem brothers and the interest she takes in their welfare.74 The economic implications of the sanctions already adopted by some European countries and likely also to be applied by Egypt and Palestine were at the centre of the speeches given on Radio Bari by Senator Davanzati. Anxious to demonstrate to Arab public opinion that the policy of sanctions was ineffectual and counterproductive, Senator Davanzati frequently spoke on Radio Bari during September and October 1935. He argued that financial restrictions, unlikely to be followed by all ‘civilised’ countries, would have a minimum impact on the Italian economy. Italy was in no need of money and had no intention of borrowing from overseas.75 Senator Davanzati made further claims that British policy was not only forcing Egypt and Palestine to act against their own economic interests, but would also undermine British exports of coal, as Italy was a major coal importer. Italy had already made the necessary provisions for the future needs of its internal market.76 Britain’s foreign and imperial policies were repeatedly criticised by news programmes on Radio Bari. As tension between London and Rome increased, the British government decided to assemble its fleet in the 139

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Mediterranean. It was not a decision taken lightly, as from the onset of the crisis the prospect of a conflict in the Mediterranean had involved various different considerations and aroused widespread anxiety. On the one hand, some of the British planners believed that although Italy held a strong strategic position in the Mediterranean, Britain was economically and militarily a far stronger power. They also had a low opinion of the Italian navy and were convinced that the Abyssinian war had drained Italy’s financial and military resources. However, the danger of a war with Italy lay elsewhere. First of all, a conflict in the Mediterranean could potentially result in damage to or loss of the British fleet, making it incapable of defending Far Eastern and home waters. Second, there was the possibility that a rearmed Germany and Japan would exploit British difficulties in the Mediterranean: ‘Italian hostility made a general war more likely and more dangerous’.77 On the other hand, it was reported that the Admiralty, ‘firmly in the hands of committed “easterners” ’ who believed that imperial security rested upon the mobility of the fleet and the defence of the Far Eastern harbours, considered British support for the policy of the League of Nations to be ‘an intolerable strain on the navy’s resources and unacceptable risk of war’. Fearing the outcome of hostilities in the Mediterranean and pursuing a policy of accommodation with Italy, the Admiralty eventually warned the Foreign Office against the dangers of undertaking operations in the Mediterranean.78 Indeed British naval manoeuvres exacerbated the international controversy. Radio Bari attacked the decisions taken in London, claiming that they were intended to provoke a conflict in the Mediterranean: ‘England, he [Eden] said, wants peace. How does she want peace? Not by words, because, by her acts, she shows us that she does not keep them’.79 Radio Bari broadcasts continued to insist on the bellicose intentions of the British government, thus attempting to divert general attention from the fact that Italy itself had endangered the status quo in Africa and the Mediterranean by beginning the hostilities in Abyssinia and initiating military preparations in Libya. Once again, Senator Davanzati led the Italian offensive: ‘The English want to make an Italo-Abyssinian conflict, as a curtain behind which the Anglo-Italian war is organised.’80 Britain was ‘clearly’ plotting to turn the Mediterranean into ‘a grand English lake’81 and was therefore exerting political and military pressure on the main rival power in the area. The British proposal to withdraw the fleet from the Mediterranean if Mussolini pulled Italian troops out of Abyssinia was disdainfully rejected: ‘Our Duce said that Italy does not want a European war, but she does not fear it, because Italy is prepared to stand against anybody and anywhere’.82 The aggressive contents of Radio Bari bulletins soon alarmed the British authorities in Egypt and Palestine, because the external threat posed by Italian subversive propaganda was coupled with increasing internal insta140

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bility. The success of Italian propaganda in Arabic was proudly announced by Radio Bari which also confirmed that Italy would ‘carry on more extensively in future’.83 Concerned British representatives in the Middle East called for radical measures to be adopted in London. Jamming Radio Bari broadcasts and protesting to the Italian authorities were regarded as possible solutions. Although irritated by the ‘tiresome’ Italian broadcasts, some British diplomats believed that there was no real ground for taking the matter to the Italian government.84 A moderate approach to the question was considered appropriate as the British government did not wish to antagonise Italy and further upset the delicate equilibrium in the Mediterranean. However, the search for a diplomatic solution led the British authorities to address their Italian counterparts. Complaints were consequently made in Rome by the British embassy about ‘offensive’ Bari broadcasts during September and October. London had previously been assured that Italy did not wish to jeopardise British interests in the Middle East. The line adopted by Italian radio propaganda, nevertheless, was considered an open and deliberate breach of the promises made, which, according to the British ambassador, would possibly ‘arouse ill feeling against Italy in England’.85 The Italians, however, did not prove to be very co-operative. They first offered to investigate British allegations and then denied that Radio Bari was responsible for the offensive broadcasts and the incitements to Arab rebellion, suggesting that a clandestine transmitter might be broadcasting on the same wavelength as Radio Bari.86 If British diplomatic efforts turned out to be frustrating and ineffective, jamming Radio Bari broadcasts did not ultimately prove to be a viable option. In November 1935, it was decided to consult naval and air force authorities in order to analyse the possibility of interfering with the programmes of Radio Bari in Egypt and Palestine. It appeared that, though technically possible, such an operation would contravene international regulations and in particular the Madrid convention of 1932.87 During a meeting at the Dominions Office, representatives of the Foreign Office, the Admiralty, the Air Ministry, the War Office and the Colonial Office had already evaluated the question of jamming Radio Bari. The view that prevailed, however, was opposed to the adoption of such a measure. One of the main considerations against jamming Radio Bari was ‘the vulnerability of British interests’ and the fear that Italian retaliatory attacks would harm British naval and maritime wireless transmissions.88 Furthermore, the British ambassador in Rome suggested that jamming Radio Bari broadcasts would seriously damage Anglo-Italian relations, without deterring Radio Bari from continuing its propaganda campaign: ‘it will be considered by the Italians as a great success and lead them and perhaps others to believe that we are afraid of propaganda of this nature’.89 Finally, it is worth restating that in order to respond to the abusive language adopted by Radio Bari, in January 1938 the BBC entered the field of foreign 141

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language broadcasting. However, as early as 1935, the Foreign Office had begun to explore the possibility of engaging in counter-propaganda activities which would hopefully contain the effects of Italian broadcasts in the Arab world.90 If Italian activities in Egypt continued undisturbed until 1937, when the Gentlemen’s Agreement between Rome and London softened the tone and intensity of Fascist propaganda, the British government proved to be somewhat slow in co-ordinating its cultural and information policies to mend the broken relations with its Egyptian counterpart and with the leadership of the nationalist movement. Towards the end of 1937, the British Council finally began considering expanding the range and scope of its activities in Egypt, with an increased commitment on improving existing schools and the educational programme. However, two main pitfalls were already evident in the planning of the Council: first of all, the much-needed increase in expenditure is not what it seems at first glance. British officials claimed that expenditure for the financial year 1937–38 amounted to £16,300; in the budget forecast for the following year, the Council planned to spend around £16,800 – subject to ‘amendments and additions’ – which gives a marginal increase of £500, to which further expenditure in connection with the extension of British schools in Egypt may be added. However, in the year 1938–39, an existing grant of £3,000 for the English school in Cairo was to be transferred from the Treasury into the British Council budget, while £500 that had not been spent in the previous year was carried into the new budget.91 Indeed, it looks as if instead of extending its financial commitments, the British Council was reducing them by £3,500. Furthermore, plans for the expansion of the network of British schools looks like aiming at the wrong target. Instead of attracting Egyptian boys into the British educational system, and thus helping to forge a new educated class of young Egyptians who would understand, appreciate and share British culture and values, British schools in Egypt deliberately excluded Egyptian children from schools ‘intended for the children of British subjects’, with the exception of Jewish and Syrian pupils.92 This policy of exclusion, however, stands in clear contrast with the remit of the competing Italian schools in Egypt which, as well as providing education for the children of the various Italian communities, actively promoted their work among the local people and sought to enrol Egyptian children even from the poorest neighbourhoods. Therefore, although the British Council had been active worldwide since 1934, its officials seem to have failed to grasp the potential offered by cultural propaganda in Egypt as an instrument to further the relations not only between the governments in London and Cairo, but also between the British and Egyptian peoples, eventually creating an environment where mutual understanding and respect would be conducive to increased trading and closer diplomatic co-operation. As hostilities broke out in Europe, the British government began taking 142

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the initiative in the war of words, strengthening the existing propaganda and intelligence machines and supporting the initiatives of well-meaning individuals. In 1940, for example, the British explorer Freya Stark, a convert to the achievements of propaganda – or ‘persuasion’ as she preferred to call it to remove the ‘strong twist of deceit’ – set up a network of cells and committees, the Brothers and Sisters of Freedom, to organise and co-ordinate pro-British activities throughout Egypt, and especially in major cities like Alexandria and Cairo.93

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Part IV

DEFENDING THE EMPIRE British imperial propaganda and counter-intelligence, 1936–1940

10 THE WAR OF WORDS British cultural diplomacy and counterpropaganda in the Middle East

The reformulation of the British approach to propaganda and the implementation of a better-integrated system of intelligence and counter-intelligence were lengthy and laborious processes. In 1934, as Radio Bari began its vehement anti-British broadcasts in Arabic, British officials in the metropole were still debating about the moral and ultimately financial justification for promoting Britain’s interests overseas through cultural initiatives and political propaganda, which had by then fallen into disfavour among the British public and politicians. Despite the numerous changes brought about by the intensification of the aggressive campaign organised by the Italian government, and by the worsening of Britain’s relations with Arab nationalist leaders, the steps taken in London seemed insufficient to counter the Axis offensive and to restore Britain’s tattered prestige in the Middle East. As late as 1939 the inefficiency of the secret services – unable to provide the necessary information concerning the Mediterranean region – and the lack of a concerted strategy to back British counter-propaganda were severely criticised.1 The complex and cumbersome nature of the British propaganda machine was still considered detrimental to the success of British efforts against the well-orchestrated Italian campaign. If lack of co-ordination between governmental departments and the centre had hindered progress in London, scant communication with local authorities and the population had grounded the take-off of British propaganda in Palestine. The implementation of a comprehensive policy devised to safeguard British interests in the Near East had become a crucial issue. The measures until then adopted by the British government, especially in relation to propaganda, appeared unsatisfactory to those assessing political and strategic developments in the region: ‘The BBC Arabic Broadcasts are still an isolated effort which needs to be co-ordinated with other propaganda measures and the arrangements to do this are ad hoc instead of being permanent and defined in both London and the Middle East’.2 On the eve of the Second World War, therefore, despite military rearmament and the reorganisation of the structures responsible for overseas propaganda and intelligence, Britain was still considered unprepared 147

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to meet the challenge of Axis subversive activities in the Mediterranean and the Levant. Nevertheless, renewed British efforts in the region were regarded with great concern and disappointment by the Italian authorities who were hoping to maintain the monopoly of cultural propaganda and radio broadcasts in the region. This chapter will focus on structural changes and political developments affecting the growth of Britain’s propaganda machine during the interwar years. The interdependence of the work of information and propaganda units and secret services was regarded as critical within a broader strategy intended to offset the negative impact of anti-British propaganda in the Middle East. The India Office, endorsing new proposals to improve the effectiveness of existing structures, emphasised the importance of a synergetic approach: ‘We assume that propaganda and intelligence, though they are different jobs and in the main are best entrusted to different personnel, will not be left entirely in water-tight compartments’.3 How Britain intended to counter the war of words initiated by the Italians in the Middle East will be the centre of this discussion, which will analyse the attitude of the British government towards the employment of propaganda as an effective instrument of peacetime diplomacy as well as persuasive means to reach those sections of domestic public opinion opposed to any imperial commitment. It should be remembered that the period immediately after the end of the First World War saw the decline of British official propaganda activities, at a time when the Treasury was reluctant to commit public money and British public opinion was increasingly wary about the moral implications of the use of propaganda. The long-awaited reappraisal of overseas propaganda began in the mid-1930s through the creation of new institutions such as the British Council and the strengthening of existing ones like the BBC, in order to compete with the growing pressure brought by Italian and German activities in the Middle East. Above all, there will be an attempt to answer more general questions related to the perception of European colonial rivalry in the Middle East. The central question here is whether the British response to Mussolini’s imperialist ambitions achieved its intended objectives; or whether contempt for the nature of Italian subversive efforts and structural problems within the British propaganda machine and intelligence community seriously undermined Britain’s defence against Axis subversion in the Middle East. Ultimately, it is worth asking whether policy-makers in London did offer a corrective perspective on the ephemeral character of the Italian phenomenon in the Middle East, where intellectual awareness and political militancy had contributed to transform the Arab nationalist movement into the only formidable long-term opponent. If the nature of the challenge facing Britain’s strategic and economic interests in the Middle East was not immediately grasped by Foreign and 148

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Colonial Office civil servants in London, the perception of British diplomats working in the region was far more realistic. Some of them, following the end of three years of upheaval in Palestine, called for a more vigorous propaganda offensive and the decentralisation of the British propaganda machine, with the establishment of a co-ordination bureau in Haifa. This was the result of increasing scepticism towards the effectiveness of the methods employed to ‘project’ Britain’s military, security and trade interests overseas. In particular, the work of the BBC and its foreign language broadcasts came under scrutiny. On the eve of the Second World War, audiences in the Middle East seemed largely unimpressed by news and views that came from as far away as the British Isles and had, apparently, very little impact on their daily lives. The aloofness of British broadcasts, despite the various correctives introduced to make them more appealing to local audiences, would, critics believed, play into the hands of Britain’s political opponents: not the propagandists of Radio Bari or officials of the Germany Foreign Ministry, but the more extreme fringes of the Arab nationalist movement.4 And it was not only the diplomats in Palestine who were asking the authorities in the metropole to recognise the importance of the region by allowing the creation of a centre for co-ordination and implementation of propaganda activities at local level. The military, and the army in particular, seemed keen to run British propaganda with the co-operation of the press department of the Palestine government and promote the creation of a separate wireless station and newspaper. All negotiations, some remarked uncomfortably, appeared to be conducted behind the back of the High Commissioner and ‘under the cover of the military intelligence cloak’. However, the army itself was not regarded as having the necessary knowledge and understanding of the practice of propaganda, or an accurate insight into political developments in the region. If the formulation of a concerted propaganda strategy specifically targeting the Middle East was becoming essential to offset hostile competition from within and outside the area, the interference of the armed forces into non-military matters made some consular officials ‘cry out with horror at the alarming turn this gestation has taken. If the child grows up as it has begun, it will become a dangerous monster’.5 Eventually, both civil and military authorities were involved in preparation work for the co-ordination of propaganda activities throughout the Middle East. Several strategic reviews of British propaganda in the Middle East were carried out throughout 1939. Some, at the Foreign Office, suggested that the Middle Eastern Section of the Foreign Publicity Department should be strengthened and staffed with British personnel and foreign propaganda officers, who would be responsible for activities in crucial and sensitive areas such as Egypt, Syria, Palestine and Aden, where Italian intrigues were intensifying, but also in Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Yemen and the Persian 149

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Gulf: all this, at a cost of approximately £5,000 for the first twelve months.6 After much speculation, it was decided to approach the restructuring of British propaganda in the Middle East by creating a central bureau in London, the aforementioned Middle Eastern Section of the Foreign Publicity Department (FO), which would be tasked with dealing with ‘wordy propaganda’ only.7 The Middle Eastern Section would coordinate its work with that of the British Council and of news broadcasting agencies as well as regional consular offices and would also be linked through various government departments to the cabinet. This later review of British propaganda strategy also acknowledged that the most insidious and venomous of anti-British groupings in Arab countries, which the new organisation would be asked to counteract, was the National Arab Bureau in Damascus, whose activities were worrying not only because of the support the bureau received from ‘disgruntled Arab politicians’, but also because ‘it may prove a dangerous instrument should it fall under the influence of a power hostile to Great Britain’.8 Marshal Graziani, who has ruled Libya, has sentenced to death 8,000 Libyan Muslims. Marshal De Bono has clearly stated that those populations who have been conquered by force should be treated with no mercy. This is what two prominent Italian Fascists have done and claimed . . . Italy is ruthlessly and shamelessly stealing the land of the Libyan Muslims.9 Towards the end of spring 1939, the Italian government complained vehemently about an increase in anti-Italian propaganda in the Middle East. The Italians emphasised that this wave of hostile activities masterminded by the British authorities in the region blatantly contravened the spirit and clauses of the 1938 Mediterranean Agreement that had called for a cessation of British and Italian propaganda in the Middle East. Furthermore, the Italian Foreign Minister, Count Ciano, remarked that British representatives in the Middle East, and especially in Iraq and Egypt, were exerting undue pressure on local governments. This, according to Ciano, resulted in mounting hostility from governing institutions in Iraq and Egypt towards Italy and Italian interests, and led to the adoption of ‘unjustified measures against Italian nationals’.10 The new and more resolute strategy adopted by the British authorities to contain the diffusion and negative impact of hostile propaganda in the Levant had produced some convincing results. In 1940 the Turkish government, supported by its British counterpart, banned the publication of news and newspapers that could contradict or undermine the country’s official position in relation to the European conflict. The Italian-inspired Beyoglu and the German Turkische Post were among the first newspapers suspended, while the Italian authorities lamented that ‘the Turkish press as a whole, already 150

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subservient to the democratic powers, has been reduced to a mere instrument of British propaganda’.11 By 1939, the British government had come a long way since the early days after the Great War when the word ‘propaganda’ had been expunged from the peacetime political dictionary and the successful propaganda machine had been dismantled on moral grounds. By the second half of the 1930s, the proliferation of Axis – and in particular Italian – activities in the Middle East had prompted British policy-makers to reassess their political priorities and ethical preconceptions. Through its media corporation, the BBC, the British government joined its external competitors attempting to project and ultimately ‘sell’ its image to a large overseas audience. In 1937 the BBC was asked to set up a broadcasting service in Arabic and, at the same time, to begin broadcasting in Spanish and Portuguese to Latin American countries. This was considered to be an adequate response after years of rampant Italian propaganda in the Levant. Within the BBC, however, there was a strong feeling that the Latin American service had come ‘into existence as a sort of curtain to avoid giving Mussolini the impression that we were being too forthright in dealing with Italian broadcasting in Arabic from Radio Bari’.12 Britain re-entered the field of propaganda after a long interlude. In postFirst World War Britain the maintenance of the successful propaganda machine set up during the conflict seemed inconceivable. Propaganda that had undoubtedly contributed to Britain’s victory came to be regarded as an unsuitable and morally unacceptable instrument for peacetime politics and diplomacy. In order to understand the reappraisal and resurgence of propaganda activities sponsored by the British government in response to Italian subversive undertakings and verbal warfare in the Middle East, it is important to outline changes in British official attitudes towards propaganda, from the early successes during the First World War to the ‘psychological rearmament’ preceding the Second World War. This shift in attitudes and perceptions prompted the creation of cultural institutions such as the British Council, and boosted and expanded Britain’s information and broadcasting structures. This helped to improve the projection of Britain overseas and to contain the spread of extremist and anti-democratic ideas through Italian and German channels in areas administered by the British crown. However, though aimed at promoting a positive interaction between Britain and its overseas partners and subjects, propaganda was not a substitute for adequate social and political measures. Relations between Britain, on the one hand, and Arab nationalist movements and Middle Eastern governments, on the other, had been strained by twenty years of diplomatic misunderstandings, unfulfilled promises, unwillingness to compromise, growing resentment and distrust. Britain’s damaged relationship with the Arab world could not be mended simply through aggressive propaganda and displays of international goodwill. 151

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At the outbreak of the First World War, Britain’s official engagement in overseas propaganda was a direct response to anti-British activities organised by hostile countries. Similar circumstances prompted the British authorities to re-enter the field of propaganda in the 1930s. In 1914, the beginning of the hostilities caught the British government unprepared to devise and implement mechanisms to control domestic civil society and to influence foreign public opinion. Furthermore, plans for concerted action were formulated by the disparate governmental departments in an atmosphere of uncertainty and confusion. The need to counter Germany’s aggressive campaign aimed at discrediting the policy of the Allies was the real driving force behind the organisation of a governmental structure responsible for wartime propaganda. Three bodies were initially created: a propaganda bureau at Wellington House, the Neutral Press Committee, and the Foreign Office News Department. For the following two years until the first ‘rationalisation’ of the disparate elements of the propaganda machine, Wellington House was the centre that co-ordinated propaganda activities and comprised a series of ‘national’ sections dealing with individual countries or geographical areas. British propagandists at Wellington House soon launched large-scale production of literary and pictorial material, including pamphlets, books and periodicals, photographs and picture postcards. The head of the Propaganda Bureau, C. F. G. Masterman, recruited some of Britain’s best-known writers to help to galvanise domestic public opinion in support of the war effort and to promote the Allied cause in neutral countries, in particular the United States.13 Inter-departmental rivalries and disagreements over the conduct of a persuasive propaganda campaign marked the central years of the First World War. The Foreign Office attitude towards propaganda – its emphasis on facts and the value of accurate news rather than on the way in which information was conveyed – was regarded with scepticism by War Office officials. The Foreign Office approach to war propaganda was considered insufficient to counter Germany’s verbal offensive; the War Office recommended the creation of a separate department that would be responsible for all governmental propaganda. Lack of co-ordination between departments was the key issue during talks concerning the reorganisation of the so far scarcely effective propaganda machine. A series of unsatisfactory attempts to improve the structure responsible for British domestic and external propaganda culminated in 1917 with the establishment of the Department of Information, which in 1918 became the Ministry of Information.14 The Department of Information was divided into four sections: the art and literary, based at Wellington House; press and cinema, which included a division in charge of the compilation and transmission of official cable and wireless messages; an intelligence branch responsible for supplying news and information; and finally an administrative section looking after financial matters and acting as liaison with other 152

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governmental departments. However, despite the attempted rationalisation of the existing propaganda machine, which now appeared as a more unified structure, the radical changes advocated in many quarters were not realised. Furthermore, there was growing concern over the defensive nature of British propaganda and the scant attention paid to the home front as well as to propaganda in enemy countries. The new Ministry of Information and the Enemy Propaganda Department at Crewe House were born out of criticism of Foreign Office-controlled wartime propaganda, as well as more determined efforts to improve the structure already in place.15 Nevertheless, the bitter interdepartmental squabbling and administrative disputes that had characterised the life and activity of the Ministry of Information’s predecessors did not cease. Organised around three main divisions – foreign propaganda, propaganda in military zones (under the main supervision of the War Office) and home propaganda – and a number of sub-units, the new Ministry strove to establish its position independently from other, and more senior, governmental departments. Relations with the Foreign Office and the War Office, in particular, remained rather frustrating, the former determined to retain control over political issues affecting overseas propaganda, the latter claiming responsibility for propaganda dealing with military affairs. Notwithstanding the complexity of the events that had marked the creation of the British wartime propaganda machine, the latest attempts to ameliorate the structures devised at the beginning of the conflict appeared to be successful enough for the use of propaganda in any future conflict to be guaranteed. The period following the end of the hostilities saw the rapid demise of the British propaganda machine which was deemed too closely associated with violent political means, falsehood and subversion. The resurgence of propaganda in contemporary totalitarian states as an instrument of political practice did not improve the perception of propaganda among British politicians and public opinion. However, a few voices rose to highlight the political advantages and economic benefits brought by propaganda overseas. In the aftermath of the Great War, some of those who had been directly involved in launching the British propaganda offensive still believed that the propaganda machine, though subjected to considerable modifications, could play a significant role in maintaining British international prestige even during more peaceful times. However, not all departments seemed to agree over the future of the propaganda organisation. The Treasury found it increasingly problematic and inconvenient to justify in parliament any expenditure that would help to preserve and enlarge the structure already in place. Considerations of a moral as well as a financial nature were instrumental in redefining the British official approach to propaganda: ‘All propaganda irrespective of the form it took, or the difference between its political, cultural or, to a lesser degree, 153

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economic variations, was viewed with distaste as an “un-English” wartime expedient associated with secrecy, subversion, and the activities of unscrupulous governments’.16 Although the contribution of the British propaganda machine to the Allied victory could not be measured, there was general consensus about its advantageous effects in the event of future wars.17 Conversely, propaganda was not widely regarded as a suitable or acceptable instrument of peacetime domestic and foreign policy. In these circumstances it was considered advisable to discontinue and eventually abandon altogether the wartime propaganda organisation. As the Ministry of Information officially ceased to exist in December 1918, the remnants of its duties were transferred to the Foreign Office, where some officials were urging the government to maintain a nucleus of the old structure, which would facilitate the furtherance of British culture and institutions abroad.18 Foreign Office attempts to revive, albeit on a smaller scale, political and cultural propaganda in the international arena were met with scepticism by the Treasury, which was reluctant to commit its finances to such an unpopular activity. Though averse to following the line of propaganda suggested by the Foreign Office, the Treasury seemed willing to lend its support to sponsoring commercial propaganda, which would be broadly co-ordinated through the Department of Overseas Trade. It was generally regarded as ‘more acceptable to undertake . . . an advertising campaign on behalf of British trade and commerce than an uncharacteristic form of national selfglorification’.19 However, as Britain’s European rivals intensified their propaganda activities, the prevailing wisdom at the Foreign Office was that the promotion of commercial together with cultural initiatives would be on the whole more beneficial. Cultural propaganda remained a forbidden word and unacceptable practice until the mid-1930s. By then Italy, Germany, France and the Soviet Union had learnt from the British wartime experience and built their own propaganda organisations intended to engineer control of domestic opinion and to favourably influence international audiences. Furthermore, it was acknowledged that the increasingly hostile propaganda conducted by totalitarian regimes, together with Britain’s failure to project a positive image overseas, were jeopardising British political and economic interests. In December 1934 the British Committee (subsequently renamed Council) for Relations with Overseas Countries was established. It would seek to generate opportunities to promote the English language and British culture overseas, helping to create an international environment where mutual understanding and respect would be conducive to better political and commercial relations. The budget initially allocated to support the activity of the British Council was rather limited. However, the need for a better co-ordinated programme enabling Britain to develop productive cultural relations with foreign countries prompted private investors and gov154

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ernmental agencies to intervene and provide financial backing for the work undertaken by the British Council.20 The British Council turned its attention first to Scandinavia and Latin America, where Italian and German propaganda had taken a violent antiBritish tone. But it was in the Mediterranean and the Middle East that British prestige and interests were suffering a major setback. The intense campaign launched by the Italian government through broadcasts in Arabic from Radio Bari and various other activities promoted by Italian representatives in the region was a repeated source of concern in London. Furthermore, the emergence of a rooted militant nationalist movement throughout the Arab world, and its possible affiliation with European revisionist powers, were perceived as signs that ‘Britain had somehow neglected her moral and intellectual responsibilities in the Empire’.21 Britain was asked to pull together all its resources to compete with foreign propaganda and win back the trust of the Middle Eastern leaderships and populations. In the mid-1930s the intensification of Axis radio propaganda contributed to highlight the inadequacy of Britain’s response to its competitors’ activities. This was particularly true in the Middle East, where vehement Italian broadcasts had revealed divergences between British departments as to the most effective way to counter the Italian campaign and to restore Britain’s prestige in the Arab world. France, Germany and Italy, soon to be joined by the United States and the Soviet Union, had devoted resources to develop short-wave broadcasting destined for an international audience.22 By 1935, though still reluctant to commit itself to propaganda in the Middle East, Germany was, by several accounts, testing the internal cohesion of the British empire.23 It appears that the German authorities had sent questionnaires to listeners in the colonies and dominions to obtain reliable feedback on the quality of reception and choice of programmes.24 Despite financial difficulties, the time had come for the British government to expand the scope of its broadcasting services, and in particular of the BBC Empire Service which had been established in 1932, to connect the various corners of the empire with the metropole. Responding to calls for more participation from colonies and dominions, technical improvements were introduced to the old broadcasting system and, for the purpose of transmissions, the empire was divided into five regions: Australia, India, South Africa, West Africa and Canada. However, the competition from hostile broadcasting which addressed regional audiences in their own language increased the fear that the unity of the empire was threatened not by internal forces striving to achieve self-determination, but by the plots and machinations of rival powers.25 Furthermore, by the mid-1930s some British colonies had already developed local forms of broadcasting. The British government set up a committee to investigate measures to 155

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co-ordinate broadcasting services from the colonies with the work of the BBC. In 1936 the committee advised that the Empire Service was insufficient to meet the needs of its overseas audience and that ‘colonial broadcasting services should provide a means for education and enlightenment in addition to providing entertainment’.26 The British broadcasting service was required to devise and implement new strategies to improve communications between Britain and its colonies and mandates. Following the Abyssinian crisis, it was generally believed that the increasing popularity of Arabic broadcasts from Radio Bari could be countered mainly by introducing foreign language services, which would abstain from using propaganda material and instead would provide the audience with straightforward information and news. The BBC and the governmental departments supporting the creation of foreign language broadcasts were still reluctant to retaliate by resorting to propaganda, and preferred to rely on the persuasive power of bare and selfevident facts. The BBC Arabic Service, together with programmes in Spanish and Portuguese intended for Latin American listeners, began in 1938 and predated the expansion of the existing Overseas and Empire Services, including the German programme. It has been emphasised that, unlike Radio Bari, the Arabic service targeted not ordinary listeners gathering in street cafés, but the intellectual and political elites, that executive class in whose hands lay the destiny of so many nations of the empire.27 The BBC had already gained a fairly comprehensive knowledge of the contents and format of Italian broadcasts in the Middle East. During the Abyssinian conflict the BBC, with the help of the Foreign Office, had begun monitoring English news bulletins from foreign stations. This service was soon to be extended to Arabic broadcasts from Radio Bari, providing the British authorities with reliable information as to the strengths and weaknesses of Italian radio propaganda. (Extracts from Italian transmissions are held at the Public Record Office, and have been employed extensively in this study.) The BBC had also broadly identified its key audience and was well aware that its new Arabic service was regarded as a political response to Italian broadcasts. Arab listeners seemed, therefore, convinced that, despite claims that BBC bulletins would relate the truth in a ‘bold and factual way’, British broadcasters would eventually resort to more propagandist transmissions.28 However, a year after the creation of the Arabic Service, the Foreign Office clearly restated Britain’s commitment to abstain from ‘directly subversive malicious propaganda against Germany and Italy’, and to employ only ‘truthful “antidote” material’ in response to Axis verbal hostilities.29 The intensification of German and Italian activities in the Middle East also called attention to the inadequacy of British counter-propaganda and counter-intelligence plans. The BBC Arabic broadcasts, the pinnacle of British propaganda in the region, were initially regarded by local listeners 156

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as unsatisfactory and scarcely appealing. They aimed at a restricted intellectual circle, leaving out a large sector of the Arab audience which was unable to fully appreciate the significance of some news bulletins, and even to follow most British broadcasts, as they coincided with the time for prayers.30 However, not only specific propaganda activities but the whole structure supporting Britain’s propaganda strategy in the Middle East had come under increasing criticism. The lack of a central co-ordinating authority was strongly emphasised. It was suggested that British propaganda would benefit from the creation of a centralised machine in London – possibly as an extension of the News Department of the Foreign Office – together with local propaganda units in the Near East, where staff would be appointed by both the Foreign Office and the Colonial Office.31 Therefore, control over the policy of propaganda would be brought back to the centre, while making ample provision for initiatives which would take into account local cultural and social differences. But how was the new BBC foreign language service perceived by the Italians? Like the British, the Italian authorities were intercepting and monitoring most broadcasts from foreign radio stations.32 They found that the anti-Italian tone of British broadcasts had escalated in the aftermath of Italy’s invasion of Albania.33 The Italian government also relied on German co-operation to record the manner and content of British radio transmissions. Following the events in Albania, Rome and Berlin observed that British broadcasters and propagandists could not miss the opportunity to underline the negative impact that Italian policy in the Balkans would have on Italy’s relations with the Muslim world.34 The Italians found that information released by the BBC through its daily programmes and concerning the totalitarian regimes – in particular Italy and Germany – was ‘incomplete’ and ‘biased’. Italian representatives in London complained to the Foreign Office about the hostile nature of British broadcasts which blatantly challenged the spirit of detente that had marked the development of Anglo-Italian relations following the Mediterranean Agreement.35 By contrast, the Italians observed that among European totalitarian states, the Soviet Union appeared relatively immune from criticism by BBC broadcasts. The Italian authorities strongly criticised the BBC portrayal of Stalinist Russia which, they claimed, because of its bias, had raised concern even within British conservative circles. Rome’s representatives in Britain regarded the programme as a ‘glorification of the Bolshevik revolution and a justification for the activities and massacres of Stalin and his collaborators’, and questioned the BBC’s ‘odd tolerance and indulgence towards anything that comes from the Soviet Union’.36 Britain’s belated propaganda offensive caught the Italians by surprise and generated a wave of indignation in the corridors of the Italian Foreign Ministry and Ministry of Popular Culture. The British government reentered the realm of propaganda after a long absence when post-First 157

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World War moral restrictions and financial imperatives banned the use of propaganda as an instrument of diplomatic and political pressure. The ongoing Italian campaign in the Middle East, though attenuated by the undertakings of the Mediterranean Agreement, prompted policy-makers in London to reassess Britain’s communications strategy and relations with governments and political movements in the Arab world. In the mid1930s, as relations between European powers grew increasingly strained, calls to project a stronger and more persuasive image of Britain abroad intensified. The promotion of international understanding and multilateral relations between Britain and the rest of the world had gathered momentum following the creation of the British Council. With the establishment of broadcasting services in foreign languages, Britain actively engaged its European competitors in a war of words which, as hostilities broke out, became an integral part of the grand strategy of the war. The Italians were left to monitor the developments and progress of the British propaganda machine and its role within the dynamics of the conflict. In March 1941, the BBC Director General Frederick Ogilvie confidently claimed that ‘[this] was the first war by radio, the first war where radio broadcasts played a significant role. Propaganda has become the fourth weapon, the radio a new instrument of technological warfare which has profoundly affected military operations’.37 The Italians would soon complain that ‘insidious British propaganda’ not only aimed to recruit sympathisers overseas, but was mainly intended to undermine the morale of Italian troops and to emphasise the degree of support Britain still enjoyed in Italy where the British services had succeeded in creating an efficient network of collaborators and informers.38 In the 1930s, Britain’s effective response to the challenge of the Axis powers in the Middle East was hindered by the ineffectual structure of its propaganda and counter-intelligence organisations. By the end of 1940, the ineffectiveness of Britain’s defensive measures was all the more manifest, and improving the existing strategy became a matter of urgency. Fragmentation and inter-departmental rivalry within the British foreign policy-making machinery also meant that the Foreign Office, the Colonial Office and the India Office could not agree on a common positive plan for the future of the empire. The propaganda machine, which had failed to adopt a more ‘offensive’ line, was regarded as ‘inadequate’ while ‘co-ordination and guidance from London are almost non-existent and money is woefully insufficient’.39 Furthermore, inadequate communication between civil and military authorities had obstructed the flow of British intelligence and propaganda material throughout the Middle East.

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11 MONITORING THE ENEMY British intelligence and counter-intelligence services in the interwar years

The structure of the British intelligence and counter-intelligence systems is the second element defining Britain’s response to the apparent shift in allegiance that was endangering the already precarious relations between London and the leadership of the Arab world. In the 1930s, the fragmented structure of Britain’s embryonic counter-espionage service, its inadequate funding and lack of direction hindered Britain’s efforts to obtain reliable intelligence about Axis activities, plans and capability. The imperial security system relied on devolved intelligence structures; here priority was given to monitoring nationalist leaders, political agitators and suspected communists, while little attempt was made to investigate the insidious undertakings of hostile powers such as Germany, Italy and Japan. The need for a centralised structure that would co-ordinate the various British intelligence agencies was strongly felt in the Middle East. As tension in Europe increased and the Axis powers grew more involved in the Near East, British governmental departments called for an integrated approach to Middle Eastern security, which would include not only more comprehensive intelligence investigations but also a more efficient counterpropaganda machine. On the eve of the Second World War, the British intelligence service, which had played a substantial role in Britain’s diplomatic and naval efforts during the previous conflict, was by many accounts fragmented and incapable of providing reliable information on internal forces or external threats that could endanger the security of the empire. The Secret Service Bureau came into existence in 1909, and within a year a division of labour was established by which the Home Section of the Bureau (the future MIS) would be in charge of controlling activities within the United Kingdom, while the Foreign Section (later known as SIS or MI6) would take responsibility for the collection of intelligence abroad. In the immediate aftermath of the First World War, fear of civil unrest in Britain and Ireland, as well as disquiet at the prospect of infiltration by destabilising Bolshevik elements, prompted the British government to recommend the establishment of a secret service directorate for civil 159

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investigations. It was the beginning of a period of confusion that characterised the interwar era, when overlapping responsibilities of different departments did nothing but undermine the efficiency and accuracy of the intelligence system. Some historians also claim that after the Great War, with the defeat of the common enemy, Germany, the British secret services suffered a serious decline in image. The removal of the German threat seemed to have undermined the justification for the existence of intelligence and counter-intelligence structures as developed during the conflict. Furthermore, the return to peacetime political dynamics had reignited ‘people’s prejudices against “political policing” ’, which had generally been suspended during the war.1 One cannot avoid drawing comparisons with the contemporary demise of the British wartime propaganda machine, which in postwar Britain had become a source of embarrassment for increasingly morally conscious governments and a public opinion eager to divest British politics of ethically ambiguous elements. However, during its brief existence between 1919 and 1921, the directorate supervised activities that would often compete with investigations conducted by the Special Branch of the Metropolitan Police, at that time in charge of monitoring subversive groups, as well as pacifist and labour organisations. Towards the end of the 1920s and during the early 1930s, friction between competing departments continued and increased. SIS was still responsible for collecting intelligence from foreign countries, but its duties extended to cover intelligence about suspect persons and subversive political movements; MI5 dealt with the detection of espionage and subversion against the armed forces, and the Special Branch looked after investigations into subversive activities organised by civilians and directed against civilian targets. The need for a reorganisation of the entire structure was strongly felt. In 1931, as a first step towards better co-ordination of the services and centralisation of the system of information, MI5 undertook civilian duties, eventually inheriting civilian staff from the Special Branch. The process of reorganisation resulted in MI5 becoming an inter-departmental and imperial intelligence service, responsible for the safety and security of Britain and the empire, and accountable directly to the Home Secretary. Unfortunately, due to the nature of its institutional interaction with other departments – such as the Home Office, the Foreign, Dominion and Colonial Offices, the Committee of Imperial Defence and the Police – MI5 was often placed in an anomalous position, receiving conflicting requests and directives. Attempts to improve the efficiency of the intelligence community did not, at this stage, involve a redefinition of the duties of SIS, which primarily rested on providing intelligence and counter-espionage outside the three-mile limit of the empire. However, the line that defined the responsibilities of SIS and MI5 was still rather blurred, with MI5 heavily depending on SIS intelligence in performing its security duties within the 160

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empire. Ultimately, it has been emphasised that ‘the division of labour between the two [services] was geographical and not functional’.2 Despite being among the primary responsibilities of the secret services, counter-espionage efforts did not appear to be a high priority until the outbreak of the Second World War. The SIS section responsible for counterintelligence consisted of only two officers who devoted their time and resources to studying and monitoring the policy of the Soviet Union and of the Soviet-controlled Comintern, displaying almost negligible interest in foreign and non-communist subversion against the United Kingdom. In particular, the activities of the Axis powers remained for a long time so little explored that in 1937 SIS acknowledged with concern that the plans and capabilities of the German, Italian and Japanese intelligence services were almost unknown. MI5 and SIS officials seemed to blame the inadequacy of their information sources for the scarcity of their evidence, and in the second half of the 1930s remarkable gaps in the knowledge of the military activities of foreign powers began to emerge. It has been observed that Britain, whether because of the paucity of collected intelligence or inadequate assessment of acquired information, was not fully aware of the speed and scale of German rearmament, and did not possess detailed information about the Italian invasion of Abyssinia in 1935 or the German reoccupation of the Rhineland in 1936 and annexation of Austria two years later.3 But the failure of British intelligence in detecting and warning against a possible German aggression in Europe can be explained, according to the predominant school of interpretation, by the peculiar set of circumstances in which the British intelligence system operated. British assessments of Germany during the first years of the Nazi regime were affected not only by shortages of information – and shortage of funds as far as SIS was concerned – but also by difficulties in predicting the evolution of the military planning and diplomatic policy of the newly formed Third Reich. Although as early as 1933 the German armed forces still apparently complied with the restrictions imposed by the Versailles Treaty, clandestine rearmament had already begun during the Weimar Republic. Hitler, whose ambitions did not take long to manifest themselves, was likely to speed up the rearmament programme; in the mid- and late 1930s, however, Britain’s military and intelligence departments were still incapable of providing a reliable independent estimate of Germany’s rearmament progress.4 Britain was able to foresee the imminent crisis, but was nevertheless caught unprepared to face it. The problem confronting the intelligence community was ‘not just how to predict future German military expansion, but how to extrapolate future German power from the conditions of a state held temporarily and artificially powerless’.5 A report completed in 1934 by the Defence Requirements Committee – a committee consisting of the three chiefs of staff as well as senior officials from the Foreign Office, the 161

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Cabinet and the Treasury, meeting to tackle questions related to British defence and strategic policy – warned the British government against the long-term dangers of Germany’s aggressive foreign policy. However, the decisions subsequently made by British policy-makers and informed by intelligence predictions proved insufficient to prepare Britain militarily and politically for the impending crisis. Furthermore, towards the end of the 1930s, after having recognised the importance of the information fed by SIS into the delicate process of foreign policy-making, Whitehall appeared increasingly unable to distinguish good from unreliable intelligence and to interpret the information received. At the high levels of the government and the Foreign Office, the limited flow of SIS intelligence was often subject to misinterpretation and misjudgements, thus leading to a series of frustrating results: ‘because of the lack of any adequate system of assessment, the main influence of secret intelligence on British foreign policy during the final year of peace was to sow confusion’.6 In the run-up to the outbreak of hostilities in Europe Britain’s intelligence activities in some of the most strategically placed neutral countries were just as poorly planned. Financial constraints and reluctance to revise previous assessments kept Switzerland virtually outside the main British intelligence network. Despite Switzerland’s geographical position, which enhanced its potential as a unique political and financial observatory over Central Europe, Britain’s interest in developing regular contacts with the Swiss intelligence service was until the summer of 1940 rather feeble and produced patchy results. SIS had no officers stationed in Switzerland, while military and air intelligence had to rely on the services of attaché staff from the embassies in Rome and Paris. Despite sporadic attempts to create a valuable information network enlisting the co-operation of Swiss army and intelligence officers as well as international businessmen and bureaucrats, the intelligence community in London was on the whole slow in recognising the importance of closer relations with its Swiss counterpart. After September 1939 fear of compromising Swiss neutrality played an important role in hesitant British approaches to intelligence procurement from Switzerland. It was with the rapid fall of the Netherlands, Belgium and France that Switzerland acquired a new stature in the eyes of intelligence officers and politicians in London now anxious to prevent their ‘ideal window into Hitler’s Europe’ from falling into the Axis orbit.7 By the end of summer 1940 Britain had belatedly opted to commit human and financial resources to the creation of a more permanent network that would soon extend its activities outside Switzerland to secure channels of communication with agents in Germany, Italy and France. If SIS had been unable to gather significant intelligence material and substantial positive evidence of espionage from overseas capitals, MI5 was still struggling to obtain information on possible German and Italian activities on British soil. MI5 briefings maintained that the secret services of the 162

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European Axis powers enjoyed a position of privilege, inasmuch as they could rely not only on professional spy organisations – of which little was known in London – but also on party organisations that had been instituted for Italian and German nationals living in the United Kingdom.8 The Ausland Organisation, a branch of the National Sozialistische Deutsche Arbeiter Partei, and the Fascio, organised by the Direttore Generale degli Italiani all’Estero, were regarded with suspicion as instruments for espionage and sabotage in the hands of foreign governments. In the 1930s, Italian and German party organisations were used to disseminate propaganda among their own nationals who had acquired British citizenship; nevertheless, it is fair to assume that, due to the large percentage of German political refugees, a significant proportion of the German community in the United Kingdom remained faithful to British institutions. Moreover, as we now know, despite the brittle nature of Axis strategic co-operation, their secret services worked together quite efficiently not only against Britain in Europe, but throughout the British empire. The imperial dimension is central to any attempt to understand the impoverished nature of British, and indeed to some degree even American, intelligence before 1941.9 British intelligence in the Middle East was primarily an imperial service concerned with colonial security issues. The colonial governments in the Middle East, and indeed in Asian colonies such as India and Malaya, had developed, over many decades, fairly proficient, but narrowly focused, security intelligence services, designed to address internal threats from nationalists, communists and ‘agitators’. Their undoubted success in penetrating and manipulating these groups contributed to an atmosphere of complacency. Meanwhile, little in the way of resources or first-class personnel was devoted to assessing external foreign threats, such as Germany, Italy and Japan. The British Raj, which held responsibility for British policy in substantial areas of the Middle East, including the Gulf states, typified this approach. It had long operated a sophisticated system of domestic surveillance based upon police intelligence operations of the Special Branch type. At a provincial level such activities were under the auspices of the local police chiefs. However, at a higher level, management across the whole of the Indian sub-continent was centralised under the Intelligence Bureau (IB) in Delhi, part of the government of India’s Home Department. There was also a liaison office in London called Indian Political Intelligence (IPI), which was closely integrated with the British Security Service (MI5).10 IB was reasonably effective and had agents at a high level in most Indian ‘subversive’ organisations, including the Indian Communist Party. The Indian government had also developed an overseas capability against its enemies based outside India, typically Sikh nationalists in Canada and Indian nationalists in Western Europe.11 In the wake of recent declassification, a historian of the Raj has concluded that Delhi relied very heavily upon surveillance and 163

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covertly obtained information to retain its supremacy. But despite its global reach, it remained centrally concerned with domestic threats to colonial rule.12 The same observation could be made about the colonial administration in Malaya and Singapore. During the interwar years they paid limited attention to the problem of Japan and focused on the Malayan Communist Party (MCP) and its possible links with larger communist parties in China and the Soviet Union. The Special Branch of the Straits Settlements (Singapore) Police ran effective operations to intercept MCP correspondence and placed its own agents at a high level.13 Operations in Malaya led directly to the capture of the entire Comintern archive in the Far East and the British arrest of Ho Chi Minh in Hong Kong in 1931–32. In the early 1930s the War Office still pressed SIS to give the problem of ‘Reds’ in Asia top priority.14 By 1935 the main communist network in the Far East, based at Shanghai, was attempting to rebuild itself and to re-establish its links with the national parties in South East Asia. However, as one British diplomat drily observed, the principal communist emissary engaged on this task, travelling from Singapore to Thailand, then Indochina and Shanghai, was ‘unfortunately for his Communist employers, a British police agent’.15 By 1939, one such British agent, Lai Tek, had risen to the rank of General Secretary of the Malayan Communist Party, reflecting the judicious arrest of those who stood in the path of his promotion.16 In Middle Eastern states the security system was more subtle, reflecting a more devolved power structure, often dependent on aspects of indirect rule. In Persia, a substantial intelligence and security presence was maintained under the cover of Indian Army officers serving as attachés and advisers. In practice, however, these individuals maintained regular contact with the head of MI5, Sir Vernon Kell, and with SIS officers such as Sir Stuart Menzies in London. Further surveillance was supplemented by employees of the Anglo-Persian Oil Company. The whole structure of British intelligence in the Middle East was uniquely attuned to local political conditions, so much so that in 1945 some suggested that the British secret service in the Middle East should be constituted as a separate organisation.17 However, in the mid-1930s devolution of the already fragmented intelligence and counter-intelligence systems would not have encountered the approval of the men on the ground, when calls for the creation of a central bureau that would co-ordinate the intelligence work of the various agencies in the Middle East became more frequent. The new organisation, as some hoped, would be attuned to the changes in the Middle Eastern political scenario, where the end of most Mandatory regimes was leading to the birth of independent states, and would promote a shift of intelligence activities ‘from the parochial standard which has hitherto proved adequate . . . into a more comprehensive area of survey’.18 In areas such as Palestine, the key security organism was the Criminal Investigation Department of the Palestine Police Service, reporting both to 164

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MI5 in London and also to the Governor. The CID consisted of seven sections and a mixed British and Palestinian staff. It was responsible for preventing and investigating crime; collecting information and evidence; watching political movements; monitoring and suppressing seditious activities; countering attempts to smuggle arms, watching for drugs and illegal immigrants; controlling applications for naturalisation, and arranging for deportations and extraditions. It kept close liaison with correspondening departments in Egypt, Syria, Transjordan, India, Iraq, Cyprus and Europe.19 Working in parallel was a military intelligence system: Force H. Q. I Branch received military information from the RAF Special Service Officers and covered both Palestine and Transjordan, while the I Section of the Arab Legion provided intelligence only on Transjordan. Inevitably local ‘turf battles’ resulted between these three co-existing systems, and there was a notable lack of trust and collaboration between the police CID and the force intelligence service.20 By the late 1930s much of the British writ in the Middle East consisted of unequal treaties, defence agreements and condominiums with weak but independent states. Thus the British depended heavily on loaned police officials and ‘security advisers’ occupying an ill-defined position within these emerging states. Security and policing throughout the empire was conducted by local police forces, whose constitution, size and organisation varied greatly according to the particular needs of the area and the importance of the strategic interests at stake. The role of the colonial police in the late 1930s was crucial, given the mounting pressure of nationalist organisations and the beginning of the process of retreat from the empire. In the transition from imperial system to post-colonial structure, the colonial police were, on the one hand, responsible for curbing nationalist and anti-colonial protest; on the other hand they had to maintain close relations and strong communications with local communities. The beginning of the process of decolonisation placed the colonial police forces in a rather peculiar position, as the apparatus had to be swiftly transformed from being the principal instrument of colonial control to becoming a renovated institution at the service of new independent governments. As the maintenance of law and order was a vital element in the administration of the colonies and the various dependencies, the size of the police structure, and the level and intensity of policing, were proportional to the nature of the dangers perceived by the administrative authorities. In times when relations between ruled and rulers were relatively calm, the level of policing was noticeably modest; however, towards the end of the 1930s, as discontent among the populations throughout the empire grew stronger, and a more confident nationalist intellectual and political class challenged the legitimacy of colonial rule, the operational role and the intensity of policing were extended and strengthened.21 In the late 1930s a more centralised and controlled system to regulate 165

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imperial policing was established. The Colonial Police Service allowed for the homogenisation of the rules and practice of colonial policing, thus enabling the authorities in London to exert direct control over the standards and performance of local police forces. In most colonies and mandates the centrally organised and co-ordinated colonial police co-existed with provincial police forces: the former would take care of security matters, including civilian unrest and insurrection and serious crime, and would extend its duties to cover metropolitan and urban areas. The provincial police forces, supervised by local authorities, were in charge of monitoring and handling routine affairs in the countryside. In Palestine the complex interaction between the two ‘local’ communities and the Mandatory authorities influenced the composition of colonial police forces and affected their behaviour in critical circumstances. The British government had long maintained that its security policy throughout the empire and the creation of a structure of colonial policing were almost entirely based on local popular consent. In Palestine, however, colonial policing seemed to enjoy little local support and the need to impose unpopular measures further deepened the rift between the Mandatory government and the Arab and Jewish communities. The initial nucleus of police was mainly composed of Palestinians and led by British officers. During the 1920s this structure underwent major changes and two distinct departments with separate duties began to emerge: the Palestinian section where Arabs and Jews would undertake regular police work supervised by British superior officers; and the British section trained to deal with emergencies and riots. The presence of a strong Arab Palestinian contingent within the police force was soon to become an obstacle to the implementation of security measures during periods of civil unrest. The 1929 riots and the 1936 Arab revolt saw Arab police forces actively assisting the rebels and refusing to comply with the directives imparted by the Mandatory authorities. In 1936, as Arab officers displayed increasing resistance to carrying out instructions, the Colonial Office authorised the enlistment of 600 British reservists and some 3,000 Jewish auxiliary policemen. The growing and widespread hostility of the Arab community meant that Arab officers could not be fully trusted by the Mandatory government of Palestine and that, as the only perceived alternative, control could be retained and order restored ‘by the imposition of an alien body of men, most of whom had no police experience, and a greater willingness to use force’.22 These developments naturally cut off the police and the main security intelligence organisation from grassroots sources of information in the community. In Egypt and the Middle East, strategically among the most crucial areas for the defence of the empire, intelligence about the structure and operations of the Axis services remained sketchy until well into the war. The picture of Italian activities in the Middle East offered by local police 166

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reports is rather fragmented, and almost nothing can be learnt about the co-ordination of these activities or about the nature and the constitution of the Italian espionage machinery. Throughout the 1930s, intelligence and security in the Middle East were mainly co-ordinated from Egypt, where, after the 1922 declaration of independence, the British government had retained a large degree of control over foreign and defence policy. As a result, British officials in the European Department of the Ministry of Interior were effectively in charge of the Egyptian security apparatus, thus replacing the authority of the Egyptian government. The pressure brought by nationalist elements, both inside and outside the Egyptian government, to accommodate Egyptian demands and remove the last vestiges of British colonial relations with Egypt coincided with renewed British concerns over Egyptian security. After the Italian invasion of Abyssinia, Britain saw its imperial communications threatened by a hostile Mediterranean power that had acquired a foothold at the southern end of the Red Sea. To ensure the co-operation of the Egyptian government was considered of great importance for future defensive or offensive operations in the Mediterranean, as Egypt ‘was crucially positioned to choke Italy’s imperial communications, and was a potential base for attacks on Italian East Africa and Libya’.23 Following protracted and difficult negotiations, in 1936 the British and Egyptian governments reached a formal agreement. By virtue of the new Anglo-Egyptian Treaty, the European Department was abolished, and in 1937 a new post of Defence Security Officer (DSO) was created.24 A DSO was effectively a local representative of MI5 in London. The DSO soon secured the co-operation of high-ranking officials in the Egyptian Ministry of Interior and created, in partnership with the Cairo Police, a special section that would deal with subversion. The DSO would not refrain from giving bribes to local police officers or to anyone who could provide reliable information and services, and employed a wide range of volunteer agents, including an organisation of Sephardic Jews based in Egypt that operated a large network of agents and activities, covering the whole country.25 The DSO also maintained close links with the security authorities in Iraq and Palestine, with other DSOs in Malta, Aden and Gibraltar, and with MI5 officials in Cyprus and Africa. The Italian conquest of Abyssinia had revealed the limits and weaknesses of the intelligence and counter-intelligence structure put in place by the British in the Middle East. In Sudan in particular, the system seemed unable to cope with a new emergency, a potentially hostile army close to the southern frontier, and with the prospect of a large influx of refugees from Abyssinia, a contingent of hungry armed men who could unsettle the precarious internal stability of Sudan.26 Following the beginning of the conflict in neighbouring Abyssinia, the Sudanese government had enacted measures to counteract the increasing pressure and possible threats 167

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building up along the Sudanese borders: modernisation and mechanisation of most of the Sudan Defence Force, and reinforcement of both British border patrols and Sudan’s RAF units. However, as the state of emergency came to an end and the Italian conquest appeared to be consolidated, the Sudanese authorities decided to relax security and subsequently rescinded the measures that had been taken to offset the danger of a spillover of the Abyssinian conflict. As to the real danger posed by Italian colonial ambitions in the Sudan, there was no general consensus. Having discounted the possibility of an Italian attack on Khartoum and having disregarded Italian and German propaganda efforts in the area, the Sudanese government opted to strengthen the naval defences of Port Sudan, neglecting to improve the military capability and preparedness of the country until the European crisis of 1938.27 It was believed that with the decline of the Italian threat to Sudan, local military forces should mainly concentrate on domestic matters and should be employed to look after the internal security of Sudan.28 A co-ordinated intelligence structure was created in Sudan as an immediate consequence of the Abyssinian crisis. Prior to that, the Government Public Security and Intelligence Branch dealt with problems arising from internal security and no provisions had been made to obtain intelligence on political, economic or military affairs concerning the Red Sea region, Abyssinia or Eritrea. One RAF officer was attached to the Sudan Defence Force and his duties were chiefly related to the collection of political or tribal information from the southern provinces of the country. After the outbreak of the hostilities in Abyssinia, the need to keep up to date with events on the other side of the border, and especially to monitor the progress of the Italian army and movements of the Abyssinian fighters, forced the Sudanese government to establish channels of information and contacts with its southern neighbour. The new structure was not an independent branch but a combined intelligence organisation that would benefit from the co-ordinated action of the army, RAF and the Government Public Security and Intelligence Branch. The new organisation would employ the existing facilities and network of contacts created by civil provincial officials, and provide a Sudan Weekly Intelligence Summary modelled on that published and circulated by the RAF Intelligence Branch in Iraq. The information collected and collated would primarily concern military matters (and in particular the state of Italian troops in Abyssinia as well as Italian fortifications and naval activities in the Red Sea), domestic issues, foreign activities (including propaganda) and counterespionage in the region. The shape and structure of the organisation were considered to be temporary, and with the end of the emergency it was suggested that a more permanent branch in Khartoum should be created, which would combine the services of the army and RAF.29 An increase in the intelligence, and in particular RAF, staff active in Egypt and Sudan was 168

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nevertheless considered indispensable by intelligence officers in the Middle East. Following the Italian operations in Abyssinia and Libya, the volume of intelligence work carried out by the RAF had noticeably expanded to include the collection of information on Italian manoeuvres in Eritrea, Ethiopia, Somaliland, Libya and the Dodecanese, together with routine monitoring of internal security in the Egypt and Sudan region.30 As the war approached, the need to provide stronger measures for the safeguard of British interests in the Middle East intensified. Axis activities throughout the region began to surface and provoked anxiety in London. Lack of dialogue between disparate agencies responsible for intelligence and security in the Mediterranean and the Middle East had undermined the whole process of gathering and evaluating intelligence in the area, and made exchanges of information between regional headquarters and centres of decision-making in the UK more problematic. Even more alarming was the fact that the intelligence staff of the three military services in the Middle East, responsible for assessing intelligence information for the three commands, appeared ‘more widely separated from each other, physically and institutionally, than were the intelligence directorates of the Services department in Whitehall’.31 This had obvious repercussions on the strategic decisions made in London. In 1939, the War Office called for the creation of a more centralised system that would co-ordinate the collection and analysis of intelligence, investigation of subversion and propaganda, and the organisation of British counter-propaganda in the Middle East. The Security Intelligence Middle East (SIME) was born in December 1939 out of this renewed effort towards a more systematic and comprehensive approach to Middle Eastern security. It was created as part of GHQ Middle East and remained closely associated with the DSO in Egypt, with which it shared offices and records. It was answerable to a number of masters, including MI5 in London, the new British Minister in the Middle East, but on a day-to-day basis it primarily served the British military headquarters in Cairo. Its staff on the ground comprised the growing number of Field Security Sections, military intelligence personnel in a security role.32 SIME was responsible for monitoring and counteracting the activities of hostile agents in the Middle East, maintaining liaison with the Intelligence Bureau of the Indian government, improving the intelligence machinery in the region, and creating new posts in those countries where the British services had no offices; within a few months SIME established DSO offices in Palestine and Turkey. SIME was expected to take over the direction of counter-intelligence activities in the Middle East and its expansion resulted in a duplication of effort with SIS which was unwilling to relinquish its control over counter-intelligence operations outside the United Kingdom. In reality, even at this early stage of the war, SIME was in charge of security in the Middle East only in name. Local police chiefs maintained a good deal of 169

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authority in areas like Palestine. Beirut and Baghdad established their own counter-intelligence structures, while the British embassy in Istanbul developed a vast spy apparatus, befitting its status as a neutral capital where espionage was widely practised. As the war progressed, other countries developed further security and counter-espionage centres, such as Algiers, under the SIS Section V officer Arthur Trevor-Wilson.33 The remit of SIME was contested functionally as well as geographically. Co-existing with SIME was the Middle East Intelligence Centre, which eventually became the Political Intelligence Centre Middle East. Created to handle political intelligence, it nevertheless could not resist interesting itself in security matters.34 This too was a truly empire-Commonwealth operation, being run until 1942 by Brigadier Walter Cawthorn, an Australian army officer. Rivalry and disorganisation were the hallmarks here and one of his colleagues remarked that it was no coincidence that ‘things were in such a state that they recently had to ask for an “expert” to come out from London and tell them what to do’.35 In 1940 a junior SIS officer, Nigel Clive, arrived in Baghdad. He was shocked at the ‘constant bickering and jealousy’ and made it his business to discover how the existence of all these rival organisations had come about. He continued: If I was at first puzzled, I soon became cynical about the time spent on fierce interdepartmental warfare. It became a commonplace to say that if fifty per cent of the day could be devoted to trying to defeat Hitler, we were doing well.36 The efficient running of the intelligence and security apparatus was thus hindered by a seemingly incoherent division of responsibility between competing agencies not only in the capital, at the heart of the political process, but also in regional strategic centres. Born in 1939 out of a proposal of the Committee of Imperial Defence, the Middle East Intelligence Centre was responsible for providing coordinated intelligence to the Commanders-in-Chief, the representatives of the Civil Departments, and the Joint Planning Staff in the Middle East. MEIC covered a large geographical area, extending its activities to East Africa and the Arabian peninsula. But the creation of MEIC soon generated controversy. The Foreign Office had from the beginning opposed the creation of an inter-departmental centre that would cover political as well as military matters; MEIC was consequently excluded from operating on diplomatic and political intelligence.37 The scope of MEIC’s activities nevertheless developed beyond its original functions, which raised concern in more than one department at Whitehall and numerous complaints from the Foreign Office and eventually from the JIC, leading in spring 1940 to an attempt to reduce the organisation’s size, if not abolish it altogether. Even at this early stage of the war collection and assessment of military 170

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information were considered of paramount importance to the theatre’s operational and planning authorities. MEIC, however, was anxious to extend its duties further and demanded access to a wider range of sources, including diplomatic and political reports, SIS communications and summaries, and Sigint reports.38 Signals intelligence was the strongest potential source of information for Britain about Italian activities. In the 1930s a large volume of the traffic monitored by the British Government Code and Cypher School, the forerunner of GCHQ, was Italian. (GC&CS was an inter-departmental organisation created in 1919 officially to advise on the security of British codes and ciphers, unofficially ‘to study the materials of cypher communications used by foreign powers’.39) Italian naval traffic had been broken freely in the 1920s because of the insecure habit of enciphering material from the daily press, thus offering British cryptanalysts obvious ‘cribs’. The Abyssinian war and Spanish civil war generated a good deal of traffic for GC&CS to work on. But it was only in 1936 that Britain began to make headway with Italian diplomatic ciphers. Moreover, success sometimes won security organisations little practical advantage. Often action could not be taken on the basis of information obtained by codebreaking for fear of endangering the source. Like other European powers, during the First World War Britain had largely employed cipher communications. In the interwar period the art of ciphering/deciphering was made more effective and less time consuming by the introduction of mechanical ciphers and wireless transmissions. Signals intelligence was practised in Britain at the Government Code and Cypher School. The debate about the inter-departmental nature of GC&CS was sparked by the services’ clear reluctance to fully delegate the responsibility for intercepting, deciphering and reading, as well as devising new codes, to one department outside their own operational commands. Despite the creation of service sections within GC&CS – the Naval Section in 1924, the Army Section in 1930, and the Air Section in 1936 – plans for reorganising it on a mere service basis were sacrificed in favour of a more comprehensive approach to the study of communication systems, in the attempt to keep the whole process in one place.40 Co-operation between the services and GC&CS further developed during the 1930s in an attempt to secure better co-ordination of all interception activities. A new division of responsibilities ensured that the War Office would look after the Middle East, the navy took charge of the Far East, and the RAF retained control over traffic in the United Kingdom. Within this system, inter-service cooperation meant a further sub-division of tasks, by virtue of which both the air force and the navy would take care of Italian communications: the former intercepting traffic between the colonial authorities in Italy and East Africa, the latter engaged in watching Italian air traffic between the Dodecanese and North Africa.41 However, GC&CS were probably 171

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unaware of the success of some skilled Italian cryptographic agents against British communications, a success generated not only by technical achievements within the Italian codebreaking community, but also by fruitful cooperation between cryptographic sections and other departments of the Italian espionage system, which led to the capture of valuable British and American secret codes. Though conscious of the limitations of their propaganda and intelligence structures and concerned about the hostile efforts of German and Italian agents in the Middle East, the British authorities were also confident that Italy’s and Germany’s aggressive campaigns in the Arab world had in the long term met with relatively little success.42 Radio Bari broadcasts, once very popular among Arab listeners, were no longer in such favour. The Italians were fully aware of the slow decline of their popularity and, though blaming technical incidents and language difficulties, seemed to believe that the Arab audience was gradually shifting towards ‘clear and, apparently, more interesting’ British broadcasts.43 Despite the initial positive response, Italy’s contacts with sectors of the Arab nationalist leadership did not result in a long-lasting political alliance, as the real nature of Mussolini’s imperialistic ambitions soon became too apparent. Italy’s position in North Africa and the Levant did not benefit from the decline of Britain’s prestige in the Muslim world. Instead, following the ill-fated alliance with Germany, the fall of the Fascist regime and the disastrous economic consequences of the war, Italy’s geo-political remit was dramatically curtailed.

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12 MUSSOLINI’S SECRET ARMY Italian intelligence services from the First to the Second World War

‘I do not believe that other belligerent nations witnessed the same chaos in such a delicate and jealousy-ridden sector. In practice, we entered the war with four autonomous intelligence services that lacked co-ordination and followed disparate directives and methods’.1 Cesare Amè, who was appointed head of the SIM (Servizio Informazioni Militare) – the military intelligence service – in September 1940, offered a damning account of the state of the Italian secret services on the eve of the Second World War. The activities of the Italian services during the 1930s and in the run-up to the war, and their connections with the Fascist regime, have in very recent times been the focus of scholarly studies which have added fresh contributions to a subject that has so far received comparatively little attention.2 This chapter provides an outline of the development of Italy’s intelligence organisations from the political unification of the Italian peninsula, and emphasises interwar attempts to effect a structural and strategic reorganisation intended to bring the secret services into line with Fascist domestic and international policies. However, despite Mussolini’s ambitions, the Italian intelligence system remained as fragmented as it was during the pre-Fascist era, although more resources were devoted to internal policing. Thus, in the 1930s the structure supporting Italy’s intelligence activities was undoubtedly not as efficient or well co-ordinated as the propaganda machine in the same period. Nevertheless, efforts by the British CID and local representatives to monitor Italian propaganda in the Middle East and to identify the network supporting Italy’s subversive undertakings in the region remained largely unsuccessful. Furthermore, the broader set-up and operational patterns of the Fascist intelligence organisation were, by and large, unknown. Cesare Amè also recollected in his memoir that throughout its life the relatively young Italian secret service had witnessed periods of great achievement alternating with poor performance: ‘During the First World War an efficient organisation had gradually emerged enabling it to attain significant results. Between the two wars the Service lived through a period full of activity and sometimes unpleasant events.’3 173

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The first nucleus of the Italian intelligence service dates back to 1863, when office ‘I’ was established within the army. Subsequently suppressed, office ‘I’ was then resuscitated in 1900, though with very basic functions and limited staff. At the outbreak of the First World War, the service was still striving to overcome structural and logistical difficulties. Notwithstanding the presence of seven ‘information’ offices close to the northeastern borders, the structure of the Italian information service was far from complete and efficiently operative: it lacked a counter-espionage department as well as more technical branches specialised in cryptography, and telephone and telegraph interception. However, during the course of the conflict, strategic imperatives prompted the transformation of the rudimentary Italian service into a more modern intelligence structure. More departments were added to the initial and still central office ‘I’ that was charged with responsibility over counter-intelligence and military policing. A section ‘P’ for psychological support to the troops and a branch for trade and contraband intelligence were also created. The counterespionage department of the Italian army intelligence service comprised three main sections, ‘U’, ‘M’, and ‘R’. Section ‘U’ took charge of counterintelligence in the war zone; section ‘M’ supervised all the counterintelligence work in the north-east of Italy and in Switzerland; finally section ‘R’ retained control over counter-intelligence activities in the rest of Italy and served as a centre for co-ordinating overseas agents. With its headquarters in Rome, section ‘R’ was probably the core of the Italian counter-intelligence system and would perform a wide range of functions, dealing also with wartime trade, censorship, propaganda and political information. Though largely understaffed, the Italian counter-intelligence service could rely on a certain degree of co-operation with the British and French services. At the end of the First World War, the Italian secret service remained substantially unchanged. In October 1925, ten months after Mussolini had consolidated his power, the existing intelligence system was upgraded so that it could meet the requirements of the new regime. The Servizio Informazioni Militare (SIM) was born and placed under direct control of the army chief of staff. Within ten years, SIM had evolved from a purely military intelligence and counter-intelligence service into a modern comprehensive structure capable of offering full intelligence coverage on domestic and overseas issues. Funds available to the new service were doubled, as also was the number of specialised sections and personnel.4 The Fascist regime also intended to expand and strengthen the apparatus in charge of controlling and curbing internal political opposition and dissent. The Fascist secret police OVRA (Opera Volontaria di Repressione Antifascista or Organizzazione di Vigilanza e Repressione Antifascista; the exact title remains a mystery) was set up in 1930 as a structure comprising eighty general employees and 600 agents who would co-ordinate the activities of 174

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thousands of informers and agents provocateurs. OVRA would soon extend its remit and set up offices overseas where it was tasked with monitoring embassy and consular staff, promoting political propaganda, collecting information on military installations and inciting rebellion among the indigenous populations of British and French colonies.5 French colonial counter-intelligence closely monitored the activities of the Italian special police in North Africa, uncovering a network of operatives and informers. OVRA agents received thorough training in Rome, at the School of Foreign Languages. They belonged to a number of professions – journalists, tradesmen, doctors, porters, waiters and clerks – which facilitated their contacts with the general public. While overseas, OVRA members worked under diplomatic cover in embassies and consulates with titles such as Deputy Consul, Chief of Political Bureau, etc., although they were not directly accountable to senior diplomatic staff. Italian diplomatic structures would play host to intelligence agents throughout Europe, Africa and the Near and Far East, their role becoming even more sensitive at the outbreak of the conflict. For example, in the autumn of 1941 the Italian embassy in Istanbul orchestrated the rescue of the Mufti of Jerusalem, whose pro-Nazi sympathies were public knowledge, from British-controlled Iran, where he was kept under strict surveillance by British intelligence following direct orders from Winston Churchill.6 The close interaction between diplomatic and intelligence services allowed the Axis powers to divide responsibilities for North Africa, where the Germans would monitor the activities of British and American diplomats in Morocco, while the Italians would extend their network in Algeria and Tunisia.7 The information gathered by OVRA agents overseas through local contacts was compiled into reports that were subsequently transmitted to the ‘Viminale’ – where the Ministry of Interior was and is still located – or ‘Section four of the Central Office’, from where they were directly dispatched to Mussolini. Copies of the reports were also made available to the Political Office of the Fascio, the Military Intelligence Service and the Interior Ministry.8 The French regarded OVRA not as political police but as a ‘vast espionage organisation, responsible for collecting information concerning the stability of the [Fascist] regime and national security’.9 Considerably expanded after the outbreak of the Spanish civil war in response to an upsurge in anti-Fascist activities in Italy, OVRA was a highly centralised structure which, though officially under the control of the General Directorate of Public Security, ‘in fact acted mostly independently and following directives personally imparted by the Head of the Fascist government’, Benito Mussolini.10 The use of intelligence services as political instruments, or as tools for political repression, appears to have been widely accepted as an established practice under Mussolini’s regime. The murder of the Rosselli brothers in 1937 was one in a series of ‘special’ operations undertaken by the secret 175

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services against leading anti-Fascists. It has been observed that during the second half of 1930s the activities of SIM, in particular under the leadership of Mario Roatta, took a rather sinister direction: ‘It is an impressive chain of assassinations, acts of violence, sabotage of ships, trains and buildings, spreading of epidemic viruses. Luckily, due to lack of accuracy on the part of amateurish agents, most of these undertakings failed’.11 Mussolini’s efforts to centralise and render more efficient the rather fragmented intelligence system inherited from Liberal Italy did not prove entirely successful.12 Some have argued that despite his repeated promises, the Duce was reluctant to push forward the centralisation of the Italian intelligence and counter-intelligence agencies, fearing that the new joint services would be placed under the command of a man who in time would become more powerful than he was.13 By the late 1930s, a plethora of competing agencies were engaged in collecting and analysing intelligence data, much to the detriment of the efficiency of the services themselves. From the top to the bottom, the structure of the intelligence system gave ample scope for dispersion of information, duplicates and contrasting assessments. The three-tiered structure developed under the Fascist regime was headed by the policy-makers: Mussolini, the Foreign Minister Ciano, King Victor Emmanuel III and the Chief of General Staff Marshal Badoglio. Immediately below stood the three service staffs, reading intelligence and assessment reports from their respective intelligence services. Internal priorities and inter-service rivalries often determined their approach to the intelligence received. Finally, the lowest section comprised a group of disparate agencies: the three service intelligence organisations (SIM, SIA or Servizio Informazioni Aeronautiche – air intelligence – and Servizio Informazioni Segrete – naval intelligence), military attachés, the diplomatic service under the supervision of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Ministry of Popular Culture, and the political police.14 To these were added the SIE – information service of the army – and, from June 1940, an information office, ‘I’, which was attached to the three forces. Duplication of functions, lack of communication and extreme competition severely undermined the ability of the Italian intelligence system to operate effectively. This multitude of agencies also contrasted with the strong centralisation of military functions introduced at the outbreak of the war, when Mussolini, as well as being head of the Italian government, had become head of the Ministry of Interior, the War Office, the navy and air forces, and chief of the militia. Indeed, rivalry and secrecy characterised the relationship between all intelligence and security agencies in Italy, and also their relations with the main governmental departments, to the extent that, for example, the chief of SIM was completely unaware of Mussolini’s intention to enter the war and learnt of Italy’s attack on France on 10 June 1940 through public announcements, like any ordinary Italian.15 However, there was a section in the Italian secret services where 176

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talented and professional agents were successfully engaging the security of British communications. Unfortunately, we still lack a comprehensive picture of the history of Italian cryptanalysis and in particular of Italian codebreaking efforts during the interwar period. The available evidence suggests that Italy had entered the First World War almost unprepared to intercept and read secret communications. In Italy the Foreign and Interior Ministries, as well as the army, had cipher offices with limited and virtually untrained personnel. In 1915, the Italian military intelligence created a Reparto Crittografico (Cryptographic Bureau), a unit in charge of diplomatic and military cryptanalysis. Scarce official records and documentation do not provide a full account of the activities of the Reparto Crittografico; nevertheless, it seems that its achievements against enemy powers and its attempts to decipher the encrypted communications of the Allies produced modest results.16 Italy’s most significant results were obtained against Austrian ciphered texts and due to the enthusiasm and resourcefulness of a few accomplished ‘natural’ cryptographers. At the outbreak of the Second World War, the Italian navy and army were responsible for communication intelligence. In the navy, section B of the Servizio Informazioni Segrete hosted a team of cryptanalysts. The Italian navy had since 1934 established a Sigint collaboration with its German counterpart, limiting the exchanges to intercepts and cryptanalytic data, and to the solution of contingent naval problems. In 1938 the Italian army, through the chief of its cryptanalytic section, took the initiative to approach the German Chiffierabteilung, the department of the armed forces involved in diplomatic codebreaking. The co-operation between the two services was unprecedented and, though restricted to low-grade systems, it expanded from the initial monitoring of French traffic to more general targets, including the recovery of cipher tables for American, Swiss and Turkish cryptosystems.17 By the late 1930s the intelligence organisation within the Italian army, the Servizio Informazioni Militare, had a large cryptanalytic section, Sezione 5, whose task was to solve and read diplomatic and military cryptograms. Sezione 5 received all the relevant material from Sezione 6, the intercept unit, and had a small sub-section that produced codes and ciphers for the Italian army. As the volume of intercepts increased, the army began to publish a daily Bulletin I containing the most significant radio traffic extracts read by Sezione 5. Copies of the bulletin were sent to Mussolini, to the King and to the Chief of General Staff, while a good portion of the diplomatic traffic was sent to Galeazzo Ciano, the Italian Foreign Minister.18 Italy’s cryptographic capabilities had obviously improved during the interwar period if we believe the analysis of the Italian Admiral Donini, who claims that during the Second World War at least the navy cryptographic service ‘had nothing to envy the British counterpart from the strictly technical viewpoint’.19 Rejecting some of the established 177

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interpretations, Donini seems confident that British cryptanalysts could on the whole read only a small proportion of the Italian diplomatic and military traffic, whereas the Italian cryptographic services succeeded in breaking most of the British ciphers and codes in use from 1938 until 1942.20 In July 1940 the adoption of greater security measures within the Italian cipher system further complicated the work of British codebreakers. Ciphers and codes had constantly been revised since Italy’s entry into the war: at the beginning of the conflict Italy employed only one code which, once discovered, would give the enemy access to all radio traffic. By 1942, however, each vessel and submarine was equipped with individual code tables that would be used together with the general cipher. Secret tables were generally kept in the safe on board, to be destroyed before falling into the hands of the enemy.21 The implementation of security procedures made it more difficult for British deciphering sections to read Italian secret communications; Italian traffic, however, would still be open to direction finding by the British navy, which could easily discover the wavelength of the transmissions and locate the ship or submarine transmitting.22 If the achievements of Italian cryptanalytic departments increased during the second half of the 1930s and early 1940s, this is due not only to the ability of Italian codebreakers, but also, and to a great extent, to the theft of cryptologic documents and codes from British and American representatives’ offices in Italy. Pathetic security at the British embassy in Rome permitted the ‘borrowing’ of diplomatic codes almost at will. Two incidents in 1936 and 1937 motivated the British government to begin an inquiry into the security system protecting British embassies and consular offices in Rome, Berlin and the Vatican. In February 1936 Mussolini published in the Giornale d’Italia a copy of a report drafted by a committee of British officials led by Sir John Maffey of the Colonial Office. The Maffey report provided an assessment of British interests in Ethiopia and surroundings territories during the early stages of the Abyssinian crisis; the conclusions reached by the committee did not favour the government’s opposition to Italian conquest. Submitted in June 1935 to the Foreign Secretary Sir Samuel Hoare, the document was printed in multiple copies and circulated to British posts abroad including the embassy in Rome. The publication of the Maffey report came at an inconvenient time, when the British government was considering the adoption of oil sanctions against Italy, the Italian forces in Abyssinia were successfully pushing forward, and the French were still reluctant to commit themselves against Italy.23 The embarrassment caused by the reproduction of the contents of the Maffey report in an Italian newspaper forced London to initiate a frantic search for possible sources of the leak in the Foreign Office and the embassy in Rome. No firm measures were taken at the time, for the British ambassador Sir Eric Drummond maintained that, despite recent evidence to the contrary, official documents were not slipping through the security 178

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net of his embassy.24 It was only the following year that the failure of the surveillance system at the embassy was publicly revealed, when a diamond necklace belonging to Sir Eric Drummond’s wife was stolen from a locked safety box in the ambassador’s apartment. The inquiry carried out by experts in 1937 produced a damning report on the state of security in several British embassies in potentially hostile countries, and in particular in Italy. The investigation showed that security of the British premises was undermined by negligence and careless arrangements, whereby the Italian staff of the embassy had unlimited and undetected access to the most private quarters, keys of safety boxes and sensitive documents were not inaccessible to Italian personnel, and the switchboard was operated by Italian employees so even internal calls might be heard by the Italian authorities.25 Leaks at the embassy in Rome had not begun in 1936 and did not end after the publication of the report recommending, among other measures, that the four Italian employees should be immediately replaced. Either because of over-confidence about the inefficiency of the Italian intelligence services, or because of considerations of a financial nature, the British authorities in Rome failed to implement the recommendations contained in the Foreign Office report. Yet the evidence against some of the Italian members of staff was severely incriminating. Signor Costantini, employed at the embassy from 1914 and promoted to be second Chancery servant in 1931, was identified as the likely culprit. Thefts of documents from the British mission in Rome had begun on a small scale in 1924 and since 1935 had come to be organised on a more regular basis. The Italian P Squad, specialised in prelevamento (withdrawal) of official and secret material from foreign embassies, had engaged the services of Signor Costantini in 1935. His activities at the British offices in Rome covered the period between 1935 and 1940: he would meet ‘the head of the P Squad outside the embassy, when he would pass over documents and cyphers; these were taken away, photographed, and returned to him within the minimum space of time (apparently about an hour and a half)’.26 Nevertheless, Costantini did not lose his position in the embassy and was subsequently employed by the British legation at the Vatican from 1940 until 1944 when his activities were officially revealed. British embassies had been the main target for the Italian intelligence services, and especially for the SIM – not the only target, however, as the theft of the Black code, a relatively new and secret military code, from the American embassy in Rome in 1941 clearly shows. Once again the Italians had an accomplice inside the US offices, an Italian national Loris Gherardi who worked for the American military attaché in Rome. Gherardi was provided with access (either the key or the combination) to the safe of the embassy where the Black code and its superencipherment tables were kept. The documents were apparently removed and photocopied; as soon as 179

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SIM obtained the code, it gave a copy to the Germans. It was a remarkable achievement for the Axis intelligence services, who were now able to read the secret military and diplomatic correspondence of their enemies, and in particular assessments and reports from the battlefronts in the Mediterranean.27 The initiative of Italian agents often overcame institutional difficulties and kept British and French services on the alert. As well as observing institutional changes in the Italian intelligence system, French security and military services closely monitored Fascist agents operating in North Africa, France and the United Kingdom. French documentation on individuals engaging in acts of espionage and sabotage on behalf of the Fascist regime is rich and detailed. Little-known individuals who populated a shadowy world have recently come to light, thanks to a new wave of historical research: agents like Mario Noventa, an Italian on the payroll of the German intelligence service, who frequently travelled to and from Britain ostensibly for business and was watched by the British police. In the early summer of 1939, French counter-intelligence agents followed Noventa from Britain to France, from where he secretly reached the Netherlands. It was not difficult to keep an eye on the Italian, who was ‘tall, almost 1.80 metres, slim, blond and with blue eyes. He wore a grey felt hat, a light grey striped suit, blue overcoat and brown suede shoes’.28 The French had avoided attracting undue attention while shadowing Noventa although the Italian had checked into a different hotel every night for fear of the French police. British and French intelligence suspected that while travelling from Paris to Berlin, Copenhagen, London and Brussels, Noventa was in fact working to help German agents move into Britain. To this end, his relationship with Ruby Andrews, ‘a rather stupid woman’ whom Noventa met in Madera in 1935, was regarded as crucial. Noventa would use his friendship with Mrs Andrews, who was unaware of his activities, as a pretext for entering Britain and obtaining a visa for his accomplice Hertha Lipmann as a domestic help.29 But Noventa was not the only Italian agent active on British soil, although the information gathered did not always corroborate the suspicions of British and French intelligence. Demetrio Salazar-Sarsfield, a British-naturalised Italian businessman who served in the British army during the First World War, lived in Dublin and London and regularly travelled to Paris and Italy on business. Although his activities and personal contacts in Paris appeared perfectly legitimate, Salazar-Sarsfield was nevertheless believed to be in the service of the Italian authorities.30 Different was the case of Pietro Pupino-Carbonelli, an Italian known for his proNazi views who had moved to London from Paris in 1936. An ‘ardent Fascist’, while in France for eight years Pupino-Carbonelli had been a member of the Association of the Foreign Press, a news agency serving the Italian newspaper Corriere della Sera, of the Fascio of the French Federa180

MUSSOLINI’S SECRET ARMY

tion of Old Italian Combatants and of the Committee of Italian Schools Overseas.31 There were also plenty of opportunities for double agents whose recruitment became even more important with the outbreak of the war. French informers reported that Lauro Laurenti, resident in Iran, was ‘an opponent of the current Fascist regime’ and a ‘fervent Catholic’ with Anglophile and Francophile sentiments; Laurenti seemed keen to remain in Iran and not to return to Italy and had repeatedly attempted – though unsuccessfully – to obtain a visa for his family.32 Italian sources regarded Laurenti as a rather ambiguous figure: he was arrested by British forces in Iran in May 1942 and agreed to collaborate with the British intelligence service. He was shortly after freed on the understanding that he would pretend to be a fervent Fascist in order to gather information on the Italian intelligence network overseas, which would be passed to the British services. The plan appeared to be successful and, having left Tehran for Turkey in June 1942, Laurenti was immediately asked to join the staff of the Italian embassy in Ankara, where he became involved as a witness in the investigation into the murder of a political opponent to the Fascist regime, the journalist Lea Schiavi Burdett.33 Italy’s hostile activities in the Mediterranean generated a great deal of concern in London and Paris. In Britain conflicting assessments of the threat posed by Fascist subversion in the Muslim world and lack of adequate structures delayed the formulation of a prompt and effective propaganda and counter-intelligence response. However, if Fascist Italy was an easily identifiable enemy, the real challenge to Britain’s imperial assets came from other quarters. Italy’s propaganda and subversion had enjoyed a period of significant, though chronologically limited, success due to the network established by Italian authorities in some Arab nationalist circles. Eventually, improvements to Britain’s propaganda organisation and intelligence services helped to contain the spread of Fascist influence in the Arab world, but did little to consolidate Britain’s political and military presence in the Middle East. As calls for independence and self-determination grew stronger, the British government did not fully appreciate the long-term social and political impact of Arab nationalism, often dismissing its activities as low-key terrorist outbursts. Thus Britain failed to recognise the nationalist leadership as its political counterpart with which an agreement over the future of the Arab nations had to be negotiated. Lack of an effective and substantial strategy to redefine Britain’s official relations with the Middle Eastern countries would deepen the rift between London and the Arab world, leading eventually to the end of Britain’s informal empire in the Middle East.

181

CONCLUSION

In attempting to answer questions concerning the nature and structure of the Italian propaganda machine operating in the Middle East, this study has highlighted areas of research that have so far been neglected. Literature on Fascist Italy has paid scant attention to the use of propaganda as an instrument to further the international ambitions of Mussolini’s regime, focusing instead on the role of Italian Fascist propaganda in the domestic political area. Meanwhile scholars of imperial history have somewhat overlooked Italian efforts to challenge and undermine the European colonial system where Britain and France held positions of pre-eminence. Although reference has often been made to the anti-British broadcasts of Radio Bari, very little research has been conducted to uncover and analyse the complex structure that co-ordinated Italian broadcasts in Arabic with a wide range of propaganda and subversive activities designed to further Italian interests in the Mediterranean and the Middle East. Harking back to the ‘glorious past’ of imperial Rome and the prosperous trade of the Italian maritime republics, Mussolini had sought to claim for Italy an equal status among the European colonial powers. What we now know of Italy’s engagement in secret dealings towards the end of the 1920s with diverse nationalist groups in the French Mandates of Syria and Lebanon, and official lobbying of the Yemeni rulers to obtain better trading concessions in return for financial and military support, gives us some indication of Mussolini’s determination to expand Italy’s influence across the Mediterranean. From this, it is already clear that the objectives of Mussolini’s foreign policy in the Middle East and the Mediterranean were at the core of Italian overseas propaganda. The strong inter-dependence between propaganda and foreign policy is underlined by the organisational structure of the Italian propaganda machine, where the synergy between the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the Ministry of Popular Culture allowed for an efficient division of responsibilities and transmission of information and instructions. Unlike its contemporary intelligence service – made up of disparate and competing agencies – the Fascist propaganda machine succeeded in co-ordinating 182

CONCLUSION

the activities and interaction of its diverse departments. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs remained in charge of providing general directives to propagandists in Italy and abroad, and ensured that Italian propaganda overseas constantly met the specific objectives of Italy’s foreign policy; it also provided logistic support through its official overseas representatives and the numerous Italian communities in North Africa. The Ministry of Popular Culture was responsible for the operational aspects of propaganda, initiating and co-ordinating various activities through its specialised sections dealing with the press, publications, cinema and radio. Budgeting and funding of particular activities was a task often shared by the two Ministries. The Italians had allocated a substantial budget to both domestic and overseas propaganda, and in particular to publications promoting the ‘civilising mission’ underlying Italy’s colonial endeavours.1 In the 1930s, Italy’s policy of expansion on the opposite shore of the Mediterranean and in the Middle East was centred upon the development of a preferential partnership with Arab governments and nationalist movements, which would eventually replace the political and economic links created by the British empire. Throughout the colonial world, nationalist groups had sought the support of external forces capable of providing the political, financial and military backing needed to overthrow foreign rulers. In the second half of the 1930s, the Axis powers attracted a remarkable degree of attention from radical fringes of the nationalist movements, determined to remove the last vestiges of the British empire. The attempts of Subhas Chandra Bose to persuade the German government to become involved in the campaign for Indian independence were met with scepticism and hesitancy in Berlin; the Mufti of Jerusalem, Haj Amin al-Hussaini, turned to Italy and Germany, resentful at the way the British Mandatory administration had ignored Arab grievances against the Jewish community in Palestine; even Ibn Saud had approached the Axis powers when he felt that Britain could no longer guarantee the security of his kingdom, and its supremacy in the Arabian peninsula; and General Nuri al-Said of Iraq, long-term ally of Britain and the West, briefly made friendly overtures to Italy and Germany, who suspiciously regarded him as the leader of pro-British moderate elements.2 The Anschluss of 1938 in particular reverberated strongly with nationalists in colonial territories who wished to bring together ethnicities that were often divided by the arbitrary boundaries of colonial states. If the Italian government proactively encouraged the development of closer relations with nationalist circles in French and British overseas territories, the Third Reich seemed at first more reluctant to be drawn into a dispute with the British imperial authorities. Throughout the 1930s, Nazi Germany appeared rather uncommitted to the Arab nationalist cause, leaving Mussolini’s agents in charge of challenging Britain’s supremacy in the Arab world. However, Germany’s apparent lack of interest in 183

CONCLUSION

tumultuous Middle Eastern affairs was short-lived. By 1938, German propagandists – supported by the Italians – had initiated a bitter anti-British campaign, addressing the Arab populations of the Middle East, and in particular of Palestine and Egypt.3 The sophisticated propaganda machine of Josef Goebbels had already provided for the reorganisation of German broadcasting, and by 1934 German programmes were being received in Asia, South Africa and North and South America. The format of the broadcasts, with high-quality music, news bulletins and special features, was designed to attract a large number of listeners.4 The Italians soon followed suit with Radio Bari’s Arabic broadcasts. German broadcasts from Deutschlandesender Berlin seemed to focus mainly on the ‘English methods of oppression’ in Palestine and on the ‘hypocrisy’ of the western nations horrified by the persecution of Jews under the Nazi regime: though we proceed against them [the Jews] in strict application of our laws, and though that nation brought endless misery to Germany. On the other hand, clear silence is manifested at the most inhuman methods of the English authorities against the Arabs, on whom they attempt to force an alien people without a shade of justification by destroying their houses, pouring petrol on their food supplies and exposing them ruthlessly to famine.5 The German government also began to engage with nationalist youth groups, encouraging young Arabs to join the national socialist schools for leaders and allowing the official establishment of an Arab organisation in Berlin, which would provide assistance to Arab rebels in Palestine.6 Following the success of schemes set up by the Italian authorities to facilitate cultural exchanges with Egyptian students, Germany opened the door of its higher education institutions to some seventy Syrian students for whom Berlin offered to pay education fees, board, lodging and travel fares to and from Germany.7 Axis encroachment in the British and French colonial world generated considerable concern in London. The British government, however, appeared to have significantly overlooked the set of political and social circumstances that had created throughout the Arab world an audience receptive to the allure of Axis propaganda. The growth and strengthening of nationalist movements throughout the British empire had changed the morphology of the political landscape. But the British authorities, still heavily relying on old ties with established elites and tired mechanisms of rule, failed to recognise in the emerging nationalist leadership a new political counterpart, and resisted any substantial restructuring of Britain’s political and military presence in the Middle Eastern region. Interdepartmental disagreements between Colonial Office and Foreign Office over the handling of Britain’s relations with independent Arab states and 184

CONCLUSION

with the Arab nationalist movements did not help promote a unified and clear policy in the Middle East, while the fragmented and under-funded counter-intelligence service provided little insight into the subversive strategy of Axis powers in British-controlled territories. Finally the late revival of the British First World War propaganda machine delayed the adoption of effective measures to curb the hostile activities of Italian propagandists. How successful was Italian propaganda in the Middle East? Although the impact of propaganda cannot be quantified we know through British and Italian accounts that Radio Bari broadcasts, for example, had initially attracted a large number of regular listeners in street cafés and private homes. What we do not know, and are perhaps unlikely ever to know, is whether the message broadcast through Radio Bari’s wavelength actually shaped the perceptions and choices of Arab listeners, whether pupils of the Italian schools in Cairo and Egyptian students at Italian universities grew up into Fascist blackshirts, whether young nationalists and intellectuals trusted – if only for a little while – the claims and promises made by Mussolini, the ruler of Libya and Abyssinia and ‘the Sword of Islam’.8 However, the relatively short-lived mass success of Bari broadcasts – which, as the Italian authorities were forced to admit, had begun losing audiences in 1939 – seems to confirm the ephemeral nature of Italy’s popularity in the Middle East. As Italy’s colonial ambitions became increasingly manifest, mainstream nationalists began to distance themselves from Mussolini’s policy in Africa and the Middle East. Expressions of sympathy and appreciation for Italy’s conduct in the Muslim world became increasingly rare. Britain, however, failed to take advantage of the demise of Italy’s prestige among the Arabs to shore up its own precarious position. As the war began, military and strategic requirements were given priority by British policy-makers. Indigenous troops throughout the Middle East and South East Asia fought for the last time on Britain’s side, but the disintegration of the empire had only been delayed. As to Italy, the sharp decline of its audience and readership in the Arab world prompted the Italian authorities to reproduce some of their propaganda initiatives in areas regarded as more vulnerable. In 1941, following an agreement between Italy and Thailand, the Italians launched new Thai programmes, to be broadcast every Sunday and Thursday evening.9 In charge of the Thai broadcasts was a professor of Thai language at the Institute of the Middle and Far East in Rome, helped by a Thai student and supported by the Thai legation in Italy. Most of the broadcasts would consist of news bulletins and two or three monthly conferences.10 In April 1941, Italy had also opened a new radio station in Shanghai, the first in the Far East, with a powerful transmitter allowing for the broadcasts to be received along most of the Pacific coast and as far away as some islands in the south Pacific. The radio station broadcast in Chinese, Italian, German and English. The Italian authorities appeared very proud of their achievement: 185

CONCLUSION

We have new means to send the voice of our homeland to our fellow Italians scattered throughout the vast Asian continent – tradesmen, workers, missionaries. We want to appeal to those living in the most remote corners to keep their feeling for Fascist Italy alive. We also want to use this broadcasting station as an effective instrument to counteract the poisonous enemy propaganda which has deliberately targeted our country.11 Far from being a complete and definitive investigation of the forms and structures of Italian overseas propaganda, this study has offered an insight into the mechanisms of the Italian organisation supporting propaganda activities in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, paving the way for further research into a subject that has so far eluded most scholars of twentieth-century international history. Much remains to be done. While even in the twenty-first century the majority of wartime documentation on propaganda and intelligence services remains mostly inaccessible in Italy, captured Italian documentation in the National Archives in Washington can complement the large, but disorganised, collections of captured Italian archival material in London. American documents dealing with Fascist propaganda in the United States during the 1930s could provide a comprehensive picture of Italo-American relations under the Fascist regime. Research in the French and Moroccan archives would help those interested in drawing a comparison between Italy’s policy of subversion in British and French colonies and Mandates to understand how the different mechanisms of imperial rule set up by the French and British governments might have shaped the activities of Italian propagandists. German propaganda materials might be explored to shed light upon the extent to which Berlin and Rome were willing to coordinate their strategies in the Middle East. All these themes might logically be extended, at the very least to 1943 and the final collapse of the Fascist regime in Rome, together with its plans for Roman resurgence in the Mediterranean and the Middle East. Finally, given that one of the objectives of Italian propaganda and subversion was to link up with, and to harness, the volatile anti-colonial nationalist movements of the region, arguably no full survey would be complete without tracing the cultural outcomes of Italian Fascist influence beyond 1943 and into the postwar period, in order to assess their long-term impact upon the intellectual currents of the modern Middle East. However, what is already clear is that Italian ambitions in this area were considerable and far greater than we might have suspected. Italian and German efforts in the realm of subversion before and during the Second World War recall German adventures against the British empire in the First World War in areas as far afield as India. Yet the anti-colonial nationalism to which they appealed was more mature, and arguably the 186

CONCLUSION

British colonial machine that they assailed was more seriously corroded. Moreover, the nature of the Fascist appeal in these regions was now more sophisticated, often proceeding through a ‘soft’ subversion of educational exchanges and sponsorship of student movements. This in turn required a more considered response from London, which eventually manifested itself in the development of the British Council and the subsequent creation of the Foreign Office Cultural Relations Department in 1944. German and Italian successes in linking up with accelerating nationalisms in the Third World thus paved the way for further transformations with the onset of the Cold War in 1945. All this marked one further step down a road that led away from material conflicts between states and instead towards competition between societies prosecuted through the projection of culture and ideology.

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INTRODUCTION 1 Ministry of Information, Publicity Division: Planning Section, ‘The General Principles of Publicity among Moslems’, 16 August 1939, Public Record Office (hereafter PRO), HW 1/407. 2 For the first monographic essay on Italian radio propaganda in Palestine, see C. A. Mcdonald, ‘Radio Bari: Italian Propaganda in the Middle East and British Countermeasures 1934–38’, Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. XIII, 1977. 3 See for example, A. Del Boca, The Ethiopian War 1935–1941, translated by P. D. Cummings, (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1969); A. Del Boca, Gli italiani in Africa Orientale. La conquista dell’impero (Bari: Laterza, 1979); N. Tranfaglia, P. Murialdi and M. Legnani, La stampa italiana nell’età fascista (Bari: Laterza, 1980). 4 P. Cannistraro, La fabbrica di consenso: Fascismo e mass media (Bari: Laterza, 1975); V. De Grazia, The Culture of Consent: Mass Organization of Leisure in Fascist Italy (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1981). 5 W. Vincent Arnold, The Illusion of Victory. Fascist Propaganda and the Second World War (New York: Peter Lang, 1998); L. Quatermaine, Mussolini’s Last Republic: Propaganda and Politics in the Italian Social Republic R.S.I., 1943–45 (Exeter: Elm Bank Publishers, 2000). 6 A. Brogi, A Question of Self-Esteem: The United States and the Cold War Choices in France and Italy, 1944–1958 (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 2002), pp. 201–210. 7 G. S. Jowett and V. O’Donnell, Propaganda and Persuasion (Thousand Oaks, Calif.: Sage, 1992, 2nd edition), p. 216. 8 For a detailed analysis of feelings and reactions generated in the Arab world by the Italian campaign in Abyssinia see G. Procacci, Dalla parte dell’Etiopia. L’aggressione italiana vista dai movimenti anticolonialisti d’Asia, d’Africa, d’America (Milan: Feltrinelli, 1984), pp. 65–122. 9 Analysis of the activities of Italian secret services are primarily contained in C. Amè, Guerra segreta in Italia, 1940–1943 (Rome: Gherardo Casini Editore, 1954); G. De Lutiis, Storia dei servizi segreti in Italia (Rome: Editori Riuniti, 1984); M. Knox, ‘Fascist Italy Assesses its Enemies, 1935–1940’, in E. May (ed.), Knowing One’s Enemies. Intelligence Assessments before the Two World Wars (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984); F. Maugeri, From the Ashes of Disgrace (New York: Reynal & Hitchcock, 1948); C. De Risio, Generali, servizi segreti e fascismo (Milan: Mondadori, 1978). More recently, a

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10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

19

20 21 22

23 24 25 26

monographic study on Mussolini’s secret police has shed new light on unexplored connections between the Fascist regime, its secret services and the political opposition: D. Caccia and M. Canali, L’informatore: Silone, i comunisti e la polizia (Milan: Luni Editrice, 1999). Institute for Propaganda Analysis, ‘How to Detect Propaganda’, 1937, reprinted in R. Jackall (ed.), Propaganda (London: Macmillan, 1995), p. 223. F. C. Bartlett, ‘The Aims of Political Propaganda’, in Society for Psychological Studies of Social Issues, D. Katz (ed.), Public Opinion and Propaganda (New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1954), p. 467. L. J. Martin, International Propaganda. Its Legal and Diplomatic Control (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1958), p. 12. G. S. Jowett and V. O’Donnell, Propaganda and Persuasion, p. 4. P. M. Taylor, Munitions of the Mind. A History of Propaganda from the Ancient World to the Present Day (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1995), p. 6. K. Ward, Mass Communications and the Modern World (London: Macmillan Education, 1989), p. 111. P. M. Taylor, Munitions of the Mind, p. 11. J. Ellul, The Technological Society (London: Jonathan Cape, 1965), pp. 284–291. A. Del Boca, ‘Il fascismo e la “fatalità” dell’impresa di Etiopia’, in P. Caccia and M. Mingardo (eds), Ti saluto e vado in Abissinia. Propaganda, consenso, vita quotidiana attraverso la stampa periodica. Le pubblicazioni e i documenti della Biblioteca Nazionale Braidense (Milan: Vinnipierre Edizioni, 1998), pp. 9–10. Of particular interest are memoirs and other historical work on the Abyssinian conflict written by Italian generals in charge of the military operations in Ethiopia. The volume La guerra d’Etiopia by Pietro Badoglio, Italian Chief of General Staff, initiated a series of such publications. See P. Badoglio, La guerra d’Etiopia (Milan: Mondadori, 1936), preface by Mussolini; see also A. Starace (Secretary-General of the Fascist party and, at that time, Lieutenant General in the Italian navy), La marcia su Gonder. Della colonna celere A.O. e le successive operazioni nell’Etiopia occidentale (Milan: Mondadori, 1937). Initially printed in 20,000 copies, La guerra d’Etiopia was subsequently reprinted: 10,000 copies were issued in November 1936, 20,000 more between February and April 1937, and finally 20,000 copies in May 1937 to celebrate the first year of the Italian empire. M. Mingardo, ‘ “Pace”, “lavoro”, “civiltà”. Propaganda e consenso nella stampa periodica durante la guerra d’Etiopia’, in P. Caccia and M. Mingardo (eds), Ti saluto e vado in Abissinia, p. 31. A. Del Boca, The Ethiopian War, p. 65. A. Del Boca, Gli italiani in Africa Orientale, p. 284. Similarities can be traced in the structure and sub-divisions given by Goebbels in April 1933 to the newly born Reich Ministry of Popular Enlightenment and Propaganda. It comprised seven departments: budget and administration, propaganda, radio, press, film, theatre and popular enlightenment. N. Tranfaglia et al., La stampa italiana nell’età fascista, pp. 146–153. British Documents on Foreign Affairs, Part II, Series F, Vol. II: Southern Europe: Italy, Balkan States and Danubian States 1935 (Frederick, Md.: University Publications of America, 1992), p. 65. W. Vincent Arnold, The Illusion of Victory, p. 28. Ibid., p. 29.

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1 THE CHALLENGE OF NATIONALISM: RESTRUCTURING THE BRITISH EMPIRE 1 P. Darby, Three Faces of Imperialism. British and American Approaches to Asia and Africa, 1870–1970 (New Haven, Conn.: Yale University Press, 1987), p. 77. 2 Ibid., p. 78. 3 J. Darwin, ‘An Undeclared Empire: The British in the Middle East, 1918–39’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, Vol. XXVII, No. 2, May 1999, p. 160. 4 After a second expedition occupied Baghdad in March 1917, the War Cabinet expressed clearly the intention of the British government to hold onto the new possessions in Mesopotamia and the Persian Gulf: ‘Basra [is] to remain permanently under British Administration . . . Baghdad to be an Arab State with local ruler or government under British Protectorate in everything but name. It will accordingly have no relations with foreign Powers . . . Baghdad to be administered behind Arab facade as far as possible as an Arab province by indigenous agency and in accordance with existing laws and institutions.

5 6

7 8 9

10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17

This War Cabinet dispatch of 29 March 1917 is quoted in E. Kedourie, England and the Middle East, The Destruction of the Ottoman Empire 1914–1921 (London: Bowes & Bowes, 1956), p. 176. A. J. Crozier, ‘The Establishment of the Mandate System 1919–25: Some Problems Created by the Paris Peace Conference’, Journal of Contemporary History, Vol. XIV, No. 3, July 1979, pp. 483–491. On the succession of departmental committees in the aftermath of the First World War, see H. Mejcher, ‘British Middle East Policy 1917–21: The InterDepartmental Level’, Journal of Contemporary History, Vol. VIII, No. 4, October 1973. E. Maisel, The Foreign Office and Foreign Policy, 1919–1926 (Brighton: Sussex Academic Press, 1994), p. 225. A. S. Klieman, ‘The Divisiveness of Palestine: Foreign Office versus Colonial Office on the Issue of Partition, 1937’, The Historical Journal, Vol. XXII, No. 2, 1979. On the contention between London and Delhi over the Gulf region, see R. J. Blyth, ‘Britain versus India in the Persian Gulf: The Struggle for Political Control, c. 1928–48’, The Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, Vol. XXVIII, No. 1, January 2000. L. R. Pratt, East of Malta, West of Suez. Britain’s Mediterranean crisis, 1936–1939 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975), p. 13. Quoted in E. Kedourie, ‘Great Britain, the Other Powers, and the Middle East before and after World War I’, in U. Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East 1919–1939 (New York and London: Holmes & Meier, 1988), p. 4. A general view of British colonial policy in India is provided by W. D. McIntyre, Colonies into Commonwealth (London: Blandford Press, 1974); R. J. Moore, The Crisis of the Indian Unity (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1974). E. Kedourie, ‘Great Britain, the Other Powers and the Middle East’, p. 5. J. Darwin, Britain, Egypt and the Middle East. Imperial Policy in the Aftermath of War, 1918–1922 (London: Macmillan, 1981), p. 69. Ibid., p. 71. J. D. McIntyre, The Boycott of the Milner Mission. A Study in Egyptian Nationalism (New York: Peter Lang, 1985), pp. 63–64. Ibid., p. 95.

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18 Ibid., p. 136. 19 Memorandum by Sir M. Hankey, ‘Summary on Defence Policy’, January 1926, in S. R. Ashton and S. E. Stockwell (eds), British Documents on the End of Empire, Series A, Vol. 1 (London: HMSO, 1996), p. 45. 20 For an account of the constitutional crisis in Egypt during the interwar years see P. Mansfield, The British in Egypt (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1971), pp. 245–263; P. J. Vatikiotis, The History of Egypt (Baltimore, Md.: Johns Hopkins University Press, second edition, 1980), pp. 271–295. 21 For a detailed analysis of the diplomatic and constitutional crisis of 1935 and its impact on the development of Egyptian nationalism prior to the Free Officers’ coup of 1952, see H. G. A. Nasser, Britain and the Egyptian Nationalist Movement, 1936–1952 (Reading: Ithaca, 1994), pp. 3–37. 22 Quoted in B. Porter, The Lion’s Share (New York: Longman, 1975), p. 268. 23 J. Darwin, ‘Imperialism in Decline? Tendencies in British Imperial Policy Between the Wars’, The Historical Journal, Vol. XXIII, No. 3, 1980, p. 665. On the economic debate about colonial development especially in the 1930s, see S. Constantine, The Making of British Colonial Development Policy 1914–1940 (London: Frank Cass, 1984); M. Havinden and D. Meredith, Colonialism and Development. Britain and its Tropical Colonies, 1850–1960 (London: Routledge, 1993). 24 R. J. Aldrich, The Key to the South. Britain, the United States, and Thailand during the Approach of the Pacific War, 1929–1942 (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 48–54. 25 J. Darwin, ‘Imperialism in Decline?’, p. 669. 26 For an examination of Anglo-Egyptian policies in Sudan prior to the First World War, see G. Warburg, The Sudan under Wingate. Administration in the Anglo-Egyptian Sudan 1899–1916 (London: Frank Cass, 1971), pp. 13–45. The most thorough analyses of the Anglo-Egyptian administration of the Sudan are M. W. Daly, Empire on the Nile. The Anglo-Egyptian Sudan, 1898–1934 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), and M. W. Daly, Imperial Sudan. The Anglo-Egyptian Condominium, 1934–1956 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991). 27 The core of the Declaration stated: His Majesty’s Government view with favour the establishment in Palestine of a national home for the Jewish people, and will use their best endeavours to facilitate the achievements of this object, it being clearly understood that nothing shall be done which may prejudice the civil and religious rights of the existing non-Jewish communities in Palestine, or the rights and political status enjoyed by the Jews in any other country. (PRO, CAB 23/4) 28 B. Wasserstein, The British in Palestine. The Mandatory Government and the Arab–Jewish Conflict 1917–1929 (London: Royal Historical Society, 1978), p. 10. 29 M. J. Cohen, ‘Churchill and the Balfour Declaration: The Interpretation, 1920–1922’, in U. Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, pp. 91–92. On Churchill’s position on the Balfour Declaration and the institution of a mandate in Palestine, see also M. J. Cohen, Palestine to Israel. From Mandate to Independence (London: Frank Cass, 1988), pp. 1–18. 30 On Jewish perception of Arab reaction to the Zionist challenge in Palestine see N. Caplan, Palestine Jewry and the Arab Question 1917–1925 (London: Frank

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Cass, 1978). On the development of practices of diplomatic negotiation between Arabs and Jews of Palestine, see N. Caplan, Futile Diplomacy. Early Arab–Zionist Negotiation Attempts, 1913–1931 (London: Frank Cass, 1983); N. Caplan, Futile Diplomacy. Arab–Zionist Negotiations and the End of the Mandate (London: Frank Cass, 1986). 31 B. Wasserstein, The British in Palestine, p. 226. 32 M. Hauner, India in Axis Strategy (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1981), p. 22. 33 F. Von Papen, Memoirs (London: André Deutsch, 1952), p. 40. 2 A EUROPEAN MUSLIM POWER: ITALY’S POLICIES IN THE MARE NOSTRUM AND THE RED SEA 1 Mussolini’s speech to the second quinquennial Fascist assembly, 18 March 1934, in E. and D. Susmel (eds), Opera Omnia di Benito Mussolini, Vol. XXVI (Florence: La Fenice, 1953), pp. 191–192. 2 M. Burrows, ‘ “Mission civilisatrice”: French cultural policy in the Middle East, 1860–1914’, The Historical Journal, Vol. XXIX, No. 1, 1986, p. 111. 3 For a critical appraisal of the historiography of Fascist foreign policy, see R. J. B. Bosworth, The Italian Dictatorship. Problems and Perspectives in the Interpretation of Mussolini and Fascism (London: Arnold, 1998), pp. 82–105; M. Knox, ‘The Fascist Regime, its Foreign Policy and its Wars: An “Anti-Fascist” Orthodoxy?’, Contemporary European History, Vol. IV, Part 3, November 1995; J. Petersen, ‘La politica estera del fascismo come problema storiografico’, Storia Contemporanea, Vol. III, No. 4, December 1972. 4 H. Erlich, ‘Mussolini and the Middle East in the 1920s: The Restrained Imperialist’, in U. Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, 1919–1939 (New York and London: Holmes & Meier, 1988), p. 219. On continuity and innovation in Fascist foreign policy see also A. Cassels, ‘Was There a Fascist Foreign Policy? Tradition and Novelty’, International History Review, Vol. V, No. 2, 1983. 5 M. Michaelis, ‘Italy’s Mediterranean Strategy, 1935–39’, in M. J. Cohen and M. Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s. Security Problems, 1935–39 (London: Macmillan, 1992), pp. 41–42. 6 C. G. Segrè, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy in the Middle East, 1919–1939: The Elusive White Stallion’, in U. Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, p. 200. 7 M. Knox, ‘Conquest, Foreign and Domestic, in Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany’, The Journal of Modern History, Vol. LVI, No. 1, March 1984, p. 14. MacGregor Knox further argues that the same kind of domestic considerations concerning the rehabilitation of the image of the Italian nation were among the driving forces urging Mussolini to enter the war in 1940. The Duce predicted that the short conflict would ‘enable him to prove “once and for all”, not merely to the world but to the Italians themselves that they were indeed a warrior nation’. It would provide the opportunity to revive the old Italian glory in the Mediterranean and the Levant, and at the same time ‘sweep away monarchy, Church, and “bourgeoisie” enamoured of the comfortable life. Mussolini’s war was to be a war of internal as well as foreign conquest, a war of revenge on the Italian establishment’: M. Knox, Mussolini Unleashed 1939–1941. Politics and Strategy in Fascist Italy’s Last War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), p. 102. 8 H. M. Sachar, Europe Leaves the Middle East, 1936–1954 (London: Allen Lane, 1974), p. 42.

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9 C. G. Segrè, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy’, p. 203. 10 A. Cassels, Mussolini’s Early Diplomacy (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1970), p. 207. 11 R. Guariglia, Ricordi, 1922–1946 (Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 1950), pp. 31–34. 12 Franco-Italian rivalry in the Mediterranean generally affected the dialogue between European great powers. The dispute between Rome and Paris over the North African colonies (and in particular Tunis, Tangier and Libya) cast a shadow over negotiations in Europe concerning a settlement of the Rhineland question. In 1925 Britain, France, Germany, Italy and Belgium became involved in attempting to reach a permanent diplomatic solution over the legacy of the peace accords that had followed the First World War. With the Locarno Treaty the signatory states reached agreement over the status of the Rhineland region and Alsace-Lorraine; the treaty also provided mutual security guarantees for both Germany and France, with Italy and Britain as the guaranteeing powers. For a more thorough examination of the impact of FrancoItalian tensions over the Locarno negotiations, see H. J. Burgwyn, Italian Foreign Policy in the Interwar Period, 1918–1940 (Westport, Conn.: Praeger, 1997), pp. 27–32. On the development of Franco-Italian diplomatic and military relations during the second half of 1930s, see also R. J. Young, ‘French Military Intelligence and the Franco-Italian Alliance, 1933–1939’, Historical Journal, Vol. XXVIII, No. 1, 1985; R. J. Young, ‘Soldiers and Diplomats: The French Embassy and Franco-Italian Relations, 1935–6’, Journal of Strategic Studies, Vol. VII, No. 1, March 1989. 13 A. Cassels, Mussolini’s Early Diplomacy, p. 218; see also C. J. Lowe and F. Marzari, Italian Foreign Policy, 1870–1940 (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1975), pp. 185–191. 14 A. R. Millet and W. Murray (eds), Military Effectiveness, Vol. II: The Interwar Period (Boston: Allen and Unwin, 1988), pp. 169–170. 15 ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine in the 1930s’, undated, PRO, FO 371/18958/E5638/293/31. 16 S. I. Minerbi, L’Italie et la Palestine, 1914–1920 (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1970), pp. 134–135, 139. 17 A. Ayalon, ‘Egyptian Intellectuals versus Fascism and Nazism in the 1930s’, in U. Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, p. 392. 18 Ibid., p. 395. 19 For a detailed analysis of the Egyptian student organisations, see H. Erlich, Students at University in 20th Century Egyptian Politics (London: Frank Cass, 1988); J. Jankowski, Egypt’s Young Rebels, Young Egypt 1933–1952 (Stanford, Calif.: Hoover Institution Press, 1975). 20 A. Ayalon, ‘Egyptian Intellectuals’, p. 397. 21 M. Michaelis, Mussolini and the Jews. German–Italian Relations and the Jewish Question in Italy 1922–1945 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978), p. 62. 22 Ibid., p. 65. 23 Ibid., p. 75. 24 On the origins of the Jewish Revisionist movement, see J. Heller, The Stern Gang. Ideology, Politics and Terror 1940–1949 (London: Frank Cass, 1995). 25 ‘Lettera manoscritta di Jabotinsky a Sciaky’, 10 July 1936, in V. Pinto (ed.), Stato e Libertà. Il carteggio Jabotinsky–Sciaky (1924–1939) (Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino, 2002), p. 161. 26 ‘Pro-memoria di Guariglia, Direttore Generale per l’Europa, il Levante e l’Africa per il Gabinetto di S.E. il Ministro’, 1 February 1932, ASDMAE, AP

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27 28 29 30 31 32

33

34

1931–45, Palestina 1932, busta 4, fascicolo Vladimiro Jabotinsky, Capo del movimento sionista secessionista, in Pinto, Stato e Libertà, p. 61. J. Kostiner, ‘Britain and the Challenge of the Axis Powers in Arabia: The Decline of British–Saudi Cooperation in the 1930s’, in M. J. Cohen and M. Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East, p. 130. J. Baldry, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry in Yemen and Asir 1900–1934’, Die Welt des Islam, Vol. XVII, No. 1–4, pp. 161–165. Ibid., p. 169. Ibid., p. 171. J. Baldry, ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea: Mussolini’s policy in Yemen 1934–1943’, Asian and African Studies, Vol. XVI, 1980, pp. 55–56. On the Italo-Ethiopian campaign see, G. Rochat, Militari e politici nella preparazione della campagna d’Etiopia. Studio e documenti, 1932–1936 (Milan: Franco Angeli Editore, 1971); G. W. Baer, The Coming of the ItaloEthiopian War (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1967); F. Hardie, The Abyssinian Crisis (London: B. T. Batsford, 1974); A. Del Boca, The Italo-Ethiopian War 1935–1941, translated by P. D. Cummings (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1969). On French policy vis-à-vis the Abyssinian conflict, see F. D. Laurens, France and the Italo-Ethiopian crisis 1936–1941 (The Hague: Mouton, 1967). On the repercussions of the Italian expedition in Africa on world-wide public opinion see D. Eeckante and M. Perret, La guerre d’Ethiopie et l’opinion mondiale, 1934–1941 (Paris: Colloques Langues’O, 1986). On the employment of chemical weapons by Italian troops in Ethiopia see A. Del Boca (ed.), I gas di Mussolini. Il fascismo e la guerra d’Etiopia (Rome: Editori Riuniti, 1996). On Italy’s pursuit of oil concessions in the Middle East, see M. Kent, ‘Guarding the Bandwagon: Great Britain, Italy, and the Middle Eastern Oil 1920–1923’, in E. Ingram (ed.), National and International Politics in the Middle East. Essays in Honour of Elie Kedourie (London: Frank Cass, 1986), pp. 144–163. Y. P. Hirschfeld, ‘The Northern Tier in European Politics during the 1920s and 1930s: Prelude to Cold War’, in U. Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, pp. 317–332.

3 FASCIST ITALY CHALLENGES THE ANGLO-SAUDI PARTNERSHIP 1 C. Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia 1925–1939. The Imperial Oasis (London: Frank Cass, 1983), p. 269. 2 J. Kostiner, The Making of Saudi Arabia 1916–1936. From Chieftaincy to Monarchical State (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), p. 189. 3 D. C. Watt, ‘The Foreign Policy of Ibn Saud 1936–1939’, Journal of the Royal Central Asian Society, April 1963, p. 156. 4 However, as early as 1935, the Emir Abdullah of Transjordan claimed that both the Mufti of Jerusalem and the Saudi King were on the pay books of the Italian government. The British authorities restated their trust in Ibn Saud, confident that ‘there was no evidence that he had ranged himself, or proposed to range himself, on the side of the Italians’: Hall to Wauchope, 12 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/1896/E6359/1234/31. 5 C. Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, pp. 300–305. 6 Radio Bari’s relations with the Emir of Kuwait, 9 February 1938, PRO, GFM 14/61382. 7 Memorandum, 18 December 1937, PRO, FO 905/50/368/19.

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8 Foreign Office Annual Reports from Arabia, 1930–1960, Vol. II: 1935–1937 (Chippenham: Archive Editions, 1993), p. 82. 9 The Jedda Diaries 1919–1940, Vol. IV (Chippenham: Archive Editions, 1990), p. 107. 10 Ibid., p. 205. 11 Foreign Office Annual Reports from Arabia, Vol. II, p. 248. 12 Trott to Eden, 11 October 1937, PRO, FO 905/50/368/16. 13 Foreign Office Annual Reports from Arabia, Vol. II, p. 490. 14 Foreign Office Annual Reports from Arabia, 1930–1960, Vol. III: 1938–1953 (Chippenham: Archive Editions, 1993), p. 87. British representatives in Saudi Arabia noticed that as a result of increasing Italian propaganda throughout 1937, the Saudi government had introduced measures aimed at limiting the diffusion of Italian propaganda outside Mecca and Jedda, and had asked Saudi officials and private citizens to refrain from mixing with members of foreign missions outside official occasions. 15 Bullard to Eden, 2 March 1937, PRO, FO 905/50/295/368/4. 16 Foreign Office Annual Reports from Arabia, Vol. II, p. 488. 17 J. Kostiner, ‘Britain and the Challenge of the Axis Powers in Arabia: The Decline of British–Saudi Cooperation in the 1930s’, in M. J. Cohen and M. Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s. Security Problems, 1935–39 (London: Macmillan, 1992). 18 Foreign Office Annual Reports from Arabia, Vol. III, p. 179. 19 D. C. Watt, ‘The Foreign Policy of Ibn Saud’, p. 155. 20 C. Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, p. 273. 21 Foreign Office Annual Reports from Arabia, Vol. II, p. 459. 4 THE ORIGINS OF THE UNREST: THE SALE OF LAND 1 Weizmann to Ormsby-Gore, 4 July 1937, University of Durham Library, Archives and Special Collections, Malcolm MacDonald Papers, 9/9/14. 2 A. Viton, ‘Britain and the Axis in the Near East’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. XIX, No. 2, January 1941, p. 377. 3 ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine in the 1930s’, undated, PRO, FO 371/18958/E5638/293/31. 4 Minute by H. E. P. Wigglesworth, RAF Wing Commander, 6 February 1937, PRO, AIR 20/173/61082. 5 Minute by H. E. P. Wigglesworth, RAF Wing Commander, 31 December 1936, PRO, AIR 20/173/61082. 6 G. Shaffer, ‘Principles of Pragmatism: A Revaluation of British Policies toward Palestine in the 1930s’, in U. Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East (New York: Holmes & Meier, 1988), p. 111. 7 Ibid., p. 114. 8 Ibid., pp. 115–118. 9 Memorandum for the cabinet, 18 January 1939, Malcolm MacDonald Papers, 9/11/4. 10 J. Nevo, ‘Palestinian–Arab Violent Activity during the 1930s’, in M. J. Cohen and M. Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1992), pp. 169–171. 11 K. W. Stein, The Land Question in Palestine, 1917–1939 (Chapel Hill and London: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), pp. 202–211; on land sales see also Y. Porath, The Palestinian Arab Nationalist Movement: From Riots to Rebellion, 1929–1939 (London: Cass, 1977), pp. 80–108.

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12 For a complete biography of Haj Amin al-Hussaini, see: P. Mattar, The Mufti of Jerusalem: Al-Hajj Amin al-Husayni and the Palestinian National Movement (New York: Columbia University Press, 1988); J. B. Schechtman, The Mufti and the Fuehrer. The Rise and Fall of Haj Amin el-Husseini (New York and London: Thomas Yoseloff, 1965); T. Yehuda, The Mufti of Jerusalem and Palestine Arab Politics 1930–1937 (New York and London: Garland Publishing, 1986); E. Zvi, The Grand Mufti: Haj Amin al-Hussaini, Founder of the Palestinian National Movement (London and Portland, Oreg.: Frank Cass, 1993); for a critical review of the literature on Haj Amin al-Hussaini’s co-operation with the Axis, see R. Medoff, ‘The Mufti’s Nazi Years Re-examined’, The Journal of Israeli History, Vol. XVII, No. 3, 1998. 13 P. Mattar, The Mufti of Jerusalem, p. 11. 14 E. Zvi, The Grand Mufti, p. 8. 15 N. and H. Bentwich, Mandate Memories, 1918–1948 (New York: Schocken Books, 1965), pp. 191–92. 16 E. Zvi, The Grand Mufti, pp. 31–36. 17 Weizmann to MacDonald, 5 July 1935, Malcolm MacDonald Papers, 9/9/5 Palestine. 18 M. J. Cohen, Palestine to Israel. From Mandate to Independence (London: Frank Cass, 1988), p. 45. 19 ‘Periodical Appreciation Summary’, No. 4/35, 5 February 1935, PRO, FO 371/18957/E1311/154/31. 20 M. J. Cohen, ‘Sir Arthur Wauchope, the Army, and the Rebellion in Palestine, 1936’, Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. IX, No. 1, January 1973, p. 20. 21 M. Kolinsky, ‘The Collapse and Restoration of Public Security’, in M. J. Cohen and M. Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s, p. 149. 22 Weizmann to Ormsby-Gore, 4 July 1937, Malcolm MacDonald Papers, 9/9/14. 23 On reactions within the cabinet and the Foreign Office to the Peel Report, see M. J. Cohen, Palestine: Retreat from the Mandate. The Making of British Foreign Policy, 1936–45 (London: Paul Elek, 1978), pp. 32–45. 5 ITALIAN ACTIVITIES IN PALESTINE: MUSSOLINI AS ‘THE SWORD OF ISLAM’ 1 J. Schroeder, ‘I rapporti di potenza del’Asse e il mondo arabo’, Storia Contemporanea, Vol. II, No. 1, March 1971, p. 149. 2 ‘Political Situation in Palestine, 1935’, PRO, GFM 36/508. Italian captured documents are kept together with material from the German Foreign Ministry, hence their class mark GFM. GFM 36, in particular, contains the files photocopied from the Italian Ministry of Popular Culture and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. 3 Ibid. 4 Communiqué to be broadcast in English, undated, PRO, GFM 36/14. 5 ‘Political situation in Palestine, 1936’, PRO, GFM 36/508. 6 Rice to the Chief Secretary in Jerusalem, 23 August 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E5638/293/31. 7 The ambassador in Italy to the Foreign Office, 10 September 1040, Documents on German Foreign Policy 1918–1945 (hereafter DGFP), Series D, Vol. XI (London: HMSO, 1961), No. 40. 8 Secret memorandum, 18 March 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E2690/293/31. On Ihsan Al-Jabiri’s activities in Palestine, see for example Moody to Williams, 18 March 1937, PRO, CO 733/341/15, fo. 17.

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9 Pamphlet Ce que fait l’Italie pour l’Islam et l’Afrique, 1936, PRO, CO 733/299/12. 10 ‘Palestine Police Summary’, 18 February 1936, PRO, FO 371/20018/E1293/19/31. On Italian publications distributed in Palestine, see also Report from the CID in Jerusalem, 19 February 1936, PRO, CO 733/299/12, fo. 108. 11 Pamphlet Abyssinia and Slavery, October 1935, PRO, FO 141/659/994/69/35. 12 H. D. Lasswell, ‘Propaganda’, in R. Jackall (ed.), Propaganda (London: Macmillan, 1995), p. 23. 13 For example, see directives imparted by the Italian Foreign Ministry to the Ministry of Popular Culture and other departments concerning Italian propaganda in Syria and the contents of broadcast messages inviting the Arabs of Syria to embrace closer relations with the Fascist government: Telegram, 26 January 1941, PRO, GFM 36/14. 14 For an example of the allocation of financial resources from the Ministry of Popular Culture to international and domestic propaganda with strong antiBritish connotations, see ‘Report by Pavolini on Domestic and Overseas Propaganda’, undated, PRO, GFM 36/600. Sometimes the assignment of new quotas for propaganda expenditure was approved directly by Mussolini. This was the case in February 1936, when the Italian embassy in London complained about a shortage of funds for Italian activities in Britain. Mussolini granted an increase of 400,000 Italian lire to be paid to the offices in London in four instalments throughout the year 1936: Grandi to Luciano, 19 February 1936, PRO, GFM 36/39/I/16. The Italian embassy in London saw its budget increase as a direct consequence of the Abyssinian crisis and the subsequent question of international sanctions. Italian overseas propaganda focused on defending Italy’s imperial ambitions in Africa and castigating the barbaric and backward conditions in which the kingdom of Ethiopia lay. The increased subsidy received by the Italian representatives in London was used to pay for the establishment of a centre for the distribution of pamphlet literature sent to London from Rome, and for subventions to various printed materials, including the journal of the Italian Fascist organisation in Britain, L’Italia Nostra. For more details on Italian propaganda in Britain during the Abyssinian crisis, see D. Waley, British Public Opinion and the Abyssinian War, 1935–6 (London: Temple Smith in association with the London School of Economics and Political Science, 1975), pp. 117–135. 15 Report on Radio Roma, 17 December 1940, PRO, GFM 36/69. 16 ‘Italian Propaganda in Portugal, 1939–1941’, undated, PRO, GFM 36/69. 17 Telegram from the Italian embassy to the Ministry of Popular Culture and the Foreign Office, 8 February 1941, PRO, GFM 36/69. 18 Report on the activities of IRCE, undated, PRO, GFM 36/120. 19 Report on IRCE’s activities during its first year, undated, PRO, GFM 36/120. 20 Report by Pavolini, ‘Propaganda Abroad’, submitted to the Italian Defence Commission in February 1941, PRO, GFM 36/600. 21 On the shortcomings of Britain’s assessment of its relations with Italy, see a recent study D. M. Miller, ‘Italy through the Looking Glass: Aspects of British Policy and Intelligence Concerning Italy, 1939–1941’, Ph.D. Thesis (University of Toronto, 1997). 22 From the speech given by Mussolini to the Chiefs of Staff in late 1926 or early 1927; quotation from MacGregor Knox, ‘Il fascismo e la politica estera italiana’, in J. B. Bosworth and S. Romano (eds), La politica estera italiana, 1860–1985 (Bologna, 1991), p. 298.

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23 Press communiqué from the Oriental students in Italy, contained in a memorandum to the Italian Foreign Minsitry, 24 July 1938, PRO, GFM 36/14. 24 At this moment it was not clear whether the Mufti was ideologically driven towards the Fascist and Nazi regimes or whether it was more an opportunist choice. Some British officials in Palestine came to the conclusion that he was not ‘Italophile’: ‘He is however sitting on the fence and it is of course quite possible that he might in certain circumstances be persuaded to make use of Italian money or of international complication to further Arab Nationalist aims and his own ambition’: Telegram from the Officer Administering the Government in Palestine to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, 12 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/18925/E5595/5595/65. 25 ‘Periodical Appreciation Summary’, 28 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/18957/ E6484/154/31. 26 Telegram from the Officer Administering the Government in Palestine to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, 12 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/18925/E5595/5595/65. 27 Ibid. 28 Moody to Williams, 12 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E6585/293/31. 29 ‘Periodical Appreciation Summary’, 24 August 1935, PRO, FO 371/18957/ E5618/154/31. 30 Quoted in Hall to MacDonald, 13 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/18925/ E5707/5595/65. 31 Mussolini’s apparent attempts to consolidate Italy’s rapprochement with France were not overlooked in London. 32 Paulette (Hertfort) a Landini, 16 August 1940, PRO, GFM 36/47. In 1937 Italian correspondents in Palestine reported on the growing sympathy for Mussolini and Hitler among Palestinian Arabs, and the favourable eye with which the Arab press regarded Italy’s pro-Islamic policy: Drummond to Eden, 28 May 1937, PRO, CO 733/341/15, fo. 13. 33 Record of leading personalities in Syria, 26 August 1936, PRO, FO 371/20018/E5398/209/89. 34 W. L. Cleveland, Islam Against the West. Shakib Arslan and the Campaign for Islamic Nationalism (London: Al Saqi Books, 1985), p. 29. A bibliography on Shakib Arslan that would exclude texts in Arabic is rather limited. However, apart from the above-quoted monograph, other contributions worth looking at are: J. Bessis, ‘Chekib Arslan et les mouvements nationalistes au Maghreb’, Revue Historique, Vol. CCLIX, 1978; E. Lévi-Provençal, ‘L’Emir Shakib Arslan (1869–1946)’, Cahiers de l’Orient Contemporain, Vol. IX–X, 1947; G. Widmer, ‘Ubertraugungen aus der neuarabischen Literatur. III. Emir Shakib Arslan’, Die Welt des Islam, Vol. XIX, 1937. More in general, about the interwar development of subversive activities in French-controlled territories and Arslan’s influence on the pan-Islamic movement, is in M. B. Miller, Shanghai on the Métro. Spies, Intrigue and the French between the Wars (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), pp. 63–64, 176. More information on the life and career of Shakib Arslan, as well as translations of articles elsewhere published by the Syrian journalist, are given in the Italian periodical Oriente Moderno, particularly in the years 1933–36. 35 W. L. Cleveland, Islam Against the West, p. 68. 36 E. Lévi-Provençal, ‘L’Emir Shakib Arslan’, p. 10. 37 A. Fleury, ‘Le mouvement national arabe à Genève durant l’entre-deuxguerres’, Relations Internationales, Vol. XIX, Autumn 1979, p. 329. 38 S. Arslan, ‘Préface’, La Nation Arabe, March 1930, pp. 1–2.

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39 40 41 42

Ibid. E. Lévi-Provençal, ‘L’Emir Shakib Arslan’, pp. 10–11. W. L. Cleveland, Islam Against the West, p. 144. The beginning of a process of reconciliation between the Arabs of Libya and the Italian government was announced by Shakib Arslan from the pages of his journal in 1933. His attitude was still very cautious, acknowledging the new course of action Rome was said to have embarked on in order to make up for the wrong done to the Arabs of Libya and yet waiting to see the welcome effects of the new policy. The article, already conciliatory in many parts, still reflects the rancour that had characterised the reaction of the Arab world towards events in Libya. However, the colour of the polemic had been noticeably tempered. In an extract from a previous editorial on the same subject published in 1930, Arslan, though professing his good feelings towards the Italians as a Mediterranean people, vigorously complained about the measures adopted by the government in Rome in dealing with the Libyan nationalists: The way peaceful populations have been treated under the pretext that their fellow countrymen had joined the resistance groups will not attract much sympathy to an Italy avid for expansion. This unprecedented example will always be remembered as something that violates human rights, war conventions and any law regulating human society. (S. Arslan, ‘L’Italie et le monde arabe’, La Nation Arabe, April–June 1933, pp. 23–24)

43 S. Arslan, ‘L’Italie en Erythrée. Comparaisons avec d’autres puissances colonisatrices’, La Nation Arabe, September–October 1934, p. 50. 44 Ibid., p. 48. 45 Extract from Al moqattan, 17 April 1935, PRO, FO 371/18925/E2695/ 2695/65. The letter, believed to be authentic, became the object of discussion between British officials and Jordanian politicians. The frantic activity of the Italians had generated curiosity in Transjordan and a little irritation when the Emir (the King of Transjordan) was approached by the Italian Consul General who advised him to keep on good terms with Amin al-Hussaini, the Mufti of Jerusalem. According to British sources, the letter did not help to improve Italy’s prestige among the local Arabs, who were speculating that the Italians had ‘their eye on Abyssinia merely as a jumping off place to their real objective’, Yemen: ‘Political Situation in Trans Jordan’, April 1935, PRO, FO 371/18959/E3669/335/31. 46 Rice to the Chief Secretary in Jerusalem, 24 April 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E3669/335/31. 47 Literal translation from Al jami’a Al Islamiya of 16 April 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E3519/293/31. 48 Extract from Al Ahali, 17 September 1935, PRO, GFM 36/68. 49 Telegram from the Italian consulate in Aleppo to Rome, 20 September 1935, PRO, GFM 36/68. 50 M. J. Cohen, Palestine: Retreat from the Mandate. The Making of British Policy, 1936–45 (London: Paul Elek, 1978), p. 11. In April 1935 the statement of policy of the Palestine Arab Party was published in Al jami’a Al Arabiya and broadcast by Radio Bari. The party called above all for a withdrawal of the British Mandatory authorities from Palestinian soil, and the creation of an independent Arab Palestinian state where there would be no place for a Jewish national home. A greater degree of co-operation with the rest of the Arab world, as well as better promotion of the Arab cause in western countries, were

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51 52 53 54 55 56

57 58 59

60 61 62 63

64 65 66

considered indispensable elements to build a political and social environment where the aspirations of the Arabs of Palestine could be fulfilled: extract from Al jami’a Al Arabiya, 1 April 1935, PRO, FO 141/659/994/1/35. ‘Periodical Appreciation Summary’, 28 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/18957/ E6484/154/31. S. Arslan, ‘Le conflit italo-ethiopien et les arabes’, La Nation Arabe, May–June 1935, p. 351. S. Arslan, ‘Les Musulmans d’Abyssinie’, La Nation Arabe, January–February 1935, p. 177. S. Arslan, ‘À propos de l’Ethiopie’, La Nation Arabe, September–November 1936, p. 680. S. Arslan, ‘Le problème éthiopien’, La Nation Arabe, January–April 1936, p. 511. W. L. Cleveland, Islam against the West, p. 149. In 1937 Italian intelligence officers touring Palestine expressed satisfaction at the results achieved through the work of Italian activists in the region, and through the campaign conducted by members of the Syrian–Palestine delegation in Geneva led by Shakib Arslan. The whole propaganda offensive had apparently cost the Italian authorities 30 million lire, a price considered worth paying: General Staff Intelligence Palestine and Trans Jordan to the Director of Operations and Intelligence, Air Ministry, 18 August 1937, PRO, AIR 2/1813. P. M. Taylor, ‘Propaganda in International Politics, 1919–1939’, in K. R. M. Short (ed.), Film and Radio Propaganda in World War II (Knoxville: The University of Tennessee Press, 1983), pp. 30–31. The Officer Administering the Government in Palestine to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, 12 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E6826/293/31. It is interesting to note that the language used during the first news broadcasts was classical Arabic. Failing to be understood by the majority of the listeners, Radio Bari began to employ Egyptian and Palestinian speakers who could be followed by a wider Arab audience. C. A. MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari: Italian Propaganda in the Middle East and British Countermeasures 1934–38’, Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. XIII, 1977, p. 195. D. J. Grange, ‘Structure et technique d’une propagande: Les émissions de Radio Bari’, Relations Internationales, No. 2, 1974, p. 171. Quoted in G. Mansell, Let Truth Be Told. 50 Years of BBC External Broadcasting (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1982), p. 40. Radio Jerusalem was launched in 1936. Through its broadcasts, the Foreign Office intended to offset the intense anti-British propaganda carried out by Radio Bari. The British authorities in Palestine, therefore, began free distribution of radio sets hoping that Radio Jerusalem would immediately gain a large audience. In fact, the new broadcasting station ‘had never been designed to project British views to the entire Arab world and it was handicapped by its short range’. Moreover, Arab listeners felt put off by the ample space given by the radio to programmes in Hebrew. Soon, Arab public opinion started regarding Radio Jerusalem as an instrument in the hands of the High Commissioner: C. A. MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, pp. 199–200. For information about radio services in the Middle East, see V. Vacca, ‘ “arRadyo”. Le radio arabe d’Europa e d’Oriente e le loro pubblicazioni’, Oriente Moderno, XX, 1940. Extract from ‘Gumhuriyet’, 26 January 1938, PRO, GFM 36/14/61382. C. A. MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 196.

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67 Ibid. 68 Martin to Williams, 24 July 1936, PRO, CO 733/299/12, fo. 89. 69 Moody to Williams, 2 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E6826/293/31. See also ‘Anti-British Propaganda in Arabic Broadcasts from the Italian Wireless Station at Bari’, 10 July 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E4413/293/31. 70 Anti-British propaganda in Arabic broadcasts from the Italian wireless station at Bari, 23 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E5741/293/31. 71 Bari broadcast, 16 June 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E4413/293/31; Bari broadcast, 19 September 1935 and 21 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E6264/ 293/31. 72 Bari broadcast, 22 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E6678/293/31. 73 Bari broadcast, 21 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E6678/293/31. 74 Telegram from the Officer Administering the Government of Palestine to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, 24 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/ E6373/293/31. 75 Foreign Office minutes, 25 July 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E4413/293/31. 76 Ibid. 77 Foreign Office minutes, 13 July 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E4117/293/31. A year later the Foreign Office was still uncertain as to the measures to be taken to offset the outcome of Italian scheming in the areas under British control, and was ‘considering the desirability of tackling the Italian government in the near future on the general question of Italian anti-British activities in the Near and Middle East’: Bennett to Martin, 17 August 1936, PRO, CO 733/299/12, fo. 30. 78 Foreign Office minutes, 28 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/18958/E6373/293/31. 79 Williams to the Under-Secretary of State, 1 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/E6585/293/31. 80 R. Lamb, Mussolini and the British (London: John Murray, 1997), pp. 175–177. As Mussolini refused to withdraw Italy’s volunteers supporting the Spanish rebels, the Italians were tipped off that the British government, through the head of the Iraqi legation in Paris and a group of Greek and Jewish agents, was helping to smuggle arms to the opponents of Franco. A copy of a letter signed by the Iraqi ambassador gives details of the supplies: Italian embassy in Paris to the Foreign Office in Rome, 30 April 1937, PRO, GFM 36/44. 81 Propaganda through local press and radio broadcasts moved along pan-Islamic and pro-Italian lines, urging the Arab populations of the Near East, and Palestine in particular, to fight for their unity and right to self-determination: ‘Appreciation of Italian Activities in Palestine, 1–31 December 1937’, PRO, AIR 2/1813. 82 ‘Italian Activities in Palestine, Monthly Appreciation’, 30 June 1937, PRO, AIR 2/1813. A year earlier the British authorities in Palestine had already identified Al jami’a Al Islamiya as one of the main sources of hostile propaganda. However, they found it difficult to act swiftly as, despite repeated indiscretions, there was no evidence that the newspaper had at any time accepted Italian subsidies: Hattorn Hall to Thomas, 29 February 1936, PRO, CO 733/299/12, fo. 106. 83 ‘Appreciation of Italian Activities in Palestine, 1–31 December 1937’, PRO, AIR 2/1813. 84 ‘Italian Activities in Palestine, Monthly Appreciation’, 30 July 1937, PRO, AIR 2/1813; Authority A.I. 18942, 7 September 1937, AIR 2/1813; The ‘Italians in Palestine. Hopes of Bringing the Mufti to Italy’, 29 December 1937, PRO, AIR 2/1813.

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85 ‘Italian Activities in Palestine, Monthly Appreciation’, 30 July 1937, PRO, AIR 2/1813; ‘Appreciation of Italian Activities in Palestine, 1–30 November 1937’, PRO, AIR 2/1813. 86 For the full text of the agreement see PRO, FO 371/21981/J1658/38/16. 87 ‘Appreciation of Italian Activities in Palestine, 1–31 January 1938’, PRO, AIR 2/1813. 88 ‘Appreciation of Italian Activities in Palestine, 1 April–31 May 1938’, PRO, AIR 2/1813; D. C. Watt, ‘Gli accordi mediterranei anglo-italiani dell’aprile 1938’, Rivista di Studi Politici Internazionali, Vol. XXVI, 1959, pp. 74–75. 89 On Italian institutions operating in Palestine and Transjordan, see also ‘Appreciation of Italian Propagandist Activity in Palestine and Transjordan, 1–28 February 1938’, PRO, AIR 2/1813. 6 NAZI GERMANY IN THE MIDDLE EAST: THE AUSWÄRTIGES AMT AND THE PALESTINE QUESTION 1 F. Nicosia, The Third Reich and the Palestine Question (London: I. B. Tauris, 1985); M. Hauner, India in Axis Strategy (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1981). 2 ‘Political Appreciation Summary’, 5 August 1935, PRO, FO 371/18957/E5075/ 154/31. 3 Ibid. 4 L. Gordon, Brothers against the Raj: A Biography of Sarat and Subhas Chandra Bose (New York: Columbia University Press, 1990), p. 456. 5 P. French, Liberty or Death. India’s Journey to Independence and Division (London: HarperCollins, 1997), p. 204. 6 M. Hauner, India in Axis Strategy, p. 62. 7 Quoted in P. French, Liberty or Death, p. 205. 8 M. Muggeridge (ed.), Ciano’s Diary 1939–1943 (London: Heinemann, 1947), pp. 354–355. 9 G. Bottai, Diario 1935–1944 (Milan: BUR, 1994), p. 306. 10 F. Nicosia, ‘Fritz Grobba and the Middle East Policy of the Third Reich’, in E. Ingram (ed.), National and International Politics in the Middle East. Essays in Honour of Elie Kedourie (London and Totowa, NJ: Frank Cass, 1986), p. 210. 11 The State Secretary to the Embassy in Italy, 26 March 1935, DGFP, Series C, Vol. III (London: HMSO, 1959), No. 557. 12 State Secretary Bülow to Foreign Minister Neurath, 18 July 1935, DGFP, Series C, Vol. IV (London: HMSO, 1962), No. 212. 13 State Secretary Bülow to State Secretary Funk (Ministry for Propaganda), 10 August 1935, DGFP, Series C, Vol. IV, No. 261. 14 F. Nicosia, ‘Arab Nationalism and National Socialist Germany, 1933–1939: Ideological and Strategic Incompatibility’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. XII, 1980, p. 353. 15 According to official figures, in 1932 only 353 Jews had emigrated to Palestine, but in 1933 the number rose to 5,392. Overall Jewish immigration from Europe reached its peak of 61,844 in 1935; in the same year, the Nuremberg laws deprived the Jews of German citizenship and, as a result, 8,630 Jews moved to Palestine. Figures quoted in N. Bethell, The Palestine Triangle: The Struggle between the British, the Jews and the Arabs, 1935–1948 (London: André Deutsch, 1979), p. 25. 16 D. Yisraeli, ‘The Third Reich and Palestine’, Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. VII, No. 3, October 1971, pp. 345–346. 17 For the final draft of the agreement, see the Minister of the Economy to Hano-

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18 19

20 21

22 23 24 25 26 27

taiah, Ltd, Tel Aviv, 18 July 1933, DGFP, Series C, Vol. I (London: HMSO, 1957), No. 369. The Commissioner for Migration and Statistics to the Chief Secretary, Jerusalem, 13 September 1934, PRO, CO 733/255/1, fo. 13. For an interesting analysis of the anti-German boycott and, in particular, of the Anglo-Jewish response to racial laws in the Third Reich see S. Gewirtz, ‘AngloJewish Responses to Nazi Germany 1933–39: The Anti-Nazi Boycott and the Board of Deputies of British Jews’, Journal of Contemporary History, Vol. XXVI, No. 1, April 1991. F. Nicosia, ‘Arab Nationalism and National Socialist Germany’, p. 357. H. D. Schmidt, ‘The Nazi Party in Palestine and the Levant, 1932–9’, International Affairs, Vol. XXVIII, October 1952, p. 467. Schmidt gives an accurate though brief account of the history of the German community and the Nazi party in Palestine. Special attention is dedicated to the struggle for political control undertaken by the Nazi party after its creation in 1932. Attempts to increase the membership of the party through an intense economic and political propaganda campaign produced a rift inside the German community. Nazi ideas appealed especially to those Germans who had felt neglected by the Weimar Republic or were hoping that the new government would improve German prestige abroad. Another section of the German community in Palestine belonged to the Temple Society, a unitarian sect of Pietists who had reached Palestine in 1869. They perceived Hitler as the spiritual heir of Luther and his coming to power ‘as a miracle which God had worked to save Germany, a triumph of religious faith, the moral integrity and goodness of which was not questioned’. In opposition, the leaders of the colonies, merchants, directors of banks and factories and all those who were responsible for the welfare of the German community in Palestine remained sceptical. They feared that the anti-Jewish measures adopted by the Nazi regime would seriously endanger relations between the German settlements and their Jewish neighbours, thus affecting the trade and economy of the colonies. The struggle continued throughout the 1930s. However, already at the end of 1935 party membership had expanded and almost 14 per cent of the German settlers had joined the Nazi organisation. German Nazi authorities soon began to crack down on resistance and dissent; gradually all German communities were reorganised and sealed ‘into a hermetic compartment of totalitarian pressure’. F. Nicosia, ‘Fritz Grobba and the Middle East Policy of the Third Reich’, p. 219. Ibid., p. 224. Conversation with the Fuehrer, 24 October 1936, M. Muggeridge (ed.), Ciano’s Diplomatic Papers (London: Odham, 1948), p. 56. Ibid., p. 44. F. Nicosia, ‘Arab Nationalism and National Socialist Germany’, pp. 361–366. In an appreciation of the political climate in Palestine prior to the publication of the report, the German Foreign Ministry assessed the attitude taken by various European governments to the creation of a Jewish state. Praise was expressed for the position adopted by the Italian government, whose opposition to the idea of a Jewish self-governing entity was ‘determined less by antiSemitic animosity than by the fear that England might develop the formation of a Jewish state in Palestine into a platform for her Mediterranean policy’: Circular of the Foreign Ministry, 22 June 1937, DGFP, Series D, Vol. V (London: HMSO, 1953), No. 564.

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28 R. Melka, ‘Nazi Germany and the Palestine Question’, Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. V, October 1969, p. 222. 29 The Foreign Minister to the embassy in Great Britain, the Consulate General at Jerusalem, and the Legation in Iraq, 1 June 1937, DGFP, Series D, Vol. V, No. 561. 30 The Consul General at Jerusalem to the Foreign Ministry, 15 July 1937, DGFP, Series D, Vol. V, No. 565. 31 F. Nicosia, ‘Arab Nationalism and National Socialist Germany’, p. 358. 32 R. Melka, ‘Nazi Germany and the Palestine Question’, p. 224. 33 The Third Reich Foreign Exchange Control Office to the Foreign Ministry, 7 December 1937, DGFP, Series D, Vol. V, No. 575. 34 This lack of unity was denied by the leaders of the other Middle East Arab states which reaffirmed their common opposition to any plan supporting the partition of Palestinian land and the creation of a Jewish state. As for Egypt, the country was going through a process of discovery of the neighbouring Arab world. The dramatic events in Palestine, the resurgence of Islamic religious sentiments in Egypt since the early 1930s, the change in the international status of Egypt, now completely independent of Britain and a member of the League of Nations, determined the Egyptian attitude to the Palestinian question. A great degree of empathy emerged after the Arab revolt of 1936, when demonstrations, appeals and protests voiced the solidarity of prominent Egyptian associations, organisations and youth clubs affiliated to some of the main political parties. The Egyptian contribution to the cause of the Palestinian Arabs went beyond verbal expressions of concern and support and took the form of financial assistance, mainly gathered through fundraising, and the dispatch of supplies and military equipment to be used by the rebels: J. Jankowski, ‘Egyptian Response to the Palestine Problem in the Interwar Period’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, Vol. XII, 1980, pp. 9–13. 35 The Consul General at Jerusalem to the Foreign Ministry, 15 July 1937, DGFP, Series D, Vol. V, No. 566; the Consulate General at Jerusalem to the Foreign Ministry, 10 August 1937, DGFP, Series D, Vol. V, No. 572. 36 ‘Memorandum of Political Division VII’, 7 August 1937, DGFP, Series D, Vol. V, No. 571. 37 R. Melka, ‘Nazi Germany and the Palestine Question’, p. 226. 38 ‘Summary of Intelligence: Palestine and Transjordan’, 30 December 1938, PRO, SCO 732/81/10. 39 Ministry of Information, Publicity Division, Iraq, 17 July 1939, PRO, HW1/748. 40 Ibid. 41 ‘Fascist Machinations in Islamic Countries’, 14 April 1939, PRO, FO 395/650. 42 Ibid. 43 War Cabinet, Joint Intelligence Sub-Committee, ‘Situation in the Middle East’, 16 May 1940, PRO, FO 371/24549. 44 16th Infantry Brigade, ‘Intelligence Summary’, 5 September 1939, PRO, WO 201/2134. 45 Note on propaganda for pilgrims by Sir H. Subrawardy, adviser to the Secretary of State for India, undated, PRO, INF 1/418. 46 I. Gershoni, ‘Rethinking the Formation of Arab Nationalism in the Middle East, 1920–1945’, in I. Gershoni and J. Jankowski (eds), Rethinking Nationalism in the Arab Middle East (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997), p. 16.

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47 See B. Tibi, Arab Nationalism between Islam and Nation-State (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1997, 3rd edition), pp. 125–158. 48 As quoted in P. M. Hayes, Fascism (London: Allen & Unwin, 1973), p. 53. 7 CHALLENGING THE OLD SYSTEM: ITALIAN ACTIVITIES IN BRITISH AND FRENCH COLONIES 1 Saleh to the High Commissioner, 20 September 1935, PRO, FO 141/659/ 994/34/35. 2 C. A. MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari: Italian Wireless Propaganda in the Middle East and British Countermeasures 1934–38’, Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. XIII, 1977, p. 195. 3 M. Tedeschini-Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba del fascismo e l’Egitto’, Storia Contemporanea, Vol. VII, No. 4, December 1976, pp. 719–722. 4 I. Kirkpatrick, Mussolini. Study of a Demagogue (London: Odhams, 1964), p. 264. The rapprochement and reconciliation between the Italian government and the Vatican – through the Lateran Pacts signed in February 1929 – was one of the key initiatives that helped consolidate the Fascist regime. 5 I documenti diplomatici italiani (hereafter DDI), Settima serie: 1927–1935, Vol. VII, No. 100, De Cicco a Mussolini, 5 December 1928. 6 DDI, Settima Serie: 1927–1935, Vol. VII, No. 487, De Cicco a Mussolini, 13 June 1929. 7 From the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the Ministry of Popular Culture, 26 January 1941, PRO, GFM 36/14. 8 Oriente Moderno, XVI, July 1936, p. 368. 9 Ibid. 10 J. Desparmet, ‘Les oulémas algériens et la propagande italienne (1931–1938)’, L’Afrique Française, Vol. XLVIII, May 1938, p. 210. 11 The state of relations between Fascist Italy and the North African Muslims slightly improved towards the end of the 1930s. Shortly after, however, Italian diplomatic representatives began to voice their disappointment at the discriminatory and hostile measures adopted by the French authorities against Italians resident in Morocco and Tunisia: the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the Ministry of Cultural Propaganda, 3 October 1939; the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the Ministry of Popular Culture and the Ministry of Italian Africa, 24 December 1940, PRO, GFM 36/14. 12 During his visit to Tripoli, a group of Muslims offered Mussolini a sword forged in Rome and paid by the Italian Treasury for the sum of 200,000 Italian lire. It was called ‘The Sword of Islam’ which was also the title given to the sons of the Yemeni Imam. Some Arab writers commented with irony, suggesting that if Mussolini turned his ambitions towards Yemen, he would conquer it with ‘The Sword of Islam’: J. Desparmet, ‘Les oulémas algériens’, p. 211. 13 Ibid., p. 213. 14 The Italian Consulate in Algiers to the Ministry of Popular Culture, 13 April 1937; the Italian Consulate in Algiers to the Ministry of Popular Culture, 22 June 1937; the Ministry of Popular Culture to the Italian Consulate in Algiers, 25 October 1938, PRO, GFM 36/72. 15 The Italian Consulate in Algiers to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 29 January 1938; the Italian Commission for Armistice within France to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 5 December 1940, PRO, GFM 36/72. 16 R. L. Melka, ‘The Axis and the Middle East: 1930–1945’ (Ph.D thesis, The University of Minnesota, 1966), p. 13.

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17 The Italian authorities were rather concerned about Gandhi’s outspoken personality: ‘If we decide in favour of his visit, I believe it indispensable to approach him in advance in order to explain to him that it would not be in the interests of our two countries if he officially expressed opinions about this regime; we should check his ideas on this matter’: DDI, Settima serie: 1927–1935, Vol. IX, No. 44, October 1931. 18 ‘Italian Propaganda in India’, 13 March 1936, PRO, HW 12/201. 19 Telegram from Sir Edmond Drumand, Foreign Office, to British embassy, Rome, 29 June 1936, L/PS/12/1536. 20 ‘Italian Relations with Indian Nationalists’, 14 April 1937, PRO, HW 12/214. 21 M. Hauner, India in Axis Strategy. Germany, Japan and Indian Nationalists in the Second World War (Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta, 1981), pp. 58–64. 22 Aden: Intelligence Summaries, 1938. Political Intelligence Summary, No. 34, 24 August 1938, L/PS/12/1488. 23 It is worth remembering that in 1927 the Italian and British governments had reached an agreement after long talks held in Rome: according to the Rome Understanding, the territorial status quo in southern Arabia was to be maintained and the two powers pledged to be committed to a policy of pacification in the area. The interests of the two countries were thus safeguarded: His Britannic Majesty’s Government regard it as a vital Imperial interest that no European Power should establish itself on the Arabian shore of the Red Sea. . . . That, on the other hand, it is in the interest of Italy, in view of her possessions on the Western coast of the Red Sea, that no European Power should establish itself on the Arabian shore of the Red Sea. (Memorandum, December 1935, PRO, FO 371/18911/E7130/132/91) 24 DDI, Settima Serie: 1927–1935, Vol. VII, No. 48, Mussolini a Federzoni, 25 October 1928. 25 DDI, Settima Serie: 1927–1935, Vol. VII, No. 59, Federzoni a Mussolini, 8 November 1928. 26 J. Baldry, ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea: Mussolini’s Policy in Yaman, 1934–1943’, Asian and African Studies, Vol. XVI, 1980, p. 58. 27 Thomas to the Resident at Aden, 12 December 1935, PRO, FO 371/18911/ E6608/15/91. 28 Courtney to Parkinson, 14 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/18911/E7263/ 132/91. 29 Thomas to the Resident at Aden, 12 December 1935, PRO, FO 371/18911/ E6608/15/91. 30 Reilly to Parkinson, 23 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/18911/E7263/132/91. 31 Aden: Political Intelligence Summary No. 453, 25 September 1935, India Office Library Records (hereafter IOLR), L/PS/12/1486. 32 Aden Intelligence Summaries, 1934–1936. Political Intelligence Summary No. 454, 2 October 1935, IOLR, L/PS/12/1486. 8 THE ARABISATION OF EGYPTIAN NATIONALISM 1 H. Erlich, ‘British Internal Security and Egyptian Youth’, in M. J. Cohen and M. Kolinsky (eds.), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s. Security Problems, 1935–39 (London: Macmillan, 1992), p. 105. 2 I. Gershoni, ‘Arabization of Islam: The Egyptian Salafiyya and the Rise of Arabism in pre-Revolutionary Egypt’, Asian and African Studies, Vol. XIII, No. 1, 1979, pp. 53–54.

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3 See E. Kedourie, ‘Pan Arabism and British Policy’, in E. Kedourie, The Chatham House Version and other Middle Eastern Studies (Hanover, NH: Published for Brandeis University Press by University Press of New England, 1984, new edition). Some scholars have advanced contentions challenging traditional studies that have emphasised the Wafd’s reluctance to embrace and promote pan-Arab unity. See R. M. Coury, ‘Who “Invented” Egyptian Arab Nationalism?’, International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. XIV, No. 3, 1982. 4 A complete list of studies that have engaged in analysing the rise of nationalism in the modern Arab world would be too long to compile and falls beyond the scope of this study. However, contributions examined for this chapter include: E. Kedourie, The Chatham House Version and other Middle Eastern Studies; M. Khadduri, Political Trends in the Arab World. The Role of Ideas and Ideals in Politics (Baltimore, Md.: The Johns Hopkins Press, 1970); A. Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age, 1798–1939 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983); M. Kramer, Arab Awakening and Islamic Revival. The Politics of Ideas in the Middle East (New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers, 1996); I. Gershoni and J. Jankowski (eds), Rethinking Nationalism in the Arab Middle East (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997); B. Tibi, Arab Nationalism. A Critical Enquiry (London: Macmillan, 1990, second edition). 5 I. Gershoni and J. Jankowski (eds), Rethinking Nationalism in the Arab Middle East, p. 11. 6 I. Gershoni, ‘The Emergence of Pan-Nationalism in Egypt: Pan-Islamism and Pan-Arabism in the 1930s’, Asia and African Studies, Vol. I, No. 16, March 1982, p. 90. 7 For a more detailed analysis of the Wafd’s transition from an Egyptian-orientated policy to closer inter-Arab co-operation, see J. Jankowski, ‘The Egyptian Wafd and Arab Nationalism, 1918–1944’, in E. Ingram (ed.), National and International Politics in the Middle East. Essays in Honour of Elie Kedourie (London: Frank Cass, 1986). 8 Egypt: Political situation in 1936, undated, PRO, GFM 36/505/321/3. 9 Ibid. 10 Extract from Radio Bari broadcasts, 14 October 1935, FO 371/19077/ J6763/110/16. 11 H. Erlich, ‘British Internal Security’, p. 108. 12 J. P. Jankowski, Egypt’s Young Rebels: ‘Young Egypt’, 1933–1952 (Stanford, Calif.: University Hoover Institution Press, 1975), p. 17. 13 Kelly to Hoare, 4 September 1935, FO 371/19075/J4831/110/16. 14 Ibid. 15 Oriente Moderno, XV, December 1935, p. 662. 16 Telegram from Lampson, 7 December 1935, PRO, FO 371/19079/J8971/ 110/16. 17 Egypt and Great Britain, Pamphlet No. 1, 11 January 1936, PRO, FO 371/20096/J340/2/16. 18 One of the most controversial issues generated by the Allenby declaration of 1922 is that of British discretionary powers over Sudan. Young Egypt’s position in that respect appears clear: Egypt’s claim to the Sudan does not rest on any imperialistic considerations, for the Sudan is and has always been an integral part of Egypt. It holds the key to the Nile water which is the life and soul of Egypt. The two people are drawn to each other by the common ties of language,

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religion and traditions. And last, but not least, the Sudan affords the only outlet for accommodating Egypt’s surplus of population. (Ibid.) This last sentence is rather interesting as it bears a striking resemblance to Mussolini’s view of an Italian overseas empire that could not only match the prestige of Britain and France, but also provide raw materials and attract the surplus of Italian population. 19 Egypt and Great Britain, Pamphlet No. 1, 11 January 1936. 9 STRUCTURE AND FORMS OF ITALIAN PROPAGANDA 1 O’Malley to Walton, 5 April 1934, PRO, FO 371/18436/R2031/1608/22. 2 Extract from The Times, 17 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/19075/J4805/ 1110/16. 3 ‘Italo-Abyssinian Dispute: Italian Intelligence Service for Suez Canal’, 30 August 1935, PRO, HW12/194. 4 ‘Egitto. Il Canale di Suez’, Giornale Luce B1451, 25 January 1939, Archivio Storico Istituto Luce, http://www.archivioluce.com. 5 ‘Report on Egypt’, PRO, HS3/122. 6 P. Harris, ‘Egypt: Defence Plans’, in M. J. Cohen and M. Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s. Security Problems, 1935–39 (London: Macmillan, 1992), pp. 61–66. 7 ‘Italo-Abyssinian Dispute: Alleged Italian Designs on Egypt’, 14 September 1935, PRO, HW12/195; ‘Italo-Abyssinian Dispute: Rumoured Italian Designs against Egypt’, 25 September 1935, PRO, HW12/195; ‘Italo-Abyssinian Dispute: Italian Plans against Egypt’, 27 September 1935, PRO, HW12/195. 8 ‘Italo-Abyssinian Dispute: Italian press propaganda in Egypt’, 26 July 1935, PRO, HW12/195. 9 Ibid. 10 M. Tedeschini-Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba del fascismo e l’Egitto’, Storia Contemporanea, Vol. II, No. 1, March 1971, p. 718. 11 Memorandum, 29 August 1935, PRO, FO 371/19075/J4865/110/16. 12 ‘I nostri sovrani visitano il grandioso ospedale Umberto I, il più moderno di tutta l’Africa’. Giornale Luce B0223, February 1933, Archivio Storico Istituto Luce, http://archivioluce.com. 13 ‘International Propaganda and Broadcasting Enquiry’, 8 June 1939, PRO, HW1/747. 14 From the General Staff to the Residency in Cairo, 6 February 1936, PRO, FO 141/606/346/2/36. 15 Boswald to Lampson, 19 March 1936, PRO, FO 141/606/346/6/36. 16 Memorandum from the Office of the Judicial Adviser, 22 February 1936, PRO, FO 141/606/346/3/36; Eden to Lampson, 19 March 1936, PRO, FO 141/606/ 346/5/36. 17 ‘Egypt. Political Situation in 1936’, undated, PRO, GFM 36/505. 18 Lampson to Halifax, 29 March 1938, PRO, FO 371/21980/J1478/38/16. 19 For a recent contribution to the study of Italo-American relations during the war, see M. Abbate (ed.), L’Italia fascista tra Europa e Stati Uniti d’America (Civita Castellana e Orte: Centro Falisco di Studi Storici, 2003). 20 ‘Egypt. Political Situation in 1936’, undated, PRO, GFM 36/505. 21 Kelly to Hoare, 16 September 1935, PRO, FO 371, 19075/J4837/110/16. 22 List of foreign personalities in Egypt, 12 February 1937, PRO, FO 141/660/ 353/2/37. For a more detailed account of the activities of prominent members

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23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32

33

34

35 36

37 38 39

of the Italian community in Egypt, see also a revised list of foreign personalities in Egypt, 20 March 1937, PRO, FO 141/660/353/5/37. Telegram from Sir M. Lampson, 2 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19076/ J5521/110/16. Telegram from Sir M. Lampson, 7 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19076/ J6025/110/16. J. Jankowski, ‘Egyptian Regional Policy in the Wake of the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty of 1936: Arab Alliance or Islamic Caliphate?’, in M. J. Cohen and M. Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s, p. 82. Report on Italian schools in Cairo, 6 April 1935, PRO, FO 141/532/635/2/ 35. The News Department to the Chancery, Note, 2 April 1935, PRO, FO 141/ 532/635/1/35. International propaganda and broadcasting enquiry, 8 June 1939, PRO, HW1/747. On the relationship between youth university groups and the regime see L. La Rovere, Storia dei GUF. Organizzazione politica e miti della gioventù universitaria fascista 1919–1943 (Turin: Bollati Boringhieri, 2003). ‘Crociera dei GUF negli USA’, Giornale Luce, 1934, Archivio Storico Istituto Luce, http://archivioluce.com. From the Under-Secretariat for Press and Propaganda, 24 March 1935, PRO, GFM 36/68/50099. Ibid. The Italians seem to have planned and budgeted in detail: the monthly cost of the new campaign would amount to 1,500 Egyptian lire divided as follows: general expenses, 200 lire; newspapers, 700 lire; the Coptic Church, 300 lire; agents within Islamic organisations, 250 lire. Giornale d’Oriente was the official publication of the Italian community. Although he was regarded by many as a serious threat to British interests in Egypt, Ugo Dadone entertained cordial relations with the British High Commissioner in Egypt, Sir Miles Lampson, who considered him ‘a pleasant, wellspoken Italian and common friend of my old ally Chiano [Galeazzo Ciano]’: M. E. Yapp, Politics and Diplomacy in Egypt. The Diaries of Sir Miles Lampson 1935–1937 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 147. The activities of the AEO also stretched well beyond Egypt’s borders. The Italian consulate in Beirut asked the Ministry of Popular Culture to arrange financial provisions (a monthly payment of 500 Italian lire) for a journalist of the newspaper L’Orient, a ‘friend’ of Fascist Italy, who would help organise the distribution of AEO bulletins and other Italian propaganda material: the Italian consulate in Cairo to the Ministry of Popular Culture, 25 September 1935, PRO, GFM 36/68/50099. Secretariat for Press and Propaganda to the High Commissioner for Eastern Africa, 2 September 1935, PRO, GFM 36/ 68/50099. Memorandum of the European Department, 19 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19078/J8478/110/16. Among its numerous activities, the AEO – supported by considerable funding – seemed to provide prominent figures in the Egyptian political and financial establishment with specially drafted news bulletins: extract from E. Monroe, ‘Les enjeux politiques en Méditerranée’, undated, PRO, GFM 36/68/50099. Note from the Ministry of Interior, 19 November 1935, PRO, FO 141/659/ 994/103/35. Ibid. Lampson to Hoare, 14 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19077/J6760/110/16.

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40 From the Italian Legation to the Ministry for Cultural Propaganda, 19 July 1935, PRO, GFM 36/68/50099. 41 Dadone to Luciano, 22 February 1942, PRO GFM 36/68/50099. As early as October 1935, the British Foreign Office had called for Dadone’s expulsion from Egypt, claiming that ‘his presence only contributes to political agitation and unrest’. Translation from Arabic broadcast, undated, PRO, FO 141/ 659/994/84/35. 42 Morganti to Mazzolini, 31 October 1938, PRO, GFM 36/68/50099. 43 Dadone to Polverelli, 26 February 1943; Dadone to Luciano, 8 April 1942, PRO, GFM 36/68/50099. 44 Dadone to Polverelli, 26 February 1943; Memorandum for the Ministry of Popular Culture, 17 March 1943, PRO, GFM 36/68/50099. 45 It should be remembered that at that time Egypt was not a member of the League of Nations. Egyptian involvement in the implementation of sanctions, therefore, would have been possible in virtue of its special agreements with Britain. Egypt joined the League of Nations in 1937. 46 Minute by Campbell, 12 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/19075/J4936/110/16. 47 DDI, Settima serie: 1927–1935, Vol. IX, No. 35, Fani a De Bono, 1 October 1931. 48 DDI, Ottava serie: 1935–1939, Vol. III, No. 15, Ghigi a Mussolini, 3 January 1936. 49 Ibid. 50 DDI, Ottava serie: 1935–1939, Vol. III, No. 76, Mussolini a Ghigi, 18 January 1936. 51 This is a passage from a British telegram repeated to Ali Maher. Minute by Kelly, 13 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/19075/J4743/110/16. 52 Telegram from Kelly, 20 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/19075/J5042/110/ 16. 53 The Italian newspaper Giornale d’Oriente was the official publication of the Italian community. 54 Kelly to Hoare, 13 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/19075/J5083/110/16. 55 Telegram from Sir M. Lampson, 7 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19076/ J5783/110/16. 56 Minute by Campbell, 29 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19077/J7075/110/16. 57 Minute by Campbell, 22 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19077/J7125/110/16. 58 FO Minute, 21 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19077/J7125/110/16. 59 The Secretary of State’s speech at the Guildhall and the present crisis in Egypt, 10 December 1935, PRO, FO 371/19079/J9087/110/16. 60 This passage of the speech of Sir Samuel Hoare is quoted in P. Mansfield, The British in Egypt (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1971), p. 262. 61 Telegram to Sir M. Lampson, 3 December 1935, PRO, FO 371/19079/ 8769/110/16. 62 Lampson to Hoare, 28 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19079/8815/110/16. 63 Ibid. 64 Lampson to Hoare, 14 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19078/J8017/110/16. 65 Reports and comments are contained in Notizie Varie of November and December issues of Oriente Moderno, XV. 66 Oriente Moderno, XV, p. 659. 67 Oriente Moderno, XV, p. 611. 68 Note on the student Movement in Egypt, 23 January 1936, PRO, FO 371/20098/1048/2/16. 69 Anglo-Egyptian negotiations, 1 May 1936, PRO, HW12/203.

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70 Extract from Radio Bari broadcast, 19 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/19076/J5399/110/16. 71 Extract from Radio Bari broadcast, 15 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19077/J6767/110/16. Italian statements on the Egyptian economy created embarrassment and concern in the Foreign Office. In October 1935, a report from the Egyptian Department noted that there was ‘an uncomfortable amount of truth in the Italian argument that the participation of Egypt to sanctions would have a bad effect on Egyptian trade. The balance of trade between Egypt and Italy has moved rapidly in Egypt’s favour in recent years’. Minute from the Egyptian Department, PRO, FO 371/19077/J6767/110/16. 72 C. A. MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari: Italian Propaganda in the Middle East and British Countermeasures 1934–38’, Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. XIII, 1977, p. 197. 73 During another broadcast, the speakers of Radio Bari applauded the abolition of slavery in the Abyssinian territory occupied by the Italian army. This act was said to have produced a favourable impression both in London and ‘in the entire world press’. The Times was reported to have stated that ‘the Abyssinians cannot have looked upon the Italians as conquerors but as liberators’. Furthermore, the Daily Express had supposedly added that ‘the abolition of slavery does honour to Italy’: extracts from Radio Bari broadcasts, 23 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19077/J7255/110/16. 74 Radio Bari broadcasts, 17 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/J6963/110/16. 75 Extracts from Radio Bari broadcasts, 16 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19077/ J7255/110/16. 76 Extracts from Radio Bari broadcasts, 18 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19077/ J7255/110/16. 77 D. Omissi, ‘The Mediterranean and the Middle East in British Global Strategy, 1935–1938’, in M. J. Cohen and M. Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s, p. 7. 78 L. Pratt, ‘The Strategic Context: British Policy in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, 1936–1939’, in U. Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East 1919–1939 (New York and London: Holmes & Meier, 1988), pp. 14–16. 79 Extract from Radio Bari broadcast from Rome, 18 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/19076/J5399/110/16. 80 Extracts from Radio Bari broadcasts, 20 September 1935, PRO, FO 3719076/J5399/110/16. 81 Extracts from Radio Bari broadcasts, 16 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19077/J7255/110/16. 82 Extracts from Radio Bari broadcasts, 18 October 1935, PRO, FO 371/19077/J7255/110/16. 83 Extract from Radio Bari broadcasts, 14 September 1935, PRO, FO 371/19075/J4958/110/16. 84 Drummond to Oliphant, 25 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19079/ J8603/110/16. 85 Telegram from Drummond, 15 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19078/ J7885/110/16. 86 Drummond to the Foreign Office, 22 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19078/ J8320/110/16. 87 Telegram, 14 November 1935; telegram, 21 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19078/J7863/110/16; telegram, 18 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19078/J8044/110/16.

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88 Minutes of the Dominion Office, 20 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19078/ J7863/110/16. 89 Telegram from Drummond, 15 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19078/ J7886/110/16. 90 Minutes of the Dominion Office, 20 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19078/ J7863/110/16; telegram, 24 November 1935, PRO, FO 371/19078/J8324/ 110/16. 91 The Foreign Office to Sir Miles Lampson, 30 November 1937, PRO, CO732/79/16. 92 Ibid. 93 C. Moorehead, Freya Stark (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1985), p. 73. 10 THE WAR OF WORDS: BRITISH CULTURAL DIPLOMACY AND COUNTER-PROPAGANDA IN THE MIDDLE EAST 1 Beaumont Nesbitt to Cornwall Jones, 13 April 1939, PRO, CAB 104/206/ 62326. 2 Ibid., Appendix A. 3 Walton to Leeper, 26 May 1939, PRO, CAB 104/206/62326. 4 MacKereth to Lord Perth, 22 July 1939, PRO, FO 395/651. 5 MacKereth to Baxter, 28 June 1939, PRO, FO 395/650. 6 Minute by Professor Rushbrook Williams, 24 June 1939, PRO, FO 395/650. 7 Memorandum, ‘British Propaganda in the Middle East’, 22 July 1939, PRO, FO 395/651. 8 Ibid. 9 Extract from British radio broadcast, DDI, Ottava Serie: 1935–1939, Vol. XII, No. 279, Ciano to Crolla, 19 June 1939. 10 DDI, Ottava Serie: 1935–1939, Vol. XII, No. 280, Ciano to Crolla, 19 June 1939. 11 The Italian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ‘Political Situation in Turkey, 29 October 1939–28 October 1940’, PRO, GFM 36/31. 12 B. Clark, ‘The BBC External Services’, International Affairs, Vol. XXXV, No. 2, April 1959, p. 173. The hostile tone of British domestic broadcasts and the ‘bias’ of its news bulletins had been noticed with disappointment by the Italian representatives in London in 1937. The Italians were particularly dissatisfied with BBC coverage of the Abyssinian crisis and the Spanish civil war, and labelled the corporation as the ‘servant of pseudo-socialist and demagogic tendencies of the so-called British democracy’: from the Italian Embassy in London to the Ministry for Press and Propaganda, 29 January 1937, PRO, GFM 36/80. 13 P. Buitenhuis, The Great War of Words. Literature and Propaganda 1914–18 and After (London: B. T. Batsford, 1987), pp. 5–20. 14 See M. Saunders and P. M. Taylor, British Propaganda during the First World War 1914–18 (London: Macmillan, 1982), pp. 55–97. 15 P. M. Taylor, ‘The Foreign Office and British Propaganda during the First World War’, The Historical Journal, Vol. XXIII, No. 4, 1980, pp. 890–891. 16 P. M. Taylor, British Propaganda in the 20th Century. Selling Democracy (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1999), p. 71. 17 How to measure the direct impact of propaganda on the general public, as well as on political leaderships and governments, has been extensively debated by academic scholars. Some American psychologists have rated wartime British propaganda efforts as successful insofar as they significantly contributed, so it is claimed, to supporting the morale of the Allies while undermining that of

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18

19 20 21 22

23

24 25

Germany, and ultimately prompted the United States to enter the war on the Allied side. However, the argument over the reasons behind America joining the Allies is, according to most historians, more complex, and involves considerations of domestic politics as well as the desire to preserve a stable international status quo. This, nevertheless, does not detract from the effectiveness of Britain’s propaganda and proactive diplomacy in both Europe and the United States. See J. A. C. Brown, Techniques of Persuasion. From Propaganda to Brainwashing (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1963), pp. 87–88. For a detailed analysis of changes in British perceptions of propaganda during the interwar period, see P. M. Taylor, ‘British Official Attitudes Towards Propaganda Abroad, 1918–39’, in N. Pronay and D. W. Spring (eds), Propaganda, Politics and Film 1918–45 (London: Macmillan, 1982). Ibid., p. 32. On the creation of the British Council and the subsequent quest for adequate funding, see P. M. Taylor, ‘Cultural Diplomacy and the British Council: 1934–1939’, British Journal of International Studies, Vol. IV, 1978. D. W. Ellwood, ‘ “Showing the World What It Owed to Britain”: Foreign Policy and “Cultural Propaganda”, 1935–45’, in N. Pronay and D. W. Spring (eds), Propaganda, Politics and Film, p. 58. France began to address overseas listeners with more vigour in 1936 after Germany occupied the Rhineland. The first broadcasts in German were followed by programmes in Italian, Spanish, Polish, English, Arabic, Serbo-Croat and Slovak. With subsequent measures, the French created special broadcasts targeting African audiences. The structure supporting overseas broadcasting services initially suffered from internal rivalries and excessive division of responsibilities, while radio propaganda, at least on the domestic front, appeared sometimes too elitist and lacking in energy. As the war approached, the French authorities became more aware of the importance of the radio and implemented structural changes leading to a centralised broadcasting system under state control, which lasted until 1982: J. N. Jeanneney, Une histoire des médias. Des origines à nos jours (Paris: Editions de Seuil, 1996), pp. 179–184. Towards the end of 1938 broadcasts from Deutschlandesender Berlin in the Middle East grew increasingly aggressive. Speakers from the German radio station emphasised the ‘brutality’ of the British administration in the Levant, the ‘hypocrisy’ of its policy in support of the Jewish community, and repressive measures adopted to curb the legitimate aspirations of the local Arab movements for independence. Here is an example: ‘The Beirut Arab circles are of the opinion that the increasingly brutal methods of the English troops show that England will not shrink from anything in her endeavour to suppress the Arab struggle for freedom’: extract from broadcast, 2 December 1938, PRO, CO 732/82/8. German comments also criticised Britain’s opposition to the anti-Semitic laws approved in Germany. In one particular instance, German broadcasts quoted an article published by the Italian newspaper Il Messaggero. The article stressed that ‘both totalitarian and democratic states are anti-Semitic. The fact that the totalitarian states frankly admit their antiSemitism, while the democratic ones do not, is used as a means of agitation against the totalitarian countries’: extract from broadcast, 22 November 1938, PRO, CO 732/82/8. A. Briggs, The History of Broadcasting in the United Kingdom, Vol. II (London: Oxford University Press, 1965), p. 394. A. Briggs, The BBC. The First Fifty Years (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), p. 141.

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26 E. Katz and G. Wedell, Broadcasting in the Third World. Promise and Performance (London: Macmillan, 1978), p. 78. 27 A. Briggs, The BBC, p. 143. 28 A. Briggs, The History of Broadcasting in the United Kingdom, pp. 402–404. 29 Leeper to Cawthorn, 2 June 1939, PRO, CAB 104/206/62326. 30 Barnard to Williams, 2 November 1939, PRO, CAB 104/206/62326; Barnard to Williams, 10 November 1939, PRO, CAB 104/206/62326. 31 Halifax to Hoare, 13 June 1939, PRO, CAB 104/206/62326. 32 The Italian authorities diligently recorded all changes brought to the internal structure of the BBC to improve wartime transmissions, and kept a vigilant eye on published material concerning the activities of the British broadcasting service and of its members. They even identified the reader of the BBC bulletin in Italian as an Italian national of Jewish origins who had emigrated to London. See the Italian embassy in London to the Ministry of Popular Culture, 25 April 1940; the Ministry of Popular Culture to the Inspectorate for Radio and Television, 20 March 1940; the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the Ministry of Popular Culture, 7 March 1940, PRO, GFM 36/80. 33 The Ministry of Popular Culture to the Italian embassy in Berlin, 26 April 1939, PRO, GFM 36/82. 34 The Italian embassy in Berlin to the Ministry of Popular Culture and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 17 April 1938, PRO, GFM 36/82. 35 The Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the Ministry of Popular Culture, 13 March 1939, PRO, GFM 36/80. Despite the ongoing dispute over the content and tone of their international broadcasts, both Italy and Britain had initiated an unusual exchange of radio programmes. One month after Britain had entered the war against Germany, the BBC asked the Italian broadcasting company, EIAR, to provide a number of broadcasts of light musical entertainment that had already generated interest and positive reactions among British listeners: EIAR to the Ministry of Popular Culture, 20 October 1939, PRO, GFM 36/80. 36 The Italian embassy in London to the Ministry of Popular Culture, 21 December 1937, PRO, GFM 36/80. 37 Report on British broadcasts, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs to the Ministry of Popular Culture, 8 March 1941, PRO, GFM 36/80. 38 The War Ministry to the Interior Ministry and the Ministry of Popular Culture, 28 March 1941, PRO, GFM 36/82. 39 Hollis to Hood, 29 November 1940, PRO, CAB 104/206/62326. 11 MONITORING THE ENEMY: BRITISH INTELLIGENCE AND COUNTER-INTELLIGENCE SERVICES IN THE INTERWAR YEARS 1 B. Porter, Plots and Paranoia. A History of Political Espionage in Britain, 1790–1988 (London: Routledge, 1992), pp. 151–152. 2 F. H. Hinsley and C. A. C. Simkins, British Intelligence in the Second World War, Vol. IV (London: HMSO, 1990), p. 9. 3 D. Dilks, ‘Appeasement and “Intelligence” ’, D. Dilks (ed.), Retreat from Power. Studies in Britain’s Foreign Policy of the Twentieth Century, Vol. I (London: Macmillan, 1981), p. 143. 4 In March 1939, only a few months before Germany’s invasion of Poland, the Foreign Office received a report from the Military Attaché in Berlin. The German sources upon which the British representatives seemed to rely heavily appeared confident that Germany was not prepared to enter a war due to its

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insufficient output of armaments and the inadequacy of its supply of raw materials and accumulated stocks: Germany is incapable of waging a major war at present with any hope of success owing to her economic position and to the full realisation of the hopelessness of this position by the bulk of the people. If Herr Hitler is accurately informed, he cannot possibly contemplate making war under existing circumstances. (Sir G. Ogilvie-Forbes to Viscount Halifax, 20 March 1939, British Documents on Foreign Affairs, Part II, Series K, Vol. IV: Economic Affairs, January 1938–December 1939, p. 225) 5 W. Wark, ‘Intelligence Predictions and Strategic Surprise: Reflections on the British Experience in the 1930s’, in K. G. Robertson (ed.), British and American Approaches to Intelligence (New York: St Martin’s Press, 1987), p. 91. 6 C. Andrew, ‘Secret Intelligence and British Foreign Policy, 1900–1939’, in C. Andrew and J. Noakes (eds), Intelligence and International Relations 1900–1945 (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1987), p. 24. 7 N. Wylie, ‘ “Keeping the Swiss Sweet”. Intelligence as a Factor in British Policy towards Switzerland during the Second World War’, Intelligence and National Security, Vol. XI, No. 3 July 1996, p. 446. 8 F. H. Hinsley and C. A. C. Simkins, British Intelligence, pp. 14–15. 9 British and American intelligence organisations shared more than occasional breaches of their security measures. The interwar period was characterised by a continuous stream of British–Commonwealth–European–American security intelligence co-operation against ‘agitators’ and ‘radicals’ which has hitherto received little attention. Special Branch officers from Singapore regularly visited Bangkok and Hanoi to facilitate co-operation with the Thai and French secret services: R. Onraet, Singapore: A Police Background (London: Dorothy Crisp, 1946); R. J. Aldrich, The Key to the South. Britain, the United States, and Thailand during the Approach of the Pacific War, 1929–1942 (Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1993), pp. 14, 57, 103, 113–14, 132. British emissaries also co-operated with the intelligence branches of the American forces, who watched the political activities of American private citizens, and later with the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI). On British security liaison with the FBI in Asia see for example Maune (Batavia) to Ronald (FO), 29 January 1938, PRO, FO 371/22165/F867/10/61. The origins of the modern western intelligence community are often traced to the Second World War. However, the remarkable volume of European security intelligence material in American archives demonstrates that the most important antecedent lies in extensive domestic security collaboration, originating before 1914, but accelerating after the Bolshevik Revolution. 10 IPI shared MI5’s ‘Box 500’ address. 11 For a detailed account of British and Indian surveillance of Indian revolutionaries in Europe and the UK, see R. Popplewell, Intelligence and Imperial Defence. British Intelligence and the Defence of the Indian Empire 1904–1924 (London: Frank Cass, 1995), pp. 125–146, 216–235. 12 P. French, Liberty or Death. India’s Journey to Independence and Division (London: Flamingo, 1998). 13 E.g. see Siam Communist Youth to Malayan Communist Youth Central, 21 January 1933, PRO, FO 371/17174/F1738/42/40. 14 Major (MI2c) to MI1c (SIS), 18 August 1931, PRO, WO 208/506A.

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15 Crosby to FO No. 108, 12 March 1936, enclosing Annual Report for 1935, PRO, FO 371/20302/F2194/2194/40. 16 On Lai Tek see A. Short, Communist Insurrection in Malaya (London: Muller, 1975), p. 32. 17 See for example ‘Establishment of an MI6 WT Station at Zahidan’, 1942, IOLR, File L/P&S/12/741. 18 Minute by RAF Squadron Leader, 17 December 1936, PRO, AIR 20/173/ 61082. 19 ‘Palestine Police Annual Administrative Report 1936’, PRO, CO 814/11/ 61362, p. 26. 20 ‘Report on the Military Lesson of the Arab Rebellion – Palestine’, PRO, WO 282/6, p. 45. 21 D. Killingray and D. M. Anderson, ‘An Orderly Retreat? Policing the End of Empire’, in D. Killingray and D. M. Anderson (eds), Policing and Decolonisation. Politics, Nationalism and the Police, 1917–65 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1992), p. 2. 22 C. Smith, ‘Communal Conflict and Insurrection in Palestine, 1936–48’, in D. Killingray and D. M. Anderson (eds), Policing and Decolonisation, p. 67. 23 M. W. Daly, Imperial Sudan. The Anglo-Egyptian Condominium, 1934–1956 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991), p. 50. 24 In British Intelligence, their volume on British intelligence during the Second World War, Hinsley and Simkins date the creation of a Defence Security Officer position for Egypt to 1937, while Dovey, in his article ‘Maunsell and Mure’, Intelligence and National Security, Vol. VIII, No. 1, January 1993, suggests that the DSO in Egypt was appointed in 1935. Correspondence of the Air Ministry, however, points to the appointment of a DSO for Egypt by the War Ministry in 1937. In particular, see letter by Medhurst, 31 March 1937, PRO, AIR 20/173/61082. 25 From the Maunsell papers, as quoted in H. O. Dovey, ‘Maunsell and Mure’, p. 61. 26 Minute to Kaid, 30 November 1935, PRO, AIR 20/173/61082. 27 M. W. Daly, Imperial Sudan, p. 128. British intelligence assessments of Italian intentions towards North Africa (including Egypt and the Sudan) seem to confirm that, after having been on the brink of a war with Italy, Britain did consider its strategic interests in Egypt to be out of danger for the immediate future, as Italy seemed to be engaged in challenging the French colonial authorities in North Africa, and in particular in Tunisia. It was still feared, however, that in the event of war with Rome and its allies, Germany might lend its military support in the region, in which case Egypt would be placed under the threat of a greater air striking power: Italian aims in North Africa, undated, PRO, AIR 20/173/61082. 28 ‘Intelligence Organisation – Sudan, 1936’, PRO, AIR 20/173/61082. 29 Ibid. 30 Draft by the Wing Commander, 26 June 1936, PRO, AIR 20/173/61082. 31 F. H. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, Vol. I (London: HMSO, 1979), p. 191. 32 For a picture of wartime SIME see R. Deacon, ‘C’: A Biography of Sir Maurice Oldfield (London: Macdonald, 1984), pp. 40–72. 33 M. Muggeridge, Chronicles of Wasted Time: Part II, The Infernal Grove (London: Collins, 1973), pp. 189, 192, 193, 210–11, 215–16. 34 JIC report, ‘Establishment of a Combined Intelligence Centre in the Middle East’, 3 February 1939, IOLR, L/P&S/12/4499; JIC (39) 30, ‘Organisation of

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35 36 37 38

39 40 41 42 43

MEIC’, 22 November 1939, ibid.; JIC (39) 33, ‘Intelligence Security Section – GHQ Middle East’, 29 November 1939, ibid. Entry for 12 November 1943, diary of Lt General Pownall, Pownall papers, Liddell Hart Centre for Military Archives. N. Clive, A Greek Experience, 1943–1948 (London: Michael Russell, 1985), pp. 20–21. On MEIC’s troubled relations with the Foreign Office see H. O. Dovey, ‘The Middle East Intelligence Centre’, Intelligence and National Security, Vol. IV, No. 4, October 1989. F. H. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, Vol. I, pp. 192–193; Barnard to Brookes, 14 April 1940, PRO, CAB 104/193. MEIC’s increased efforts during the war demanded an expansion of its original authorised establishment: Minutes of the JIC (40) 5th Meeting, 16 April 1940, PRO, CAB 104/193; Report from Middle East Intelligence Centre, General Headquarters, 15 May 1940, ibid. A. G. Denniston, ‘The Government Code and Cypher School between the Wars’, Codebreaking and Signals Intelligence, Vol. I, No. 1, January 1986, p. 49. F. H. Hinsley, British Intelligence in the Second World War, Vol. I, pp. 20–23. Ibid., pp. 23–24. Ibid. The Italian Consulate in Jerusalem to the Ministry of Popular Culture, 30 May 1939, PRO, GFM 36/82. 12 MUSSOLINI’S SECRET ARMY: ITALIAN SERVICES FROM THE FIRST TO THE SECOND WORLD WAR

1 C. Amè, Guerra segreta in Italia, 1940 – 1943 (Rome: Gherardo Casini Editore, 1954), p. 17 2 See for example the recent controversial monograph by D. Caccia and M. Canali, L’informatore: Silone, i comunisti e la polizia (Milano: Luni Editrice, 1999); M. Franzinelli, I tentacoli dell’OVRA (Bollati Boringhieri, 1999). 3 C. Amè, Guerra segreta in Italia, p. 3. 4 G. De Lutiis, Storia dei servizi segreti in Italia (Rome: Editori Riuniti, 1984), pp. 14–15. 5 ‘Renseignements sur des agents italiens (1939–fev. 1940)’, OVRA, undated, SHAT, 7NN 2445. 6 M. Franzinelli, Guerra di spie. I servizi segreti fascisti, nazisti e alleati 1939–1943 (Milan: Le Scie, Mondadori, 2004), p. 21. 7 Ibid. 8 ‘Renseignements sur des agents italiens (1939–fev. 1940)’, OVRA, undated, SHAT, 7NN 2445. 9 OVRA, 5 October 1937, SHAT 7NN 2445. 10 Ibid. 11 G. De Lutiis, Storia dei servizi segreti in Italia, p. 19. 12 Admiral Franco Maugeri, who in 1941 was appointed director of the Servizio Informazione Segrete of the Italian navy, recalls in his memoir that in 1927 this was ‘the Cinderella of the Service’, with only ten officers and some twenty enlisted men. There was no systematic collection of information. We had no agents in any foreign country. Nor had we funds or methods for training

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13 14

15 16 17 18 19

20

21 22 23

24 25 26 27 28

men in the art of gathering naval information. We depended almost entirely upon sporadic scraps passed to us by our various naval attachés and upon the news of ship movements we came upon in the pages of foreign newspapers. (F. Maugeri, From the Ashes of Disgrace (New York: Reynal and Hitchcock, 1948), p. 30) M. Franzinelli, Guerra di spie, p. 11. For a detailed analysis of Italy’s intelligence structure and procedural difficulties in assessing the enemy, see M. Knox, ‘Fascist Italy Assesses its Enemies, 1935–1940’, in E. May (ed.), Knowing One’s Enemies. Intelligence Assessments before the Two World Wars (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984). M. Franzinelli, Guerra di spie, p. 12. D. Alvarez, ‘Italian Diplomatic Cryptoanalysis in World War I’, Cryptologia, Vol. XX, No. 1, January 1996, pp. 1–10. D. Alvarez, ‘Axis Sigint Collaboration: A Limited Partnership’, Intelligence and National Security, Vol. XIV, No. 1, Spring 1999, pp. 5–9. D. Kahn, The Codebreakers. The Story of Secret Writing (New York: Scribner, 1996), pp. 468–471. L. Donini, ‘Cryptographic Services of the Royal (British) and Italian Navies. A Comparative Analysis of their Activities during World War II’, Cryptologia, Vol. XIV, No. 2, April 1990, p. 126. Luigi Donini was the director of the cryptographic branch of the Italian navy intelligence and throughout the Second World War worked mostly on British naval cyphers. He stresses that lack of primary official or unofficial documentation has hindered progress towards a more credible and in-depth examination of the activities of the Italian cryptographic services during the Second World War. He states that ‘all papers relating to our cryptological work performed during the war period, and even before, were destroyed by superior orders in the days immediately following the armistice’. In particular Donini seems to dispute the chronology employed by F. H. Hinsley and C. A. G. Simkins in their first two volumes of British Intelligence in the Second World War (London: HMSO, 1979). Here the authors give an account of British endeavours to crack the Italian cipher machine C38m, introduced in 1940 for secret communications between high commands of the Italian navy on shore and at sea. According to the sequence of events analysed in British Intelligence, British codebreakers succeeded in deciphering C38m around the late spring of 1941, an over generous estimate in the view of Admiral Donini. Special Extract from S. R. Draft No. W 304; Special Extract from S. R. Draft No. 3474; Special Extract from S. R. Draft No. 2580, PRO, WO 208/4201/62326. Special Extract from S. R. Draft No. 3224, PRO, WO 208/4201/62326. D. Dilks, ‘Flashes of Intelligence: The Foreign Office, the SIS and Security before the Second World War’, in C. Andrew and D. Dilks (eds), The Missing Dimension. Governments and Intelligence Communities in the Twentieth Century (London: Macmillan, 1984), p. 107. C. Andrews, Secret Service. The Making of the British Intelligence Community (London: Heinemann, 1985), p. 403. D. Dilks, ‘Flashes of Intelligence’, pp. 109–112. Documents on British Foreign Policy 1919–1939, Second Series, Vol. XV (London: HMSO, 1976), p. 693. D. Kahn, The Codebreakers, p. 472. Note, 19 May 1939, SHAT, 7NN 2134.

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29 Note, 19 July 1939, SHAT, 7NN 2134. 30 Note, 19 July 1939, SHAT, 7NN 2299; Rapport, November 1939, SHAT 7NN 2299. 31 Rapport, 4 July 1939, SHAT, 7NN 3266; Compte-rendu, 12 December 1939, SHAT, 7NN 3266. 32 ‘Note de renseignements pour M. Depas Christophe’, 2 January 1941, SHAT, 7NN 2405. 33 M. Franzinelli, Guerra di spie, pp. 67–68. CONCLUSION 1 Between 1933 and 1943, the Italian government allocated a budget for the main publications dedicated to the rising Italian empire. Out of seven publications, four were produced in Rome and received funds ranging from 1,811,447 to 55,000 Italian lire. Three publications were from Addis Ababa and received from 370,000 to 5,000 Italian lire: secret funds of the Ministry of Popular Culture, undated, PRO, GFM 36/82. 2 On Nuri’s approaches to the Axis, see M. Khadduri, ‘General Nuri’s Flirtations with the Axis Powers’, The Middle East Journal, Vol. XVI, 1962. 3 Minute by the Foreign Office, 22 December 1938, PRO, FO 371/21982/ J4655/38/16. 4 G. S. Jowett and V. O’Donnell, Propaganda and Persuasion (Thousand Oaks, Calif.: Sage, 1992, 2nd edition), p. 103. 5 Extract from German broadcast, 29 November 1938, PRO, CO 732/82/8. 6 Ogilvie-Forbes to Halifax, 2 November 1938, PRO, CO 732/82/8. 7 Mackereth to Halifax, 9 December 1938, PRO, CO 732/84/4. 8 Following the Abyssinian conflict, which sent distress signals to nationalist groups across the Islamic world, Italian propagandists focused their activities on rebuilding the credibility of Mussolini as the champion of oppressed Islamic populations. The message was often conveyed through petitions, anonymous letters to newspapers or interviews with sympathisers of Fascist Italy. A Saudi official claimed to the Italian Corriere dell’Impero that both his government and the people of his country nourish a lively sympathy for Italy for what she has done in favour of the Moslem peoples in the Empire, and . . . they consider Mussolini as the firmest and sincerest friend of Islam. (Extract from the Corriere dell’Impero of 17 September 1937, PRO, FO 905/50) More passionately, an anonymous Arab Palestinian declared to the Arab weekly Berid Barca: the Duce is mighty, and he can make the World tremble. The Duce is full of justice, and he helps everyone in every way, therefore, we must seek to help him in all that he wishes. He tries to help both rich and poor. He does not belong to Italians only, but also to us Arabs. He has entered into the depths of our hearts, and one feels his blood running through our veins. (From the British Consulate in Benghazi, 18 July 1937, PRO, FO 905/50) 9 Telegram from the Ministry of Popular Culture, 31 July 1941, PRO, GFM 36/82.

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10 Broadcasts in Thai language, 17 June 1941, GFM 36/81. The Thai professor was to receive a monthly salary of 300 Italian lire for the news bulletins and 100 Italian lire for each conference. Payments would be made directly by the section of the Ministry of Popular Culture dealing with radio broadcasts. 11 From the Italian embassy in Shanghai, 4 May 1941, GFM 36/82.

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234

INDEX

Abyssinia, war 2, 4, 7, 8, 11, 20, 41, 42, 45–7, 63, 65–8, 71, 72, 77–85, 87, 88, 94, 109–11, 114–17, 122, 124, 125, 127, 132–4, 140, 156, 161, 167–9, 171, 178; see also Ethiopia and Abyssinian conflict Aden 18, 19, 38, 40, 84, 116, 117, 149, 167 Al Ahram 131 Al Balagh 120, 121, 131 Al diafa’a 72 Al jami’a Al Arabia 80 Al jami’a Al Islamiya 79, 88 al-Azhar university 57, 126, 131 Algeria 113, 175 al-Hussaini, Haj Amin 57, 58, 79, 100, 183; see also Mufti of Jerusalem Ali Maher 128, 129 Al-Jabiri, Ihsan 66, 75, 76, 79 Al-Jehad 134 Allenby declaration 24 Al moqattan 78 Amè, Cesare 173 Anglo–Egyptian Condominium over Sudan 26, 27 Anglo–Egyptian Treaty 167 Anschluss 37, 183 Arab Executive Committee 59 Arab Higher Committee 60, 61, 88 Arab League 118 Arab Propaganda Bureau 66 Asir 39, 40, 41, 116 Axis powers 11, 45, 55, 65, 71, 73, 93, 103, 158, 159, 161, 163, 175, 183, 185 Balfour declaration 27, 37, 52, 53, 56 Bank of England 26 Bose, Subra Chandra 92, 93, 114, 183

British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) 141, 147–9, 151, 155–8 British Commonwealth 18, 25, 55 British Council 142, 148, 150, 151, 154, 155, 158, 187 British protectorates 18, 22 British Raj 29, 92, 163 Brunyate, Sir William 22 Capitulations 22, 122, 137 Catholic Church 5, 32 Churchill, Winston 28, 175 Ciano, Galeazzo 3, 8, 9, 53, 66, 69, 82, 92, 93, 97, 126, 131, 150, 176, 177 Circolo Italiano Dopolavoro 122; see also Dopo lavoro clubs Cold War 3, 43, 187 Colonial Office 19, 28, 66, 86, 141, 149, 157, 158, 160, 166, 178, 184 Comintern 161, 164 Committee of Imperial Defence 24, 160, 170 Corradini Enrico 31 Criminal Investigation Department (CID) 164, 173 Crispi, Francesco 31 Cyprus 18, 165, 167 Dadone, Ugo 121, 131, 132 Dante Alighieri Society 32, 127 De Felice, Renzo 30, 31 Defence Security Office (DSO) 167, 169 Dodecanese 34, 169, 171 Dominions 25, 114, 155 Dopo Lavoro clubs 88; see also Circolo Italiano Dopolavoro Duce 30–3, 35–8, 41, 42, 93, 130, 140, 176; see also Mussolini

235

INDEX

Easter agreement 53, 88, 89 Eden, Anthony 87, 140 Egypt 2, 4, 10, 11, 18–19, 32, 34–7, 46, 56, 65, 67, 68, 82, 83, 86, 100, 102, 104, 109–11, 118–23, 124–43, 149, 150, 165–9, 184 Enemy Propaganda Department (Crewe House) 153 Falastin 52 Farasan Islands 39, 40 Fascio 88, 127, 131, 163, 175, 180 Fascism 32, 36, 37, 38, 104, 128, 139 First World War 12, 18, 19, 21, 22, 25, 26, 28, 32–4, 36, 37, 40, 42, 57, 74, 84, 91, 110, 148, 151, 152, 159, 171, 174, 177, 180, 185, 186; see also Great War Foreign Office 12, 19, 26, 35, 39, 42, 46, 66, 73, 74, 79, 86, 89, 116, 122, 124, 127–9, 131–4, 136, 140–2, 149, 152–4, 156–8, 160–2, 170, 184, 187 France 18, 19, 29, 30–4, 36, 38, 41–3, 47, 53, 72, 78, 81, 83, 89, 93, 100, 112, 113, 154, 155, 162, 176, 180, 182 Fuehrer 93, 95, 99; see also Adolf Hitler Gandhi 96, 114 Gentlemen’s Agreement 53, 87, 142 German broadcasts 101, 102, 184 German colonies in Africa 18 Germany 2, 5, 7, 10, 11, 17, 29, 31, 35, 37, 38, 43, 45, 47, 53, 55, 56, 75, 77, 83, 89, 90–105, 130, 140, 152, 154, 156, 157, 159, 160–3, 172, 183, 184 Giornale d’Oriente 122, 126, 131, 134 Goebbels, Joseph 7, 8, 9, 184 Government Code and Cypher School 171 Government of India Act 21 Graziani, Rodolfo 77, 135, 150 Great War 27, 29, 151, 153; see also First World War Grobba, Fritz 45, 96 Gruppi Universitari Fascisti (GUF) 130 Guariglia, Raffaele 33 Haavara Agreement 95, 98–100 Haile Selassie 42

Hitler, Adolf 36, 37, 45, 52, 91, 92–4, 96, 97, 99, 101–3, 161, 162, 170; see also Fuehrer Hoare, Samuel 136, 137, 178 Hussaini family 55, 58, 59, 80, 85 Hussein, Ahmed 122 Ibn Saud 39, 41, 44–7, 116, 183 Idrisi family 39, 40 Imam Yahya 39, 40, Imperial Conference (1926) 25 India 17, 18, 19, 41, 43, 55, 90, 92, 93, 103, 114, 155, 163, 165, 186 India Office 19, 39, 124, 148, 158 Indian Communist Party 163 Iran 43, 89, 98, 175, 181; see also Persia Iraq 18, 26, 45, 47, 56, 65, 73, 79, 91, 96, 97, 98, 102, 104, 149, 150, 165, 167, 168, 183 Istituto Luce 9 Istituto Nazionale per le Relazioni Culturali con l’Estero (IRCE) 69 Italian broadcasts 2, 7, 13, 46, 67–9, 79, 82–8, 113, 124, 127, 138, 140–2, 147, 148, 155, 156, 182, 184, 185 Italian communities 88, 111, 126–8, 183 Jabotinsky, Vladimir 38 Jamal Pasha 74 Jedda 41, 46, 47 Jerusalem 28, 84, 99, 100; and Western Wall 28 Jewish Agency 52 King Fuad 26, 122, 128, 129 La nation arabe 73, 76, 77, 80 Lampson, Sir Miles 129, 136 Lateran Pact 111 Laval, Pierre 42 Laval–Mussolini pact 33, 42 League of Nations 17, 18, 65, 66, 67, 69, 73, 76, 81, 83, 99, 122; and Abyssinian war 42, 124, 132, 133, 137, 138, 140; and Mandates 18, 19, 54, 55 Lebanon 18, 35, 111, 112, 182 Libya 4, 31, 32–4, 36, 42, 63, 77–9, 82, 88, 112, 120, 125, 133–5, 140, 150, 167, 169, 185 Lord Chelmsford 21 Lord Curzon 23

236

INDEX

Macdonald, Malcolm 55 Malayan Communist Party 164 mandates (British) 18, 19, 20, 44, 52, 53, 66, 74, 77, 85, 87, 91, 156, 186 mandates (French) 18, 77, 91, 111, 112, 182, 186 mare nostrum 30, 34, 63 Mecca 46, 47 Mecca Agreement 39 Mediterranean Agreement 150, 157, 158 MI5 159–64, 167, 169 Middle East Intelligence Centre (MEIC) 170, 171 Middle Eastern Department 19 Milner Mission 23 Milner–Scialoja Accord 34 Milner–Zaghlul Agreement 24 Ministry of Foreign Affairs (Italy) 3, 4, 9, 10, 12, 33, 38, 64, 115, 124, 128, 132, 157, 176, 182, 183 Ministry of Information (Britain) 1, 28, 153, 154 Ministry of Interior (Italy) 134, 175, 176 Ministry of Popular Culture (Italy) 2, 3, 8–10, 12, 68, 70, 113, 132, 157, 176, 182, 183 Ministry of Press and Propaganda (Italy) 4, 8, 53, 114, 131 Montagu, Edwin 21 Morocco 33, 82, 175 Mufti of Jerusalem 4, 57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 66, 71, 74, 78–80, 97, 100, 103, 175, 183; see also Haj Amin alHussaini Mussolini, Benito 3–5, 7–10, 12, 30–5, 37–40, 42, 52, 53, 63–5, 67, 70, 71, 73, 74, 77–81, 83, 91–3, 97, 104, 109, 111–18, 124, 125, 128, 130, 131, 133, 134, 140, 148, 151, 172, 173–8, 182, 183; and Zionism 37, 38; see also Duce Nahas Pasha 138 Nashashibi family 55, 59, 80 Nasser, Gamal Abdel 4, 136 National Arab Bureau 150 Nazism 36, 104 Nuri Said 183 Omar el-Muktar 133 Oriente Moderno 112, 122, 137

Ottoman Empire 18, 22, 28, 30, 34, 53, 56, 57, 74, 91, 112 OVRA 174, 175 Palestine 2, 4, 10, 11, 18, 20, 27, 28, 35–8, 44–8, 52–67, 70–3, 78, 79, 81–91, 95, 96, 98, 99, 100–5, 110, 123, 124, 126, 127, 129, 139–41, 149, 164–7, 169, 183, 184; 1936–39 Arab rebellion 10, 11, 51, 52, 53, 60, 61, 62, 97 Palestine Arab Party 59, 80, 85, 91 Palestine Police Service 165 Peel Commission 19, 44, 45, 47, 61, 97, 98–101 Persia 22, 35, 164; see also Iran Pope Gregory XV 5 Propaganda Bureau (Wellington House) 152 Qassamites 59 Radio Bari 13, 46, 53, 82–6, 88, 93, 110, 121, 124, 127, 147, 149, 151, 155, 156, 172, 182, 184, 185; broadcasts to Egypt 138–41 RAF 41, 165, 168, 169, 171 Rawlan, Fathi 122 Revisionist Zionism 38, 54 Russia 75, 81, 157; see also Soviet Union; USSR Samuel, Herbert 58, 59 Saudi Arabia 39, 41, 44, 45, 46, 47, 96, 116, 149 Sciaky, Isacco 38 Scialoja, Vittorio 34 Second World War 1, 20, 38, 93, 102, 114, 132, 147, 149, 151, 159, 161, 173, 177, 186 Secret Intelligence Service (SIS) 160–2, 164, 170, 171 Security Intelligence Middle East (SIME) 169, 170 Senussi 4, 34, 110, 120, 135 Servizio Informazioni Aeronautiche 176 Servizio Informazioni Militare (SIM) 173, 174, 176, 177, 179, 180 Servizio Informazioni Segrete 176, 177 Shakib Arslan 4, 66, 73–82, 86, 88, 112, 113 Siam 25, 26; see also Thailand Sidqi, Ismail 25

237

INDEX

Somaliland (British) 42 Somaliland (Italian) 42, 169 Soviet Union 2, 4, 43, 97, 130, 154, 155, 157, 161, 164 Stark, Freya 143 Sudan 26, 27, 121, 122, 125, 167–9 Suez Canal 20, 21, 22, 24, 25, 54, 119, 122, 124, 125, 132, 133 Supreme Muslim Council 58 Sykes–Picot Agreement 18, 27 Syria 18, 19, 35, 47, 56, 65, 72, 73, 75, 79, 81, 93, 104, 111, 112, 126, 142, 149, 165, 182 Tewfiq Nessim 121, 134–7 Thailand 4, 164, 185 Third Reich 90–4, 97, 101, 161, 183 Transjordan 18, 44, 56, 84, 127, 165 Treaty of Lausanne 34 Treaty of London 34 Treaty of Sèvres 34 Treaty of Versailles 104, 161 Tunisia 33, 42, 82, 175 Turkey 19, 43, 100, 169 Ulama 22, 112, 113 Under-Secretariat for Press and Propaganda (Italy) 78, 130

USSR 17 Vansittart, Sir Robert 42, 114, 134 Verucci Bey, Ernesto see Venucci, Ernesto Verucci, Ernesto 128 Viscount Allenby 24; see also Allenby declaration Von Papen, Franz 29 Wafd party 23, 25, 110, 119–21, 126, 130, 134–6, 138 War Office 19, 87, 141, 152, 153, 164, 169, 171 Wauchope, Arthur 59, 61, 84 Weimar Republic 43, 91, 94, 161 Weizmann, Chaim 52, 59, 61 White Paper (1939) 62, 102 Yemen 32, 39, 40, 41, 44, 46, 64, 115–17, 149 Yishuv 28 ‘Young Egypt’ movement 36, 121, 122, 123, 131 Zaghlul, Sa’d 23, 24 Zionism 28, 32, 35, 37, 60, 79, 99

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