Friday, July 11, 2008
This post is the first in what will be a new series featuring the writing of John Roy Carlson. My first series of posts featured excerpts from Carlson's 1943 book, Under Cover, in which Carlson disclosed what he had discovered infiltrating the American Fascist underground in the late 1930's and early 40's. All the posts in that series are collected on this page. The top post includes an introduction to Carlson.
This new series will feature selections from Carlson's 1951 work, Cairo to Damascus
I have written this book with the hope that it will bring both Arabs and Jews into truer focus for the reader; that it will help reveal what they are and what they are not, what may be expected of them and what is impossible. I pray that these ancient Semitic peoples will reconcile their differences, that Palestine refugees who, in the main, left their homes because Arab leaders urged them to do so--expecting a short war and a quick victory--will be resettled. The only alternative to peace is disaster for Arab, Jew, and Christian, for none may hope to prosper alone. Together they may ultimately build a prosperous and democratic Middle East. To remain apart, at dagger's point, means only that Communism and anarchy can be the ultimate victors.
Posts in this new series will be collected on this page.
In early 1948, using a similar tactic to that of his Under Cover years, having created the false persona of an American racist and established correspondences years earlier with British fascists, Carlson arrives in London on the first leg of his trip. pp. 31-33:
I was delighted. I hurried to the address Canning [a British fascist] gave me. It was a small, quiet apartment house of dark brownstone at 76 Eaton Square, in the exclusive West End section of London. I found myself in a dark, narrow hallway...
...I was ushered into a semidarkened room. Swarthy young Arabs prowled about, escorting athletic young Englishmen into side rooms in an atmosphere of almost melodramatic conspiracy. Suddenly a door opened and an intense man in his thirties, with piercing black eyes and short black mustache, stepped out -- instinctively I knew it must be Shawa Bey -- accompanied by a tall, blond Englishman. The two shook hands briskly and the Englishman left. Shawa Bey turned to me.
"Come with me," he said curtly. I followed him into an office and he closed the door carefully after me...
...I looked at Shawa Bey. How many British mercenaries was he hiring? And on what conditions? When were they to enter Palestine? By what route? It was too risky to ask...
...Shawa Bey began to talk more freely. "The Jews think America is going to help them in Palestine but she won't because there's too much feeling against the Jews in the States. The Arabs are well armed and well equipped. Many have been infiltrating into Jewish territory. We are confident of winning."
"I plan to go to Palestine myself," I said. "I want to be there for the Arab victory."
"I wouldn't go now," Shawa Bey remarked. "I'd go a little later. Once the war starts, it won't take us long." We discussed some of the persons I'd met so far. "I've known Captain Canning for a long time," he said. "He has helped the Arab cause. Another good friend of the Arabs is Miss Frances Newton. She has been of great assistance."
I asked about the Mufti.
"He's in good health. He's in Cairo now. He goes back and forth between Cairo and Damascus. He has headquarter everywhere in the Middle East." Shawa Bey paused." These next months are very important. The Jews will learn that quickly."
I rose to go. In the outer room, young British veterans of World War II in civilian dress were waiting to be interviewed. Within a few months I was to see them fighting and dying for the Arab cause under Arab names. I was to see them buried in unknown graves, in Moslem cemeteries, unhonored and unsung. I was to see them as prisoners of war in Israel. Izzed-een Shawa Bey rose to his feet.
"Good-bye," he said." We might meet again in Egypt or Palestine."
If we did, I hoped he wouldn't recognize me!
