“Didn’t the British kill you?” asked Psamtek III.
“No, they did not,” Mustafa Kamil replied.
“That is odd,” said Psamtek III. “In my time we had the Persian occupation, just as you had the English in yours. Like you, I strove to arouse patriotic awareness — and when Cambyses learned of this, he ordered my execution without hesitation. How could the British let you go unpunished?”
“The occupiers had taken total control of the country,” answered Mustafa Kamil. “They could afford to permit a certain degree of freedom that in fact they despised, but which made them look as though they respected such principles in the eyes of the world.”
“But weren’t you exposed to palpable harm?”
“The occupation concealed its hatred of me, while inciting its friends to attack me.”
“Your age granted you clemency such as I did not receive even a part of in my own day,” remarked Psamtek III. “In truth, I have never known a holy warrior as fortunate as you. You enjoyed the support of the khedive, the caliph, and the Islamic League, smiting your foes both at home and abroad without any penalty. You won glory and fame without paying a price, and were not slaughtered as I myself was. Nor were you exiled, like Ahmad Urabi.”
“Ahmad Urabi was a traitor,” spat Mustafa Kamil, “who drew foreign occupiers into the country.”
“How can you accuse the man of treason when he did not rise in rebellion or endure banishment from his homeland except to defend the right of your people! And what was the traitor but the father of your friend, aide, and loyal supporter? Yet in your testimony he had betrayed his country, like his father before him.”
“I consider him to be the foremost of those to responsible for the occupation,” sneered Mustafa Kamil.
“You are an ardently patriotic lad,” proclaimed Abnum, “you were lucky enough to live your life in the fragrant atmosphere of the throne, the caliphate, and French civilization, without smelling the odor of sweaty labor, nor suffering the pains of true struggle. Nor do you refrain from defaming a true revolutionary.”
“He is a son that awoke nationalist zeal and enthusiasm,” said Isis, “when the occupation had nearly snuffed them out.”
Osiris then faced him.
“It was not in your power to do more than you did, and we shall not forget the favor in your words,” he assured Mustafa Kamil. “Go to your final trial with our heartfelt regards.”
59
HORUS HERALDED, “Muhammad Farid!”
A medium-built man with a plump face walked in, wearing nothing on his head or his feet, until he stood before the throne.
“Coming from an ancient, aristocratic family,” said Muhammad Farid, “I shared Mustafa Kamil’s nationalist stance from the start. For this reason, I resigned from the government to devote myself to the patriotic cause above all else. My bond with Mustafa Kamil grew so strong that he named me as his successor to lead our party. I followed his ideology, his way of speaking to crowds and of writing, until I was arrested and tossed into prison. There they tried to persuade me to soften my position in exchange for a pardon, but I rejected any deal. After I got out, I was even more stubborn and refractory than before.
“I traveled throughout the country, making the case for nationalism, and they conspired to send me to prison with the leaders of the party. I decided to emigrate in order to carry on agitating from abroad. We crafted our escape at the right time and successfully got away. And as much as we were able to accomplish some things outside the country, the party was also subject to weakness and fragmentation within. We bore the bitterness of longing for Egypt and our families, and many people spurned us. Then the 1919 Revolution broke out back home, a totally unexpected revolt, one that never had occurred to my mind. It happened while I was forgotten in exile, while others sat on the leader’s chair instead of me.
“We proclaimed our satisfaction with the movement’s bosses without believing that most of them were sincere, congratulating the masses for their courage. We cheered the memory of their martyrs and urged them to hold steadfast until the end. My life ended while I was yet banned from returning to Egypt.”
“A satisfactory leadership indeed, given what it faced in suppression,” said Psamtek III.
“You could well have savored a voluptuous life,” said the Sage Ptahhotep, “and high rank common to men of your wealthy class. But you left all that entirely and chose struggle and agony for the sake of Egypt. You are a great man indeed …”
“Tell me how a leader abandons his country in a time of disaster, to fight for it in a foreign land?” demanded Abnum.
“They planned to put us in prison,” said Muhammad Farid.
“But the leader of the just cause knows that he is made for imprisonment or death,” insisted Abnum, “not for waging his jihad abroad.”
“Jihad outside the homeland had been a part of our nationalist strategy since the days of Mustafa Kamil.”
“That was accepted as an auxiliary element to help complete the original mission inside the country,” Abnum corrected him. “But for you and the rest of the leadership to leave your party with no actual leaders in your absence was anything but brave or wise behavior. The fact is, you were notables that I would have put to death in my own revolution without any mercy. You loved being patriotic leaders as well as the respect and position that this had brought you. Yet you couldn’t deal with real struggle — and the detention, torture, or death that comes along with it. Instead, you ditched your duty when things got rough, in order to conduct a nice, safe holy war abroad. Doing so, you became responsible for the weakness and division that afflicted the nationalist movement.
“And so I was staggered by your surprise that a revolution had flared up among the people, though at the same time amazed at your lofty feelings of victimhood when they chose a leader other than you. You seem to have viewed the leadership as an inherited birthright that passes within your class like money and land — even after you’ve fled the field of battle.”
“You’re repeating what our enemies used to say!” exclaimed Muhammad Farid.
“I do not deny your patriotism,” admitted Abnum. “But your love of Egypt was entwined with your deep-set contempt for the Egyptians. The feeling of loyalty to a nominal identity never left you, while inevitably your life turned to tragedy, because the leader of the people had to be of the people — one marked by human greatness, not aristocratic grandeur.”
“As for me,” spoke up Isis, “I see him as one of the best of my sons, in character, sincerity, and national feeling. Nothing more could be asked of him, considering the circumstances of his birth and upbringing.”
“From us, you have a certificate backed by esteem and affection,” Osiris promised Muhammad Farid. “Go to your final trial with our sincerest good wishes for a fortuitous verdict.”
60
HORUS HAILED, “Saad Zaghloul!”
A towering, strongly favored, strikingly compelling, and awe-inspiring man entered the room. He kept on walking until he stood before the throne.
Osiris invited him to speak.
“I was born in Ibyana,” he began, “and studied at al-Azhar as a pupil of Jamal al-Din al-Afghani. I worked as an editor at al-Waqai al-misriya, under the direction and tutelage of Muhammad Abduh. I joined the Urabists during their uprising, and at the start of the British occupation, I was jailed for belonging to the Vengeance Association. Leaving my job, I practiced law then became a judge. Later I was chosen as education minister, and after that, minister of justice.