“At the end of the First World War, with the declaration of the Armistice, I became the leader of the nationalist movement. I carried this out on the strength of the indivisible patriotic unity between Muslims and Christians, proclaiming Egypt’s right to liberty and independence. The British authorities arrested me, and exiled me to the island of Malta. No sooner was this news broadcast than the people revolted in protest at my deportation, demanding an end to foreign rule. As a result, England was forced to set me free.
“I then traveled with the Wafd’s delegation to Paris to present our case to the peace conference there, but its doors were shut in our faces. We entered into negotiations with Britain, but nothing came of them. Then the Wafd split internally, and I returned to Egypt. Afterward I was exiled a second time, this time to the Seychelles Islands in the Indian Ocean. They did not release me until 1923.
“Following that, I served as prime minister after winning the popular elections in 1924. I went right into negotiations with Britain again, which promptly failed. Then, after the assassination of one of the English commanders, I was forced to step down.
“The political parties arrayed themselves in harmony against the king’s dictatorship, and I became speaker of the People’s Assembly, leaving the premiership to the Liberal Constitutionalists. Talks with the British began once again — but I departed the world before knowing their outcome.”
“I undertook the first popular revolution,” boasted Abnum, “at the end of the Old Kingdom, and, after thousands of years, you started the second one. You are my brother and my dear friend.”
“There is a difference between the two revolutions that we must keep in mind,” cautioned Khufu. “Abnum’s revolt was by the common folk against the cream of society, while Saad Zaghloul’s revolution pitted all of Egypt’s people, rich and poor alike, against the alien occupation.”
“I think that wealthy people are not fond of revolution,” opined Abnum.
“From the first, I was eager to preserve our unity,” said Saad Zaghloul, “for strength is indispensable when facing the enemy. Yet I became convinced that the rich hated the revolution more than the occupation.”
“You should have got rid of them,” Abnum upbraided him.
“They broke away from me,” answered Saad Zaghloul, “plotting their own path to independence that matched their point of view.”
“But you united the Egyptians, just as I unified their kingdom,” said Menes to Zaghloul. “For that reason, you are my comrade and my successor, as well.”
“Regardless of the leadership you showed after the revolution,” commented Imhotep, vizier to King Djoser, “you consented to work in government before the revolution, in the shadow of the occupation, without joining the National Party. How do you explain this?”
“The National Party advocated fantastical ideals,” Saad replied. “One could not negotiate until after the withdrawal of foreign forces from the country. That would mean that the occupation would last forever. Another was to refuse to take public office while the British dominated these positions. Yet in my opinion, it wasn’t enough to demand a particular kind of behavior from people. What you demand must be practical for general application, without prejudice or indifference to their needs. Mustafa Kamil was able to boycott government appointment because the khedive was providing him and others with money, while Muhammad Farid could do the same due to his vast private holdings. But what could the party’s followers do? If they obeyed their leaders, they would go bankrupt, and if they deviated, they would be forced to betray their pact. How could one preach a lofty principle that people would find so difficult to live up to, that would instill such feelings of guilt in them? And how could you leave the public postings to foreigners?
“I accepted official life as an instrument of resistance in service to the nation, which needed it most urgently. My adversaries admitted this before my friends did.”
Here Osiris interrupted, admonishing all assembled, “For those who would like to read it, this leader’s deeds are written in the record. But here in this court, we will discuss only actions of a fateful nature.”
Then he interrogated Saad Zaghloul directly, “Your enemies claim that the revolution took place while you were in exile, and that you did nothing to instigate it yourself. Rather, you were astonished that it happened, as though it had taken you by surprise. What do you say to that?”
“The country was in a state of despair,” answered Zaghloul. “I admit that I was caught off guard when the revolution began, just as the man who had been leader before me, Muhammad Farid, was too. Yet I did not refrain from preparing the atmosphere for it with speeches on all possible occasions, and in meeting with people in my house, in the countryside and in the cities, urging them to support my position, filling them with patriotic feeling. Moreover, the revolution erupted in reaction to my exile, and so my person provided the spark that ignited it.”
“Such a critical position usually demands a particular type of behavior,” declared Abnum. “The effective leader is the one who is able to serve as the model for such action. The situation here demanded sacrifice, for that is the most that an unarmed people can put up against an overwhelming power. When Saad confronted the enemy and they forced him into exile, he set the desired example, and the people followed it by launching the revolution. What testifies to Saad’s greatness is that he accepted this sacrifice while despairing of any revolution to protect or defend him — and his sacrifice was total. Noble bravery, when there was no hope for any kind for survival. If he had had hope for the revolution, then his grandeur would be lesser in the degree of his enormous self-denial.”
“Some also say,” Osiris continued, “that the bias in your leadership drove the intellectuals from being supporters of you into breaking away from you. How do you answer that?”
“In truth, I lived only for the revolution: I believed in it completely. Through it I discovered my cherished goal, which I had sought for all my life. As for the intellectuals, they hated and feared the revolution, contenting themselves with spurious solutions. They had money, experience, and sophistication, but their patriotism was impure, just as their faith in the people was lacking.”
“Some of your followers felt that you should have remained as head of the revolution,” Osiris reminded him, “rather than accepting the post of prime minister.”
“My premiership was an extension of the revolution at the cabinet level,” Zaghloul asserted.
“I think it would have been better if you had considered the view of these supporters,” Abnum insisted.
“May the gods bless this great and righteous son,” beamed Isis, “who has proved that Egypt’s people possess a strength that cannot be vanquished, nor ever die.”
“You are the first Egyptian to rule the country since the age of the pharaohs,” said Osiris, “and you did so by the will of the people. For this reason, I grant you the right to sit among the Immortals, who are your forebears, until the end of this trial. Then may you go in peace to your proper proceeding, bearing our commendation, and our sincerest good wishes.”
And so Saad Zaghloul took his place among the Imperishable Ones in the Hall of Sacred Justice.
61
HORUS HERALDED, “Mustafa al-Nahhas!”
A firmly framed man who was not quite tall walked onward until he stood before the throne.
Osiris asked him to address the court.
“I was born to a poor family in the Delta town of Samanud,” said Mustafa al-Nahhas. “With intensive effort, I completed my education. Due to my outstanding performance, I was appointed a judge and learned justice and righteousness. I joined the Nationalist Party, with whose president I had been a student colleague in the Khedivial College. And when the Wafd formed under the leadership of Saad Zaghloul, he chose me as a member — and I was banished with him to the Seychelles in 1921. I took part in his populist revolutionary cabinet, and when he died, I was elected chief of the Wafd.