government and restarted their war. The Islamists carry total responsibility for the disaster.
This is first of all a disaster for Sudan, which, thanks to the Islamists, no longer exists. Their war exhausted the country’s economy, despite the immense financial support received from Saudi Arabia. Consequently, it is no longer only the south that has rebelled; it is the entire country, from Darfur in the west to Kassala in the east. But what is important to these idiotic fanatics is that they can prohibit beer in Khartoum, cut off the hands of small thieves (but not the biggest ones), impose the veil on young girls, etc. Their leader, Hassan al-Turabi, which the Western media are pleased to present as an “intellectual,” belongs rather to the group of government criminals. It is amusing to note that his name in Arabic—if a short “a” is substituted for the pronunciation of the long “a”—means “gravedigger.” That is what he is called in Sudan.
Sudan’s destruction suits the dominant powers in the world and regional systems quite well. For the United States, Sudan is “too large.” In fact, for Washington, all countries in the world are too large, except for the United States. As is well known, the war stopped work on the Jonglei Canal, on which the future of Egypt and northern Sudan depends, however. I am perfectly aware that some environmental movements condemn in principle all major infrastructure projects. In the first volume of my memoirs, I said what I thought of these simplifications concerning the Aswan High Dam.
The Gulf Countries
I also know quite well the countries of the Arab Mashreq. I do not have much to say about the Gulf, which I visited in 1971 and 1974. Kuwait and the Emirates are not nations or even countries. I see them rather as supermarkets. In Kuwait, I met only Egyptians, Palestinians, Syrians, and Lebanese. The native inhabitants pay, but do not work. One day in Dubai, I got the crazy idea to stroll through the city before the meeting I was to attend. Upon entering a telephone store, I saw perhaps three thousand models (a figure provided by the Indian owner, proud of his den) displayed on five rows of shelving in the 100 square meters of the shop. I had neither the need nor desire to buy anything. Later I was told: “No, no, you don’t go into a store in that manner. You go with a precise list of everything you want to buy, model X, type Y, color, etc. Obviously, you will find it.” The cities of the Gulf are, of course, places where you die of boredom.
Despite the complete stupidity of these U.S. protectorates of the Gulf, there are, all the same, Bedouins capable of making a critical assessment of the situation. What is the future? The few intellectuals from the region deserve admiration for their courage. It is said that things are changing and praise for Dubai’s “success” is making headlines. Looking a little closer, I was not convinced. Certainly, there are lively business activities, choice of the city as headquarters for multinational corporations (freed, consequently, from any control), tourism for the rich (for me the place is too boring to be worth the trouble!), skyscrapers, and luxury villas. But there is nothing to indicate any inventive capacity. Dubai remains an opulent relay for a globalization shaped by others.
Bahrain is certainly more interesting. This Arab-Persian bazaar has an ancient history, and while the vestiges of the Qarmatian Revolution—a Muslim millenarian communism—have disappeared, perhaps it has left mental traces that can explain the active political life that characterizes the country, which is quite exceptional in the region.
I was never curious to visit Saudi Arabia, which is the height of horror for me. I know that this country, which presumes to give moral lessons to the entire world, imports half (yes, half—50 percent) of the world’s production of pornography. The French sociologist Jean-Louis Boutillier, a friend of great humor, told me about how evenings are spent there: in groups of men (and separately women) seated before five porn movies playing at the same time. I’ll pass over the rest.
The south of the Arabian Peninsula is quite different. True societies are found there.
En route to Karachi in 1975, we made a stop for three days in Muscat. It was a difficult but amusing entry into the country. The Dhofar war was in full swing and the Sultanate’s English police had undoubtedly made up long lists of undesirable Arabs. The police officer seized my passport, called his supervisor, and told me to wait. While waiting for them to make their decision—after many calls to the Interior Ministry, no doubt—I explained to Isabelle that if they wanted to turn us back, they had a good pretext. Isabelle had no visa on her French passport (as an Egyptian, I did not need one, in principle). I explained to her that she should keep silent about her feminism, remain seated, keep her head covered with a scarf for the occasion, look at her toes, not utter a sound, and refrain from answering anyone who came to speak to her. The cop returned and said: “Go, everything is fine.” I thought for a moment, “Do I take out Isabelle’s passport?” Then I had a brilliant idea. I took out my identity card and, in the part called “Observations,” I wrote in Arabic in this order: chantatan wa zawja (two suitcases and one wife!). I got Isabelle’s attention with a “psst” and summoned her with my finger. She rose, picked up the two suitcases, and without lifting her head, followed me with small steps, staying behind me as I walked with my head held high. We left the airport, got into a taxi, and then burst out laughing. We fooled them!
Yemen
I am not familiar with the former South Yemen, although I have met many political figures of the exceptional left in which we had invested much hope and that I discussed in Re-Reading the Postwar Period.17 Nevertheless, I know North Yemen quite well, having been invited on two occasions (1988 and 1994), after the end of the war and the Egyptian intervention, by the rector of Sana’a University, Abdel Aziz Al-Maqaleh. Everyone knows the superb architecture of Yemeni cities, its mountainous countryside (similar to that of Ethiopia), and even the custom of chewing qat. I was invited every day to participate in interesting and intelligent afternoon gatherings. A meeting sometimes brought together men only, or sometimes exclusively women, or even a mixed group (and I was assured that there was nothing exceptional or modern in that). One of the invitees would make a—sometimes lengthy—presentation on a subject that was then freely discussed by the others while chewing qat for three or four hours. I was invited to begin the discussions with a presentation on important topics, such as what is socialism; imperialism today; the Arab nation and its problems. I must say that the quite lively discussions revealed unexpected levels of knowledge and thought. Fahima Charaffeddine, who had been invited at the same time as I was, and some other leftist Arab intellectuals, such as the Syrian Issam al-Zaim who worked at that time in Sana’a, confirmed my conclusions: this poor country is not as “backward” as is often believed. In that way, it is just like Ethiopia. Of course, neither I nor the other non-Yemenis could chew with the diligence of the natives, who finished by consuming a bunch big enough to serve a horse. Regular consumption of qat ends up deforming the jaws and mouth, changing the cheeks into veritable balls. We were content then to taste the qat.
Yemeni hospitality made it possible for me to visit the entire country. I even insisted on going to see the ruins of the ancient port of Moka, which had had its glory days in history. “What a strange idea,” said both Fahima, whom I had involved in this adventure, and our Yemeni guide, a professor. We descended from the superb mountains with a delightful climate to low-lying lands, humid and hot. We ultimately discovered that there was nothing left of the vestiges of Moka, just a small square surrounded by wires where archaeologists worked on an ungrateful soil in which they had discovered nothing. Fahima, an elegant Lebanese, had not at all appreciated this little excursion. I, being stubborn, did not regret it since I had seen the site of Moka all the same!
My visit to Yemen helped me to understand the country’s importance in Arab history. There were two questions that I always asked and to which I never found answers. Why do the Saudis fear the Yemenis so much? The former are rich whereas the latter are poor. Why do so many Arabs from Morocco to Egypt to Iraq claim that their ancestors came from Yemen? The answer, which several historians offered, but not completely convincingly, in my opinion, is simple. In the entire Arabian peninsula,
