حسين صبري ذو الفقار .. مصري أمين

 


 

شوقي بدري
30 نوفمبر, 2022

 

بعد الاطاحة بالملك فاروق كان حسين صبري على رأس الجيش المصري في السودان . حسين صبري هو أخ على صبري الذي اطاحت به مع شعراوي جمعة وأخرين المخابرات الامريكية بعد وصول السادات للسلطة بعد موت جمال . التهمة كانت يسارية المجموعة .وعادت مصر لحضن المخابرات الامريكية كما في عهد بداية الثورة وهم من وضعوا ناصر على عرش الثورة قبل انقلابه على امريكا التي عاقبته بطريقة اجاعت الشعب المصري .
حسين صبري الطيار وقائد السرب كان مختلفا ، وربما السبب هو انه قد عاش في امريكا لفترة . حاول أن يكسب عيشه في امريكا بطرق عديدة احدها الملاكمة . حاول الاتصال بكل رؤساء الاحزاب السياسية في السودان قبل الاستقلال في 1952 لفتح صفحة جديدة . ولم يكن عالما بعد بالخيانة المصرية في 1924 ولا يزال ظلها يلقي على العلاقة بين مصر والسودان بالرغم من خيانات عديدة للسودان لن تنتهي ما دام النيل يجري من الجنوب الى الشمال ولمصر اطماع دائمة في السودان .
نشر حسين صبري كتابين اولهما سيادة السودان والثاني استقلال السودان . حاولت الحصول على الكتابين ولكن وجدت فقط مقتطفات من كتاب استقلال السودان . سيادة السودان تحصلت عليه باللغة الانجليزية في الثمانينات . بذلت جهدا كبيرا ولكن يبدو أن عند البعض الرغبة في عدم خروج الكتابين الى النور . حسين صبري كان صادقا وصريحا وتحدث عن الخيانة المصرية بوضوح .
وانا صغير كنت اشاهد الكثيرين يحضرون لزبارة والدي ابراهيم بدري منهم الحاكم العام البريطاني . حسين صبري بالرغم من أن ابراهيم بدري رفض مقابلته في البداية . فرض نفسه على ابراهيم بدري وطرق بابه في المساء بدون سابق انزار . بدأت علاقة جيدة بين الرجلين . عندما كان محمد محجوب عثمان في السابعة عشر من عمره كان في تنظيبم الجبهة المعادية للاستعمار . اخذهم استاذنا في الثانوية مكي فوزي لزيارة رؤساء كل الاحزاب كتدريب لهم على العمل السياسي كشيوعيين في بداية الطريق . في زيارتهم الى منزلنا في حى الملازمين . وجدوا ابراهيم بدري وحسين صبري ذو الفقار في جلسة حميمية ، مما يدل على أن الرجلين في حاله تفاهم فابراهيم بدري كان من فتح عيني حسين صبري على الخيانة المصرية التي لم يعرفها حسين صبري بسبب فارق السن . لقد مرت 29 سنة على الخيانة . حسين صبري كان يترد على منزلنا. ومن المؤكد انه صادق في كلامه وشعوره نحو السودان مثل الكثير من المصريين ، الا أن المصالح والسياسة قد لا تعرف الصدق والامانة .
سأنشر لكم الجزء الخاص بالخيانة المصرية في 1924 بقلم مصري امين . على الذين في مصر البحث عن الكتابين في دار الوثائق المصرية اذا كنتم تريدون معرفة الحقيقة .
قبل فترة حاولت التحصل على كتابين قديمين للكاتب الاشتراكي السويدي انقفار لو يوهانسون .... مساء الخير ايتها الارض وكتاب بروليتارية الارض ، كنت قد قرأتهم في السبعينات . الكتابات يتطرقا للبؤس والظلم الذي عانى منه عمال الزراعة لدرجة انهم كانوا مثل العبيد واستمرت هذه الحالة لما بعد الحرب العالمية الثانية . بعد جهد وبمساعدة موظف المكتبة الرئيسية العجوز والبحث الطويل تحصلنا على الكتابين . تعليق الموظف ..... السويديون ليسوا بمهتمين بالقراءة عن البؤس بعد ان وصلوا الى العز والثروة .
شوقي


Soverenity for Sudan
Hussein Zulfakar Sabry


First published in 1982 by Ithaca Press
13 Southwark Street London SE 1
ISBN 0 903729 80 6


(Page 42 – 49)



After my contact with the Umma Party leaders, and with the trio of the so called National Front, it was imperative that I no longer delay approaching the Unionists. However, neither Azhari nor Nur el Din were yet available. They were still seeking support for themselves in Cairo. Luckily! For I left that, as matter stood, they would be more concerned about seaccommodation with Egypt’s new regime, so that the untrammeled flow of subsidies that had made their life so comfortable, be again secured. So much more gratifying, and profitable as well, than being summoned to brace themselves for a direct confrontation with British policy. A confrontation which could only be achieved if Sudanese of all parties and factions came together, burying for the moment their differences. The Unionists would then be called, and by Egypt itself, incredible as that might appear, to abdicate their privileged position, and to become just one political group among many.


I pondered, not knowing where to turn. But the Graduates’ Congress was still a respectable body. Its Secretary General, Mubarak Zarruk, was pro Azhari. He was a young, successful lawyer, whose reputation had remained unstained. There was the man to approach. I found him gloomy and hardly optimistic. Like Mirghani Hamza, of the National Front, he doubted the possibility of defeating the British contrived Self Government Statute. They would stand fast, and would not deign so much as to consider revising any of its provisions. And again, just like Mirghani Hamza, he pointed to the Legislative Assembly as an alarming precedent. The Unionists backed by the Khatmias, had boycotted its elections. The net result was that they were left in the lurch; and the figure of Sayed Abdel, Rahman el-Mahdi had grown impressively as the Umma Party came to dominate the Assembly.


Mubarak Zarruk was convinced that the Khatmias would never again stand back. Should the Unionist, the two Ashigga factions, ever decide, as so far seemed likely, to boycott the elections called for under the provisions of the Self-Government Statute, the bulk of the Khatmias would just veer round and back up any party that was determined to challenge the Mahdi’s prospective dominion, even if it were the Socialist Republican Party!


Headed by the enigmatic Ibrahim Badri, the Socialist Republican Party came into being when a number of tribal leaders decided to associate. Most belonged to far-flung areas, whose kin and immediate forebears had suffered untold hardships under the Mahdia. They vowed that never again would they allow the Sudan to submit to autocratic rule. The possibility that el-Mahdi might eventually establish dynastic rule was an anathema to them. To submit instead to the sovereignty of the Egyptian Crown was equally nonsensical. They opted for Republicanism. Drawn by the enticing co-label of Socialism, a number of young intellectuals joined in. Most were Khatmias, with no ’Ansars’ to speak of. The latter were too disciplined to defy the Umma Party’s authoritarian hold, particularly as the new party was making no bones about its anti-Mahdist attitude.


Some asserted that Ibrahim Badri had managed to enlist the support of a few Southerners, politically minded young men who had just graduated from the University of Kampala in Uganda. I accepted this at face-value, for the influence of the new party among Southerners could not be definitely ascertained. Be that as it may, it proved very convenient to make this assumption, for it was a feat whick no other North-Sudanese party had been able to achieve. The possibility was enough evidence for the Socialist Republican Party to be branded as a tool of the British.


Indeed, the British Administration in Khartoum was benevolently disposed towards it. They felt, that with time, the party could develop into a healthy counterweight to the Khatmia-backed Unionists with their strong attachments to Egypt as well as to the Umma, behind whose ranks the ambitions of a regenerated Mahdia lurked. It was most necessary that I approach Ibrahim Badri forthwith.


Try as I could, he proved elusive however. My efforts to pin him down to an appointment trailed off into promises that were broken, once and again, under various excuses. He was on a trip somewhere, or sometimes, bed-ridden and too ill to see anybody. More often than not, I only received vague answers as to his exact location. He just could not be reached. Growing impatient and feeling intrigued as well, I decided to move in on him whatever happened.


His house stood at a maze of side-streets, deep down some quarter of Omdurman, in which I was sure to get lost if I ventured there, especially after dark. The odds were that I would not find him at home, unless it was late in the evening. Driving my small private car, I followed the rear lights of a fellow officer’s who had reconnoitred the area, and had pin-pointed the exact location of Ibrahim Badri’s house. We came to a halt before the gate. Then my friend drove off and left me all alone. It was some time before anybody answered the bell. Then in the darkness I finally discerned the figure of a tall man in flowing white robes slowly crossing the front-yard. I told him who I was, and that I had come to see Ibrahim Badri, enquiring if that were the right address.
’’One moment, please,’’ was all he said, and then he crossed his way back into the house.


Five minutes later, he returned. The waiting had irritated me beyond words, but I managed to keep my feelings in check.


’’Yes?’’ I asked. But I got no answer. The man seemed preoccupied. It was completely dark. There was a double click, and then the night air resounded with the clangs of a heavy chain that was being slowly unfastened. There was a grating of hinges as the iron gate finally creaked open. Silently the man led me up to the porch that traditionally dominates the front yard of most Sudanese houses. I sat down in a squeaky wicker chair. Again I had to wait. It was pitch dark, save for a narrow beam of light streaming across a door, left slightly ajar.


A lean, spindly figure in shirt sleeves approached me with furtive steps.


’’Ibrahim Badri,’’ he said, introducing himself as he extended a limp, skeletal hand. He then made for the chair opposite mine and sat down. And a silent lull that might have dragged on and on, had I not summoned myself at last. I burst forth, striving to give some account and justification for the reasons behind my crash visit.


I was the special envoy of the High Command in Cairo. A dedicated body that were resolved to review and reshape Egypt’s policy towards the Sudan. They were determined that no policy should be developed which was against the express wishes of the Sudanese. But as matter stood, the British Administration had established a quasi-colonial rule. That was unacceptable to Egypt, and it ought to be unacceptable to the Sudanese as well!


I spoke in long spurts, pausing now and then to give him a chance to make some remark or put in a query. But he kept to himself, and I felt as though I was talking to the void.


But I went doggedly on. The Self-Government Statute would sever the one tie that still counterbalanced, though only as a matter of form, Britain’s overpowering hegemony. The British Administration would become entrenched, by right as well as by might, and it would be ages before the Sudan could get free.


Still no word! It was as if Badri, huddled in his chair, had turned into a lifeless figure of wax. He looked so pale, even in the dim reflected light that streaked through the door that had been left ajar. I was exasperated. I pushed on. I had come, on behalf of the High Command, with the offer that Egypt stand together with Sudanese of all factions, against the British designs. The High Command in Cairo was anxious to know how the Sudanese see their future status. No, we are not altogether altruistic. Egypt cannot allow the Sudan, our direct neighbour, as well as lying astride our very lifeline, to be controlled by Colonial Britain.


’’Whoever turns his back while we extent our hand,’’ I finally interjected, ’’is only helping the British to dig in deeper. He would surely incur the condemnation of the generations to come!’’ I stopped, out of breath. I had said all that I could summon myself to say. There was nothing more. I felt exhausted.


A faint, almost inaudible voice, at first, probed in. Casually, in a non-committal way, Badri began inquiring about the results, so far, of my meetings with the various Sudanese leaders. I replied that it was too early yet to assess possibilities. I still had to sift between attitudes and persuasions, very often contradictory, and I still had to report to Cairo before we could form a definite opinion. We were determined to act however, once we had managed to forge a common platform, acceptable to an overwhelming Sudanese majority of opinion. Anything less would not do.


’’And what would you do if we Sudanese reached any sort of agreement with you. Would you stick to it?’’


’’Most certainly!’’


’’And if … if …’’ he now spoke haltingly. ’’If the British do not give in? If the odds are stacked against you? If you find it more convenient to accommodate yourselves with them? What then …’’


’’Never! The High Command is a dedicated body.’’


’’Do you mean it? Are you sure? If I did understand you right … you say that your foremost aim is to help us get rid of foreign control. What about the integrity of the Sudanese territories?’’


’’But that’s beyond dispute! We would rather die than give in!’’ He got up abruptly. I could see, in the dim light, that the whole of his frail body was quivering. He crossed over, as if impelled. I stood up, seized with apprehension. What was he up to?



He threw his arms around my shoulders, hugging me, half-laughing, half-sobbing ….


’’Then why? But why …’’ he said in a choking voice, ’’ did you forsake us? You just packed up and went in 1924! We were manhandled – the outrage of it all!’’ His hands tightened their grip on my shoulders in a sudden outburst of temper, then just as suddenly relaxed.


’’Please, do sit down, Hussein,’’ he said, breathing hard. ’’May I call you by name? Hussein, please sit down! You must excuse me. Do you know that you are the first Egyptian officer that visits me … that crosses my threshold … that comes into my house! The first Egyptian officer! Since ages! Since 1924!’’ Swiftly, he stepped over to the electric switch, and the porch instantly blazed with light.


’’The first Egyptian officer since 1924 ….’’ Muttering the words, as though speaking to himself, his eyes lost in a distant gaze.


Then again, his thin delicate features, which now I could see clearly, became indescribably contorted with intense emotion. I wondered if next he would burst out in exultation, or break down weeping. But he soon relaxed, his face blithe with happiness. Clapping his hands, he summoned the man who had opened the gate for me. A cousin of his, as I was to learn. He had neither servants nor attendants. His was a frugal life.


’’What will you have, Hussein? he kept repeating my name. ’’Tea? Something cool?’’ I hesitated. His change of attitude had taken me by surprise. I had not yet regained my composure.


’’Tell you what! We will have supper together.’’


Back in 1924, in broad daylight and in the heart of Cairo, Sir Lee Stack, Governor-General of the Sudan and ’Sirdar’ – Commander-in-Chief – of the Egyptian Army, had been assassinated.


General Allenby, then British High Commissioner, had delivered a terse ultimatum to the Government of Saad Zaghloul, demanding, among other things, the withdrawal forthwith of the Egyptian troops from the Sudan. The Egyptian troops, ’down under’, then comprised Sudanese units, whose officers, like their Egyptian colleagues, were bound by oath of allegiance to the King of Egypt.


The Egyptian officers demurred. They would not comply unless ordered back through the direct, express command of their King. They seemed determined to defy the British injunction.


Sudanese officers of the 11th battalion billeted across the Blue Nile, decided to back up their Egyptian colleagues. They marched out in full equipment. British forces hastened over, barring the way. Both sides clashed. The Sudanese, occupying the Military Hospital nearby, fought it out, repulsing the repeated attacks of the British
The battle raged on, all through the afternoon and the following night. By next day however, the Sudanese had run out of ammunition, and they were finally overpowered.


Meanwhile the Egyptian troops had received directions of their King’s assent that they comply with the evacuation orders. While the battle raged nearby – and with the Sudanese paying a heavy toll in lives – the Egyptians, seemingly unconcerned, had busied themselves with all the petty details of packing up and cartloading their personal effects. Their military equipment, which the Sudanese had expected them to carry into battle, in a joint heroic stand, was being inventoried so that it could be handed over to the British authorities – not only an act of abject surrender, but also of betrayal and crass default.


Most of the rebellion’s leaders had fallen in battle. Survivors were to be summarily court-martialled and executed. Younger officers, suspected of having harboured sympathies with the movement were hounded down and imprisoned for protracted periods, under appalling conditions, in the sinister Kober prison.


The Sudanese rebellion had not been just a spontaneous upsurge. A few years before, a young officer of Dinka origin – a Southerner – having clashed with a high British official, had been peremptorily dismissed from the ranks. He was stung, feeling that he had been harshly and unjustly treated. Ali Abdel-Latif, for that was the young officer’s name, started campaigning against British occupation of the Sudan. He was arrested and imprisoned.


Once released, he formed the White Flag organization, exhorting the Sudanese to solidarity with Egypt against the British oppressor. The organization soon developed a programme calling for political unity of the Nile Valley, as a means of achieving the independence of both
Egypt and the Sudan. Ali Abdel-Latif was again arrested and imprisoned. But he had already stirred up feelings of disaffection and political discontent; and they were running high.


In June 1924 – a mere five months before the assassination of Sir Lee Stack in Cairo – the Sudanese cadets at the Military School staged an armed demonstration through the streets of Khartoum, to demonstrate their solidarity with the Egyptian battalion that had just mutinied at Atbara.


Within the ranks of the troops, Egyptian and Sudanese officers were slowly forging an armed brotherhood, infused with identical political aspirations.


Had the Egyptians risen to the occasion, that outburst of Sudanese army units, in defiance of the British ultimatum that the Egyptian Army evacuate the Sudan, might have welded the brotherhood into a never-to-be severed blood pact. At least, for generations to come; but the sorry defection of the Egyptian Army units proved to be a shocking anti-climax.


To my way of thinking, that do-or-die battle in the streets of Khartoum, during those fateful days of November 1924, was to mark a decisive turning point, giving birth to modern Sudanese nationalism and its distinctive ambivalent character.


Most of the Sudanese politicians I had to deal with bore the scars of 1924. Some had been cadets or young army officers then – Abdallah Khalil and Khalafallah Khaled, among others. Many had had next-of-kin relatives in the ranks, and had felt, at least vicariously, the dire consequences of the rebellion.


Yet, deep down, there still lay that core of imbedded feelings – an unconscious conviction, I should say – that the Sudan and Egypt could only shake off British colonialism if both were to work hand in hand. But that last-minute defection of the Egyptian Army units, in November 1924, had raised misgivings in the hearts of all Sudanese. How far could the Egyptians be trusted?


Was it not safer and healthier for the Sudanese to fend for themselves, and by their own efforts, to strive for independence? At the same time, the feeling could not be shaken off, that somehow or other their fate, for decades to come, would be tied to Egypt’s fortunes.


There lay that gap of distrust, whose depths could not be uniformly assessed. Some were inclined to gloss it over – as though it was an unfortunate mishap – and start anew. To others, it appeared ominous and abysmal. Sudanese attitudes were to be torn between the two extremes. It was a psychological trauma that rankled deep in their hearts. The more potent since the conscious memory of its explosive emotional nature had slowly receded with the passing of years. The younger generations had not been directly involved, yet they must have felt its emotional impact al the more, engulfed as they were by the impassioned political climate of the day.


Such was the nature of the dilemma that confronted the Sudanese, and wich they were to be called to face and resolve.


شوقي


shawgibadri@hotmail.com

 

آراء