Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922-1940

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Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

Massimiliano Fiore

Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

To my father Gianfranco and my wife Arabella

Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

Massimiliano Fiore King’s College, London, UK

© Massimiliano Fiore 2010 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. Massimiliano Fiore has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. Published by Ashgate Publishing Limited Ashgate Publishing Company Wey Court East Suite 420 Union Road 101 Cherry Street Farnham Burlington Surrey, GU9 7PT VT 05401-4405 England USA www.ashgate.com British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Fiore, Massimiliano. Anglo-Italian relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940. 1. Great Britain – Foreign relations – 1910–1936. 2. Great Britain–Foreign relations – 1936–1945. 3. Italy–Foreign relations–1914–1945. 4. Great Britain–Foreign relations – Italy. 5. Italy – Foreign relations – Great Britain. 6. Middle East – History – 20th century. 7. Middle East – Foreign relations – 20th century. I. Title 327.4’1045–dc22 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Fiore, Massimiliano. Anglo-Italian relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940 / Massimiliano Fiore. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7546-6964-7 (hardcover : alk. paper) — ISBN 978-0-7546-9747-3 (ebook) 1. Great Britain—Foreign relations—Italy. 2. Italy—Foreign relations— Great Britain. 3. Great Britain—Foreign relations—1910–1936. 4. Great Britain— Foreign relations—1936–1945. 5. Italy—Foreign relations—1914–1945. 6. Imperialism—History—20th century. 7. Middle East—Strategic aspects. 8. Middle East—Foreign relations. 9. Middle East—History, Military—20th century. 10. Middle East--Politics and government—1914–1945. I. Title. DA47.9.I8F56 2010 956’.03—dc22 2010021629 ISBN 9780754669647 (hbk) ISBN 9780754697473 (ebk) I

Contents List of Illustrations and Maps   Acknowledgements   Abbreviations    Note on Transliteration     Introduction   1

The Anglo-Italian Covert War in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea, 1922–1934  

2

3

4

Anglo-Italian Competition in the Red Sea before the Advent of Mussolini   Fascist Italy’s Political and Commercial Penetration in Arabia and the British Response   The Anglo-Italian Détente   Winds of War through the Desert   Conclusion  

vii ix xi xiii 1 9 12 15 22 28 33

Fascist Propaganda in the Arab World, 1934–1940  

35

Fascist Italy’s Anti-British Propaganda in Egypt and Palestine   Conclusion  

38 69

British Cultural Diplomacy and Counter-Propaganda in the Middle East, 1934–1940   

71

The Activities of the British Council in Egypt   The Establishment of the BBC Arabic Service   Conclusion  

72 76 85

Britain and Fascist Italy’s Political and Financial Support for the Great Palestinian Uprising, 1933–1940  

87

�

Fascist Financial Assistance to the Palestinian National Movement  91 Arms and Ammunition to the Palestinian National Movement   101 A Chill in the Relations between the Fascist Regime and the Palestinian National Movement, 1938–1940   105 Conclusion   109

vi

5

Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

Armaments Diplomacy in the Persian Gulf, 1925–1940  

119

The Anglo-Italian Naval Armament Competition in Persia   122 The Anglo-Italian Aeronautical Armament Competition in Iraq   132 Conclusion   150 6

Anglo-Italian Imperial Competition in the Arabian Peninsula, 1934–1940  

153

Arms for Saudi Arabia   154 Expansionism in Yemen   161 Cold War in Southern Arabia in the Wake of the Ethiopian War  165 The Anglo-Italian Agreement on the Arabian Peninsula and the Red Sea   175 Anglo-Italian Activities in the Arabian Peninsula on the Eve of the Second World War   177 Conclusion   182 7

Dreams of Imperial Greatness, 1922–1940  

185

The Anglo-Italian Imperial Clash in the Middle East   Epilogue: Shattered Dreams  

186 199

Selected Bibliography   Index  

203 223

List of Illustrations and Maps Illustrations 1 Mussolini with Prince Seif Al-Islam Muhammad Hamidaddin of Yemen at the Palazzo Chigi, 28 June 1927 (Istituto Luce).  2 Mussolini with the Persian Minister of Court Teymourtash at the Villa Torlonia, 14 August 1928 (Istituto Luce). 3 Mussolini and Balbo review a formation of the Arabic Youth of Littorio on a road near Tauroga in Libya, 15–16 March 1937 (Istituto Luce). 4 Camel Cavalry (Zaptié) Unit of the Italian Colonial Army in the Libyan Desert, 15–16 March 1937 (Istituto Luce). 5 A large crowd of Arab demonstrators face Palestine Policemen, 27 October 1933 (Imperial War Museum). 6 A dead or injured Palestinian Arab demonstrator lying in Jaffa’s Clock House Square, surrounded by the debris of the riot, 27 October 1933 (Imperial War Museum). 7 Wreckage of a sabotaged Palestine Railway train, circa 1938 (Imperial War Museum).  8 The assemblage of the first Breda Ba.65 in Iraq, 10 July 1938 (courtesy of Jorge and Helena Rigamonti). 9 Iraqi pilots and Italian mechanics, 27 February 1939 (courtesy of Jorge and Helena Rigamonti). 10 One of the Italian mechanics in front of the Ba.65, 27 February 1939 (courtesy of Jorge and Helena Rigamonti). 11 A Royal Air Force plane flying over Iraq, circa 1940 (Imperial War Museum). 

113 113 114 114 115 115 116 116 117 117 118

Maps 1 The Mediterranean and the Middle East 2 The Arabian Peninsula

xiii xiv

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Acknowledgements I would like to thank the many people and institutions without which this study would not have been possible. This book sets out the results of research for my doctoral thesis in War Studies submitted in 2008 to the King’s College London. First and foremost, I wish to express profoundest gratitude and admiration to my then supervisor, Dr Joe Maiolo. Without his invaluable help and constant encouragement, this study would have taken on a very different shape. He has stimulated my interest in the subject and encouraged me to explore new avenues, constantly furnishing new interpretations and insights. Our frequent discussions provided much intellectual stimulation and motivation for my work, and I thank him for the time and patience he dedicated to me, both academically and personally. I also owe a great deal to Dr Alan James and Dr Michael Berman for their acute observations on draft chapters. I could not have completed this book without the valuable contribution of David Ronder, who read the whole manuscript and pointed to many errors and inadequacies. I am also indebted to my external examiners, Professor John Gooch and Dr Anthony Best, for their useful comments and suggestions. I would like to express my gratitude to the Arts and Humanities Research Council, the School of Social Science and Public Policy of King’s College London and the University of London Centre Research Fund which first helped me to fund my education and then made this research possible. Without the professional expertise and cooperation of the staff of a large number of archives and libraries, collecting vital material would have been a much more difficult task. I am very grateful to all the staff at the archives I visited – especially at the National Archives and the Imperial War Museum in London, the Middle East Centre Archive in Oxford, the Historical Archive of the Ministry for Foreign Affairs (Archivio Storico del Ministero degli Affari Esteri) and the Central Archive of the State (Archivio Centrale dello Stato) in Rome. At the London School of Economics and Political Sciences, I would like to thank Mina Mosheri of the Cartography Unit, who was very patient with my continuing requests for revision of her excellent maps, and to Rory Morrison of the Design Unit, who did wonders with the cover image. I am also in debt to my editor, Emily Yates, who showed great enthusiasm for the project when it was proposed and considerable understanding while it was being produced. I would also like to thank the staff at Ashgate Publishing for making the book a reality. My debt to my family is impossible to measure or repay. I would particularly like to express my gratitude to my father for having always believed in me and given me constant support throughout the years. I am also extremely grateful to my parents in law, Jorge and Helena Rigamonti, for having – from the very first



Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

time – warmly welcomed me into their family and having made available to me the personal photographs of Maurilio Rigamonti, who was my wife’s grandfather and, by an incredible twist of fate, one of the Breda mechanics dispatched to Iraq to assist the local personnel in assembling the Ba.65s. Between 1938 and 1940, he took numerous photographs which graphically convey the everyday reality of the Italian Air Force Mission and sent them, together with the full dates and a short description, to his wife Lucrezia Misino. Last but certainly not least, my love and thanks go to my wife. For the past years Mussolini has been a third person in our marriage and she has shown astonishing grace in putting up with him. Without her support, understanding and patience, this book would not have been completed.

Abbreviations ACS Archivio Centrale dello Stato ADM Admiralty ASMAE Archivio Storico del Ministero degli Affari Esteri AP Affari Politici BBC British Broadcasting Corporation BC British Council CID Committee of Imperial Defence CO Colonial Office DBFP Documents on British Foreign Policy DDI I Documenti Diplomatici Italiani DGFP Documents on German Foreign Policy FO Foreign Office GFM German War Documents Project: Captured Italian Records MFA Ministero degli Affari Esteri MC Ministero delle Colonie MECA Middle East Centre Archive MinAir Ministero dell’Aeronautica MinCulPop Ministero della Cultura Popolare MinMar Ministero della Marina MPP Ministero per la Stampa e la Propaganda USSME Ufficio Storico dello Stato Maggiore dell’Esercito

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Note on Transliteration Virtually no two of my primary and secondary sources adopted the same spelling. I have therefore chosen to follow a consistent rather than a correct approach, employing accepted anglicised spelling where possible.

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Map 1 The Mediterranean and the Middle East

Map 2 The Arabian Peninsula

Introduction

It is our destiny that Rome should return to being the guiding light of civilisation throughout Western Europe. Let us raise the flag of our imperialism. … Let us instil the flame of this passion in the generation to come: to make Italy one of those nations without which it is impossible to conceive the future history of humanity. … May future Italian generations repeat what Virgil said about Ancient Rome: imperium oceano, fama terminavit astris (Benito Mussolini, 1921). We are a very rich and a very vulnerable Empire, and there are plenty of poor adventurers not very far away who look on us with hungry eyes (Neville Chamberlain, 1938).

The military defeat of the Ottoman Empire in the First World War brought a considerable augmentation of Britain’s power in the Middle East. As Secretary of State Arthur Balfour complacently remarked, ‘the map of the world has yet more red on it’. Once intoxicated with the possibility of painting more of the map red, ‘it was difficult’, noted Secretary of State for India Edwin Montagu with the studied irony peculiar to British official discourse, ‘to find some convincing argument for not annexing all the territories in the world’. Despite wartime promises specifically made to the Sharif of Mecca, recognising and supporting the independence of the Arabs, the dismemberment of the Ottoman Empire resulted in the emergence of five new states under British or French control, whose boundaries were carved up without regard for the religious/ethnic/linguistic composition of their inhabitants.    ‘The Roman Empire extended as far as the ocean, but its fame reached the stars.’ Benito Mussolini, Opera Omnia, ed. Eduardo and Duilio Susmel (32 vols, Florence-Rome, 1951–1963), vol. 16, pp. 159–60.    Quoted in Keith Feiling, The Life of Neville Chamberlain (London, 1946), p. 323.    Quoted in Niall Ferguson, Empire: How Britain Made the Modern World (London, 2004), p. 315.    Quoted in David Stevenson, The First World War and International Politics (Oxford, 1988), p. 106.    In their search for allies against the Ottoman Empire, the British made a number of conflicting promises during the First World War. The three most important were to the Arabs, the French and the Jews. In an attempt to win Arab support in the war against the Ottomans, Britain started negotiations with Sharif Hussein. Between 1915 and 1916, Sharif Sayyid Hussein Bin Ali and Sir Henry McMahon, British High Commissioner in Egypt, exchanged eight letters in which their agreement was specified. In his letter of 24



Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

Britain in fact assumed League of Nations ‘mandates’ – a euphemism for colonies – in Iraq, Palestine and Transjordan. These acquisitions, together with effective control over Aden, Bahrain, Cyprus, Egypt, Kuwait, Muscat, Oman, Qatar and the Trucial States, made Britain the dominant power in the region. Although France controlled Syria and Lebanon until 1946, the interwar period was, to quote Elisabeth Monroe’s felicitous title, Britain’s Moment in the Middle East. London’s chief interest throughout this period was to safeguard its network of sea and air communications to the Far East, maintain its level of trade and commerce, and to secure cheap and accessible oil for the Royal Navy. There was, however, ‘an illusory quality’ to this military victory, because for all the new territory that had been acquired, the Great War had also left the Empire more vulnerable than ever before. It was encircled by voracious enemies and riddled with internal divisions and conflicts. Even with the necessary resources, it was almost impossible to defend adequately in the face of any serious threat. And, as things were, Britain simply lacked the economic strength and military capacity to hold the Empire together. ‘Our small army is far too scattered’, warned Field Marshal Henry Wilson, Chief of the Imperial General Staff in May 1920. ‘In no October 1915 to Hussein, McMahon declared on behalf of the British Government that ‘subject to certain reservations and exclusions of territory not entirely Arab, Britain is prepared to recognize and support the independence of the Arabs within the territories included in the limits and boundaries proposed by the Sharif of Mecca’. While McMahon and Hussein were corresponding over the fate of the Middle East, the British were also conducting negotiations with the French over the same territory and, in April 1916, a secret understanding was reached with the assent of Imperial Russia. The Sykes-Picot Agreement called for Britain and France to divide the lands between the Mediterranean and the Persian Gulf into two spheres of influence in the event of victory. The last, and probably the most famous, promise was the Balfour Declaration of November 1917 in which the British Foreign Secretary pledged in a letter to Lord Rothschild, Head of the Jewish community in Britain, to establish a ‘national home in Palestine for the Jewish people’. Avi Shlaim, War and Peace in the Middle East: A Concise History Revised and Updated (London, 1995), pp. 11–12; William Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East (Boulder, 2004), pp. 157–63; David Kenneth Fieldhouse, Western Imperialism in the Middle East, 1914–1958 (Oxford, 2006), pp. 44–58.    Reader Bullard, Britain and the Middle East: From the Earliest Time to 1950 (London, 1952), pp. 28–65; Gilbert Clayton, An Arabian Diary (Berkeley, 1969), pp. 3–4; Elizabeth Monroe, Britain’s Moment in the Middle East, 1914-1971 (London, 1981), p. 11; Shlaim, War and Peace in the Middle East, pp. 11–12.   Lawrence Pratt, East of Malta, West of Suez: Britain’s Mediterranean Crisis, 1936– 1939 (Cambridge, 1975), pp. 9–10; David Omissi, ‘The Mediterranean and the Middle East in British Global Strategy, 1935–1939’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London, 1992), pp. 3–6; Malcolm Yapp, The Near East since the First World War: A History to 1995 (London, 1996), pp. 379–84; Richard Overy, The Road to War (London, 1999), pp. 73–5, 119–20; Ferguson, Empire, p. 317, 328.   Overy, The Road to War, p. 74.

Introduction



single theatre’, he explained, ‘are we strong enough: not in Ireland, nor England, not on the Rhine, not in Constantinople, nor Batum, nor Egypt, nor Palestine, nor Mesopotamia, nor Persia, nor India.’ As Lawrence Pratt emphasises, ‘overextended and under-prepared, it was a patchwork of interdependent weaknesses, a global system of concurrent vulnerabilities.’10 Perpetuation of peace, rather than victory in further war, was therefore the prerequisite for the continuation of its global influence. British decision-makers and military planners persistently sought to attend to the security of their Empire and to preserve their network of sea and air communications, as well as their trade and commerce. The fulfilment of this desire demanded maintenance of the status quo and opposition to any attempts by foreign powers to control the sensitive waterways and territories through which British troops and materials were obliged to pass.11 In the words of a 1926 Foreign Office Memorandum, ‘we have no territorial ambitions, nor desire for aggrandisement. We have got all that we want, perhaps more. Our sole object is to keep what we have and live in peace’. War must be avoided at all costs: ‘The fact is that war and rumours of war, quarrels and friction, in any corner of the world spell loss and harm to British commercial and financial interests. It is for the sake of these interests that we endeavour to pour oil on troubled waters. So manifold and ubiquitous are British trade and finance that, whatever else may be the outcome of a disturbance of the peace, we shall be losers.’12 Those words were echoed eight years later by Admiral Ernle Chatfield, who observed that ‘we are in the remarkable position of not wanting to quarrel with anybody because we have got most of the world already or at least the best part of it and we only want to keep what we have got and prevent others from taking it away from us’.13 Unfortunately, this desire for peace and stability was at odds with Fascist Italy’s aspiration to alter the balance of power in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea. The country’s ‘immense victory’ in the First World War was believed to be the symbolic beginning for its international ascendancy.14 The Paris Peace Conference,   Quoted in Bernard Porter, The Lion’s Share: A Short History of British Imperialism, 1850-1983 (London, 1975), p. 252. 10   Lawrence Pratt, ‘The Strategic Context: British Policy in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, 1936-1939’, in Uriel Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, 1919–1939 (New York City, 1988), p. 12. 11   Committee of Imperial Defence (CID), ‘Imperial Defence Policy: A Review of Imperial Defence, 1926, by the Chiefs of Staff Sub-Committee’, 22 June 1926, CAB 4/15. 12   Documents on British Foreign Policy (DBFP), Series 1A (1A), vol. 1, Appendix, ‘Memorandum on the Foreign Policy of His Majesty’s Government with a List of British Commitments in Their Relative Order of Importance’, Gregory to Chamberlain, 10 April 1926. 13   Chatfield to Fisher, 4 June 1934, Chatfield Papers, 3/1. 14   Aristotle Kallis, Fascist Ideology: Territory and Expansion in Italy and Germany, 1922–1945 (London, 2000), p. 30. 



Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

however, left Italian colonial ambitions largely unfulfilled. The Entente Allies had denied validity to the 1917 Treaty of Saint-Jean de Maurienne stipulating that Italy receive its just share in southern-western Anatolia, they had supported Greek claims to Asia Minor and they had not conferred mandates on Rome.15 ‘Not even the crumbs from a rich man’s table’ were granted to the Italian Government.16 This disregard for what were considered to be its most legitimate and vital interests significantly contributed to feeding a complex of resentment towards the apparent selfishness of the ‘endowed nations’. Frustration with the Allies, combined with the cathartic experience of the Great War and the spiritual legacy of Ancient Rome, served to shape Mussolini’s convictions about Italy’s historic mission and imperial destiny. Even before Mussolini gained power, the creation of the Second Roman Empire was his ultimate goal. Between January 1919 and October 1922, he had repeatedly declared to his followers that ‘imperialism was the eternal and immutable law of life’ and had frequently urged the Italian people to drive ‘those who [were nothing more than] parasites’ out of the Mediterranean. He had already pinpointed in the ‘bourgeois and plutocratic countries’ his long-term foes and antagonists.17 ‘In the West there are the “haves”. They are our rivals, our competitors, our enemies.’18 The dependence on overseas supplies, along lines of communications easily controlled from foreign naval bases, had made him realise that Italy was in effect a prisoner in the Mediterranean.19 A chain of formidable British and French strongholds (Bizerte, Corsica, Cyprus, Gibraltar, Malta and Suez) encircled the Italian Peninsula. And just as Ancient Rome had defeated Carthage and conquered the Empire, Fascist Italy had to ‘break out of the prison’ and march relentlessly to the Atlantic and Indian Oceans through British and French colonial possessions. The Fascist Regime’s nostalgia for the times of the great Roman Empire also resulted in the wish to re-establish the historic connection that had formerly existed between the East and the West.20 15   René Albrecht-Carrié, Italy at the Paris Peace Conference (New York City, 1938), pp. 207–9. On the Paris Peace Conference, see Margaret MacMillan, Paris 1919: Six Months That Changed the World (New York City, 2002). 16   Graham to Marques Curzon of Kedleston, ‘Attitude of France and England towards Italy’, 1 December 1923, C 21099/91/22 FO 371/8886. 17   Mussolini, Opera Omnia, vol. 13, p. 71; vol. 18, p. 432, 439. 18   Quoted in Overy, The Road to War, p. 181. 19   Italy received 86 percent of its imports by sea: 13 per cent of these came through the Dardanelles, 17 per cent through the Suez Canal, and 70 per cent through the Straits of Gibraltar. See, for instance, Maxwell Macartney and Paul Cremona, Italy’s Foreign and Colonial Policy, 1914–1937 (London, 1938), pp. 1–2. 20   Mussolini, Opera Omnia, vol. 26, pp. 191–2, 323; MacGregor Knox, ‘Il fascismo e la politica estera italiana’, in Richard Bosworth and Sergio Romano (eds), La politica estera italiana: 1860–1985 (Bologna, 1991), pp. 296–9; Robert Mallett, The Italian Navy and Fascist Expansionism, 1935–1940 (London, 1998), p. 191.

Introduction



The long-term objectives of the two countries, as far as their imperial interests in the Middle East were concerned, could not have been more at odds, so much so that the Duce repeated more than once that, from an historical perspective, conflict between the two powers was ‘inevitable’.21 This book tells the story of that conflict. It explains how imperial rivalry in the Middle East contributed to the breakdown of Anglo-Italian relations from 1935 to 1940. The central thesis advanced here is that, behind the appearance of European collaboration, the relationship between London and Rome in the Middle East and the Red Sea were, from the second half of the 1920s, already tense. It will ultimately be argued that, although it was only in the 1930s that the aggressive character of Mussolini’s antagonism with Britain became accentuated, their general positive relations in European affairs concealed the fact that the two countries’ long-term imperial interests in the Middle East were destined to clash. The main reason for this was that Britain and Italy worked at cross-purposes in the region. On the one hand, the British Government sought to preserve the status quo and to protect and develop its financial and commercial interests in foreign countries. On the other, the Fascist Regime wanted to raise Italy to the rank of a great imperial power by dominating the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, by establishing spheres of influence in the Arabian Peninsula and founding colonies in East Africa. If we ignore this imperial rivalry, we may be missing elements critical to making sense of why London and Rome went to war against each other. It will therefore be proposed that this clash in the Middle East, though peripheral to major European power politics, is in fact crucial to understanding the reason for the outbreak of war between Britain and Italy. Anglo-Italian relations have attracted widespread academic interest. Many excellent archival-based studies have already acknowledged Mussolini’s fierce expansionist and imperialist determination, but few works have systematically reconstructed Anglo-Italian imperial confrontation in the Middle East and the Red Sea.22 To date, this aspect of their antagonism has been largely overlooked. Diplomatic historians have focused almost exclusively on the European and Mediterranean theatres, while scholars of the British Empire have largely ignored the Middle East in the interwar years. Peter Sluglett, in his historiography of formal and informal British imperialism, recognises that ‘this is an area which has been  Galeazzo Ciano, Diario 1937–1943, ed. Renzo De Felice (Milan, 1980), p. 67, 72, 93, 98, 167, 270. 22   The most important studies are John Baldry, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry in Yemen and Asir, 1900–1934’, Die Welt des Islams, 17/1–4 (1976): pp. 155–93 and his, ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea: Mussolini‘s Policy in Yemen, 1934–1943’, Asian and African Studies, 16/1 (1980): pp. 53–89; Callum MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari: Italian Wireless Propaganda in the Middle East and British Countermeasures 1934–1938’, Middle Eastern Studies, 13/2 (1977): pp. 195–207; Steven Morewood, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry in the Mediterranean and Middle East, 1935–1940’, in Robert Boyce and Esmonde Robertson (eds), Paths to War: New Essays on the Origin of the Second World War (Basingstoke, 1989), pp. 167–98. 21



Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

surprisingly free of major intellectual … controversy and somewhat intellectually arid, with no major interpretative schools, apart perhaps from the apologists for, and critics of, the Empire’.23 Given the great attention paid by scholars to the relationship between imperial rivalries, European alignment and the outbreak of the First World War, this gap would appear to be somewhat surprising. And it is even more astonishing if we also take into account the strategic importance of the Middle East and the Red Sea for both empires. The Suez Canal was the ‘jugular vein’ of their respective systems and the most delicate link in the chain of their naval communications; Egypt, Palestine and Iraq were vital air and land routes to India and the Far East; and the discovery of oil in Persia in the 1910s, in Iraq in the 1920s and in Bahrain, Kuwait and Saudi Arabia in the 1930s produced not only international interest in the region but also intense competition to obtain concessions.24 By failing to take into account the conflict in the Middle East and the Red Sea, scholars have reached some misleading conclusions regarding Anglo-Italian relations. By focusing their attention almost exclusively on Europe, they have suggested that the two countries had powerful incentives to cooperate because they had common interests to protect on the continent. Indeed, there is a general consensus among historians, prominent among them Ennio Di Nolfo and Richard Overy, that there was no crisis in Anglo-Italian relations before the 1935–36 Ethiopian War. They claim that relations remained ‘entirely satisfactory’ within the framework of their traditional partnership in European affairs until then.25 ‘For over a decade, the two governments [had] made an effort to be on good terms and 23   Peter Sluglett, ‘Formal and Informal Empire in the Middle East’, in Robin Winks (ed.), The Oxford History of the British Empire: Historiography (Oxford, 1999), p. 422. 24   On the strategic importance of the Middle East, see Donald Cameron Watt, ‘The Arabian Peninsula in British Strategy’, Military Review, 41/2 (1961): pp. 37–43; Omissi, ‘The Mediterranean and the Middle East’, pp. 3–20; Martin Kolinsky, Britain’s War in the Middle East: Strategy and Diplomacy, 1936–1942 (London, 1999); Steven Morewood, The British Defence of Egypt, 1935–1940: Conflict and Crisis in the Eastern Mediterranean (London, 2002). On the international competition for oil concessions in the region, see Helmut Mejcher, Imperial Quest for Oil: Iraq 1910–1928 (London, 1976); Brian Stuart McBeth, British Oil Policy, 1919–1939 (London, 1985); Matteo Pizzigallo, La politica estera dell’AGIP, 1933–1940: diplomazia economica e petrolio (Milan, 1992). 25   Stuart Hughes, ‘The Early Diplomacy of Italian Fascism: 1922–1932’, in Gordon Craig and Felix Gilbert (eds), The Diplomats, 1919–1939 (Princeton, 1953), pp. 216–7 and pp. 229–30; René Albrecht-Carrié, Italy from Napoleon to Mussolini (New York City, 1958), pp. 198–200; Ennio Di Nolfo, Mussolini e la politica estera italiana (Padua, 1960), pp. 146–7; William Halperin, Mussolini and Italian Fascism (Princeton, 1964), pp. 72– 3; Ivone Kirkpatrick, Mussolini: A Study in Power (New York City, 1964), pp. 191–2; Giampiero Carocci, La politica estera dell’Italia fascista, 1925–1928 (Bari, 1969), pp. 18–31; Renzo De Felice, Mussolini il duce (2 vols, Turin, 1974–1981), vol. 1, pp. 323–5, 367–70; Rosaria Quartararo, ‘Imperial Defence in the Mediterranean on the Eve of the Ethiopian Crisis (July–October 1935)’, Historical Journal, 20/1 (1977): p. 185;

Introduction



to overcome every difficulty based on a more reciprocal comprehension of both their common and particular interests, an effort that after the Treaty of Locarno [1925] reached a peak with them sharing almost identical views.’26 This perception is inaccurate, however, since it overlooks important imperial factors in the start of the Second World War. The situation in the Middle East and in the Red Sea is crucial to understanding the long-term clash of interests dividing London and Rome, and the reason why Britain and Italy, two countries that had always cooperated since the nineteenth century, drifted steadily apart in the interwar period and eventually went to war against each other in 1940.27 Sources and Methodology This book examines four key aspects of Anglo-Italian rivalry in the Middle East: the confrontation between London and Rome for political influence among Arab leaders and nationalists; the competition for commercial and trade advantages in the region; the Anglo-Italian propaganda war to win the hearts and minds of Arab populations; and finally, the secret world of British and Italian espionage and intelligence. The available evidence clearly indicates that these four areas were the most fraught with danger. Another reason for focusing on them is that, although references to them can be found in the available literature, little research has actually been conducted to ascertain the part they played in the breakdown of Anglo-Italian relations before the Second World War. The study of these four topics has required an in-depth investigation into the British and Italian diplomatic, colonial, military and commercial archives. By analysing these documents, this work highlights the differing processes of decision-making and policy-formulation between the British and Italian foreign offices. The strategic and commercial importance of the Middle East dictated that numerous departments within the foreign and colonial ministries of both countries were responsible for the formation and execution of their policies in that part of the world. This book also reveals the role played by distant colonial officers in determining and influencing British and Italian imperial policies, by looking at hitherto neglected papers as well as newly available sources. Before starting, let me say something more about the structure. I had an overwhelming quantity of information to organise and I could not tell all these Overy, The Road to War, pp. 177–81; Roberto Festorazzi, Mussolini e l’Inghilterra, 1914– 1940 (Rome, 2006), pp. 17–24. 26  Di Nolfo, Mussolini e la politica estera italiana, p. 146. 27  On Anglo-Italian relations in the nineteenth century, see Massimo De Leonardiis, L’Inghilterra e la Questione Romana, 1859–1870 (Milan, 1980); Brunello Vigezzi, L’Italia unita e le sfide della politica estera: dal Risorgimento alla Repubblica (Milan, 1997); Arrigo Petacco, Il Regno del Nord. 1859: il sogno di Cavour infranto da Garibaldi (Milan, 2009).



Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

stories at the same time. The narrative vector of a book is always a unitary line. I concluded that a strictly chronological or thematic treatment would be confusing for readers, as it would cause the thread of one policy or another to be lost. As the book aims to present the various aspects of the conflict between London and Rome as integral parts to the two countries’ irreconcilable long-term goals, a combined chronological and thematic approach has therefore been adopted. Divided into seven chapters, the work is structured to combine the narrative of the diplomatic relations between the two countries with thematic examinations of specific cases. Such organisation of the material makes it possible to construct a more cohesive analysis of the specific features of Italian intervention and British counter-action in individual areas of the Middle East and the Red Sea. Chapter 1, which concentrates on the period between 1922 and 1934, shows that a seditious covert war was being waged in the Arabian Peninsula and the Red Sea. By challenging the myth of the decade of Fascist good behaviour in international relations, it demonstrates that, well before the outbreak of the Ethiopian Crisis, relations between Britain and Italy in this part of the world were already severely strained. Chapter 2 explores the nature of the propaganda campaign orchestrated by the Fascist Regime to win the hearts and minds of the Arabs, while Chapter 3 analyses the responses and counter-measures adopted by the British Government within the context of its imperial interests and security concerns in the Middle East. Chapter 4 reveals the active role played by the Fascist Government in supporting the aspirations of the Arabs of Palestine to liberate their country from both the oppression of the Mandatory Administration and the challenge of the Zionist Movement. Chapter 5 examines the armament trade competition in the Persian Gulf, while Chapter 6 highlights the struggle for control of the Red Sea. The closing chapter is a chronological summary of the long-term clash of interests that separated the two countries and provides an insight into how this imperial rivalry helped widen the Second World War in the Mediterranean.

Chapter 1

The Anglo-Italian Covert War in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea, 1922–1934 Current academic orthodoxy maintains that the period 1922–1932 was the decade of Fascist ‘good behaviour’ in international affairs. Historians, amongst them René Albrecht-Carrié, Richard Overy and Renzo De Felice, argue that Mussolini was a ‘cautious and conventional leader’. Although the Duce could make his foreign policy appear more bellicose and strident than the old negotiating style, in reality his priorities are to them almost indistinguishable from the policies pursued by Liberal Italy. They claim that, during this period, the restoration of economic and financial stability and the suppression of potential sources of internal opposition distracted him from ‘running excessive risks abroad’. Since his verbal threats and covert operations made little sense in view of his actions, they have discounted them as mere propaganda. ‘He had no definite plans and was only trying out different devices day by day according to changing mood.’ Similarly, according to Denis Mack Smith, ‘Mussolini had got used to living in cloud-cuckoo-land, where words and not facts mattered. … It was a world where a skilled publicist could fool most of the people fairly easily, where decisions could be reversed from day to day without anyone minding or even noticing, and where in any case decisions were designed to impress rather than to be put into effect’. They also dismiss the Corfu Crisis as nothing more than a momentary blip, concurring that he was ‘neither bellicose … nor apparently very much concerned with treaty revision’. Works that have examined the Middle East more closely have confirmed that for over a decade, despite occasional gestures of truculence, Mussolini’s policy in that part of the world was not only outwardly peaceful, but also patently supportive

   Hughes, ‘The Early Diplomacy’, pp. 216–17, 229–30; Albrecht-Carrié, Italy from Napoleon to Mussolini, pp. 198–200; Di Nolfo, Mussolini e la politica estera italiana, pp. 146–7; Halperin, Mussolini and Italian Fascism, pp. 72–3; Kirkpatrick, Mussolini, pp. 191–2; Carocci, La politica estera dell’Italia fascista, pp. 18–31; De Felice, Mussolini il duce, vol. 1, pp. 323–5, 367–70; Quartararo, ‘Imperial Defence in the Mediterranean’, p. 185; Overy, The Road to War, pp. 177–81; Festorazzi, Mussolini e l’Inghilterra, pp. 17–24.    Gaetano Salvemini, Prelude to World War II (London: 1953), p. 45.    Denis Mack Smith, Mussolini’s Roman Empire (London, 1976), p. 252.    Albrecht-Carrié, Italy from Napoleon to Mussolini, p. 199.

10

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of the British. This conclusion finds its resonance mainly in Haggai Erlich’s interpretation of Fascist Italy’s imperialism in the Middle East. Erlich agrees that the Duce was the ‘greatest admirer of Britain’s might in the Middle East’, playing the role of Britain’s junior partner in the region. He maintains that ‘ideology apart, Mussolini in the 1920s was, in the regional context, the personification of restraint and reason’. Yet this interpretation is not entirely convincing. It fails to consider that there was an ongoing imperial conflict between Britain and Italy in the Middle East from the 1920s. It is perfectly true that the need to restore the authority of the state, to consolidate domestic power and to create a national identity, combined with the static nature of the international situation, prevented Mussolini from embarking on rash acts. He thus appeared to be a solid and responsible leader. But all the while, ‘like the knights errant of old, he was roaming the world in search of adventures’. As Alan Cassels persuasively concludes in his brilliant study of Fascist Italy’s early diplomacy, the violent Duce of the 1930s was just the same man he had been in the previous decade. It was the international context in which he operated that had patently changed. ‘He was never more than a superficial “good” European.’ By exploring his subversive activities and intrigues in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea, it will be suggested that Mussolini’s ‘bad behaviour’ was, in that part of the globe, even more pronounced. According to the Foreign Office, Fascist Italy was like ‘a poor man trying to live bravely among far richer companions. … Like all adolescent nations with increasing numbers and insufficient natural resources, it endeavoured to invade and populate all the territories that were still available’.10 Mussolini’s resolution to increase his country’s influence and prestige in the Middle East was however restrained by the political, diplomatic, economic and military realities of the 1920s. Despite the fact that he desperately longed to acquire markets and territories in that    Renzo De Felice, Il fascismo e l’Oriente: arabi, ebrei, ed indiani nella politica di Mussolini (Bologna, 1988), pp. 15–16; Claudio Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy in the Middle East, 1919–1939: The Elusive White Stallion’, in Uriel Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, 1919–1939 (New York City, 1988), pp. 202–3; Stefano Fabei, Il fascio, la svastica e la mezzaluna (Milan, 2002), pp. 37–8; Manfredi Martelli, Il fascio e la mezza luna (Rome, 2003), pp. 95–6.    Haggai Erlich, ‘Mussolini and the Middle East in the 1920s: the Restrained Imperialist’, in Uriel Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, 1919–1939 (New York City, 1988), p. 214, 220.    Carocci, La politica estera dell’Italia fascista, p. 19; Alan Cassels, Fascist Italy (London, 1969), p. 77; De Felice, Mussolini il duce, vol. 1, p. 323, 365; Angelo Del Boca, Gli italiani in Africa Orientale (4 vols, Bari, 1976–1984), vol. 2, p. 7.    Salvemini, Prelude, p. 45.    Alan Cassels, Mussolini’s Early Diplomacy (Princeton, 1970), p. viii and p. 397. 10   Memorandum written by Harvey, ‘Italian Foreign Policy’, 3 December 1928, C 9054/4353/22 FO 371/12960.

Anglo-Italian Covert War in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea, 1922–1934 11

quarter of the world, the Duce was not strong enough to establish or maintain colonies there in the face of British opposition. The short-lived occupation of Corfu (31 August–27 September 1923) had showed him that he could only expand his possessions with the compliance of London. He therefore had no alternative but to be on good terms with the British Government. Nevertheless, his friendship with Britain was not genuine, but merely a pragmatic decision based on nothing more than realism and opportunism.11 This chapter will challenge the view that there was a ‘decade of good behaviour’ and reveal the complexity of Fascist imperialism, perpetually wavering between material and spiritual conquest and between caution and boldness. This will be achieved by analysing the Anglo-Italian covert war in the Arabian Peninsula. By studying Fascist political manipulations and secret conspiracies to seek a place in the sun, this chapter will show that, behind the façade of European partnership, a seditious covert war was being waged in the Red Sea. Although this belligerency never erupted into an actual armed conflict between the two powers, what is striking is the underlying incompatibility of interests and long-term goals. The fact that Anglo-Italian relations remained relatively undamaged up to 1935 was only due to the diplomatic, economic, military and political realities of the 1920s. To conclude therefore, as so many have done, that there was no serious intention behind the unfolding propaganda before then, is clearly inaccurate.12 On the contrary, it is reasonable to affirm that the Duce remained substantially faithful to the policy of establishing Italy as a great power in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea and that his foreign policy was more peaceful in form than in substance.13 As this chapter will show, well before the outbreak of the Ethiopian Crisis, Anglo-Italian relations in this part of the world were already severely strained.

  Giorgio Rumi, Alle origini della politica estera fascista, 1918–1923 (Bari, 1968), pp. 58–61; Cassels, Fascist Italy (London, 1969), p. 77; Enzo Collotti, Fascismo e politica di potenza: politica estera, 1922–1939 (Milan, 2000), p. 20; Robert Mallett, Mussolini and the Origins of the Second World War (Basingstoke, 2003), p. 16. 12   Di Nolfo, Mussolini e la politica estera italiana, pp. 146–7; Mack Smith, Mussolini’s Roman Empire, p. 252; Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy’, pp. 202–3. 13   Collotti, Fascismo e politica di potenza, p. 20; Mallett, Mussolini, p. 16; Manuela Williams, ‘Mussolini’s Secret War in the Mediterranean and the Middle East: Italian Intelligence and the British Response’, Intelligence and National Security, 6/22 (2007): pp. 888–90. 11

Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

12

Anglo-Italian Competition in the Red Sea before the Advent of Mussolini Why do you not wish to accept that in the Red Sea, the closest to the Mediterranean, we can find the .... road that will lead us to effective security against every possible new upset to its equilibrium? (Pasquale Stanislao Mancini, 1885)14

Italian involvement in the Red Sea dates back to 1869 when the Bay of Assab was purchased by the Rubattino Shipping Company. By 1880, Italian explorers and traders had in fact already penetrated into the heart of the Arabian Peninsula and established commercial relations with the people of the opposite shore.15 In March 1882, the Rubattino Shipping Company agreed to cede its possessions to Rome for a sum of IT₤416,000. Italian troops captured the towns of Assab and Massawa in February 1885 and lost no time in extending the occupation farther inland. The colony of Eritrea was officially proclaimed in January 1890. Having thus consolidated their position in East Africa, Italian decision-makers began to cherish political and territorial ambitions on the Arabian Peninsula.16 By the time the 1911–1912 Italian-Turkish War broke out, their intentions had become so clear that the British Political Resident at Aden was alerting the India Office that ‘the Italian Government’s object is to establish itself in Yemen and create a protectorate throughout this very rich and fertile province’. He warned that the result ‘would certainly be future complications and military operations’, concluding that if the Italians succeeded, ‘the entire Arabian trade will be taken from us, the local revenue wholly lost and Aden will degenerate into a mere naval coaling station’.17 Similarly, the British Vice-Consul in Hodeidah suggested ‘vigilance on the part of His Majesty’s Government with a view to checkmating Italy’s overt designs and aspirations in Yemen’.18 Italy’s entry into the First World War against the Ottoman Empire offered Rome the opportunity to further assert itself in the Arabian Peninsula and to occupy some of the islands of the Red Sea. Viewing that possibility with great suspicion and fearing an imminent coup in the Red Sea, the Foreign Office decided to hoist the British flag on Kamaran, Zukur and Great Hanish and to allow the Idrisi of Asir to seize the Farasan Islands from the Turks with the aim of forestalling the Italians.19 At the Paris Peace Conference of 1919, the Italian Delegation nevertheless claimed   Quoted in C.J. Lowe and Frank Marzari, Italian Foreign Policy, 1870–1940 (London, 1975), p. 37. 15   Archivio Centrale dello Stato (ACS), Carte Jacopo Gasparini, b. 6, f. 1, ‘Italia e Yemen’, 5 October 1926. 16   Plans for expanding Italian influence in the Red Sea dated to 1905 when Dante Odorizzi had asserted the necessity to conclude an agreement with Yemen, the ‘natural hinterland of Eritrea’. 17   Strongly to the India Office (IO), 31 January 1912, IOR R/20/A/1507. 18   Quoted in Baldry, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry’, p. 161. 19   Baldry, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry’, pp. 161–3. 14

Anglo-Italian Covert War in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea, 1922–1934 13

possession of the Farasan Islands as war compensation, an outcome the British still considered undesirable.20 This attitude of supreme indifference to Italian colonial aspirations was deeply resented in the corridors of power as well as by the public at large. Britain and France had won significant mandates and expanded their empires to their greatest extent; Italy had not. And immediately on coming to power, Mussolini gave new impetus to the national objectives in south-west Arabia that had already been on the agenda of Liberal Italy for a considerable length of time. He did not introduce any revolutionary change in foreign policy, but rather a greater vigour and sense of national dignity. He was not a radical innovator: he simply inherited a nationalist tradition and put his own stamp on it.21 In fact, it is possible to maintain that the Duce’s imperial vision corresponded to that of his predecessors, Pasquale Stanislao Mancini, Francesco Crispi, Sidney Sonnino and Antonio di San Giuliano. Their goals were ‘perhaps more covert, more hesitant and more verbally restrained than that of Fascist Italy, but [they were] not different in kind’.22 Their appetite had matched the dictator’s voracity. Like them, he pursued mastery of the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, the extension of colonial possessions in Africa, and political and commercial penetration into the Balkans and the Middle East. Under whatever form of government, those remained the foremost regions of interest mainly because the direction of Rome’s imperialistic designs was largely dictated by Italy’s position at the very heart of the Mediterranean basin.23 Di San Giuliano, the soon-to-be Foreign Minister (1910–1914), even went so far as to express Liberal Italy’s unbridled ambitions in a lecture to the Royal Italian Geographical Society in 1906. Areas of special national interest were the Aegean Islands, Asia Minor, Benadir, Cyrenaica, Eritrea, Ethiopia, Mesopotamia, Tripoli and Yemen.24 In a speech to the Chamber in February 1913, Di San Giuliano also declared that French and British domination of the Mediterranean was nearly at an end: 20

  Memorandum written by Field, ‘Italian Claim to Farasan Islands’, 17 July 1926, E 4679/2660/91 FO 371/11448. 21   Macartney and Cremona, Italy’s Foreign and Colonial Policy, pp. 276–7; Eric Macro, Yemen and the Western World (London, 1968), pp. 62–4; Carocci, La politica estera dell’Italia fascista, p. 222; Baldry, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry’, pp. 156–66; Del Boca, Gli italiani in Africa Orientale, vol. 2, pp. 44–5; Rosaria Quartararo, ‘L’Italia e lo Yemen. Uno studio sulla politica di espansione italiana nel Mar Rosso, 1923–1937’, Storia Contemporanea, 10/4–5 (1979): p. 813; Clive Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, 1925–1939: The Imperial Oasis (London, 1983), p. 140. 22   Richard Bosworth, Italy, the Least of the Great Powers: Italian Foreign Policy before the First World War (Cambridge, 1979), p. 419. 23   Macartney and Cremona, Italy’s Foreign and Colonial Policy, pp. 1–2; AlbrechtCarrié, Italy from Napoleon to Mussolini, p. 195; Del Boca, Gli italiani in Africa Orientale, vol. 2, pp. 3–5; Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy’, pp. 199–201; Ennio Di Nolfo, ‘Le oscillazioni di Mussolini: la politica estera fascista dinanzi ai temi del revisionismo’, Nuova Antologia, 564/2176 (1990): pp. 172–3. 24   Bosworth, Italy, the Least, pp. 53–4.

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14

In the Mediterranean Sea, which the French used to call a Latin lake and which Britain controlled, a new competitor has arrived, to be dreaded for the valour of its people and the vastness of its new dominion. .... Never again will [any other power] be able to call it Mare Nostrum.25

Yet Mussolini adopted different methods. While the exponents of Liberal Italy had tried to elevate the country to the status of a great power by exploiting the so-called policy of the ‘decisive weight’, the Duce followed the same goals by making use of violence, blackmail and threats. Unlike them, he identified in the ‘parasites of the Mediterranean’ his long-term enemies and pledged to demolish their empires, attempting throughout the 1920s and 1930s to create a zone of influence in the Arabian Peninsula.26 By trying to alter the status quo in the region, Rome was inevitably bound to clash with London, since the British Government’s post-war policy was primarily dictated by ‘the desire to prevent other foreign powers from acquiring a foothold in Arabia and to fill the political vacuum resulting from Turkey’s expulsion’.27 The main Arab players in that vacuum were the Imamate of Yemen, the Hashemite Kingdom of Hejaz and the Sultanate of Nejd. With the signing of the Armistice of Mudros in 1918, Yemen became formally independent of the Ottoman Empire. Another new state, the Kingdom of Hejaz, gained international recognition. But an expansionist drive by Ibn Saud Abdul Aziz, the Sultan of Nejd, culminated in 1924 in the conquest of Hejaz and in 1926 in the capture of the tiny principality of Asir. On 8 September 1932, the Kingdom of Hejaz and the Sultanate of Nejd were officially united, becoming the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. However, the desert boundaries between the new kingdom and Yemen were not properly defined and a dispute concerning Asir led to a brief Saudi-Yemeni war in the summer of 1934.28 The Arabian Peninsula and the Red Sea were of great strategic and commercial value to the British Government. The former, a large land bridge between the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean, connected the Middle to the Far East and was part of the imperial overland route to India. The latter, a narrow band of water bordering the eastern coast of Africa and the western coast of the Arabian Peninsula, directly linked the Mediterranean with the Indian Ocean through the Straits of Bab El-Mandeb. The fact that after the First World War almost 70 per cent of the territory of the British Empire lay to the east of the Suez Canal only

  Quoted in Lowe and Marzari, Italian Foreign Policy, p. 125.   Mussolini, Opera Omnia, vol. 13, p. 71; vol. 18, p. 432, 439. 27   IO to Foreign Office (FO), ‘Proposed Treaty with the Imam of Sanaa’, 5 July 1923, E 7893/3645/91 FO 371/8953. 28   Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, p. 23; Peter Mansfield, A History of the Middle East (London, 1992), pp. 183–8. 25 26

Anglo-Italian Covert War in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea, 1922–1934 15

served to reinforce the political and strategic importance of the Red Sea.29 From the naval point of view the security of Aden, at the south-western tip of the Arabian Peninsula, was absolutely vital as it provided the most important fuelling station between Malta and Bombay. Kamaran Bay was the only anchorage in the Red Sea not in the possession of a foreign power that could accommodate a large fleet, while the Farasan Islands were believed to contain significant oil deposits. The Committee of Imperial Defence, Britain’s top strategic-making body, therefore reached the conclusion that ‘it is of first importance that foreign powers should be prevented from establishing naval bases in addition to those which already exist on either shore of the Red Sea. ... It is imperative that no European power should be permitted to gain a foothold on the Arabian shore of the Red Sea and/or to establish itself on Kamaran and ... in the Farasan’.30 To this end, the British Government devised an elaborate system of treaties and subsidies with the Arab rulers, designed to gain a sufficient measure of control over them to keep them from internecine strife and from flirting with the European powers for whom the removal of Turkish sovereignty had opened a door.31 In spite of these conflicting aims, however, Anglo-Italian relations in Europe remained relatively undamaged until the Ethiopian Crisis, mainly because the threat posed by the Fascist Regime in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea was limited by its material weakness and diplomatic isolation, if not by any lack of determination. The image of Italy was, as the Chiefs of Staff correctly perceived, one of a power whose interests were inimical to those of Britain but which lacked the military and financial means to seriously challenge the latter’s interests.32 Fascist Italy’s Political and Commercial Penetration in Arabia and the British Response The mastermind behind the commercial and political penetration of the Arabian Peninsula was Jacopo Gasparini, Governor of Eritrea. An intelligent and vigorous 48-year-old, he believed that for his poor colony to be an effective instrument of policy in the Red Sea, it had to be a springboard for radiating influence throughout Arabia. With the full support of members of the Ministry for the Colonies, who were less respectful of British global power than their colleagues in the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, he carried out a bold undertaking aimed at expanding the economic hinterland of Eritrea and, at the same time, undermining the British 29

  Christian Tripodi, ‘The Foreign Office and Anglo-Italian Involvement in the Red Sea and Arabia, 1925–1928’, Canadian Journal of History, 42/1 (2007): p. 209. 30   CID, ‘Position in South-West Arabia’, 8 November 1926, 738B CO 537/661. 31   IO to FO, ‘Proposed Treaty with the Imam of Sanaa’, 5 July 1923, E 7893/3645/91 FO 371/8953. 32   Morewood, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry’, pp. 169–70; Omissi, ‘The Mediterranean and the Middle East’, pp. 5–6; Kolinsky, Britain’s War in the Middle East, pp. 207–8.

Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

16

Government’s supremacy in the region.33 ‘With the formation of small, nominally independent states, Turkish sovereignty was replaced by that of the British’, wrote Luigi Federzoni, Minister for the Colonies, to Gasparini in November 1923. ‘When it is considered that besides this uncontested hegemony in the Arabian Peninsula, Britain also possesses the other shore of Africa it does not appear an exaggeration to claim that the Red Sea has become a truly British sea. ... We must’, he urged, ‘take the appropriate action in order to prevent Britain ... from achieving its objective.’34 Gasparini fashioned his strategy around this goal and immediately dispatched agents and merchants to the opposite shore of the Red Sea with the aim of seeking economic advantage. By the end of 1925, the amount of trade between Eritrea and Yemen had almost quadrupled. A number of commercial houses were opened in Hodeidah, a natural trading centre for Massawa. Exports were mainly based on agricultural products (coffee, gum, dates, sesame oil, cattle, grain, honey), while the main import focus was on manufactured textiles and oil refining. Two big mechanical workshops and four small wireless stations were set up and ran by Italian engineers and radio operators, with training in telegraphy provided to Yemeni boys. Doctors, most of them Medical Officers of Military Intelligence Service, took charge of the local Turkish dispensary at Sanaa, organising a widespread spy network. All this took place without any other European being allowed to live or trade in Yemen.35 Additionally, arms and ammunitions were supplied in lavish quantities to the Imam Yahya Muhammad Hamidaddin for use in his long-standing conflict with the Idrisi Sayed Ali over Asir. This also entailed significant hostility towards Britain as it was intended to bolster the Imam’s refusal to recognise the validity of the boundary defined by Britain and Turkey in 1903–1904 and to encourage him to encroach upon the Aden Protectorate.36 This growing Italian influence in south-west Arabia, a region representing ‘the most delicate link in their chain of sea communications with the Far East’, posed serious problems for the British. The Suez Canal and the Red Sea were in fact the ‘jugular veins’ of their system, the shortest naval route between Britain and India.   Carocci, La politica estera dell’Italia fascista, p. 222; Quartararo, ‘L’Italia e lo Yemen’, p. 849; Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy’, p. 205. 34   Archivio Storico del Ministero degli Affari Esteri (ASMAE), Affari Politici (AP) 1919–1930, Yemen, b. 1775, f. 8273, ‘Arabia’, Federzoni to Mussolini, 29 November 1923. 35   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Yemen, b. 795, f. 853, ‘Questione di Kamaran’, Gasparini to Lanza di Scalea, 18 April 1926; ACS, Carte Jacopo Gasparini, b. 6, f. 1, ‘L’Eritrea politica’, 9 January 1927; ‘L’Eritrea nella politica coloniale italiana’, February 1927. See also, Baldry, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry’, pp. 171–2; Quartararo, ‘L’Italia e lo Yemen’, pp. 814–15. 36   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Yemen, b. 1775, f. 8277, Lanza di Scalea to Mussolini, 19 March 1925; Arabia, b. 798, f. 858, ‘Occupazione di Hodeidah’, Gasparini to Lanza di Scalea, 17 April 1925. 33

Anglo-Italian Covert War in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea, 1922–1934 17

It was therefore vital for the preservation of their Empire and the maintenance of their network of sea connections.37 The narrow and shallow nature of the artificial waterway rendered it more vulnerable to an act of sabotage or an attack than any other part of the route. Its political and strategic importance was summed up by the Committee of Imperial Defence, which stated that ‘along this route lies the most pressing of our commitments. All lines of communications are vulnerable, and this route particularly so. ... The vital cord in our defence system is weak’.38 In the event of a war against Japan, the movements of the Royal Navy would have been severely hampered by the sinking of a single merchant ship, when the time factor was absolutely critical to prevent the fall of British forces in Hong Kong and Singapore.39 ‘The restrictions on British sea power of being denied the use of the Suez Canal during the earliest stages of a war’, stressed the Chief of the Naval Staff in 1923, ‘would be disastrous.’40 Moreover, years of drastic reductions in defence expenditures had underlined an unremitting tension between capabilities and commitments, which had made keeping the two-power standard (maintaining naval strength equivalent to that of the combined forces of the next two biggest navies) utterly impracticable.41 The Royal Navy therefore had to compensate ‘for its lack of [supremacy] in all oceans by its capacity for effecting a quick passage to any threatened portion of the Empire’.42 As far as the question of mobility was concerned, the Suez Canal played an essential part, since it had shortened the time required to transport men and material to India by 40 per cent and had ensured a massive increase in British commerce with the Far East. British anxiety was further aggravated by the fact that Italian weapons were not only used against the Idrisi, but also against the Aden Protectorate.43 37

  CID, ‘Imperial Defence Policy: A Review of Imperial Defence, 1926, by the Chiefs of Staff Sub-Committee’, 22 June 1926, CAB 4/15. 38   Cited in Tripodi, ‘The Foreign Office and Anglo-Italian Involvement in the Red Sea’, p. 209. 39   Admiralty (ADM) to FO, ‘Position of the Suez Canal in Event of War’, 23 July 1923, E 7640/1761/16 FO 371/8983. 40   Memorandum prepared by the Chief of the Naval Staff, ‘Liability of the Suez Canal to Blocking Attack’, 2 July 1923, ADM 116/3833. 41   Alfred Ernle Chatfield, The Navy and Defence: The Autobiography of Admiral of the Fleet Lord Chatfield (2 vols, London, 1947), vol. 2, p. 89; Pratt, East of Malta, West of Suez, pp. 3–4. 42   ADM to FO, ‘Position of the Suez Canal in Event of War’, 23 July 1923, E 7640/1761/16 FO 371/8983. 43   Watt, ‘The Arabian Peninsula’, pp. 37–8; Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, p. 11, 30; Paul Harris, ‘Egypt: Defence Plans’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London, 1992), pp. 61–3; Steven Morewood, ‘Protecting the Jugular Vein of the Empire: The Suez Canal in British Defence Strategy, 1919–1941’, War and Society, 10/1 (1992), pp. 81–2.

18

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Britain sought to neutralise these two distinct but overlapping threats by asking Fascist Italy to take every possible step to prevent the exportation of arms to Arabia. British diplomats informed Rome that London would refrain from supplying arms to both combatants and invited the Ministry for Foreign Affairs to adopt a similar policy.44 Rome denied that its merchants had taken part in the alleged traffic and assured the British Government that it would not authorise any firm to undertake orders for the supply of war material to either of the states in conflict.45 Having obtained the most categorical assurances from Gasparini, the Italian Government even went so far as to affirm that the reports brought to the notice of British authorities were ‘devoid of any foundation’ and to express its ‘regret at the facility with which information of an altogether fantastic nature ... had been accepted’.46 The truth, however, was somewhat different. As was so often the case in the history of imperial expansion, actors on the periphery took matters into their own hands. In this specific instance, the Governor of Eritrea, unbeknown to Mussolini, who had strictly forbidden the export of weapons to Arabia, had continued furnishing the Imam with arms and ammunition.47 For his part, the Duce had been in discussions with the British on the partition of Ethiopia into two spheres of influence in addition to the issue of the frontier between Libya and Egypt, and so the last thing he wished to do was to compromise the successful conclusion of the negotiations by embarrassing the British in the Arabian Peninsula.48 Although Mussolini had agreed to stop the shipment of weapons, British intelligence continued to obtain incontrovertible evidence of unacceptable activity in the Arabian Peninsula, discovering to their extreme annoyance that arms, ammunition, cartridges and guns were in fact continually being smuggled into Hodeidah under the supervision of Italian naval vessels. It was further reported that 450 boxes of large Mauser and 4,900 boxes of ammunition had been landed from the yacht of the Governor of Eritrea. The Imam had also been furnished with

44   Kennard to FO, ‘Importation of Arms and Ammunitions from Italy into Arabia’, 5 June 1924, E 5018/921/91 FO 371/10008; Oliphant to Graham, ‘Relations between HMG, Imam and Idrisi’, 27 April 1925, E 2430/176/91 FO 371/10818. 45   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Yemen, b. 1775, f. 8275, ‘Traffico clandestino di armi e munizioni nello Yemen’, Gasparini to Ministry for Foreign Affairs (MFA), 7 June 1924; Graham to FO, ‘Arms Traffic in Arabia’, 24 June 1924, E 5895/921/91 FO 371/10009; Graham to FO, ‘Supply of War Materials to Imam and Idrisi’, 22 May 1925, E 3179/176/91 FO 371/10818. 46   Graham to FO, ‘Traffic in Arms and Ammunitions into Arabia’, 9 October 1924, E 8872/921/91 FO 371/1009. 47   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Hegiaz, b. 996, f. 2613, ‘Forniture clandestine di armi’, Mussolini to Fares, 15 March 1925; ‘Nota verbale’, MFA to British Embassy (Rome), 30 March 1925. 48   Lloyd to FO, ‘Conclusion of Egypt-Cyrenaica Frontier Negotiations’, 7 December 1925, J 3554/28/16 FO 371/10886.

Anglo-Italian Covert War in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea, 1922–1934 19

six aeroplanes, but these were unable to ‘fly any distance without breaking down’ and had been replaced with better ones.49 At the beginning of May 1926, retired naval officer Lieutenant Commander Craufurd, acting on behalf of the Eastern and General Syndicate, obtained from the Idrisi the Farasan oil and Salif salt concessions (although the latter had actually been captured by the Imam the previous year). The British Government, however, had reason to suspect that Gasparini’s agents, who had been given a provisional promise by the Imam for a concession for the Islands, were taking action to prevent the Syndicate from benefiting from the oil concession, secretly encouraging him to invade the Farasan.50 A number of communications between Asmara and Sanaa confirming that the attack was imminent had in fact been intercepted by the British. Not surprisingly, considerable apprehension was felt at the prospect of having the Italians on both sides of the Red Sea. If the Fascist Regime were to occupy the harbours of the Farasan, it would have posed a serious threat to the safety of the imperial maritime passage to the Far East. This was precisely the kind of contingency that the Admiralty had always contemplated with ‘profound distaste’.51 ‘The British Empire is a Commonwealth of Nations linked together by the sea’, emphasised the Director of Plans in 1923. ‘The economic and defensive organisation of each community is based on the presupposition that the use of the sea routes is free to us for mutual cooperation in peaceful development and for mutual assistance against external aggression. The control by a hostile power of the sea routes which are the arteries of the Empire’, he concluded, ‘would involve all of us in economic disaster and leave us individually isolated in the face of attack or invasion.’52 Naval planners were therefore of the opinion that steps had to be taken immediately to prevent Italy from securing ‘under whatever disguise’ a footing in the Farasan. To guard against this danger, the Admiralty recommended providing the Idrisi with weapons through the Syndicate.53 Both the Colonial and India Office 49   Stewart Symes to Colonial Office (CO), ‘Landing of Arms and Ammunitions at Hodeidah by Italian Subjects’, 20 April 1926, E 3024/710/91 FO 371/11444; Commander of HMS Clematis to Commander-in-Chief Mediterranean, ‘Report of Proceedings’, 25 May 1926, ADM 1/8714/171; Reilly to CO, ‘Aden Political Intelligence Summaries’, 25 June 1926, E 4341/3289/91 FO 371/10814; Fowle to CO, ‘Aden Political Intelligence Summaries’, 21 June 1926, E 3812/3289/91 FO 371/11449. 50   Memorandum written by Mallett, ‘Concessions in Asir’, 20 July 1926, E 4258/2660/91 FO 371/11447. 51   ADM to Crowe, ‘Italian Activities in the Red Sea’, 30 November 1925, E 7439/176/91 FO 371/10819. 52   Director of Plans to the Assistant Chief of the Naval Staff, ‘Empire Naval Policy and Cooperation, 1926’, 1 April 1926, ADM 116/2311. 53   Memorandum written by Mallett, ‘Menace to Farasan Islands and Kamaran as Result of War Material Being Supplied to Imam by Italy’, 15 July 1926, E 4332/2660/91 FO 371/11447.

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concurred with this suggestion. In their view, Sayed Ali had not been completely wiped out: with arms and ammunition, he was still capable of offering effective resistance to Yahya’s predatory aspirations.54 Austen Chamberlain, Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, however, did not want to be involved in ‘anything like a conflict with Italy’ and merely proposed an embargo on the export of war materials. Yet, rather than deliver an ineffectual representation to Rome about the arms supplies, this time the Cabinet decided to raise the embargo and to allow the Syndicate to supply the Idrisi with weapons. Since the supply of arms and ammunitions to Sayed Ali were so urgent, the Syndicate was allowed to utilise the reserve stock of arms in the Aden Residency.55 This policy was another move in the contest between Britain and Italy, conducted through the agency of rival Arab rulers. The disturbing implications of this decision were dramatically clear: Britain and Italy were officially engaging in a war by proxy. Chamberlain bitterly remarked that a dangerous Anglo-Italian imperial clash under the ‘pavilions’ of Asir and Yemen was taking place in the Red Sea.56 The state of tension did not escape the Italian Government, either: The covert war in the Red Sea is approaching the point in which, for the importance of the national interests it touches or threatens, cannot proceed under cover anymore, but must come to the light in order to clarify the terms and define the respective positions in a frank exchange of views from which either the recognition of the new situation or the professed continuation of the present antagonism can come.57

Both this memorandum and Chamberlain’s remark are of fundamental importance because they reveal beyond doubt that behind the façade of European partnership, a seditious covert war was being waged in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea. To aggravate the situation even further, Gasparini was invited to consolidate 54

  CO to IO, ‘Arabia: Yemeni Affairs’, 24 April 1926, IOR L/P&S/10/792; IO to CO, ‘Italian Bid for Control of Farasan Islands’, 10 July 1926, E 4176/2660/91 FO 371/11447; CO to FO, ‘Protection of Farasan Islands from Imam and Italians: Minutes of a Conference Held at the Colonial Office on the 16th of July, 1926’, 5 August 1926, E 4631/2660/91 FO 371/11447. 55   Shuckburgh to Tyrrell, ‘Supply of Ammunitions to Idrisi for Protection of Farasan Islands’, 21 July 1926, E 4360/710/91 FO 371/11444; Cabinet Conclusions, ‘Farasan Islands’, 21 July 1926, E 4432/2660/91 FO 371/11447; Minute written by Mallet, ‘Supply of Ammunitions to Idrisi for Protection of Farasan Islands’, 22 July 1926, E 4360/710/91 FO 371/11444; Reilly to CO, ‘Farasan Islands Oil Concession’, 13 October 1926, E 6246/2660/91 FO 371/11448. 56   MFA to FO, ‘Meeting between Signor Mussolini and Sir Austen Chamberlain at Leghorn’, 18 October 1926, C 11092/9326/22 FO 371/11401. 57   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Arabia, b. 797, f. 853, ‘La nostra politica in Arabia’, Ministry for the Colonies (MC) to MFA, 7 June 1926.

Anglo-Italian Covert War in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea, 1922–1934 21

the friendship between Italy and Yemen in Sanaa, where he signed an important Treaty of Commerce with the Imam (2 September 1926).58 The Italian Government recognised Yahya as King of Yemen, which included all the territory considered to be Yemenite either historically or geographically. This created a great deal of anxiety for the British, who interpreted it as implying Italian recognition of the Imam’s claims to sovereignty over the Aden Protectorate, Hadhramut and Asir. Secretly, Gasparini had also promised to supply Yahya with all warlike provisions he might require and to assist him against all kinds of external aggression. The first part of this pledge was immediately implemented and arms and ammunitions were lavishly despatched to Yemen from Eritrea. The Governor also agreed to supply the Imam with three new aeroplanes. In return, Yahya undertook to further Fascist Italy’s commercial interests in his territory and to grant Rome most favoured-nation status as regards trade. Plans were drawn up without delay for the construction of an aerodrome north of Hodeidah and a survey was also made of the Ras Ketib harbour. Three more doctors reached Sanaa in addition to six engineers and wireless operators to run the ammunition factory and the radio station in the capital.59 The successful conclusion of the agreement was a setback to the British Government and was greeted with great enthusiasm by Prince Pietro Lanza di Scalea, Minister for the Colonies, who looked forward to more important victories in the near future: ‘It represents the first imperial step in our colonial policy’, he wrote. ‘It gives us the right to consider the Red Sea to be an integral part of our sphere of influence and not merely a transit channel.’60 His Majesty’s Government took swift action in response to the threat. Just a week later, the Foreign Office submitted an aide-memoire to the Italian Ambassador to London, warning that a potential Anglo-Italian confrontation could develop from the Asir-Yemeni conflict. To evade this peril, a ‘complete and frank understanding’ was requested.61 On 30 September, during his meeting with Chamberlain at sea off Leghorn, Mussolini therefore suggested that British representatives should proceed to Rome to discuss with Italian experts their respective positions in Arabia. Having made the economic and political penetration in Yemen a fait accompli, he thought that the moment had come to play his hand. He was now ready to negotiate with Britain over the partition of the Arabian Peninsula into two zones of influence: the Hejaz-Nejd for London and Asir-Yemen for Rome.62 ‘The Rome Conference 58   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Yemen, b. 1775, f. 8279, ‘Relazione sulla missione compiuta nello Yemen da SE Jacopo Gasparini dall’11 agosto al 12 settembre’, Gasparini to Prince Lanza di Scalea, 12 September 1926. 59   Baldry, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry’, pp. 173–4. 60   I Documenti Diplomatici Italiani (DDI), 7th Series (7th), vol. 4, 414, Lanza di Scalea to Mussolini, 10 September 1926. 61   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Arabia, b. 798, f. 858, ‘Interessi italiani e britannici in Arabia’, Della Torretta to MFA, 11 September 1926. 62   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Arabia, b. 798, f. 858, ‘Telegramma’, Lanza di Scalea to Gasparini, 28 May 1926.

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represents, just by its being called, a historic event of enormous importance for Italy ... [because] for the first time Britain has had to accept the existence of our interests on the Arab coast.’ The message could not be clearer: ‘His Majesty’s Government cannot, or at least should not, imagine that we will come out of this conference merely holding on to what we already have, that is our economic and political superiority in Yemen whilst compromising, perhaps permanently, all our other aspirations based on rightful interests. It must concede something.’ The possession of the Farasan Islands and the recognition of the prevalence of Italy’s interests in Asir were ‘indispensable’.63 British designs in the region could not have been more different. His Majesty’s Government did not envisage any Anglo-Italian share-out of the Arabian Peninsula. Conversely, the talks were exclusively designed to promote general political cooperation between the two countries and to safeguard naval communications with the Far East.64 The main purpose of the Rome Conference was to obtain the recognition of the vital imperial necessity that ‘no European power should establish itself on the Arabian shore of the Red Sea and more particularly on Kamaran and the Farasan’.65 The Anglo-Italian Détente Talks were at last opened in Rome in January 1927. The Italian delegates (Raffaele Guariglia, Director General of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Jacopo Gasparini, Governor of Eritrea) immediately advocated the elimination of the Idrisi Sayed Ali and the division of his territory between the King of the HejazNejd and the Imam of Yemen, with the Farasan falling to the latter. No more than a cursory glance at the map is needed to understand the strategic importance of Asir: situated at the centre of the Arabian Peninsula’s southern coast, it was a real territorial wedge that separated the possession of Hejaz-Nejd from that of Yemen. The British representatives (Sir Gilbert Clayton, Special Envoy to Ibn Saud, and Sir Ronald Graham, British Ambassador to Italy) made it perfectly clear, however, that in ‘no circumstances could they accept the control of the Islands passing into the hands of either the Italians or Yemenis’.66 This, coupled with the concomitant news of the Treaty of Mecca between Sayed Ali and Ibn Saud, destroyed any lingering Italian hopes of gaining access to the Farasan. This agreement effectively 63

  ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Arabia, b. 798, f. 858, ‘La situazione politica in Arabia’ (the document is not signed), 31 December 1926. 64   Minute written by Mallet, ‘Imam-Idrisi Conflict: Reaction on British and Italian Interests in the Red Sea’, 6 October 1926, E 5657/2660/91 FO 371/11448. 65   Chamberlain to Clayton, ‘Proposed Anglo-Italian Discussions Regarding Red Sea Interests’, 28 December 1926, E 6919/2660/91 FO 371/11448. 66   Graham to Chamberlain, ‘Anglo-Italian Conversations Regarding Red Sea Interests’, 13 January 1927, IOR R/20/A/3188.

Anglo-Italian Covert War in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea, 1922–1934 23

placed Asir under suzerainty of the King of the Hejaz-Nejd, who undertook its defence. Although the Idrisi continued to be responsible for internal affairs, he had agreed not to enter into political negotiations with any government nor grant commercial concessions nor make war and peace except with the consent of Ibn Saud. Not surprisingly, the Fascist Government was deeply disappointed by the news and immediately urged His Majesty’s Government not to recognise the treaty.67 The Foreign Office was at first highly reluctant to refuse the recognition of a pact between two rulers friendly to Britain, but the overriding need to reach an understanding with Italy drove it to temporise. The two parties eventually agreed not to intervene in any dispute that might break out in the Arabian Peninsula and to keep in contact with each other over all questions affecting the Red Sea. They also recognised their respective interests in the area and committed themselves to not allowing any foreign power to establish itself on the eastern shores of the Red Sea and, more particularly, on Kamaran and the Farasan.68 Although Mussolini had been compelled to accept inevitable compromises, he was fairly satisfied with the outcome of the Rome Conference. Time was absolutely necessary to make Italy strong enough to erode British positions in the Middle East. ‘We must have patience’, the Duce declared in an interview at the end of January. ‘Nothing can be improvised in a hurry. Italy will expand by virtue of the slow and logical force of history. We must make the most of our natural tendencies to expansion’.69 He attached great importance to the new Anglo-Italian collaboration, as he regarded it as a means of maintaining peace in Arabia and at the same time of maximising the value of the treaty with Yemen, which is why he instructed Gasparini not to antagonise Britain in that part of the world. ‘The recent Italian-Yemenite Treaty’, Mussolini recalled, ‘constitutes our first and most important success in the region, where we hope to gradually develop our political and economic position. But just because this is the first effective gain we have managed to make against the British, we have to proceed with extreme caution so as not to place at risk what was achieved with so much difficulty.’70 The Governor, however, had other plans. Viewing the matter exclusively from a regional perspective, he considered the ‘time to be ripe for competing with His Majesty’s Government in the Red Sea’.71 Following his own agenda, he attempted 67   Mayers to Chamberlain, ‘Ibn Saud-Idrisi Agreement’, 8 January 1927, E 392/22/91 FO 371/12235; Clayton to Oliphant, ‘Anglo-Italian Discussions Regarding Red Sea Interests’, 14 January 1927, E 266/22/91 FO 371/12235. 68   Clayton to Tyrrell, ‘Anglo-Italian Discussions Regarding Red Sea Interests’, 10 February 1927, E 701/22/91 FO 371/12236. See also, Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, p. 144. 69   Mussolini’s interview to the correspondent of the Neue Freie Press, 31 January 1927. 70   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Egitto, b. 1004, f. 2722, ‘Politica italiana in Egitto’, Mussolini to Paternò di Manchi, 24 December 1926. 71   Erlich, ‘Mussolini and the Middle East’, pp. 215–16.

24

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to persuade the Idrisi to abrogate the Treaty of Mecca, to enter into a fresh pact with the Imam under Fascist Italy’s supervision and to cancel the Farasan oil concession granted to the Shell Group.72 By the end of June, reports had reached London that the Idrisi had completely come under the influence of Gasparini’s agents and had commanded the Shell Group to cease work. British naval intelligence also showed conclusive evidence that the warship Archimede had visited the Farasan Islands bringing Abdulla Sohail, who on landing had endeavoured by bribery to seduce the sheiks and inhabitants away from their allegiance to the Idrisi and to get them on board to sign a document stating that they wanted the oil concession to be given to the Italians and the Farasan to be the property of the Imam. It was reported that more than US$200,000 had been expended in this way, but Gasparini’s efforts were not crowned with success. At the beginning of July, his agents were arrested by pro-Ibn Saud forces, and the command was subsequently withdrawn.73 Meanwhile, Italo-Yemeni political and commercial relations had continued to develop at an alarming rate. In April, 12 Yemeni nobles had arrived in Rome to undergo training to become pilots, and in June, an official mission led by the favourite son of the Imam, Seif Al-Islam Muhammad Hamidaddin, had visited the Italian Peninsula. No effort was spared to impress the delegation with the industrial and military power of Fascist Italy.74 British informants revealed that the chief object of the official mission was to ‘find out how far Italy would support Yahya against His Majesty’s Government’.75 Chamberlain took advantage of a meeting in Geneva to discuss the worrying situation in Arabia with Dino Grandi, the Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs. He feared that despite his best efforts the turbulent events sweeping the Arabian Peninsula could drag Britain and Italy into difficulties. He ventured to suggest that Mussolini ‘should watch carefully over the policy of the Ministry for the Colonies to see that it was conducted in accordance with the policy which he himself had laid down’.76 Bearing in mind the fierce hostility of France, the military weakness of Germany, the diplomatic isolation of the Soviet Union and the critical juncture of the negotiations with 72   On 13 October 1926, Sayed Ali had decided to concede the oil concession granted by him to the Syndicate to the Shell Group instead. 73   Commander of HMS Clematis to Commander-in-Chief Mediterranean, ‘Report of Proceedings’, 14 December 1926, ADM 1/8714/171; ADM to IO, ‘Red Sea Naval Report’, 16 February 1927, IOR L/PS/10/1208; Fowle to CO, ‘Aden Political Intelligence Summaries’, 25 June 1927, E 3157/7/91 FO 371/12233; Fowle to CO, ‘Italian Activities in Asir’, 6 July 1927, E 3293/22/91 FO 371/12237. 74   Graham to Chamberlain, ‘Visit of Yemenite Mission to Italy’, 1 July 1927, E 2940/22/91 FO 371/12237. 75   Stewart Symes to CO, ‘British, Italian, and Hejazi Relations with Imam of Sanaa’, 2 August 1927, E 3405/22/91 FO 371/12237. 76   Chamberlain to Tyrrell, ‘Relations with Ibn Saud and the Imam’, 12 September 1927, E 3961/22/91 FO 371/12238; DDI, 7th, vol. 5, 414, Grandi to Mussolini, 13 September 1927.

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Ethiopia, the Duce, thinking it advisable not to go too far with Britain, brought Gasparini back down to earth. The Governor was in fact informed that no local action could be taken in the Arabian Peninsula without considering the effect it would have on general policy: ‘Unfortunately we have to understand that only by working cautiously and wisely with His Majesty’s Government, shall we be able to maintain and promote our status in the region.’77 Despite the fact that Mussolini desperately longed to acquire markets and territories in that quarter of the world, he was not strong enough to establish or maintain colonies there in the face of British opposition. His resolution to increase Fascist influence and prestige in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea was therefore restrained by the political, diplomatic, economic and military realities of the 1920s. Stability and peace were now considered an essential condition for the reinforcement of the country’s position in the Red Sea.78 Consequently, when Yahya’s troops pushed into the Aden Protectorate and London informed Rome that aerial bombardment would begin unless the district under attack was evacuated within 48 hours, Mussolini told the Governor to exercise all his influence to force the Yemeni ruler to withdraw forthwith.79 ‘It must be made clear to the Imam that the situation he is putting himself in could end up paralysing all our efforts to help and support him. In the present state of affairs, we must convince ourselves that we have to bring pressure to bear on Yemen.’80 In vain Gasparini tried to persuade the Duce that Fascist Italy’s influence in Yemen was merely the result of an Anglo-Yemeni dispute of which Rome had been the main beneficiary. ‘If the Imam doubted that instead of working exclusively for the interests of Italy and Yemen, our influence is also concerned in supporting British interests ... there would undoubtedly be a cooling and perhaps a change of direction in his relations with us.’81 Mussolini was however adamant and immediately replied to the Governor that ‘His Majesty’s Government neither wants, nor can it allow, the slow erosion of its territory by the Imam. We must recognise the legitimacy of such a line of conduct by the British and we can neither support Yahya’s claims on Aden, nor its other border violations, however temporary. He must be made 77

  ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Egitto, b. 1004, f. 2722, ‘Politica italiana in Egitto’, Mussolini to Paternò di Manchi, 24 December 1926. My emphasis. 78   Carocci, La politica estera dell’Italia fascista, p. 223; Baldry, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry’, pp. 189–90; Del Boca, Gli italiani in Africa Orientale, vol. 2, pp. 47–8; Erlich, ‘Mussolini and the Middle East’, p. 218; Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy’, p. 204; Meir Michaelis, ‘Italy’s Mediterranean Strategy, 1935–1939’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems, 1935–1939 (London, 1992), pp. 43–5. 79   Stewart Symes to CO, ‘Zeidi Encroachments in the Aden Protectorate’, 30 September 1927, E 4182/22/91 FO 371/12238; ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Arabia, b. 800, f. 865, ‘Azione italiana e britannica nello Yemen’, Gasparini to Federzoni, 25 October 1927. 80   DDI, 7th, vol. 6, 417, Mussolini to Federzoni, 17 June 1928. 81   DDI, 7th, vol. 5, 480, Gasparini to Mussolini, 15 October 1927.

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to understand under no uncertain terms just how foolish such political-military action is’.82 Had the Anglo-Yemeni dispute continued to be stagnant without degenerating into open warfare, it would have been to Italy’s great advantage. But, once this conflict flared up, Rome found itself restricted to playing a frustratingly passive role.83 Gasparini’s reluctant implementation of Mussolini’s instructions shattered the Imam’s remaining illusions about active Italian support against Britain.84 Yemeni troops were withdrawn, and military measures were not undertaken, but in February 1928, when a new raiding party crossed the frontier, Britain had no choice but to order bombing operations. The Fascist Government immediately offered its good office to smooth over the friction and intensified its efforts to dissuade Yahya from persisting in his occupation of the Protectorate. Mussolini informed the Foreign Office that ‘our representatives have done everything possible to dissuade the Imam, but it must be acknowledged that their efforts to persuade him have not had the hoped results’.85 By the time the Imam announced the Holy War against the British, he had been altogether abandoned to his own devices. His urgent requests for anti-aircraft artillery were flatly refused by Mussolini, who also ordered that all military supplies bound for Yemen now had to be submitted to the Ministry for Foreign Affairs for prior approval and subjected to the condition that Yahya would refrain from ‘any act [whatsoever] that could provoke a military reaction by the British’.86 We must make it clear to the Imam that we are always willing to provide him with all the diplomatic and political support possible, but that we cannot accommodate him when his conduct manifests itself in military action against Britain, the objectives of which are so blatantly delusory and puerile. We must instead show him that it is in the real interests of Yemen not to weaken itself by clashing futilely against an enemy which is so much stronger. ... By this, we do not mean to ask the Imam to renounce his territorial aspirations, not to arrive at any cost at an agreement with Britain which could compromise him, but to keep the relations with the British as they are, waiting for his demands to be satisfied not through difficult and harmful military action but through the development of political processes. Our help and supply of arms are therefore   DDI, 7th, vol. 5, 480, Mussolini to Gasparini, 21 October 1927.   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Arabia, b. 802, f. 875, ‘Conflitto anglo-yemenita’, Zoli to Federzoni, 1 November 1928. 84   ACS, Carte Gasparini, b. 4, f. Yemen, ‘Notiziario’, Corazzini to Gasparini, 22 November 1927. 85   Stewart Symes to CO, ‘Bombing of Kataba’, 25 February 1928, E 1072/80/91 FO 371/13004; DDI, 7th, vol. 6, 418, Mussolini to Bordonaro, 17 June 1928. 86   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Arabia, b. 802, f. 877, ‘Forniture militari allo Yemen’, Grandi to Federzoni, 2 March 1928; b. 801, f. 874, ‘Fornitura materiale bellico all’Imam’, Grandi to Federzoni, 16 March 1928. 82 83

Anglo-Italian Covert War in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea, 1922–1934 27 basically subjected to two conditions: that the Imam refrains from any act that could provoke a military reaction by the British, whereby he has everything to lose and nothing to gain; and that the Imam himself gives us the assurance that he wants to develop the economic cooperation with Italy which has given such poor results until now.87

Fearing that the Governor of Eritrea was conducting a policy too openly and dangerously anti-British, Mussolini decided to replace Gasparini, heavily implicated in secret arrangements with the Imam, with Corrado Zoli. George Stewart Symes, the British Political Resident in Aden, informed the Colonial Office that ‘whatever may have been the Italian attitude before, they are now distinctly in favour of the Imam’s signing an agreement with us’.88 The awkwardness of the new Italian position in the Red Sea was neatly encapsulated in an interesting memorandum for the Ministry for the Colonies by the recently designated Governor of Eritrea. ‘Our friendly relations with the Imam, culminating in the sealing of our pact, did not come about by some divine miracle, but were achieved through constant political action essentially anti-British in nature.’ He added that such a policy was only possible in the form it took because ‘if the Anglo-Yemeni dispute had not existed, we would not have been able to penetrate politically nor economically in Yemen. Perhaps the intentions of those who formulated the policy on our behalf, were not anti-British but the Imam interpreted them as such and followed them for this reason only’.89 This sharp change of direction could not, and did not, pass unnoticed by the Imam. It signalled the eclipse of Fascist Italy’s predominance in Yemen – a predominance which had been based on the mistaken conviction on the part of the Imam that the Italian Government had agreed to actively assist him against British aggression and to continue to supply him with all kinds of goods he might require, including war material, at very low prices and with ultra-lax payment terms.90 Having realised that in case of conflict with Britain, the Fascist Regime was only willing to offer good advice, the Imam started to ‘appreciate its friendship and assistance much less and to consider it with the common nuisance that every insolvent debtor feels for every creditor who requires the payment of the credits’.91 It is interesting to note that by that time the bill due to the Italian Government

  DDI, 7th, vol. 7, 48, Mussolini to Federzoni, 25 October 1928.   Stewart Symes to CO, ‘Operations against the Imam’, 7 July 1928, E 3438/80/91 FO 371/13006. 89   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Arabia, b. 802, f. 875, ‘Conflitto anglo-yemenita’, Zoli to Federzoni, 1 November 1928. 90   DDI, 7th, vol. 8, 386, Zoli to De Bono, 3 March 1930. 91   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Arabia, b. 806, f. 896 bis, Zoli to De Bono, 30 April 1930 87 88

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was said to amount to IT₤14,000,000 out of which only IT₤4,250,000 had been paid.92 Another result of this sharp change of direction was to throw the Imam right into Bolshevik Russia’s arms. A Soviet-Yemeni Commercial Treaty was in fact signed in Sanaa in November 1928, following which Britain and Italy sought to nullify this subversive Soviet influence by working even more closely together to prevent the political and commercial penetration of a third power in the region.93 Their partnership in the Red Sea was cemented with a seven-day visit (10–16 March 1929) paid by the Political Resident to the Governor of Eritrea during which they had long and informal discussions on the situation in Arabia. Zoli showed Symes the dispatches he had received from Rome and the instructions he had sent to his agents in Yemen in which he had made it clear to Yahya that ‘in no circumstances could he expect Italian support for an anti-British policy’. He disclosed to him in the strictest confidence that Gasparini ‘might not have been sufficiently explicit on this point’. The Political Resident was also strongly critical of the fact that his predecessors had stuck to the words but not to the spirit of the 1927 Understanding. Zoli and Symes eventually agreed that Anglo-Italian solidarity was now even more essential to ward off the Bolshevik threat from Arabia. ‘Ultimately it must become clear to the Imam that jointly we were better able than the Soviets to hinder or befriend him’.94 Following the visit of the Political Resident, British ships called frequently at Assab and Massawa where football matches and theatre recitals were arranged for the crews of the ships.95 After his stay in Asmara, Symes reached the conclusion that ‘under Zoli, the local direction of Italian activities in the Red Sea will be less political and much less ardent than in the time of his predecessor. It is recognised that the relatively lavish expenditure by Gasparini has given small material result, that the Imam is a bad payer and that any considerable economic or commercial developments in Yemen are unlikely’.96 Winds of War through the Desert Throughout 1932, officials of the Military Intelligence Service reported that hostilities between Hejaz-Nejd and Yemen, further to the complete absorption of Asir into Ibn Saud’s dominions (November 1930), could break out at any 92

  Baldry, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry’, p. 174.   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Arabia, b. 804, f. 887, ‘Situazione anglo-yemenita’, Medici to Mussolini, 20 January 1929. 94   Stewart Symes to Amery, ‘Anglo-Italian Relations in South West Arabia’, 19 March 1929, E 1954/54/91 FO 371/13721. 95   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Arabia, b. 804, f. 887, ‘Visita del Residente di Aden al Governatore dell’Eritrea’, Zoli to MC, 12–17–18 March 1929. 96   Stewart Symes to Amery, ‘Anglo-Italian Relations in South West Arabia’, 19 March 1929, E 1954/54/91 FO 371/13721. 93

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moment. The signs of war blowing from the Arabian Peninsula afforded the Italian Government the opportunity to regain prestige in the Red Sea. The purpose was to win back, through solid commercial and military influence, Italy’s former predominance in Yemen. The existing tension between Hejaz-Nejd and Yemen had in fact driven the Imam to seek once again Fascist Italy’s military assistance.97 At the beginning of 1932, a conspiracy involving simultaneous attacks on Hejaz from the north and the south attracted the attention of the newly appointed Governor of Eritrea, Riccardo Astuto. The ultimate aim of this plot, which had important international ramifications, was the overthrow of Ibn Saud and the restoration of the Hashemite House. On the night of 20–21 May 1932, a party of 400–500 tribesmen slipped into Hejaz across the Transjordan border to rouse the population against Ibn Saud.98 Excited by the possibility of redrawing the map of the Arabian Peninsula, Astuto secretly supplied the rebels with arms and ammunition. He did not fully grasp, however, the political and strategic implications of the situation: the return of the ex-King Ali to the throne of Hejaz would have fostered the formation of a Hashemite coalition (Iraq-Transjordan-Hejaz), inevitably consolidating British control of the Arabian Peninsula.99 Ignoring Rome’s repeated directives to conduct a ‘policy of strict neutrality’, Astuto allowed the conspirators to foment a revolt in Asir in conjunction with the activities in northern Hejaz. The news of the insurrection of the Idrisi himself raised his hopes of imminent territorial modifications. Cherishing vain illusions about the Farasan, the Governor persistently requested the Ministry for Foreign Affairs to support the rebels with war material. Had the Imam been tempted to take advantage of the situation, Ibn Saud would have been faced with a highly dangerous situation. Instead, he opted to sit on the fence, and the Fascist Regime refused to provide arms and ammunition to the insurgents, categorically instructing Astuto to adapt his action to Yahya’s position.100 ‘Notwithstanding the recent Italian decision not to support the present uprising’, remarked the Head of the Foreign Office Eastern Department, George 97

  ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 1, f. 1, ‘Notiziario politico: Arabia’, Astuto to De Bono, 28 January 1931; b. 3, f. 1, ‘Politica in Arabia’, Sollazzo to MFA, 11 February 1931; ‘Azione politica e mezzi di penetrazione commerciale nello Yemen’, Grandi to De Bono, 16 February 1931; ‘Fornitura di armi all’Imam’, Astuto to De Bono, 16 March 1931; Mussolini to Mosconi, 23 March 1931. 98   Joseph Kostiner, The Making of Saudi Arabia, 1916–1936. From Chieftaincy to the Monarchical State (Oxford, 1993), p. 158. 99   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 6, f. 1, ‘Situazione in Hegiaz’, MFA to Embassy London, 13 June 1932; ‘Situazione in Hegiaz’, Grandi to Astuto, 7 July 1932; ‘Situazione higiazena’, Astuto to MFA, 27 July 1932; Arabia, b. 9, f. 3, ‘Relazioni Anglo-Yemenite’, MFA to MC, 31 July 1932. See also, Matteo Pizzigallo, La diplomazia dell’amicizia: Italia e Arabia Saudita, 1932–1942 (Naples, 2000), pp. 37–8. 100   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 6, f. 1, ‘Situazione higiazena’, Astuto to MFA, 27 July 1932; ‘Situazione higiazena’, Astuto to MFA, 3 August 1932; ‘Avvenimenti nell’Asir’, Astuto to MC, 19 November 1932; ‘Appunto per il Ministro’, Buti to Mussolini, 21 November 1932; ‘Situazione nell’Hegiaz’, Buti to Astuto, 23 November 1932.

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Rendel, ‘it is still possible that the Italians may be trying to run with the hare and hunt with the hounds as the Governor of Eritrea has for so long been urging them to do. With Hashemite help and Fascist connivance, it may assume serious proportions.’101 The difficulty in obtaining sound information about Yemeni intentions and the need to make a show of strength drove Rome to send the sloop Azio to Asir to await further developments. Although the ministerial instructions only allowed ‘for gathering information and for showing the flag in the most important points of Asir’, the Governor decided to take matters into his own hands and asked Captain Carlo Millo to take aboard a courier to contact the leaders of the revolt.102 Thus, in the early afternoon of 19 December, the Azio cast anchor in Midi and Millo secretly met with one of the chiefs of the rebel army. They agreed that they would land the courier on the Asir coast and try to reach the rebel headquarters.103 Anxious of detection, the Azio decided to proceed to Jizan without the authorisation of the Saudi Government. Ibn Saud made the strongest objection to this gross breach of international practice and denounced Italian complicity in the machinations of the intriguers. The interception of the insurgents’ correspondence clearly showed that Astuto was heavily implicated in the revolt: he had not only permitted the rebels to transform Massawa into a centre of Hashemite propaganda but also into a convenient base for the operations.104 In the spring of 1933, the revolt was totally quelled, but dark clouds were once again thickening over the Arabian Peninsula. The Idrisi, pursued by Saudi forces, had fled over the frontier into Yemen. Talks were opened between Ibn Saud and Yahya, but excessive Yemeni demands for the restitution of all the Idrisi’s dominions caused an immediate rift between the two parties. By June, the Imam’s troops had penetrated into the region of Najran. His Majesty’s Government requested the Ministry for Foreign Affairs to urge counsels of moderation on Yahya and to ‘take all possible steps to prevent the Yemeni ruler from receiving any assistance of any kind from territories under Italian control’.105 This time, however, things were completely different. On the one hand, the destabilisation of 101

  Minute written by Rendel, ‘Revolt in Asir’, 12 November 1932, E 5912/5839/25 FO 371/16028. 102   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 6, f. 1, ‘Situazione in Hegiaz’, Suvich to Astuto, 15 December 1932; b. 12, f. 1, ‘Crociera della RN Azio sulle coste dell’Asir’, Astuto to MFA, 17 December 1932; b. 6, f. 1, ‘Rivolta Asir’, Mussolini to Astuto, 21 December 1932. 103   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 12, f. 1, ‘Crociera della RN Azio sulle coste dell’Asir’, Millo to Astuto, 4 January 1933. 104   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 12, f. 1, ‘Rapporti con il Regno AraboSaudiano’, De Peppo to Mussolini, 28 December 1932. 105   Simon to Calvert, ‘Saudi-Yemeni Relations’, E 4072/759/25 FO 371/16872, 27 July 1933; Parr to FO, ‘Saudi-Yemeni Relations’, E 4212/759/25 FO 371/16872, 31 July 1933.

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the European balance of power caused by the emergence of a dynamic, revisionist Nazi Germany had given the Fascist Regime more room for manoeuvre. On the other, the Imam had cast caution to the wind and had asked for Italian military assistance.106 It followed, therefore, that the Fascist Regime was finally able to carry out a more aggressive imperial policy in the Red Sea. Large quantities of arms and ammunitions were continually smuggled to Hodeidah and a mission was dispatched to Sanaa in order to open negotiations for a new treaty and to settle outstanding questions between the two countries. Having failed at the turn of 1933–1934 to enlist British help in getting the partition of Asir between Ibn Saud and Yahya, the Italian Government secretly supported the latter’s territorial claims and pressed him to encroach upon Asir.107 London and Rome were once again falling into the trap of becoming the champions of the King and the Imam respectively, and the effect of this local Anglo-Italian rivalry on their relations was most unfortunate.108 ‘The Italians must bear a heavy share of responsibility for having made the conflict between Ibn Saud and Yahya inevitable’, noted Rendel in December 1933.109 ‘They have never taken any effective steps to [persuade] the Imam to [adopt] a more reasonable [stance], but have merely encouraged him in his ambitions against the King by their equivocal attitude over Asir and by supplying him so actively with arms and ammunitions’.110 The war between Saudi Arabia and Yemen broke out in March 1934. Not only was the root of the conflict regional, but it was also indicative of the growing Anglo-Italian rivalry in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea and the way 106   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 12, f. 1, ‘Questione Asir’, Suvich to Ministry for the Colonies, 30 November 1933. 107   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 2, f. 4, ‘Fornitura di armi allo Yemen’, Dubbiosi to MFA, 1 April 1933; b. 2, f. 10, ‘Appunto sull’Arabia’ (the document is not signed), 18 September 1933; b. 2, f. 9, ‘Relazione a S.E. il Sottosegretario di Stato’, Buti to Suvich, 28 September 1933; Arabia, b. 12, f. 1, ‘Questione Asir’, Suvich to Ministry for the Colonies, 30 November 1933. 108   Minute written by Rendel, ‘Saudi-Yemeni Relations and Proposed AngloItalian Discussions Regarding Situation in Arabia’, 8 November 1933, E 6768/759/25 FO 371/16873. 109   Italy’s position was that Ibn Saud’s aggression in absorbing Asir four years earlier constituted the root of the problem and pressed Britain to accept a renewed conference to examine events since the 1927 Understanding and the situation which had developed subsequently. London rejected Italy’s proposal, signing a Treaty of Mutual Cooperation with Yemen in February 1934. Negotiations for such a treaty had proceeded intermittently since 1919, but the existing tension between Ibn Saud and Yahya had convinced the latter to recognise the status quo at the frontier between Yemen and the Protectorate and to find a temporary accommodation with London. The signing of this treaty might have precipitated the war that followed. Having secured himself from a potential conflict on two fronts, the Imam could now launch his offensive against the King. 110   Minute written by Rendel, ‘Saudi-Yemeni Relations’, 8 December 1933, E 7579/759/25 FO 371/16874.

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in which London and Rome tended to take sides with local forces to promote their respective interests. It was a war of their own making but also one that was of no real interest to them apart from the effect it had on the balance of power in the region.111 By April, the troops of Ibn Saud had captured Midi and had rapidly advanced into Yahya’s territory along the Red Sea littoral. Hodeidah was abandoned by Yemeni forces at the beginning of May. The heavy military setbacks suffered by the Imam fuelled fears of the Fascist Regime entering the conflict, and the Foreign Office pointed out that the Italians ‘seem to realise that, in supporting the Imam, they have backed the wrong horse and to be seeking to retrieve their position by a policy of intervention’.112 The news that 400 native troops from Eritrea had disembarked at Hodeidah for the protection of Italian subjects (there were practically no European residents at the time) was received with great agitation by British decision-makers: For the Italians to land once the Saudis are in possession of the town or even on the eve of their arrival would be exceedingly dangerous and might [even prove to] be fatal. Some kind of clash between Saudi forces and Italian contingents would very probably occur. It is possible that the Italians might not be averse to such an incident if it gave them a good excuse for future intervention.113

The British Ambassador to Rome, Sir Eric Drummond (later Lord Perth), was immediately instructed to make representations and to dissuade the Fascist Government from embarking on this ill-advised step.114 The Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs, Fulvio Suvich, explained that, rather than being an action taken to intervene in the conflict, the landing of the Eritrean troops was only occasioned by the necessity to keep pace with His Majesty’s Government, which had already sent an Indian contingent to Hodeidah.115 Neither country wished to withdraw their troops first, in case they lost face. Although on 12 May a ceasefire was agreed between the King and the Imam, foreign warships remained stationed at Hodeidah. And only with the conclusion of the peace treaty and the consequent evacuation of

111

  Joseph Kostiner, ‘Britain and the Challenge of the Axis Powers in Arabia: the Decline of British-Saudi Cooperation in the 1930s’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London, 1992), p. 133. 112   Minute written by Johnstone, ‘Saudi-Yemeni Conflict’, 8 May 1934, E 2948/79/25 FO 371/17926. 113   Minute written by Rendel, ‘Saudi-Yemeni Relations: Proposed Italian Landing at Hodeidah’, 5 May 1934, E 2853/79/25 FO 371/17926. 114   FO to Drummond, ‘Saudi-Yemeni Relations: Proposed Italian Landing at Hodeidah’, 5 May 1934, E 2853/79/25 FO 371/17926. 115   Drummond to FO, ‘Situation at Hodeidah’, 8 May 1934, E 2980/79/25 FO 371/17926.

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the Saudis from Hodeidah and the rest of the territory occupied, were British and Italian warships finally withdrawn from Yemeni waters.116 Conclusion The course of the Anglo-Italian confrontation in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea during the period 1922–1934 casts new light on the origins of their subsequent conflict in that it shows how the two countries involved had irreconcilable long-term goals. Not surprisingly, well before the outbreak of the Ethiopian Crisis, they were already working at cross purposes. British decisionmakers and military planners persistently sought to preserve the security of their Empire and to maintain their network of sea communications and levels of trade and commerce. The fulfilment of this desire demanded the maintenance of the status quo and opposition to attempts to control the sensitive waterways through which British troops and materials were obliged to pass.117 There can be little doubt that Mussolini’s supreme goal was expansion, either by peaceful or warlike means, with a view to the creation of the Second Roman Empire. The realisation of this aim presupposed the domination of both the Mediterranean and the Red Sea and the establishment of spheres of influence in the Arabian Peninsula. The fact that such a policy could only be expounded fully at the turn of the 1930s in a favourable international situation, does not, however, make it possible to conclude that before that time the Fascist Regime did not have a foreign policy, nor that there was no serious intention behind the unfolding propaganda. On the contrary, Mussolini remained substantially faithful to the policy of imperial expansion in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea.118 The current academic interpretation that during his first decade of power he was not what he later became, must therefore be qualified.119 Indeed, it should be made clear that the Duce himself maintained the same stance throughout and that it was rather the circumstances that changed during this period. Only domestic and international obstacles prevented him from embarking on rash adventures and from unleashing the subversive forces he had roused 116

  ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 6, f. 1, ‘Conflitto saudiano-yemenita’, De Bono to Astuto, 5 and 8 May 1934. 117   CID, ‘Imperial Defence Policy: A Review of Imperial Defence, 1926, by the Chiefs of Staff Sub-Committee’, 22 June 1926, CAB 4/15. 118   Collotti, Fascismo e politica di potenza, p. 20. 119   Hughes, ‘The Early Diplomacy of Italian Fascism’, pp. 216–17, 229–30; AlbrechtCarrié, Italy from Napoleon to Mussolini, pp. 198–200; Di Nolfo, Mussolini e la politica estera italiana, pp. 146–7; Halperin, Mussolini and Italian Fascism, pp. 72–3; Kirkpatrick, Mussolini, pp. 191–2; Carocci, La politica estera dell’Italia fascista, pp. 18–31; De Felice, Mussolini il duce, vol. 1, pp. 323–5, 367–70; Erlich, ‘Mussolini and the Middle East’, p. 214, 220; Overy, The Road to War, pp. 177–81.

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through his constant references to the myth of national greatness and martial glory. Mussolini wanted to acquire new markets and colonies, but after the short-lived occupation of Corfu, he had no choice but to accept that any further empirebuilding in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea would encounter more resistance on the part of the British. The weakness of the Italian economic system and the second-class armaments made him realise that he could not break off with London regardless of how he might have felt about the situation.120 An interesting subplot has emerged through the narrative of Anglo-Italian imperial antagonism – that is, the role played by colonial officers in the formulation and execution of the policies of the two countries. Considering the development of the events from their restricted perspectives, members of both the Ministry for the Colonies and the Colonial Office analysed the world through lenses that filtered out important political considerations that could influence the general decisionmaking process. As a result of not taking all the circumstances into account and failing to view the situation globally, local Italian representatives in the Arabian Peninsula were of the opinion that the time had come to compete with His Majesty’s Government in that part of the world. On the other hand, it should be noted that the second-tier officers, unlike their superiors, who were distanced from the situation, were able to predict long before it actually took place the clash that would become manifest from the mid-1930s onwards.121 Even though Mussolini had to put aside an aggressive policy of territorial conquest during the 1920s, his efforts to increase Fascist influence and prestige in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea did in fact constitute a real threat to the security and stability of British imperial communications to the Far East. This was in spite of Italy being perceived by the Foreign Office as a power lacking the military and financial means to seriously challenge British interests, although its own interests were inimical to them. It was the upsetting of the balance of power caused by the emergence of National Socialism in Germany that finally enabled the Duce to exploit the favourable diplomatic moment and to move from words to deeds, finally putting into effect the project which he had always intended but had been obliged by diplomatic and military circumstances to postpone.122

  Mallett, Mussolini, p. 16 and p. 61.   Cassels, Mussolini’s Early Diplomacy, p. viii; Erlich, ‘Mussolini and the Middle East’, p. 215. 122   Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy’, p. 205; Michaelis, ‘Italy’s Mediterranean Strategy’, p. 43; John Gooch, Mussolini and His Generals: The Italian Armed Forces and Foreign Policy, 1922–1940 (Cambridge, 2007), pp. 189–91. 120 121

Chapter 2

Fascist Propaganda in the Arab World, 1934–1940 In one of his most memorable speeches, delivered to the Quinquennial Fascist Assembly in March 1934, Mussolini expressed the Regime’s nostalgia for the times of the great Roman Empire. In its quest for spiritual and political expansion, Italy desired to re-establish the historic connection between East and West and extend far beyond the confines of the Mare Nostrum. Of all the great western powers in Europe, the closest to Africa and Asia is Italy. A few hours by sea, fewer still by air, suffice to join it with Africa and with Asia. Let me not misunderstand the scope of this secular task which I assign to this and future Italian generations. It is not a matter of territorial conquests ... but of a natural expansion which should lead to a collaboration between Italy and the peoples of Africa, between Italy and the nations of the Near and Middle East. It is a matter of developing the still countless resources of the two continents, especially Africa, and of engrafting them more deeply in the circle of world civilisation. Italy can do this: its position in the Mediterranean ... gives it this right and lays on it this duty.

In accordance with these ideas, a number of systematic and organised initiatives were undertaken to increase Fascist influence in the region: the foundation of schools and hospitals, the organisation and encouragement of youth movements, the arrangement of cheap tours to Italy, the extension of shipping and air line routes in the Mediterranean, the expression of religious sympathy towards Muslims, the distribution of Italian publications, the subsidising of anti-colonial individuals and subversive movements, the provision of special incentives to pupils from nonaffluent backgrounds, the organisation of conferences of oriental students, the sponsorship of the Arab press, the creation of a news agency in Cairo, and the institution of Radio Bari. The initial aim of this campaign was to restore the country’s image and prestige, which had been seriously damaged by the draconian measures adopted by the Fascist Regime during the recent re-conquest of Tripolitania and Cyrenaica. These had included the detention of most of the nomadic population in large concentration camps to deny the Libyan Resistance Movement supplies and   Mussolini, OO, vol. 26, pp. 191–2.



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recruits. Up to the summer of 1935, therefore, the propaganda campaign was not directly anti-British. It was Britain’s resistance to Mussolini’s plans to annex Ethiopia that produced a dramatic change in the propaganda campaign. Only then did it assume a more intense and violently anti-British tone: it was no longer intended merely to generate sympathy for Italy, but also to create actual difficulties for His Majesty’s Government in a region where its presence was bitterly resented. Indeed, extreme political elements in Egypt and Palestine were encouraged to take advantage of the situation and to press for the fulfilment of their national aspirations. By stirring up the Arab populations, the Fascist Government hoped to keep British troops fully occupied with security duties and thus prevent them from getting involved in the hostilities. After the invasion of Ethiopia, London fretted that the stability of its Empire was threatened not only by internal forces striving to achieve self-determination, but also by the machinations of rival powers. This frame of mind led His Majesty’s Government to seriously overestimate the offensive propaganda campaign, almost falling prey to what Hans Kepietz called the psychosis of the ‘Italian under the bed’ syndrome, a psychosis that would contribute even further to feeding the imperial dispute already underway. What is more, in doing so, the British Government overlooked the sets of political and social circumstances that had created throughout the Middle East an audience receptive to the allure of the antiBritish messages. This chapter will not only explore the forms and contents of Fascist propaganda in the Middle East and carefully reconstruct the activities of individual agents and organisations, but will also subject to closer scrutiny the complex structure of the Italian propaganda machine. This was efficiently run by the Ministry of Press and Propaganda (in May 1937 renamed the Ministry of Popular Culture), and its synergy with the Ministry for Foreign Affairs guaranteed an efficient division of responsibilities and a ‘smooth transmission of information overseas’. As Manuela Williams convincingly concludes in her perceptive study Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, ‘the whole organisation seems to have been ... the product of a well-oiled



  MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, pp. 195–6; Mario Tedeschini Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba del fascismo e l’Egitto’, Storia Contemporanea, 7/4 (1976): pp. 717–18; John Wright, ‘Libya: Italian Invasion and Resistance, 1911–1931’, in Kevin Shillington (ed.), Encyclopedia of African History (3 vols, New York City, 2005), vol. 1, p. 833.    Tedeschini Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba’, pp. 717–18; Michael Cohen, ‘British Strategy in the Middle East in the Wake of the Abyssinian Crisis, 1936–1939’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London, 1992), pp. 21–2; Omissi, ‘The Mediterranean and the Middle East’, pp. 6–7; Mallett, Mussolini, p. 9.    Manuela Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad: Subversion in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, 1935–1940 (London, 2006), p. 3.

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machine, a network of coordinated and skilfully linked governmental departments ... designed to further strategic and foreign policy objectives’. It will be argued that the propaganda campaign in the Middle East was an expression of the Duce’s grand design to create the Second Roman Empire. This policy seemed to interpret the essential spirit of Fascism, perpetually struggling between revolution and order, between the colonial ambitions of the last nation to arrive among the great powers and the call to become the champion of Arab aspirations. However, even if it succeeded in fanning the flames of anti-British sentiments, the campaign ultimately failed to achieve its long-term objectives for a number of reasons, among which the most important was its inability to reconcile Mussolini the conquering imperialist with Mussolini the advocate of oppressed nationalities. Indeed, he wished to be both a virile empire-builder for the Italians and an equestrian messiah, come ‘to rekindle the torch of genius in the ancient land of civilisation’ for the Arabs. This contradiction between imperialistic ambitions and anti-colonialist propaganda was clearly sensed by large sectors of the Arab world, which greatly feared and distrusted his intentions. While it was a relatively easy task to make the Arabs anti-British or anti-French, it was almost impossible to convert them into becoming pro-Italian. Although the Duce had been handed the Sword of Islam during his spectacular visit to Libya in March 1937, no Muslim could forgive him for the ruthless execution of Omar Mukhtar, the 70-year-old leader of the Libyan Resistance Movement, who was hanged in public in front of approximately 20,000 people. What is perhaps even more significant, though, is the effect this offensive propaganda campaign had in inflaming Arab nationalists and in driving them to play the Italian game for their own political ends. Indeed, during and after the Ethiopian Crisis, they sought to profit from the increasing tension between London and Rome by extracting concessions from His Majesty’s Government.



  Ibid.   Vernon MacKenzie, Here Lies Gobbels! (London, 1940), p. 167, 218; Giuliano Procacci, Dalla parte dell’Etiopia. L’aggressione italiana vista dai movimenti anticolonialisti d’Asia, d’Africa, d’America (Milan, 1984), pp. 65–122; Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy in the Middle East’, pp. 206–10; Giorgio Rochat, Guerre italiane in Libia e in Etiopia: studi militari 1921–1939 (Paese, 1991), pp. 77–80; Fabei, Il fascio, pp. 8–9; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 63.    Made of solid gold, the sword was the symbol by which one part of the Arab world wished to express its approval and appreciation of the Islamic policy of the Fascist Regime. 

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Fascist Italy’s Anti-British Propaganda in Egypt and Palestine In this period of glory in which we have the fortune to live, may the Ministry of Press and Propaganda be ... the centre which collects and radiates the forces of the great revival which derives its name from the Duce (Galeazzo Ciano, 1936).

The disillusionment generated by the new world order outlined at the Paris Peace Conference had mortified the aspirations of the Arab people, while in Italy it had created the myth of the ‘mutilated victory’. Given all this, the first encounter between the Arab and Fascist world was the result of their mutual dissatisfaction with the post-war arrangements, with both identifying their main enemies as the decadent demo-plutocracies of the West. As Chapter 1 has already shown, however, throughout the 1920s, domestic and international obstacles prevented Mussolini from involving himself in excessive risks. A more coherent and effective strategy, openly pro-Islamic and anti-British, was adopted only in the 1930s, when the Italian Government took advantage of the new balance of power caused by the emergence of National Socialism in Germany. It intensified cultural and commercial penetration and adopted a series of ideological positions, ranging from a pragmatic pro-Islamism defined on geopolitical grounds to the assertion of a doctrinal affinity between Fascism and Islam. The propaganda campaign organised by the Fascist Regime therefore comprised two initiatives. The first, which had gone on ever since the First World War, had been based on legitimate social and educational activity through the establishment of banks, schools, cultural institutions, universities and hospitals. It was the kind of enterprise that had been common across the region for a hundred years, indulged in not only by the Italians but also by the French and the Americans.10 This initiative had been systematically carried out through the Dante Alighieri Society, an association founded in 1889 for the protection and diffusion of Italian culture and language in the world, and the Italica Society, an association founded in 1923 and brought under the aegis of the Fascist Government in 1925 for the promotion of Italian propaganda abroad by means of opera and drama, concerts, exhibitions of pure and applied art, and books. Egypt, the most important Arab country, was the first field of activity chosen by the Italica Society with the object of ‘strengthening the attachment of the Italian    Vincent Arnold, The Illusion of Victory: Fascist Propaganda and the Second World War (New York City, 1998), p. 1.    MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 195; De Felice, Il fascismo e l’Oriente, pp. 16–18; Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy in the Middle East’, pp. 202–3; Fabei, Il fascio, pp. 37–40. For a detailed analysis of conferences of oriental students held in Italy, see Stefano Fabei, ‘Un ponte verso Oriente’, Studi Piacentini, 32/2 (2002): pp. 101–15. 10   Starling to Nichols, ‘Italian Propaganda in Syria and Lebanon’, 4 September 1938, E 2118/2118/89 FO 371/21915.

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communities there with the mother country and of forming a new powerful centre in the Eastern Mediterranean for the diffusion of Italian life and spirit’. Attempts to engage in a dialogue with the Egyptian urban class began with exhibitions of Italian books and lectures on literature and history given by prominent Italians. There were opera seasons and the Music Conservatoire was founded in Cairo in 1928.11 Side by side with these cultural activities, commercial institutions like the Banco di Roma and the Banca Commerciale were also engaged in the propaganda campaign through gifts and loans of money and material, debts reduction and the provision of long-term mortgages for the purchase of machinery and other goods.12 By plying on routes not served by anyone else, the Lloyd Triestino Steamship Company and the Ala Littoria Air Service were not only a considerable source of income and foreign exchange, but also a great advertisement for Italy. Trade and commerce was further fostered by the inauguration of the Levant Fair in 1930, which was held every September in Bari.13 As part of this policy of penetration, the King and Queen of Italy made a spectacular trip to Egypt in February/March 1933. It was the first visit paid by a foreign sovereign to Egypt since the Khedive Ismail had entertained a selection of European royalty at the opening of the Suez Canal in 1869, and it was reported that the Fascist Regime had expended a considerable sum on propaganda. The visit included trips to the Pyramids and the Aswan Dam, processions through the streets of Cairo and Alexandria which were profusely decorated with Egyptian and Italian flags and lined with an enthusiastic crowd, the inauguration of the Hospital Umberto I – boasting the most modern facilities of the whole of Africa – and rich banquets at the Royal Abdin Palace and the Italian Consulate. Ronald Campbell, Acting British High Commissioner, commented: There is no doubt that the visit has been an unqualified success from the point of view of Italo-Egyptian relations. ... There is no doubt that the royal visit was carefully planned and prepared with a view to producing a spectacular effect and enhancing Italy’s position in Egypt and a considerable amount of money was spent on propaganda for the purpose. Probably this demonstration is part of the general Fascist policy in the Near East, which seems to aim at establishing

11   Graham to FO, ‘Italian Cultural Propaganda in Egypt, Portugal, Spain and Other Countries’, 1 November 1928, J 3148/2943/16 FO 371/13152. 12   MacDonald to Hoare, ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine and Transjordan’, 18 September 1935, E 5638/293/31 FO 371/18958; Memorandum written by the Middle East (Official) Committee, ‘Propaganda in Eastern Countries and Foreign Activities in the Near and Middle East’, 30 April 1937, E 2467/2467/65 FO 371/20787. On the Dante Alighieri Society, see, Filippo Caparelli, La Dante Alighieri, 1920–1970 (Rome, 1985). 13  Elizabeth Monroe, The Mediterranean in Politics (London, 1939), pp. 189–94.

40

Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940 Italy in a position of prominence so that, in the event of territorial or mandatory adjustments, its claim to consideration shall gain weight.14

Another important centre for the dissemination of Italian propaganda in the Middle East was Palestine. Here the cultural and economic initiatives, mainly conducted by the Italo-Palestine Committee – founded in 1928 under the presidency of the former Minister for the Colonies, Lanza di Scalea, with the object of enhancing relations between Italy and Palestine – often overlapped with propaganda based on religious links between Rome and the Catholic Church in the Middle East. In this field, the schools of the Salesian Society in Haifa, Jerusalem and Jaffa and the Institute of the Opera Cardinal Ferrari in Jerusalem made increased efforts to attract students and to inculcate in them a love for Italy and the Fascist system. The ultimate aim of the Regime, especially after the signing of the Lateran Pacts in 1929, was to replace France as the protector of the missions and the Catholic Church in the Middle East.15 The second thrust of the campaign, stemming from the Ethiopian Crisis, focused on propaganda of a less legitimate and more direct type through wireless broadcasts and subsidies allocated to journalists and newspapers. This chapter will mainly examine this provocative propaganda, but also take into consideration some aspects of the less offensive activities that took place. Wireless Propaganda: Radio Bari’s Anti-British Broadcasts The rapid advance of wireless transmission technology, with its capacity to cross frontiers and reach the masses, made radio an ideal medium for disseminating propaganda, especially in an area where many were still unable to read or write. Clearly aware of the great potential of this new vehicle of mass communication, Galeazzo Ciano, Director of the Press Office at that time, created Radio Bari with the object of increasing Fascist Italy’s prestige and influence in both the Mediterranean and the Middle East. By 1937, the station was broadcasting in 16 languages from Albanian to Greek, Hebrew to Turkish. The Arabic service was inaugurated in the hope of ‘promoting and cementing the bonds of friendship and cooperation between Italy and the Arab world’.16 It was initially transmitted three times a week and consisted of news focusing on national and international events, followed by recordings of oriental music. The results were so remarkable that, in May 1935, Radio Bari began broadcasting on a daily basis. When the length of the programmes was extended to 75 minutes in August 1938 (up from 15 minutes in May 1934), lectures on historical and literary subjects were also delivered. 14   Campbell to FO, ‘Visit of King and Queen of Italy to Egypt’, 13 March 1933, J 773/664/16 FO 371/17028. 15   Carocci, La politica estera dell’Italia fascista, pp. 205–10. 16   Frost to Warner, ‘British Broadcast Corporation’s Weekly Intelligence Reports on Arabic Broadcast’, 24 February 1938, P 1036/2/150 FO 395/559.

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The perfect combination of propaganda and entertainment won the station a loyal following, particularly among café owners who had installed wireless sets for the amusement of their patrons, 95 per cent of whom were illiterate, and they depended for their information on these coffee shop radios.17 This situation is brilliantly captured by Charles Rolo, who remarks that, by the end of 1936, listening to the anti-British transmissions had in fact become the most popular pastime of thousands of Arabs. Six nights a week they paid visits to their favourite cafés, huddling together under the light of oil lamps, smoking water pipes and playing game after game of backgammon, until at 8:20 p.m., the communal loudspeaker produced the voice of Radio Bari. Rolo evocatively concludes that in every town and village the Arabs ‘sipped their coffee and swallowed Italian propaganda with every mouthful’.18 The effect of this broadcasting is extremely difficult to gauge, but it was known to the Mandatory Administration in Palestine that ‘receiving sets [were] in use in most Arabic speaking towns from Beersheba and Gaza in the south to Acre and Safad in the north ... and that villagers came regularly during the evenings to ... listen-in by this means’.19 Official estimates suggested that more than 10,000 licences had been issued by the Government of Palestine by 1935. Two years later, that figure had risen to over 28,500, and by the beginning of the Second World War, the radio audience numbered as many as 42,000. Rumours also reached London that propagandist agents in Egypt and Palestine were actively engaged in selling large quantities of ‘cheap wireless sets to the Arabs, capable of receiving only Italian broadcasts’.20 Despite the fact that the language used during the first news programmes was not fully understood by the majority of the listeners, who found the classic Arabic used by the Libyan announcer impenetrably pedantic, the popularity of the wireless station quickly grew. This was largely the result of the high standard of entertainment provided, with famous artists being employed to attract the widest possible audience. The linguistic failing was eventually corrected by hiring Egyptian and Palestinian announcers who spoke a more colloquial form of Arabic with which the masses of illiterate villagers were more familiar.21 17

  Virginia Vacca, ‘Ar-Radyō. Le radio arabe d’Europa e d’Oriente e le loro pubblicazioni’, Oriente Moderno, 20/1 (1940): pp. 444–5; Daniel Grange, ‘Structure et techniques d’une propagande: les émissions arabes de Radio Bari’, Relations Internationales, 1/2 (1974), pp. 66–70; MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 195; Tedeschini Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba’, pp. 726–8; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, pp. 82–4. 18   Charles Rolo, Radio Goes to War (London, 1943), p. 41. 19   Williams to Rendel, ‘Anti-British Broadcasts from Bari’, 18 November 1935, E 6826/293/31 FO 371/18958. 20   Napier to Calvert, ‘Alleged Distribution in Egypt of Cheap Italian Wireless Sets’, 25 April 1938, P 1760/2/150 FO 395/560. My emphasis. 21   Vacca, ‘Ar-Radyō’, pp. 444–5; Grange, ‘Structure et techniques’, pp. 66–70; MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 196; Tedeschini Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba’, pp. 726–8;

42

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Up to the summer of 1935, the tone of its transmissions was relatively innocuous to Britain, consisting mainly of messages praising Italy and the Fascist system. This is even confirmed by Ciano, who recalled in his diary that he was forced to fire the original speaker because ‘on his own initiative, he had insulted the British with whom at that time we had good relations’.22 A dramatic change in the campaign directed by the Fascist Government occurred in connection with the Anglo-Italian dispute over Ethiopia. The broadcasts became increasingly venomous and malignant when, because of his designs to create an empire in East Africa, Mussolini came up against considerable British diplomatic pressure through their support for the League of Nations as well as military opposition in the form of battleship movements to the Mediterranean, coupled with the reinforcement of both garrisons and air units in the Middle East. The aim of the offensive campaign that followed was twofold: to inflame the Arab masses and thus create actual difficulties for Britain in the region. These poisonous attacks were especially concentrated on Egypt and Palestine, since the position of the British Government in those two countries was particularly vulnerable, and were mainly conducted on the assumption that, if British forces were fully engaged in security duties, they would not be employed against Italian troops.23 Both countries were locked in an attitude of mutual resentment, and much of the Italian propagandists’ success rested on their bitter feelings against British policy in the region. This rancour and animosity was the direct consequence of what had been agreed on at the Paris Peace Conference. The Arabs felt they had been betrayed: they had not made the supreme sacrifice merely to change masters. The blatant disregard for their aspirations contributed to feeding a complex of acrimony and bitterness towards the selfishness of the British. Consequently, immediately after the First World War, rebellions and uprisings soon started against British military occupations.24 In Egypt, having failed to negotiate an agreement with the local national government, the British issued a unilateral declaration of Egyptian independence on 28 February 1922. They retained control, however, of the Suez Canal, Egyptian defence against foreign aggression, the protection of foreign affairs and minority rights, and Sudan. It necessarily followed that the declaration of independence did very little to diminish British influence in Egypt or to reduce national agitation.25 It is against this background that London’s decision to send 10,500 additional troops to Egypt to strengthen the local garrison against an Italian attack in connection with the dispute over Ethiopia had exasperated nationalist sentiments, setting in Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, pp. 82–4. 22   Ciano, Diario, p. 89. My emphasis. 23   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 196. 24  Shlaim, War and Peace in the Middle East, pp. 11–12; Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, pp. 161–3; Fieldhouse, Western Imperialism in the Middle East, pp. 44–58. 25   Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, pp. 196–201.

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motion a series of demonstrations in November and December 1935 that were accompanied by demands for the formal recognition of Egyptian independence and the limitation of British rights in the country. After riots in which five students were killed, Radio Bari commented that ‘Britain has oppressed the Egyptians long enough. We hope the wounded will rapidly recover to fight another day for their independence, which is their holy and sacred duty’.26 Likewise, when the request by the Arabs of Palestine for the suspension of the Jewish migratory stream was turned down, an insurrection broke out in the spring of 1936, followed by a prolonged general strike lasting throughout the summer and into the autumn. Aspects of this will be touched upon in Chapter 4, with an analysis of the role played by the Fascist Regime in supporting, both politically and financially, the leaders of the Great Arab Uprising. For the time being, it should suffice to point out that Italian propagandist agents seized this opportunity both to sharpen ethnic hatred between the Arabs and the Jews and to deepen the fracture between the Palestinians and the British.27 It was reported on Radio Bari in October 1935, for example, that Jewish organisations had received an enormous quantity of arms and ammunition from Belgium. These weapons, which were ultimately intended for ‘Arab breasts’, had been packed in iron cement barrels and transported to Tel Aviv with the ‘complicity’ of the Mandatory Administration.28 ‘Is it possible for an individual to import five consignments in iron cement barrels without the knowledge of the Palestine Government? Is it possible that anyone takes the risk of smuggling unless he is definitely certain of his success?’ the wireless station asked rhetorically. ‘Smugglers, therefore, must have been in good understanding with the Government.’29 Radio Bari also adopted the line that Britain was forcing all the Arab countries under its rule to follow a policy which was against their own economic interests. The British Government was trying to drag Egypt into applying sanctions against Italy. ... Italy exports about £2,000,000 worth of goods to Egypt and buys 700,000 to 800,000 kantars of cotton annually. If Egypt allows itself to be advised by Britain and applies economic sanctions against Italy, Italy will do the same against Egypt and it will be Egypt and not Italy who will be the loser. The conditions of the fellah are bad enough as it is and the loss of such a good purchaser would bring ruin to Egyptian markets.30 26

  Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcast’, 16 November 1935, J 7918/110/16 FO 371/19078. 27   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 197. 28   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcast’, 31 October 1935, J 7653/110/16 FO 371/19077. 29   CO to FO, ‘Anti-British Broadcasts from Bari’, 11 November 1935, E 6678/293/31 FO 371/18958. 30   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcast’, 18 October 1935, J 6767/110/16 FO 371/19077.

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There was an ‘uncomfortable amount of truth’ in the argument advanced by the wireless station that the participation of Egypt in the application of sanctions would have a bad effect on Egyptian trade to embarrass the Foreign Office. The balance between Egypt and Italy had moved rapidly in favour of the former in recent years: in 1934, for example, Italian imports in Egypt had fallen by £53,000 to £2,039,000 while Egyptian exports to Italy had risen by £403,000 to £2,529,000.31 Moreover, no efforts were spared to underline the contrast between the positive role played by the Fascist Regime in defending the Muslims and the drastic measures adopted by His Majesty’s Government to oppress them.32 It was claimed, for instance, that ‘all the world knows that Italian colonial action is blessed by God and, at the same time, all the world knows that the rest of the Islamic world is suffering under British rule in Egypt and Palestine, but these are just two of many examples’.33 It is, however, very doubtful whether this aspect of Fascist propaganda had much effect on the Arab populations, since most of them still remembered the brutal repression of the Senussi. This underscores the importance of the question of why the campaign organised by the Italian Government was successful. What comes to light from the evidence available in the archival documents points to an important conclusion: the propaganda gained an audience in countries where it fell on fertile soil, such as Egypt and Palestine, because it was anti-British rather than pro-Italian.34 On the eve of the imposition of economic sanctions by the League of Nations, the gist of the messages became increasingly vicious and provocative, containing direct and deliberate incitements to rebellion. We still remember the good feeling which caused the Arabs to participate in the Great War of 1914. They were of opinion that they would acquire their independence and take away the Turkish yoke from their necks, but to their regret, they obtained nothing of this and all their thoughts became imagination and dreams. ... We hope that the Arabs will not lose the opportunity again and we wish them independence very soon.35

A memorandum prepared by the Foreign Office noted that the technique was not to project for the enlightenment of listeners the achievements of Italy at home, but to throw upon events abroad a light calculated to distort their significance and to emphasise selected features to the point of exaggeration at the expense 31

  Minute (the signature of the author is illegible), ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcast’, 19 October 1935, J 6767/110/16 FO 371/19077. 32   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, pp. 197–8; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 83. 33   Kelly to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt: Bari Radio Communication’, 10 September 1935, J 4626/110/16 FO 371/19074. 34   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, pp. 197–8. 35   MacDonald to Hoare, ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine and Transjordan’, 18 September 1935, E 5638/293/31 FO 371/18958.

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of Britain. The general impression was of a ‘well-balanced aggressive yet subtle presentation of carefully selected news items, often of dubious authority, dealing very largely with foreign affairs and edited with a strong ideological bias, distasteful to democratic countries and particularly disagreeable to Britain’.36 The nature of the disorders in Egypt and Palestine was grossly exaggerated to show Britain that, while it might block the Fascist military adventure in East Africa by closing the Suez Canal, Italy could still threaten the security and stability of vital centres of imperial communication by means of internal subversion.37 At the end of November, Radio Bari announced that Egypt was in a ‘state of complete revolt against Britain’ and expressed genuine sympathy for the ‘poor Egyptians, who [were] dragged about like lambs by those egoists [the British], who make a brave and brotherly nation like yourself suffer’. It promised that Fascist Italy would not stand by: ‘We shall open the eyes of all the Muslims throughout the world to this false, egoistical, cowardly and imperialistic policy, the British policy which holds more than three quarters of the Muslim world under its thrall.’ It was shameful of Britain to ‘fight for the independence of a savage people [the Ethiopians], while keeping a highly civilised people down’.38 At the same time, it was broadcast that the smuggling of arms and ammunition continued in the port of Haifa, and a wholly fictitious revolt against the Mandatory Administration was even described, in which ‘several casualties had taken place’.39 Indeed, it was widely believed in Rome that through these pressures Britain could be prevented from adopting more extreme measures at Geneva.40 As the Anglo-Italian dispute over Ethiopia reached boiling point, the broadcasts gained momentum and broadened beyond single attacks upon British policy in Egypt and Palestine. Misleading reports and inflammatory speeches denouncing British policy in the Middle East were broadcast daily by Radio Bari.41 The news of bloody fighting between British troops and local Muslims in Calcutta was reported by the wireless station, though it was not even faintly true. It is said that this fighting was provoked when the British troops decided to demolish a Muslim Mosque which was alleged to be built on land which is not Muslim property. Religious excitement took possession of the Muslims to 36   FO Memorandum written by Calvert, ‘Transmissions in Arabic from Radio Bari’, 20 October 1937, R 7027/1/22 FO 371/21162. 37   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 196. 38   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcast’, 19 October 1935, J 6963/110/16 FO 371/19077; ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcast’, 22 November 1935, J 8261/110/16 FO 371/19078. 39   Williams to Rendel, ‘Anti-British Broadcasts from Bari’, 18 November 1935, E 6826/293/31 FO 371/18958. 40   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 196. 41   Downie to Rendel, ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine: Italian Broadcasts from Bari’, 15 July 1935, E 4413/293/31 FO 371/18958.

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Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940 an extent that they attacked the British troops and bloody fighting took place in which about 16 Muslims were killed and 400 injured. Many people were arrested and troops had overcome the rioters when reinforcement was supplied and the rioters dispersed. We are sorry [concluded Radio Bari], to hear of such aggression from British troops, who have not respected the principle of religious inviolability. The day in which the oppressors will understand what is the result of oppression is coming.42

Diplomatic and colonial officials in London were painfully aware of these hostile activities, but for political reasons they contented themselves with merely monitoring the offensive Italian broadcasts. Although reports had reached them since the beginning of July 1935 that the Fascist Regime was ‘endlessly making mischief’ for them throughout the Middle East, they preferred to keep their ‘grievances on ice for the moment’, as they did not want to exacerbate the situation at a time when Anglo-Italian relations were already extremely tense.43 Nevertheless, when the High Commissioner to Egypt, Sir Miles Lampson, noted that ‘not content with stirring up racial feelings, the Italians seem to be ready to provoke a Jihad’, the Foreign Office agreed that the time had come to make a strong protest in Rome.44 Complaints, however, proved to be completely ineffective. On 22 November, for example, Drummond drew the attention of Suvich to excerpts from Radio Bari containing explicit instigations to violence. The Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs replied that there ‘was very little resemblance’ between the original Italian extracts and the British claims of what had been broadcast. He was therefore of the opinion that a clandestine transmitter was operating on the same wavelength.45 The Foreign Office then asked a technical expert from the General Post Office to conduct an investigation, but he quickly concluded that such a station did not exist. ‘The result seems to be that Signor Suvich’s references to clandestine transmissions were only made with the intention of putting us on a false scent.’46 Caught red-handed, he adopted another creative excuse by pointing out to Drummond that Radio Bari was run by a private company and, thus,

42   MacDonald to Hoare, ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine and Transjordan’, 18 September 1935, E 5638/293/31 FO 371/18958. My emphasis. 43   Minute written by Mallett, ‘Italian Propaganda in the Middle East: Broadcast from Bari on 11 June, 20 July 1935, E 4117/293/31 FO 371/18958. 44   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcast’, 18 November 1935, J 8261/110/16 FO 371/19078. 45   Drummond to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt: Radio Bari Broadcasts’, 22 November 1935, J 8320/110/16 FO 371/19078. 46   Minute (the signature of the author is illegible), ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcasts of Message Alleged to Have Been Authorised by the Pope’, 28 November 1935, J 7993/110/16 FO 371/19078.

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the central authorities could not interfere with its broadcasts since ‘preventive censorship [did not] exist in Italy’!47 It is now clear that the Ministry of Popular Culture was in charge of operational aspects (presenting budgets, allocating funds, giving instructions to offices and agencies), while the Ministry for Foreign Affairs was responsible for developing the guidelines for the administration of propaganda and for ensuring that these were pursued in compliance with the main objectives of Italian foreign policy.48 As protests proved to be fruitless and wireless programmes became increasingly malignant, the General Officer Commanding British Forces in Palestine and Transjordan proposed to jam Radio Bari. According to him, using naval vessels some 50 miles out at sea would render the location of the interfering station impossible to trace.49 British officials were, however, divided on the question. On the one hand, Drummond warned that deliberate jamming would be ‘greatly resented in Italy and likely to lead to fresh outbursts against us’.50 On the other, Lampson was of the opinion that ‘it was fatuous not to adopt what measures [were] open to us to prevent reception of subversive matter’.51 In the meantime, several interdepartmental meetings took place in London to discuss what steps had to be taken to contain the damage the inflammatory broadcasts had caused to British prestige in the region. They reached the conclusion that jamming was ‘technically possible but politically inadvisable’, since the source of interference could easily be detected. Consequently, His Majesty’s Government could be subjected to retaliatory measures by the Fascist Regime. The representative of the General Post Office observed that Italy was in a position to ‘interfere not only with our broadcasting, but with our naval and maritime wireless as well’. He also noted that jamming Radio Bari would involve ‘breaching two or three international regulations’. It was eventually agreed to include the cessation of hostile propaganda among the conditions for the withdrawal of battleships from the Mediterranean.52 The decision to prefer diplomacy to drastic action was in line with the general policy advocated by British strategists and planners at the time. The Chiefs of Staff were worried about the weakness of the imperial defence system and wanted to avoid a war in the Mediterranean. A direct military confrontation with Italy 47   Drummond to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcasts’, 17 March 1936, J 2395/191/16 FO 371/20133. 48   Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 3, 68. 49   CO to FO, ‘Anti-British Broadcasts from Bari: Proposed Jamming by HMS’, 25 October 1935, E 6373/293/31 FO 371/18958. 50   Drummond to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcasts’, 15 November 1935, J 7886/110/16 FO 371/19078. 51   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcasts’, 21 November 1935, J 8184/110/16 FO 371/19078. 52   CO to FO, ‘Anti-British Broadcasts from Bari’, 28 October 1935, E 6483/293/31 FO 371/18958.

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could result in the loss of major capital ships, weakening Britain’s capacity to prevent and/or win a war in the future. This would not only provide an invitation to Germany and Japan to exploit British difficulties, but could also have disturbing implications as far as British defence capabilities were concerned, resulting in the need to protect simultaneously both the Home and the Far Eastern waters. The perception of this strategic impasse was an essential precondition for Britain’s resolution to work for a general Anglo-Italian détente. It is the background against which British decisions not to jam Radio Bari and not to impose oil sanctions must be seen. It is also in this broader context that the Hoare-Laval Plan of December 1935, which offered the partition of Ethiopia and the establishment of a special Italian economic zone of influence in return for a truce, must be considered.53 This final effort to satisfy Italy’s demands in East Africa, coupled with secret intelligence reports that showed the British Government was clearly in no position to wage a large war, persuaded the Fascist Regime to moderate its wireless propaganda. By the beginning of 1936, in fact, the Foreign Office could minute that ‘Radio Bari has become much more reasonable lately’.54 Nonetheless, the lull in the storm did not last very long. When, in the spring of that year, the military campaign in Ethiopia reached a climax, British officials in the region noted the increasing frequency and more aggressive tone of the broadcasts. ‘It is evident that Italy’s wireless propaganda is again being intensified on a scale reminiscent of the drive in August–September 1935’, reported Lampson in April. ‘Campaign is taking the form of the specious argumentation that Egypt has no interest in provoking Italian hostility for the sake of Britain whose interest obviously is to make use of Egypt for its own imperial needs. ... References’, he added, ‘are made to the failure of British bluff, to success of Italy’s determined action, to weakness of Britain’s armament as compared with Italy’s etc.’55 The immediate object of this new wave of hostile propaganda was to put pressure on Britain in order to ‘let Italy go on to the end in East Africa’.56 So concerned was Mussolini not to miss – through eleventh-hour British interference – the long-awaited moment to realise his dream of establishing an empire that he instructed his agents to increase once again the intensity of the messages.57 Entirely   Pratt, East of Malta, West of Suez, p. 7; John Dunbabin, ‘The British Military Establishment and the Policy of Appeasement’, in Wolfgang Mommsen and Lothar Kettenacker (eds), The Fascist Challenge and the Policy of Appeasement (London, 1983), p. 181; Omissi, ‘The Mediterranean and the Middle East’, pp. 6–7; Gaines Post, Dilemmas of Appeasement: British Deterrence and Defence, 1934–1937 (Ithaca, 1993), pp. 118–9; Kolinsky, Britain’s War in the Middle East, pp. 17–18. 54   Minute (the signature of the author is illegible), ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcasts’, 2 January 1936, J 191/191/16 FO 371/20132. 55   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt’, 25 April 1936, J 3486/191/16 FO 371/20133. 56   DDI, 8th, vol. 3, 561, Mussolini to Grandi, 2 April 1936. 57   Ibid. 53

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false allegations of disturbances in Aden and Kenya were aired by the wireless station. ‘The revolt in Aden has assumed alarming proportion ... with more than 200 killed. ... The Governor of Kenya has proclaimed martial law throughout the colony to put down opposition to British domination.’58 Moreover, the conclusion of the Ethiopian War in May 1936 and the lifting of economic sanctions in July 1936 did not mean the suspension of the malignant wireless campaign. Although London hoped to return to normal relations with Rome, the violence and widespread destruction in Palestine provided fertile ground in which the Italian Government found plenty of opportunity to attack the extreme actions adopted by the Mandatory Administration to quell the revolt. ‘It is truly deplorable that innocent people, struggling for their independence should be so treated. ... British forces have automatically united with the police who are responsible for the re-establishment of order at the price of so much bloodshed.’ Fanning the flames, it also reported that ‘elsewhere we learn that Palestinian Arabs are killed by the local British authorities in order to protect the Jews’.59 Every piece of news or information detrimental to Britain, even if of questionable origin or authenticity, was collected to exploit British problems in the region. It is worth pointing out that, notwithstanding the fact that these allegations were exaggerated and presented in the ‘most lurid colours possible’, there was a definite basis of truth in the majority of them. ‘The real trouble about all these reports is that it is perfectly possible for the Italians to carry out extremely effective anti-British propaganda without producing any lies at all’, forcefully minuted Rendel. ‘They merely have to reproduce and underline the actual facts of the situation to obtain the effect they desire. ... My own conviction’, he declared, ‘is that our decision not to suspend Jewish immigration has done more to help Italian propaganda in Palestine ... than the expenditure of many hundred thousand of pounds.’60 British policy-makers could not in all honesty deny that in the process of suppressing crime and restoring order their soldiers had destroyed a great number of houses belonging to innocent Arabs in villages where outrages had occurred and that they had turned their machine guns against Arab bands, whose criminal intent had not even been proved. They were fully aware that their actions in Palestine were making them increasingly unpopular all through the Middle East, which was then considered a strategic unit. Events in one country threatened to act as a catalyst to an increasing extent on what was taking place in others. To 58   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcasts’, 26 February 1936, J 1910/191/16 FO 371/20133. 59   Kelly to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcasts’, 25 June 1936, J 5852/191/16 FO 371/20133; IO to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda against Policy of HMG in Palestine’, 24 September 1936, E 6354/94/31 FO 371/20027. 60   Minute written by Rendel, ‘Question of Italian Support for Palestine Arabs’, 18 November 1936, E 7178/8/31 FO 371/20018; ‘Italian Anti-British Propaganda in the Middle East and Possibility of Retaliatory Action’, 19 November 1937, E 6999/145/65 FO 371/20786.

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regain prestige in the area, promises were made to dispatch immediately after the restoration of law and order a Royal Commission under Lord Peel to investigate the political situation. Steps were also taken to consider some scheme to protect the Arabs from becoming economically and politically dominated by the Jews.61 The conclusion of the first phase of the Palestinian rebellion, in October 1936, combined with the realisation that the conflict in Ethiopia and the sending of troops and war materials to Spain had weakened rather than strengthened Italy, drove Mussolini to play for time and to make an attempt to reach a ‘rapid and complete understanding with His Majesty’s Government’.62 As the British regarded the cessation of the hostile propaganda a matter where the Italians could give tangible evidence of their good will and sincerity, Radio Bari was instructed to soften the tone of its broadcasts.63 From the winter of 1936 to the spring of 1937, it strictly confined its transmissions to stressing the importance of Mussolini’s official visit to Libya, in which he had claimed to be the Protector of Islam and accepted the Sword of Islam. ‘This voyage is the beginning of a new stage in the relationship between Italy and Islam. The Muslims, in accordance with their traditions, love in Mussolini the wisdom of the statesman united to the action of the warrior.’64 Although no efforts were spared to impress upon the Arabs the beneficence of Fascist Italy’s colonial administration, the story of the draconian methods used in Tripolitania and Cyrenaica was too fresh in the minds of the Muslims to be forgotten.65 Sir Reader Bullard, British Minister to Jedda, reported that, even if the ‘language was extravagant, the propaganda seemed to be merely pro-Italian and open to no objections on the part of His Majesty’s Government’.66 Nevertheless, after an interval of over five months, the wireless station resumed its subversive messages and Lampson had to inform the Foreign Office that ‘the anti-British propaganda was once again on the increase’.67 The Italian Government was of the opinion that only by making use of virulent propaganda could Britain be intimidated and forced 61   Memorandum written by Rendel, ‘Italian Anti-British Propaganda in the Middle East and Possibility of Retaliatory Action’, 19 November 1937, E 6999/145/65 FO 371/20786. 62   DDI, 8th, vol. 4, 278, p. 382; Ingram to Sargent, ‘Italian Foreign Policy with Special Reference to Anglo-Italian Relations’, 19 September 1937, R 5652/226/22 FO 371/20411. 63   FO to Drummond, ‘Italian Propaganda in the Middle East’, 18 December 1936, E 7924/3334/65 FO 371/19983. 64   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Radio Bari Broadcasts’, 13 March 1937, J 1402/70/16 FO 371/20901; ‘Counteraction of Italian Propaganda among Muslims’, 16 March 1937, P 1510/160/150 FO 395/554. 65   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Attitude of Italy towards Islam’, 25 March 1937, J 1552/70/16 FO 371/20901. 66   Bullard to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda in the Arabic Language’, 20 April 1937, R 3596/1/22 FO 371/21159. 67   Lampson to FO, ‘Anglo-Italian Relations: Effect of an Anglo-Italian Clash on Egypt’, 22 May 1937, R 3795/1/22 FO 371/21159.

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to offer concessions, such as de jure recognition of the Empire. Throughout the rest of the year, the substance of the news bulletins remained basically unchanged even though the intensity of the anti-British broadcasts varied according to the state of the discontinuous Anglo-Italian discussions on the subject of establishing a general détente.68 ‘It would seem’, correctly noted the Foreign Office, ‘that it is a tap which can be turned on or off at will.’ This is how it worked: ‘When the Fascist Regime was anxious for good relations with His Majesty’s Government or was disposed to thinking that it would be advantageous that an atmosphere conducive to good relations between the two countries should be created, the tap was turned off. When, however, it was thought that the contrary atmosphere would better suit its ends, it was turned on.’69 Consequently, when the Postmaster General duly announced in the House of Commons that, from January 1938, the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC) would undertake broadcasts in Arabic, the tap was once more turned on. Although he had made it clear that the BBC Arabic Service would consist of straight news and not propaganda, a violent reaction ensued in Italy. Mussolini, who was highly conscious of the unrest in Ethiopia and Libya, was worried that his government would be vulnerable to a Bari-style campaign should Britain decide to use its foreign-language broadcasts to stir up trouble for Rome in the Fascist Empire.70 The British Ambassador to Rome also reported that not only had wireless disturber transmitters been built in Sardinia with the object of jamming the BBC broadcasting station in Daventry, but that propagandist agents in Palestine and Transjordan were simultaneously endeavouring to ‘lock all the radio sets presented by them to the Arab cafés in order to prevent them from being tuned in to any station [apart from] Bari’.71 Highly detailed news items of entirely false reports on imaginary revolution in Transjordan and on fictitious aggression on the Saudi Arabian frontier were aired on Radio Bari.72 Virginio Gayda, the dictator’s official mouthpiece, was furthermore instructed to launch a press campaign in Il Popolo d’Italia against the proposed broadcasting enterprise, in which he claimed that the BBC Arabic Service was an ‘hostile attack against Italy’. He suggested that this initiative, which coincided with internal changes at the Foreign Office giving Anthony Eden an ‘immeasurably free hand’, was to be considered only the beginning of a new kind of campaign against the Fascist Regime. He objected that it was not in fact true that his country was conducting anti-British propaganda in the Middle East. He argued instead that it was with the purpose of concealing the   Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, pp. 88–9.   Minute (the document is not signed), ‘Italian Propaganda’, 3 January 1938, J 38/38/16 FO 371/21980. 70   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, pp. 203–4. 71   Frost to Leeper, ‘BBC’s Weekly Report on Arabic Broadcasts’, 16 February 1938, P 1036/2/150 FO 395/559. 72   CO to FO, ‘Palestine and Foreign Arabic Press and Anti-British Broadcasts’, 15 December 1937, E 7376/22/31 FO 371/20822. 68

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brutal repression of the Arabs of Palestine that the fable of the offensive Fascist publicity had been disseminated. ‘The incontrovertible reality’, Gayda concluded, ‘was that the difficulties experienced by Britain in the Middle East were not the result of the words broadcast by Italy, but the effect of the unjust policy pursued by His Majesty’s Government in the Holy Land.’73 The force of this reaction would suggest that the war of words between London and Rome was merely used to mask a more sinister imperial confrontation. The War of Words, 1938–40 The new BBC Service was inaugurated on 3 January 1938.74 The Fascist Regime’s retort was not the outbreak of jamming which was feared in London but the very best and most popular Arab singer, Miss Umm Kulthum, who came on the air from Bari just when the first bulletin was about to begin. It was, however, reported by British Intelligence that the famous Arab singer, who was believed to have been engaged at tremendous cost, turned to be only gramophone records of her!75 Following the launch of the BBC Arabic Service, Radio Bari also took several steps to improve its programmes. The time devoted to the broadcasts was increased from 40 to 50 minutes, and a 16-page magazine (Râdio Bâri-Radio Araba di Bari) was published by the Ministry of Popular Culture, containing articles and editorials dealing with the events of the month, in addition to details of future broadcasts. It was distributed widely in the streets and in the bazaars of the Middle East or mailed to key PO box holders. The publication aimed not only at advertising in Arabic the programmes from Bari, but also at promoting Fascist principles in the Muslim world. This initiative proved to be very successful, so much so that it was in fact noted by British representatives in the region that large numbers of these pamphlets had appeared on the counters of radio stores and on the tables of cafés.76 Attention was of course also devoted to the transmissions from what was by that time generally called ‘Radio Eden’.77 It was reported, for instance, that the British media themselves had admitted that Daventry had failed to eclipse the popularity 73

  Summaries of the articles can be found in Perth to FO, ‘British Broadcast Transmissions in Arabic: Italian Reaction’, 28 December 1937, R 8711/1/22 FO 371/21163; ‘Anglo-Italian Relations’, 4 January 1938, R 229/23/22 FO 371/22402. 74   The first introductory announcement of the BBC Arabic Service is at: www.bbc. co.uk/worldservice/history/-story/2007/02/070123_html_1930s.shtml 75   BBC to FO, ‘Reports on Arabic Broadcasts’, 22 April 1938, P 1614/2/150 FO 395/560. 76   Napier to Calvert, ‘Broadcast in Arabic by Italy’, 9 December 1937, P 72/2/150 FO 395/557; Frost to Warner, ‘BBC’s Weekly Report on Arabic Broadcasts’, 16 and 24 February 1938, P 1036 and P 1135/2/150 FO 395/559. 77  So despised was Eden in Italy that Achille Starace, the General Secretary of the Fascist National Party, even went so far as to instruct locals officials to change the name of an existing hotel in Rome from Hotel Eden in case any Italians mistakenly believed it

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of Bari. The talk from London could not make the Arabs of Palestine change their views about the British pro-Jewish policy, for example, and the propaganda counter-offensive was thus shown to have been ineffective. What most exasperated British decision-makers was the fact that, ironically, Arabs in all small villages and towns tended to listen to Radio Bari courtesy of His Majesty’s Government on wireless devices that had actually been distributed free of charge by them.78 The propaganda confrontation between the two countries was temporarily settled by the resignation of Eden from the Foreign Office and the determination of Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain to come to an understanding on all outstanding questions with Mussolini. Once the public enemy number one of the Fascist Government had gone, it was believed that the time might be favourable for an Anglo-Italian rapprochement, but since the Prime Minister was ‘staking his personal political position upon it’, the need to reach a complete agreement quickly was an imperative. Indeed, it was feared that, if this attempt failed, Chamberlain would be replaced by the opposition, which would very likely lead the nation to war against Italy. This perception induced Mussolini and Ciano to drop the anti-British campaign and to confine the messages of Radio Bari instead to the glorification of the Fascist Regime.79 ‘Since the Anglo-Italian negotiations began to make real progress, there has been a cessation of the violent anti-British propaganda from Radio Bari. ... The Arabic broadcasts have been confined to straight news’, observed the General Officer Commanding British Forces in Palestine and Transjordan.80 Talks between London and Rome were hurriedly started at the beginning of March. While His Majesty’s Government wished to eliminate tensions in the Mediterranean and the Middle East and to lessen the chances of a military alliance between Rome and Berlin, the Fascist Regime desired to play for time and to break the traditional Anglo-French solidarity.81 After weeks of high-level negotiations, the Easter Agreements were signed on 16 April: Britain promised de jure recognition of the Italian Empire in return for the cessation of the offensive

had been named after the hated British politician. Ugo Guspini, L’orecchio del regime: le intercettazioni telefoniche al tempo del fascismo (Milan, 1973), pp. 132–3. 78   Perth to FO, ‘Italian Press Comments on Arabic Broadcasts’, 11 January 1938, P 292/2/150 FO 395/557. 79   DDI, 8th, vol. 8, 215, Casardi to Grandi, 23 February 1938. 80   General Officer Commanding British Forces Palestine and Transjordan to Deputy Director of Intelligence Air Ministry (DDIAM), ‘Appreciation of Italian Activities in Palestine’, 27 May 1938, AIR 2/1813; Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt’, 12 May 1938, J 2047/38/16 FO 371/21981. 81   Morewood, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry’, p. 179; Alessandra Giglioli, Italia e Francia, 1936–1939: irredentismo e ultranazionalismo nella politica estera di Mussolini (Rome, 2001), p. 53.

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propaganda in the Middle East and the withdrawal of volunteers from the Spanish Civil War.82 Contrary to what has been written elsewhere, with the signing of the Easter Agreements the violent anti-British campaign did not cease completely.83 Although it is perfectly true that the Fascist Government endeavoured to maintain its influence in the Middle East by building schools and hospitals and by arranging subsidised tours to the Italian Peninsula, the organisation and personnel of its propaganda machine remained on ‘a war footing’ until the ratification of the Agreements in November 1938 and continued to vilify His Majesty’s Government.84 British representatives in the region recorded a recrudescence of the offensive campaign orchestrated by the Fascist Regime over the course of that summer. ‘The broadcasts were completely innocuous for months up to about the middle of July when a certain acidity of tone became noticeable.’85 It was insinuated that the impatience at the delay in the full implementation of the Agreements was ‘manifesting itself with renewed attacks on British policy in Egypt and Palestine’.86 It is worth reiterating that the intensity of the anti-British broadcasts varied according to the state of Anglo-Italian relations, and in this regard, the Italian incorporation of Albania in April 1939 proved to be a major turning point. Indeed, from then on His Majesty’s Government abandoned all hopes of restoring the traditional friendship that had once existed with Rome and sought instead to neutralise the Fascist threat both diplomatically and militarily. The significant deterioration of their bilateral relations, combined with the critical condition into which the international community was drifting after the German occupation of Czechoslovakia, led to an increasing tendency on the part of Daventry to indulge in malignant messages. Marshal Rodolfo Graziani, who has ruled Libya, has sentenced to death 8,000 Muslims. Marshal Emilio De Bono has clearly stated that those peoples who have been conquered by force should be treated with no mercy. That is what two prominent Fascists have done and claimed. ... Italy is ruthlessly and shamelessly stealing the land of the Muslims.87

82   It is important to note that the ratification of the Easter Agreements was made dependent on the settlement of the Spanish question. 83   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 204; Tedeschini Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba’, p. 749; De Felice, Il fascismo e l’Oriente, p. 21; Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy in the Middle East’, p. 208; Fabei, Il fascio, p. 90. 84   Lampson to Halifax, ‘Egypt: Annual Report, 1938’, 15 May 1939, J 2121/2121/16 FO 371/23366. 85   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt’, 19 July 1938, J 2887/38/16 FO 371/21981. 86   Minute written by Noble, ‘Anti-British Broadcast in Arabic from Radio Bari’, 14 September 1938, J 3550/38/16 FO 371/21981. 87   DDI, 8th, vol. 12, 279, Ciano to Crolla, 19 June 1939.

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Neither did the British Government miss the opportunity to underline the negative impact that the invasion of Albania would have on Italian prestige and influence in the Muslim world. Daventry transmitted a summary of an article in an Arabic newspaper in which the author had denied Mussolini the right to act the part of the Protector of Islam. It was further reported that about 30,000 people had demonstrated in the streets of Damascus, shouting: ‘There is but one God and Mussolini is his enemy.’ False allegations of disturbances in Libya which had resulted in many arrests were also aired by the station.88 Ciano complained with the Foreign Office about the hostile nature of these broadcasts, which blatantly contravened the spirit and clauses of the Easter Agreements, and decided to retaliate by disseminating objectionable material from Radio Bari.89 And in fact, Lampson noted that there had been ‘a gradual tendency’ on the part of Radio Bari to indulge in more frequent and more blatant offensive propaganda, especially in regard to the situation in Palestine.90 On 26 April 1939, the wireless station broadcasted that ‘the captains of the ships which were surprised landing Jews secretly in Palestine declared that they had done so at the bidding of the Mandate Authorities and with their agreement’.91 A broadcast from Radio Bari even went so far as to include a report of a rising in Transjordan that was quite fictitious.92 The War Office concluded that ‘the station was now intent on giving the Arabs, on the one hand, the impression that the British Government was being forced to concede Arab demands and, on the other, on fostering the belief that the British Government had no intention of fulfilling whatever pledges might be given when the policy for Palestine would be announced’.93 By that time, however, Radio Bari had already lost most of its popularity in the Middle East. This was partly due to the volte-face towards the Arabs and partly because of the realisation that the Fascist Regime had exploited their cause merely for its own benefit.94 They declined to be used any longer like a ‘commodity’ in the international bazaar and 88   Italian Embassy Berlin to MFA, ‘Emissioni di propaganda della radio inglese’, 17 April 1939, German War Documents Project: Captured Italian Records (GFM) 36/82 Report 75; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 150. 89   DDI, 8th, vol. 12, 279, Ciano to Crolla, 19 June 1939. 90   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Anti-British Propaganda’, 14 April 1939, R 2898/1/22 FO 371/23785. 91   Minute written by Harper, ‘Italian Anti-British Propaganda’, 8 May 1939, R 4207/1/22 FO 371/23785. 92   Parliamentary Question by Wilfrid Roberts, ‘Italian Anti-British Propaganda: Bari Broadcasts’, 19 June 1939, R 5020/1/22 FO 371/23786. 93   War Office to FO, ‘Anti-British Propaganda in the Middle East’, 8 May 1939, P 1808/114/150 FO 395/650. 94   ACS, Ministero della Cultura Popolare (MinCulPop), Reports 1922–1945, b. 7, f. 75, ‘Nuovo notiziario in lingua inglese dell’EIAR’, Mazzolini to Ministry of Popular Culture, 30 May 1939; Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Anti-British Propaganda’, 14 April 1939, R 2898/1/22 FO 371/23785.

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preferred to trust instead the new German short-wave transmitter in Zeesen, whose favourite stratagem was to broadcast stories so fantastic that they would catch the listener’s imagination and be repeated by word of mouth from village to village. ‘You Arabs are great tea drinkers’, one characteristic atrocity story began. ‘Your tea comes from British India. We have positive information that British agents are colouring your tea with hog’s blood.’95 The perfect combination of anti-Semitic messages and oriental music won the station a large following almost instantly. To cite just another example, in the winter of 1938, attention was drawn to the hypocrisy of the western nations. It was argued that this was evident from the way in which, while vociferously expressing their indignation over the persecution of the Jews under the Nazi Regime, they had remained remarkably silent about ‘the inhuman methods of the British authorities against the Arabs, on whom they [had attempted] to force an alien people without a shade of justification by destroying their houses, pouring petrol on their food supplies, and exposing them ruthlessly to famine’.96 Press Propaganda: The Anti-British Activities of Shakib Arslan and Ugo Dadone Another important tactic used in the anti-British campaign in Egypt and Palestine, although with a more limited range, was the dissemination of hostile information through the press. Indeed, during this period, Fascist agents were actively engaged in subsidising vernacular papers, bribing reporters, supplying a free news service, and distributing subversive pamphlets. To better illustrate this process, this section will examine in detail the activities of the two leading pro-Italian and anti-British propaganda promoters: the Emir Shakib Arslan and Ugo Dadone. As has already been noted at the beginning of this chapter, the initial aim of this offensive was to efface the memory of the brutal repression of the Libyan Resistance Movement from Arab minds and to restore Italy’s image, which had been seriously damaged by the drastic measures adopted by the Fascist Regime in Tripolitania and Cyrenaica. In pursuance of these goals, an attempt was made to enlist the services of the Emir Shakib Arslan, one of the foremost Arab writers and President of the Syrian-Palestinian Delegation at the League of Nations in Geneva, from where he worked with tireless energy to promote the freedom of the Arabs and the independence of Muslims by not only bombarding the Mandates Commission with petitions, but also by submitting inflammatory articles to European and Middle Eastern journals, in which he vehemently condemned the oppressive colonialism of western powers. His articles numbered between 80 and 100 per year. To cite just one telling instance, in one of his many editorials published in the early 1930s, he complained vigorously about the atrocities committed by the Fascist Regime against the Arab tribes of Libya:   Quoted in Rolo, Radio Goes to War, pp. 42–3.   Quoted in Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 184.

95 96

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The way peaceful populations have been treated under the pretext that their fellow countrymen had joined the resistance groups will not attract much sympathy to an Italy avid for expansion. This unprecedented example will always be remembered as something that violates human rights, war conventions and any law regulating human society.97

With the publication of his own polemical periodical, La Nation Arabe, his opinions were able to find a regular outlet. The paper, founded at the beginning of 1930 with his long-time collaborator Ihsan Al-Jabiri and intended to be the voice of the whole Arab nation, quickly achieved a prominent position in the new current of pro-Islamic self-assertiveness that was then sweeping through the Mediterranean and the Middle East, making him the mentor for the up-and-coming generation of Arab nationalists.98 Nevertheless, no matter how successful or influential the publication was, this undertaking proved to be too ambitious as far as Arslan’s personal finances were concerned, in view of the fact that he was the major investor. When in the winter of 1932 he fell on hard times, he became easy prey for Fascist agents who, taking advantage of his precarious financial situation, induced him to change his wellknown tune and to present the colonial administration of the Regime in a more favourable light.99 Although he had already acknowledged in the spring of 1933 the policy of reconciliation that the Italian Government was pursuing to make up for the wrong done to the Arabs of Libya, it was only at the beginning of 1934, when he was invited to Rome to define with Mussolini the terms of his collaboration with the Fascist Regime, that a common agenda was decided upon: Arslan agreed to stop the anti-Italian press propaganda in return for the Duce’s promise to reduce the pressure on the Muslims of Libya and to advance the Arab cause before the international community. Considerable funds were also provided for the inciting of serious disturbances in Palestine.100 This Italian financial support for the Palestinians will be the main focus of Chapter 4. Here, it only needs to be emphasised that the Fascist Regime financed the Palestinian National Movement, through Arslan and Al-Jabiri, long before the invasion of Ethiopia and the rift with Britain. Apart from financial contributions to his publication (he was granted a sum of IT₤2,000,000 per annum for a period of three–four years), it was his frustration with the suffocating presence of the British and the French that drove the   Quoted in Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 199.   William Cleveland, Islam Against the West: Shakib Arslan and the Campaign for Islamic Nationalism (London, 1985), p. 68; Martin Kramer, ‘The Arab Nation of Shakib Arslan’, Middle Eastern Studies, 23/4 (1987): pp. 529–33. 99   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1059 (742), ‘Appunto in data 29 marzo 1933’, Aloisi to Mussolini, 29 March 1933; b. 724 (407), ‘Appunto di Aloisi per Mussolini’, Aloisi to Mussolini, 7 July 1933. 100   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto per il capo del governo: movimento arabo’, Suvich to Mussolini, 4 September 1934. 97 98

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‘Prince of Eloquence’, notwithstanding well-founded reservations about the real intentions of the Fascist Regime, to accept the challenge to turn Mussolini from a threat into an opportunity and from ‘the villain of Libya ... into the champion of modern Islam’.101 It was an alliance born of convenience that eventually developed into a working relationship based on overlapping interests. The Duce could give assistance to Arslan in his attempts to further Arab grievances and aspirations, while the latter could support the former in his efforts to enhance his prestige and influence in the Middle East. Arslan therefore abandoned his previous position of violent condemnation of the Italian colonial administration in North Africa and, throughout the second half of the 1930s, confined his attacks to the ‘real’ enemies of the Arab cause and the Muslim faith, namely the two nations that between them controlled most of the territories from Morocco to Iraq: Britain and France.102 London and Paris were constantly blamed for having crushed the wartime hopes of the Arab states for self-determination, by means of the mandate system and the burden of unequal treaties. At the same time, Arslan sought to persuade his audience that Italy was the only power upon which the Arabs could pin their hopes of ridding the Middle East of the despotic British and French domination.103 Thus, when the Italian Army entered Ethiopia, he refused to take a stand against Rome, but tried instead to convince his fellow Arabs that the annexation of this country should be welcomed by all who were concerned with the fate of the Muslims, since the intervention of the Italian Government would eventually bring about an enlightened Islamic policy.104 Nonetheless, no one in the Arab world could forget that he had been, for over ten years, the most implacable critic of the ruthless methods that had been adopted in North Africa to restore law and order. Given all this, it is hardly surprising that his unexpected collaboration with Rome subjected him, as well as his press campaign, to fierce criticism ‘severely undermining the efficacy of his activities and the strength of his messages’. Although he strenuously attempted to defend his integrity and reputation, his explanations could not overcome the outrage generated by his sudden and abrupt conversion from his original position of irreconcilable hostility to a new-found enthusiasm for the colonial policy of the Italian Government.105 As William Cleveland conclusively remarks, for those who were unconvinced by his personal defence ‘there was only one other possibility, that he had betrayed his principles for money’.106 The widespread suspicion that his personal finances had somehow benefited from his partnership with the Italian 101   Cleveland, Islam against the West, p. 137; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 78. 102   Cleveland, Islam against the West, p. 135. 103   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda in the Near East’, 29 May 1936, E 3334/3334/65 FO 371/19983. 104   Cleveland, Islam against the West, pp. 145–6. 105   Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 81. 106   Cleveland, Islam against the West, p. 149.

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Government turned out to be very well-founded when on 18 April 1935 the Palestinian newspaper Al Jamiya Al Islamiya published a photostatted reproduction of a letter that the editor alleged had been written by Arslan to Muhammad Amin Al-Husseini, the Mufti of Jerusalem: I am now satisfied from the recent interview with, and the promise given by, Mussolini in person. ... It has therefore been agreed that propaganda for Italy in the Arab countries should be proceeded with at once. ... I have been paving the way and you will see it in the next number of the La Nation Arabe. In my opinion we should seize the opportunity afforded by the dispute between Italy and Ethiopia in order to show the Islamic world the evils being perpetrated by the Ethiopians towards the Mohammedans. The Ministry for Press and Propaganda will furnish us with some information to our newspapers for publication.107

The publication of this letter aroused great agitation in the nationalistic circles of Palestine, who were split in two over the issue. This is not the place, however, to analyse the violent discussions and mutual recriminations that the letter provoked in the Arab press between the Husseini (pro-Italian) and the Nashashibi (antiItalian) factions. It should suffice here merely to point out that, whether forged or authentic, ‘the sentiments expressed in the letter could reasonably have come from the Emir’.108 Moreover, after the publication of the letter, Arslan either inspired or published a series of articles in the Palestinian newspaper Al Jamiya Al Arabiya praising the Fascist Regime’s pro-Arab voting record at the League of Nations and explaining how an alliance with Italy would benefit both the Arab and Muslim cause, simply adding force to the general feeling that he had worked to order.109 Consequently, ‘no matter how often or how vehemently he disavowed his authorship of the epistle, his activities only reinforced the notion that he could have written it’.110 Harry Patrick Rice, Deputy Inspector General of the British Criminal Investigation Department of the Palestine Police Force, also reported that Al-Jabiri had privately admitted that the Syrian-Palestinian Delegation in Geneva and the Fascist Regime had reached an agreement the previous year: Italy would ease the pressure on the Muslims of Libya while in return the Arab press would cease the campaign against the alleged atrocities in North Africa. Al-Jabiri had confidentially declared that Mussolini had promised to support the Palestinian

107   Williams to Rendel, ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine’, 5 June 1935, E 3519/293/31 FO 371/18958. 108   Cleveland, Islam against the West, p. 148. 109   Williams to Rendel, ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine’, 5 June 1935, E 3519/293/31 FO 371/18958. 110   Cleveland, Islam against the West, p. 148.

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National Movement in its fight against both the Mandatory Administration and the Zionist Movement.111 The effect and extent of this close collaboration caused great apprehension in London, especially after Al Jamiya Al Islamiya published another extract of the letter from Arslan urging the Mufti of Jerusalem to abandon his friendly policy towards the British in Palestine and join the ranks of the opposition. Flattery, bribery and policy are useless with the British. No one can trick them for they are the cleverest tricksters. You cannot conquer them by sentiments and proofs. Softness is a language which the British do not understand. They understand only opposition. Therefore, I believe that your sticking to the friendship of this people will make you lose your influence not only with the people of your country in Palestine but with other people as well.112

The fear that Arslan could exploit the tension between the Mandatory Administration and the Palestinian National Movement to undermine British prestige and replace it with Italian influence drove His Majesty’s Government to employ more resources to contain the malignant propaganda. Although British authorities appeared to have been somewhat slow in responding, it was agreed in the spring of 1937 that Arab and Jewish newspapers were to be rigidly censored, in an attempt to defuse the explosive situation in Palestine. Fourteen dailies and weeklies were suspended for periods running from one week to two months. This course of action proved to be very effective in arresting the spread of anti-British materials because, for fear of having their activities curtailed, the Arab press subsequently refrained from publishing any more offensive articles. Although the Italian Government delivered large supplies of printing paper gratis and still regularly paid advertisements and subsidies, it was widely thought that this type of propaganda was not worth the risk of yet another period of inactivity. The suspension of the Arabic newspapers Al Liwa and Al Jamiya Al Islamiya, the chief Fascist organs in Palestine, was a heavy blow for Italian propagandist agents.113 Despite its initial hostility, by the summer of 1937, Al Jamiya Al Islamiya had become the ‘propaganda mouthpiece’ of the Fascist Regime. The newspaper had in fact adopted a decidedly pro-Italian tone during the 1936 Great Arab Uprising, and on the occasion of Mussolini’s trip to Libya in March 1937 its Syrian-Lebanese editor, Mohammed Jalal Al-Ouf, had been one of the foreign journalists invited to accompany the Duce in its travel. A subsequent visit to Rome, during which he had met Dino Alfieri, the Minister of Press and Propaganda, had resulted in 111

  Williams to Rendel, ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine’, 5 June 1935, E 3519/293/31 FO 371/18958. 112   Ibid. 113   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Palestine, b. 22, f. 2, ‘Autorità mandatarie contro la stampa araba’, Mazzolini to MFA, 27 May 1937; General Staff of Intelligence to Deputy Director of Intelligence Air Ministry, ‘Italian Activities in Palestine’, 30 July 1937, AIR 2/1813.

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his services being obtained for the propaganda campaign in Palestine. This was however carried out too transparently and impertinently and merely resulted in the decision of the Mandatory Administration first to suspend the newspaper for two months and then to deport the editor. However, once expelled from Palestine, AlOuf did not cease his activities altogether, but established a press and advertisement bureau in Damascus for the diffusion of anti-British and pro-Italian propaganda entirely financed by Rome.114 The General Staff Intelligence also ascertained that the Fascist Regime had come to an agreement with certain Arab newspapers in Egypt, Palestine and Syria to publish news telegrams which were to be handed to them through the consulates. These telegrams had at first sight the appearance of ordinary news items, but would in reality boost Italy at the expense of Britain in relation to the treatment of Muslims in general and of Arabs in particular. The plan was to pay the newspapers for publishing these telegrams at advertisement rates, which naturally varied according to the status and circulation of the particular journal.115 It was further discovered that Dr Alessandro Mombelli, a Swiss ecclesiastic and resident priest at the German Hospice of Jerusalem, was acting as a ‘go-between’ for Italian authorities and Arab journalists. Under the cloak of religion, he was the main source in Palestine supplying propaganda material to Italy as well as a correspondent for Catholic newspapers in practically all the European countries. When press censorship was introduced, the Criminal Investigation Department found that he was sending adverse reports on the conduct of British forces in Palestine, together with pictures of atrocities allegedly committed by them, to the Stefani Agency in Cairo.116 Turning now to Ugo Dadone’s role in the anti-British propaganda campaign in Egypt, it is helpful to start with an evaluation of the framework within which this campaign was pursued, by first examining the memorandum prepared by Emilio Pagliano, Italian Minister to Cairo, in the spring of 1935. This important document, addressed to the Under-Secretariat of Press and Propaganda, formulated a coherent strategy designed both to contain the dissemination of damaging material and to facilitate the diffusion of favourable information. Pagliano, concerned by the growing hostility of the local press regarding the dispute between Italy and Ethiopia, had recommended a more active involvement in Egyptian political and intellectual affairs by establishing closer relations with some of the major vernacular newspapers, especially with those that advocated the complete and total independence of the country. After having underlined the proverbial laziness 114

 General Staff of Intelligence to Deputy Director of Intelligence Air Ministry, ‘Italian Activities in Palestine’, 30 September 1937, AIR 2/1813. 115  General Staff of Intelligence to Deputy Director of Intelligence Air Ministry, ‘Italian Activities in Palestine’, 30 July 1937, AIR 2/1813. 116   CO to FO, ‘Palestine Police Summary’, 6 March 1936, E 1293/19/31 FO 371/20018; ‘Anti-British Activities of Dr. Mombelli’, 12 September 1939, E 6479/102/65 FO 371/23912.

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of the local journalists and the great carelessness with which they tended to misappropriate other people’s work, he suggested that Rome should provide the papers with ‘complete articles and bulletins already typed in perfect Arabic and tailored to the taste of the general public and conforming to the peculiar style of each newspaper’. He had naturally advised that the activities should be undertaken in absolute secrecy by well-informed and reliable agents with no apparent links to Italian representatives in Egypt. It was the sense of urgency resulting from this assessment which persuaded the Fascist Regime that there was no time to lose.117 Ciano immediately translated the proposals into practical politics by ordering his officials to set up a propaganda machine directly under the control of the Italian Consulate in Cairo with the object of making use of every manifestation of Egyptian nationalism to cause embarrassment to Britain.118 Dadone, former Chief Editor of the Giornale d’Oriente and personal friend of Mussolini, was asked to run the covert operation. He was appointed Director of the Agence de l’Egypte et de l’Orient, a telegraphic news agency expressly created for the circulation of pro-Italian and anti-British propaganda, and bureaux were opened in Cairo and Alexandria in September 1935 with no regard for cost. The Cairo bureau, for example, had a luxurious 12-roomed apartment in the city centre at its disposal and paid lavish salaries to its numerous members of staff, composed mainly of Syrians.119 The news agency issued daily bulletins in Arabic and French, edited in collaboration with the Legation, not only on Fascist Italy’s foreign policy but also on the situation in the Arab countries, and these were distributed gratis, or for a nominal subscription charge, throughout the local press. The Agence de l’Egypte et de l’Orient made use of its despatches of information collected from reports forwarded by correspondents from all over the Mediterranean and Middle East and from intercepts supplied from clandestine wireless sets. The bureaux were also the main vehicle for manipulating the Arab and French press, which often published articles sent from Rome.120 It soon became clear that the news agency, supported by a well-connected network of agents and coordinated by the Italian consular authorities, was involved in more subversive activities. Lampson informed the Foreign Office that ‘its other function consists in buying up newspapers and journalists with a view to their

117   Pagliano to Ciano, ‘Riferimento a telegramma no. 50 del 17 corrente’, 24 March 1935, GFM 36/68 Report 38. 118   Rosaria Quartararo, Roma tra Londra e Berlino. La politica estera fascista dal 1930 al 1940 (2 vols, Rome, 2001), vol. 1, p. 316. 119   Kelly to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt’, 2 September 1935, J 4367/110/16 FO 371/19074; Lampson to Eden, ‘Egypt: Annual Report, 1935’, 13 May 1936, J 4695/4695/16 FO 371/20151. 120   Nonis to Ministry of Press and Propaganda (MPP), ‘Organizzazione servizio stampa’, 19 July 1935, GFM 36/68 Report 38; Quartararo, Roma tra Londra e Berlino, vol. 1, p. 316.

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making pro-Italian propaganda’.121 The High Commissioner had reason to believe that Dadone had secured the collaboration of the most popular Arabic newspaper, Al Ahram, in return for sums of money that remained unspecified.122 This allegation was later corroborated by intelligence intercepts of Italian diplomatic traffic. These provided proof that the Ministry of Press and Propaganda had authorised the Legation in Cairo to withdraw from the fund at its disposal E£100 for the news agency to be used with the Al Ahram.123 Though the funds at the disposal of the Legations in Cairo and Alexandria were relatively small, given the favourable exchange rate and the low cost of living, they still guaranteed ample room for manoeuvre. From June 1935 to June 1940, Rome credited IT₤70,000 a month to a special account of the Banca d’Italia for a total of IT₤840,000 a year.124 These attempts at bribery took the form of short-term subsidies to proprietors/editors or of generous tips to subordinate members of staff who acted without the knowledge of their superiors. Whatever the arrangements, the consequences were evident: ‘Between two versions of the same incident, the sub-editor making up his sheet would choose the Italian [one] because he found it in his interest to do so’.125 In addition to receiving cash payments, the ‘friendly’ papers were rewarded with steady revenues from Italian advertising, of which the Agence de l’Egypte et de l’Orient was the sole agency in Egypt. Not surprisingly, this proved to be a highly ‘effective means of keeping them sweet’.126 The real propaganda, however, was far more subtle, noted David Kelly, the Acting High Commissioner: It consists ... in exploiting every impulse of Egyptian nationalism embarrassing to ourselves: raising the issue of the Constitution, of Parliament and of a Treaty; suggesting that Britain’s need is Egypt’s opportunity to press its claim for complete independence; asserting Egypt’s rights as guardian of the Suez Canal; threatening these and all other achievements of national sovereignty with extinction in a maelstrom of martial law and the return of conditions indistinguishable from – or alarmingly reminiscent of – those of 1914; working, finally, by all and every means for the discredit of a Cabinet with which we are popularly associated, whose collapse would they may think be followed by 121   Lampson to FO, ‘Activities in Egypt of Commendatore Ugo Dadone’, 22 November 1935, J 8478/110/16 FO 371/19078. 122   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt’, 14 October 1935, J 6760/110/16 FO 371/19077. 123   Rome to Cairo, ‘Italian Subsidy for Egyptian Newspaper’, 3 July circulated 8 July 1936, BJ 065486 HW 12/205. 124   ACS, MinCulPop, Gab. b. 10, f. 79, ‘Propaganda in Egitto’, Mazzolini to Luciano, 2 February 1938; Tedeschini Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba’, p. 744. 125  George Martelli, Whose Sea? A Mediterranean Journey (London, 1938), pp. 169– 70. 126   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Activities of Signor Dadone’, 27 January 1936, J 1335/191/16 FO 371/20132.

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Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940 the advent to office of a Palace Government uncommitted to a conformity of attitude in the event of hostilities. All this, with more obvious exploitation of Egyptian complexes and fears, is designated to create a state of mind favourable to Egyptian neutrality and hostile to intervention against Italy.127

After the Italian invasion of Ethiopia and the British support for the League of Nations, the propaganda campaign gained momentum, taking the line that, in view of Britain’s preoccupation over the possible implications of the dispute for its strategic position in the Middle East, the time was ripe for the Egyptian people to press for the fulfilment of their aspirations. Consequently, when relations between London and Cairo began to deteriorate dramatically, the Agence de l’Egypte et de l’Orient sought to take advantage of anti-British feelings by appealing to nationalist journalists to join in the ‘battle against the common enemy’.128 For their part, the British began to map the network created by the Fascist Regime in Egypt through their own channels and agents. It was reported that an emissary had appealed to the editor of the Wafdist Al Jehad to realise that Italy and Egypt were united in enmity to Britain, offering him a deal in which the Giornale d’Oriente would supply news and articles to Al Jehad and meet any cost incurred by the newspaper.129 Dadone, however, had not devoted his attention exclusively to the press. Through the mediation of Anis Daoud, translator of the newspaper Kawkab El Sharq, he had also reached many prominent Egyptians, recommending them to form vocal committees to claim complete self-determination for the country.130 Secret police reports showed that he had been successful in enlisting the cooperation of the President and Secretary of the Young Egypt Society, assuring them that Italy was prepared to back the aspirations of all those groups whose demands could undermine British prestige in the region, ‘even to the extent of assisting a revolution to secure their full independence’.131 Dadone had also provided them with funds for reviving their defunct newspaper Al Sarkha with a view to inflaming Egyptian public opinion even further against Britain.132 Additionally, he had instructed one of his agents to procure for him a list of names of lecturers and students at the Al-Azhar University in Cairo with the intention of inciting them to 127   Kelly to Campbell, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt’, 2 September 1935, J 4443/110/16 FO 371/19074. 128   Campbell to Kelly, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt’, 22 August 1935, J 3952/110/16 FO 371/19074. 129   Kelly to Campbell, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt’, 13 September 1935, J 5083/110/16 FO 371/19075. 130   Lampson to FO, ‘Activities in Egypt of Commendatore Ugo Dadone’, 22 November 1935, J 8478/110/16 FO 371/19078. 131   Kelly to FO, ‘Pro-Italian and Anti-British Campaign: Young Egypt Society’, 4 September 1935, J 4831/110/16 FO 371/19075. 132   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt’, 2 November 1935, J 7632/110/16 FO 371/19077.

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create trouble by strikes and demonstrations. Authenticated reports were further received by the British of arrangements for sabotage, particularly in oil depots and aerodromes, should hostilities break out.133 It is worth reiterating here the important point that the campaign orchestrated by Rome actually proved to be more successful in arousing hostility to His Majesty’s Government than sympathy for Fascist Italy. Even though all the Arab leaders were ardent nationalists who hated the protecting nation and manifested the deepest and most sincere admiration for the Fascist Regime, they did not try to bring about political changes in favour of Italy, but simply tended to create nuisances and complications for the British.134 It was within this poisoned atmosphere that British authorities experienced the violent demonstrations that took place through the streets of Cairo in November and December 1935 protesting against the interference of His Majesty’s Government in the internal affairs of the country. Five people were killed and 82 wounded as a result. Rome was accused of exploiting the social and political turmoil by supplying arms to the rebels, but in reality, the reason for the disorders was more complex than this would suggest.135 By overestimating the effect and extent of the propaganda and espionage campaign and by placing the source of the threat outside the Middle East, British officials failed to realise that the true cause of the public discontent was actually Egyptian dissatisfaction with their political and military presence.136 The fact that the British seriously exaggerated the nature of the danger is further confirmed by the substantial evidence that emerges from files contained in the diplomatic archives. Contrary to what was widely believed in London at the time, the amounts of money employed to win over the proprietors/ editors and the journalists of the Arab papers and to influence the politicians were relatively small.137 This confirms the impression that the general results achieved by the Fascist Regime in the field of propaganda dwarfed the costs involved. If this interpretation is correct, then its success in inflaming public opinion against Britain was mainly due to the Arab populations’ feelings of resentment towards His Majesty’s Government’s policy in the region rather than to any other factor. In the final analysis, it was in the interests of the Arab nationalists to play the Italian game in order to win concessions from the British Government either because 133   Lampson to FO, ‘Activities in Egypt of Commendatore Ugo Dadone’, 22 November 1935, J 8478/110/16 FO 371/19078; Lampson to Eden, ‘Egypt: Annual Report, 1936’, 28 July 1937, J 3522/3522/16 FO 371/20919. 134   Lampson to Eden, ‘Egypt: Annual Report, 1935’, 13 May 1936, J 4695/4695/16 FO 371/20151. 135   Lampson to FO, ‘Negotiations between Egyptian Students and Italian ConsulGeneral in Cairo’, 4 January 1936, J 417/191/16 FO 371/20132. 136   Tedeschini Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba’, p. 718; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 74. 137   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 557 (240), f. 2, ‘Servizio stampa: accordi con giornali locali’, Ghigi to MPP, 31 August 1936.

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the money aspect of the business was irresistible to newspapers and journalists or because their own political tactics were fated to coincide with the campaign organised and subsidised by Rome. Unlike Palestine, where more forceful measures were undertaken only after a considerable period of time, the Foreign Office reacted instantly to counteract the subversive activities that had such a negative influence on the cultural and political environment of a country that represented the vital junction of their sea and air communications to Africa and Asia. At the beginning of October 1935, Lampson approached the new Italian Minister to Cairo, who denied personal involvement in the anti-British campaign and gave categorical assurances that ‘neither by word nor by deed’ had any member of the Legation attempted to pay money to the Egyptian press. Far from having done what he was accused of, he had actually prevented the news agency from publishing bulletins that were ‘unwise and unfriendly’ to Britain.138 Further denials were made in London by the Counsellor at the Italian Embassy, who suggested to Ronald Campbell of the Foreign Office that the allegations were part of an astute campaign by Egyptian nationalists aimed at exploiting the precarious relations between Britain and Italy in order to obtain concession from His Majesty’s Government.139 As the diplomatic démarches proved to be remarkably unfruitful, it was suggested that it might be more effective to secure the removal of Dadone from Egypt, since his presence there ‘could only contribute to political agitation and unrest’.140 Nonetheless, Sir Alexander William Keown-Boyd, the Director General of the European Department at the Egyptian Ministry of Interior, dissuaded London from taking this action. He was of the opinion that it was better to retain Dadone, whose agents and activities were by then well-known to them, than to expel him. This disciplinary measure would only have induced the Italian organisation to adopt a less controllable form of propaganda. ‘I am anxious to keep Dadone’, wrote the Director General in January 1936. ‘We have him fairly well taped and it is better to know just where you are than to be compelled to search into new organisations. I am in fact rather afraid of losing him in any case.’ Under these circumstances, London decided to be guided by his advice, and consequently it was decided not to take steps to have him removed.141 Given the fact that formal complaints were ineffective and drastic measures were ruled out, His Majesty’s Government was forced to employ other resources to curb the wave of anti-British propaganda that had swept the region. By the spring of 1936, it was finally realised that the best way to counter this offensive 138

  Lampson to FO, ‘Egypt and the Italo-Ethiopian Dispute: Italian Propaganda’, 7 October 1935, J 5785/110/16 FO 371/19076. 139   Minute written by Campbell, ‘Alleged Organisation of the Senussi by His Majesty’s Government: Italian Propaganda’, 29 October 1935, J 7075/110/16 FO 371/19077. 140  Hoare to Lampson, 1 November 1935, 994/84/35 FO 141/659/6. 141   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda: Activities of Signor Dadone’, 27 January 1936, J 1335/191/16 FO 371/20132.

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campaign was to grant significant political concessions to the Arabs of Egypt and Palestine. Consequently, on 26 August 1936, Britain signed with the Egyptian Government a new treaty that satisfied the aspirations of the nationalist public opinion. The successful conclusion of the negotiations marked a new era in Anglo-Egyptian relations and completely undermined the efficacy and strength of the anti-British messages disseminated by the Italian agents. The treaty, which addressed the four reserved points of 1922 (control of the Suez Canal, Egyptian defence against foreign aggression, protection of foreign affairs and minority rights, and Sudan), produced a 20-year military alliance between Britain and Egypt. All British troops would be evacuated from Egypt except those necessary for the protection of the Suez Canal. Moreover, in the event of war, Britain had the right to use all Egyptian facilities. It was further agreed that Britain would supply and train the Egyptian Army and that the two states would cooperate in foreign affairs. After the signing of this important treaty, the vast majority of Egyptians started to look to Britain both as a protector against the Italian threat from Libya and Ethiopia and as a powerful friend on the international stage on which Egypt was now making its first independent appearance.142 This, taken in conjunction with the cessation of the Ethiopian War, convinced the Fascist Regime subsequently to streamline the structure of its propaganda machine and to slash its expenses. The methods employed previously were considered to have been extremely costly and particularly ineffective too. An analysis of the expenses for the subsidies to the newspapers and the journalists illustrates this sharp change of policy. Greater expenses were recorded in 1935 (E£1,694 for the newspapers and E£379 for the journalists only during the last six months) and in 1936 (E£3,731 for the newspapers and E£1,099 for the journalists), while from 1937 onwards the expenses were halved (E£1,677 for the newspapers and E£375 for the journalists), with a blip in 1939 (E£2,082 for the newspapers and E£94 for the journalists), when Anglo-Italian tension once again reached its peak. By then, those working on behalf of the Italian Government had to content themselves with financing smaller and less influential papers and bribing minor staff of the Arabic papers to reproduce appropriate pro-Italian material.143 Although during the second half of 1936 the Agence de l’Egypte et de l’Orient continued to be extremely active, Lampson admitted that ‘it could not be asserted that its messages were always tinged with an offensive anti-British tendency’.144 The signing of the 1937 Gentlemen’s Agreement further softened the tone and the intensity of the anti-British campaign. And, in spite of the fact that the situation in Palestine offered the news agency the opportunity to disseminate tendentious 142

  Lampson to Eden, ‘Egypt: Annual Report, 1936’, 28 July 1937, J 3522/3522/16 FO 371/20919. 143   Tedeschini Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba’, p. 744. 144   Lampson to Eden, ‘Egypt: Annual Report, 1936’, 28 July 1937, J 3522/3522/16 FO 371/20919; ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 557 (240), f. 2, ‘Servizio stampa: accordi con giornali locali’, Ghigi to MPP, 31 August 1936.

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reports of riots and repressions, Lampson observed that ‘the tone of the bulletins and telegrams was not so outrageously anti-British’.145 The Agence de l’Egypte et de l’Orient mainly confined itself to organising tours of journalists to the inauguration of the Mediterranean Road in Libya and to flooding the press with photographs of the grandiose reception accorded to Mussolini by the native populations. Great efforts were also made to encourage Egyptian and Palestinian students to spend their summer holidays in Italy on especially favourable terms, hoping that they would be impressed with the achievements of the Fascist Regime.146 This rapprochement between London and Rome continued during the summer with the exchange of letters between Mussolini and Neville Chamberlain on 27 July and 2 August. In anticipation of his trip to Berlin planned for September, the Duce wanted to portray himself in a favourable diplomatic situation, to avoid giving the impression of complete dependence on the Reich, in order to achieve his own foreign policy objectives.147 The news agency was instructed then to ‘harmonise its attitude with the re-opening of discussions between London and Rome’. Only if their attempts had come to nothing would the Agence de l’Egypte et de l’Orient have had to disseminate its propaganda on an unprecedented scale.148 The successful conclusion of the negotiations consequently produced a moderation in the tone of the news agency, though Lampson noted that it was obvious that ‘the organisation and personnel of Italian propaganda in Egypt remained on a war footing ... until the ratification of the Easter Agreements on 16 November 1938’.149 The Agence de l’Egypte et de l’Orient continued its activities but with a reduced budget until June 1940 when, on the eve of Fascist Italy’s entry into the Second World War, Dadone had to precipitously flee from Egypt to avoid imprisonment, leaving all his possessions behind and moving back to his home country. He was however sent again by the Ministry of Popular Culture to North Africa in September 1940, where he was attached to the Armed Forces to continue the work of the news agency by means of radio and portable transmitter.150

145

  Lampson to Halifax, ‘Egypt: Annual Report, 1937’, 30 June 1938, J 2805/2805/16 FO 371/22006. 146   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian and French Cultural Propaganda in Egypt’, 30 April 1937, P 2130/160/150 FO 395/554; Memorandum written by Warner, ‘Italian Anti-British Activities in the Middle East’, 17 September 1937, E 5489/145/65 FO 371/20786. 147  Giglioli, Italia e Francia, pp. 60–61. 148   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Press Propaganda in Egypt’, 23 November 1937, J 5042/70/16 FO 371/20901. 149   Lampson to Halifax, ‘Egypt: Annual Report, 1938’, 15 May 1939, J 2121/2121/16 FO 371/23366. 150   Morganti to Mazzolini, ‘Dadone Comm. Ugo’, 31 October 1938, GFM 36/68 Report 38; the following document is neither signed nor dated, ‘Fascist Propaganda in Egypt: Commendatore Ugo Dadone’, GFM 36/68 Report 38.

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Conclusion The initial aim of the campaign orchestrated by the Fascist Regime was to restore the country’s image and prestige, which had been seriously damaged by the brutal reconquest of Tripolitania and Cyrenaica. It did not have any anti-British connotations at first, but the increasing tension between London and Rome resulting from the acrimonious dispute over Ethiopia, produced a dramatic change in the propaganda disseminated by the Italian Government. It was then that it assumed a more intense and violently anti-British tone. At the same time, the deterioration of the situation in Egypt, coupled with the outbreak of the revolt in Palestine, made His Majesty’s Government particularly vulnerable to propagandist attacks in the Middle East.151 Nonetheless, the difficulties experienced by British policy-makers in the region were a reaction against any form of colonial rule: the Arabs wanted complete independence, not a new master. The sympathies and hopes expressed with regard to the Fascist Regime did not so much represent an expression of innate love, and even less a desire to allow the imposition of Italian administration, as an expression of natural solidarity shared by two parties in their mutual struggle against a common enemy. While the Fascist Regime could prove to be a useful ‘stick with which to beat Britain’, the Arabs had no feelings of fidelity to Italy or for that matter to any other foreign power. The enthusiasm expressed on various sides for the Fascist Government need to be considered as anti-British acts of rebellion aimed at contributing to expelling the British, not at replacing it with another dominating power from Europe. The inevitable result, therefore, was that Rome was more successful in fanning the flames of anti-British sentiments than in arousing sympathy for Italy. Radio Bari gained an audience in the Middle East not because it was pro-Italian but because it was anti-British.152 Although it is always extremely difficult to gauge the impact of propaganda, it was recognised by all responsible people concerned that Radio Bari had initially attracted a large following mainly because of the high standard of entertainment it provided. What is almost impossible to know is whether the message broadcast actually shaped the perceptions of the regular listeners or whether the Arab pupils of the Italian schools in Cairo and Alexandria grew up to become blackshirts. As Williams convincingly argues, ‘the relatively short-lived mass success of Radio Bari seems to confirm the ephemeral nature of Italy’s popularity in the Middle East’.153 What is more, far from winning the friendship of the Arabs, Mussolini’s repeated promises of the great imperial future that awaited Italy scared many countries of the region into a closer association with Britain, thus having the opposite of the desired effect.

  Peter Partner, Arab Voices: The BBC Arabic Service, 1938–1988 (London, 1988),

151

p. 5.

152

  MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, pp. 204–5.   Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 185.

153

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The campaign conducted by the Fascist Regime increased the fear that the unity and stability of the British Empire was threatened, not only by internal forces striving to achieve self-determination, but also by the machinations of rival powers.154 The danger posed by Fascist propagandist agents alerted Britain to the importance of gaining the support of the Arabs, which in turn led to significant concessions on the part of London. The 1936 Anglo-Egyptian Treaty, for instance, ‘took the wind out of the Italian sails and transformed His Majesty’s Government in the eyes of the Egyptians from an oppressor into an ally’.155 It is difficult to avoid the impression that, if it had not been for the hostile anti-British messages disseminated by the Fascist Regime, it would have been highly unlikely that Egypt would have gained very favourable terms or that Palestine could have avoided the proposed partition in 1930s. It is conventional wisdom that ‘when two dogs fight, a third gets the bone’, and between London and Rome, the Arabs seemed to have brought about their own emancipation by this trick. This was, however, only the weak, reactive aspect of the attempt to prevent the diffusion of offensive publicity in the Middle East. By the second half of the 1930s, it had become apparent in London that, despite the traditional repugnance for propaganda, something needed to be done to improve the perceived image of the country abroad and that clearly more positive steps had to be taken to safeguard British interests in the region. The institution of the British Council and the establishment of the BBC Arabic Service, which will be discussed in the next chapter, can be considered integral to the effort to provide the Arabs with an alternative philosophy to the more dogmatic political doctrines propagated by the dictatorships, as well as with a different view of world events.156

154

  Ibid., p. 155.   Martelli, Whose Sea?, p. 173. 156   Rolo, Radio Goes to War, p. 42. 155

Chapter 3

British Cultural Diplomacy and CounterPropaganda in the Middle East, 1934–1940 In the United Kingdom, the word propaganda had always been associated with subversion and falsehood. By the end of the First World War, during which much of what had reached the public had been distorted and exaggerated, many were convinced that it was a ‘dirty business’, involving the control and manufacture of information for political and military purposes. At that time, the responsibility of the press to provide accurate information was not only subordinated to the patriotic obligation to persuade men to fight and to keep up morale, but also to the necessity to denigrate the enemy. It is therefore hardly surprising that in the post-war years anything that smacked even faintly of propaganda was viewed in British official circles with extreme caution. The maintenance of the machine that had been set in motion during the hostilities was considered morally unacceptable in peacetime, which is why it was dismantled altogether. It was only in connection with the aggressive campaign of Fascist Italy that in the second half of the 1930s His Majesty’s Government re-entered the field of propaganda through the establishment of the British Council and the creation of the BBC Arabic Service. Indeed, by then, it was widely appreciated that Britain could not possibly hope to be understood if it persisted in remaining aloof and passive. It had become apparent that something urgently needed to be done to improve the perceived image of the country abroad and to contain the spread of offensive messages, but it clearly was not going to be easy to recover all the ground that had already been lost. Right from the beginning, the principle was emphatically asserted that success would depend on quality not quantity. It was claimed that excessive propaganda was not only a waste of money and effort, but also highly counter-productive, since it could easily be recognised as such. 

  It is interesting to observe that this association went back to 1622 when the Roman Church established the Sacred Congregation for the Propagation of the Faith with the object of restoring Catholicism to Protestantism.    Frances Donaldson, The British Council: The First Fifty Years (London, 1984), pp. 12–13; Partner, Arab Voices, p. 1; Philip Taylor, British Propaganda in the Twentieth Century (Edinburgh, 1999), pp. 67–8; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 148.    Arthur John Stanley White, The British Council. The First 25 Years, 1934–1959 (London, 1965), pp. 5–6; Philip Taylor, ‘Cultural Diplomacy and the British Council: 1934–1939’, British Journal of International Studies, 4/4 (1978): pp. 253–4; Donaldson, The British Council, pp. 32–3, 382.

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Having already considered some of the defensive actions Britain adopted to prevent the diffusion of hostile information in the Middle East (diplomatic complaints, wireless interference, negotiations with the nationalist leaders, disciplinary measures), this chapter will now analyse the more proactive steps taken by London to safeguard British interests and to counter the detrimental effects of the subversive Italian undertakings. The Activities of the British Council in Egypt The comforting old belief that, since truth must ultimately prevail, no defensive measures need to be taken, has yielded to the recognition of the difficulty experienced by truth in overtaking fiction, especially when fiction is backed by ... an aggressive creed (The Times, 1938).

An influential group of civil servants realised that it was materially damaging to Britain’s interests not to attempt to disseminate any kind of cultural propaganda to other countries and therefore decided to establish an organisation under the control of the Foreign Office specifically responsible for the promotion of their language, literature, education, art, music and science. Thanks to the influence and persistence of Reginald (Rex) Leeper, Head of the Foreign Office News Department, the British Council was founded in November 1934. It aimed to make the life and thought of the British peoples more widely known abroad; support a mutual exchange of knowledge and ideas; encourage the study and use of the English language; assist overseas schools in equipping themselves for this purpose; enable students from overseas to undertake courses of education or industrial training in the United Kingdom; bring other people into closer contact with British ideals and practice; make available to them the benefits of current contributions to the sciences and technology; and finally cooperate with the self-governing Dominions in strengthening the common tradition of the British Commonwealth. ‘It was believed that [such] cultural propaganda would not only serve to enhance British influence and prestige abroad, but would also effectively further the wider ideals of international peace and understanding.’ The initial problem with which the British Council had to contend was one of finance, as the budget allocated to support the activities of the new organisation was far from adequate. It is interesting to observe that, whereas the Treasury had promised a grant-in-aid of only £5,000 for the year 1935–36, Nazi Germany and Fascist Italy were spending some million pounds each on propaganda. Under such circumstances, it was almost impossible to embark upon a wide-ranging cultural programme, because ‘it was apparent that the Council had insufficient funds to keep   The Times, 3 January 1938.   British Council (BC), ‘Aims and Objects of the British Council’, BW 82/6.    Taylor, ‘Cultural Diplomacy’, p. 244.  

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it afloat’. It was consequently agreed to invite representatives from the business community to join the Council in an effort to attract financial support, but the results of these appeals were extremely disappointing. Although it was considered unwise for the Council to undertake any commercial publicity, it was hoped that the leaders of export firms would expect sufficient benefit from the activities of the Council to contribute significantly to it. However, things did not quite work out as planned, for while the Foreign Office believed that the promotion of mutual understanding and respect would create an atmosphere conducive to trade, the industrialists, on the other hand, expected that in return for their financial aid the Council would conduct commercial propaganda on their behalf. The Council, contrary to what the businessmen assumed, was configured to ‘strive for lasting results in the future rather than for small immediate successes’. Leeper was consequently ‘far from satisfied’ with the way the situation was evolving. He informed Sir Robert Vansittart, the Permanent Under-Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, that ‘both the Board of Trade and the Department of Overseas Trade have urged us to increase our industrial representation on the Council with the result that half the members are from that sector’. This preponderance of the industrial element in work which was ‘essentially cultural’ was not at all what he liked, but he explained that he could not oppose it ‘so long as we have to rely on them for the major part of our funds’. They wish to concentrate on those countries with which they hope to increase their export trade, while we wish to concentrate on those countries which are important to us politically. In my view the part of the world which matters most to us in the next few years is ... the Middle East. If we could strengthen our influence very considerably in these countries with adequate sums at our disposal we could use our cultural work as a very definite political instrument. This work should go hand in hand with our foreign policy and quite definitely the Foreign Office should be the adviser of the Council.

This clash of interests between the two parties involved prevented the Governing Body of the Council undertaking any concerted work at all during its first years of activity. As Philip Taylor maintains, ‘it would not be too harsh to state that the main achievement of the British Council between 1934 and 1936 was survival’.10 It was only when the Treasury gradually and considerably increased the grant from £5,000 in 1935–1936 to £430,000 in 1940–1941 that the Council became less dependent on private funds and was able to develop a large degree of independence.11 

  Ibid., p. 253.   Ibid., pp. 254–6.   Leeper to Vansittart, 14 March 1935, BW 82/5. 10   Taylor, ‘Cultural Diplomacy’, p. 263. 11  The grant-in-aid was increased to £15,000 for 1936–1937, to £60,000 for 1937– 1938, to £160,000 for 1938–1939, and to £330,000 for 1939–1940. 

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Special attention was immediately given to the Middle East with the setting up of the Sub-Committee for the Near East. This new advisory body was charged with the task of dealing with the wider problems of cultural propaganda in that part of the world.12 By that time, it was commonly acknowledged that His Majesty’s Government had been neglectful, not only in developing English studies abroad, but also in satisfying the increasing demand for accurate and detailed information about its policies and actions.13 The picture conveyed of British cultural publicity in the Middle East was one of ‘sporadic efforts, largely without official patronage, inadequately financed, incompetently staffed, un-coordinated, [and with little or no thought given to catering for] local characteristics and requirements’.14 The Sub-Committee for the Near East, under the Chairmanship of the former High Commissioner to Cairo, Lord George Lloyd, endeavoured to remedy this pitiful attempt. At the initial meeting, it was recognised by all concerned that Egypt should be their priority.15 Although it was stressed that the education of those upon whom the future of Egypt rested was ‘a matter of life and death’ for the British Empire, the widespread desire for English studies was not satisfied, since the youth were deliberately excluded from British schools. The reason for this was that it was feared that once the doors were opened it would then become extremely difficult to resist pressure to admit particular candidates who were considered, for various reasons, unsuitable. Lampson thought that the impression that many were refused and few were accepted would produce more discontent than the maintenance of the established practice. He added that the acceptance of Egyptian pupils would involve an immediate and serious increase in expenditure for the additional staff required to teach government examination subjects in Arabic.16 It was concluded that the education of the children of British subjects (mainly Maltese and Cypriots) should have priority on the funds of the Council: imperial interest demanded that the British character and loyalty of these communities be maintained.17 Lloyd agreed and remarked that ‘the establishment of a sound educational system for British subjects in the Middle East would provide a solid foundation on which the

12   Schuyler Foster, ‘The Official Propaganda of Great Britain’, The Public Opinion Quarterly, 3/2 (1939): pp. 267–8. 13   FO Statement for the Press, ‘British Culture Abroad: New Council Formed’, 20 March 1935, BW 82/6. 14   Memorandum (the document is not signed), ‘British Cultural Propaganda in Egypt’, 15 March 1935, BW 29/3. 15   Sub-Committee for the Near East, ‘Minutes of the First Meeting’, 20 November 1935, BW 72/1. 16  Lampson to Simon, 27 March 1935, P 1252/19/150 BW 29/3. 17   It was estimated that in Egypt there was a Maltese and Cypriot population of 30,000 and a United Kingdom population of about 70,000. White, The British Council, p. 15.

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spread of British culture amongst the non-British peoples could be based’.18 It was accordingly agreed to finance existing schools, the most important of which was Victoria College at Alexandria which had, for over 30 years, successfully imparted to its students the ‘finest characteristics of the English public school’, and to open new centres of learning in the four big cities of Egypt. By the end of 1940, it was claimed that all British children in Cairo, Alexandria, Port Said and Suez could obtain an English-style education whatever the financial means of their parents.19 Nonetheless, this exclusive policy, in contrast to the approach adopted by the Fascist Regime, which even provided special incentives and subsidies (shoes in winter, sandals in summer, aprons, books, free meals) to pupils from non-affluent backgrounds to encourage them to register in schools run by Italian authorities, left the Egyptian children to be drawn under anti-British influences.20 Particular attention was devoted to the foundation of the British Institute in Cairo for teaching the English language on the model of courses already running in Florence and Paris, but the venture lacked adequate funds. Despite the Council’s inability to afford the very large sum required, it was undesirable for political reasons to abandon the attempt altogether. It was consequently decided, also because of the great importance attached to the project by Lampson, to provide a grant to enable the experiment to be carried out on a smaller scale than had been envisaged in the original proposal. However, up to the first half of 1937, he had not asked for the payment of this money, because the Egyptian Government was undertaking an initiative for the creation of an Anglo-Egyptian Union, the object of which was very similar to that of the Institute.21 This new enterprise was inaugurated in Cairo in 1937, thanks to contributions supplied in equal parts by the two administrations. It was the first attempt at collaboration in this field between the two countries and resulted in the development of a full programme of social and cultural activities which proved to be enormously fruitful. Nevertheless, Lloyd remained unconvinced that the benefits to be gained from the Union justified the expenditure that it entailed. Indeed, he was of the opinion that it would be preferable to draw the major part of its activities away to a fully controlled British organisation, but the Council’s Representative in the Near East, C.A.F. Dundas, strongly opposed this suggestion. Dundas informed the Foreign Office that it could not be overlooked that the Union had sprung up spontaneously from an Egyptian scheme. Under the circumstances, he thought it would be most unwise from both the social and political point of view to allow this venture to break down. ‘What is more, we should be worse off than if the Union had never been 18

  Sub-Committee for the Near East, ‘Minutes of the First Meeting’, 20 November 1935, BW 72/1. 19   Taylor, ‘Cultural Diplomacy’, p. 262; Donaldson, The British Council, p. 93. 20   Memorandum (the document is not signed), ‘British Cultural Propaganda in Egypt’, 15 March 1935, BW 29/3; Leeper to Lampson, 30 November 1937, BW 29/3. 21   Sub-Committee for the Near East, ‘Minutes of the Fourth Meeting’, 24 March 1936; ‘Minutes of the Tenth Meeting’, 3 March 1937, BW 72/1.

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founded, because we should appear to have lost faith in the possibility of AngloEgyptian cooperation.’22 Another positive aspect of the campaign conducted by the Council in Egypt was the initiation of adult evening classes in Cairo and Alexandria. Dundas had been specifically appointed to organise and direct this enterprise. He was instructed by the Council to find the appropriate premises and to engage high-quality staff from government schools.23 The Evening Institutes of Cairo and Alexandria were a real success, since they ‘[were] touching the class of Egyptian which [was] not directly affected by any other British activity’. It soon became apparent that there was a demand for the teaching of English, and it was resolved to allocate considerable funds to double the size of the existing centres and to open four new ones in different cities.24 The work of the British Council did not cease with the outbreak of the Second World War. It is true that the German and Italian military and political occupation of Europe caused the suspension of its operations in that part of the globe, but this was ‘soon far more than offset by the opportunities for the Council in allied or neutral countries where ... the conflict had brought an added desire for knowledge of Britain’.25 It was realised that cultural propaganda in the Middle East had to be continued and intensified with the twofold object of securing the proper understanding of the British view of events and of winning the friendship of the Arabs. The emphasis of the wartime campaign orchestrated by the Council was still purely educational, but significantly the dissemination of British messages was effected through the distribution of English books and periodicals to libraries and reading rooms and the programme of lectures given by recognised experts that had by this time been established.26 Although it is always very difficult to gauge the results of such activities, it can reasonably be concluded that, by dispensing more information about the British way of life, the Council ‘provided an alternative philosophy to the more dogmatic political doctrines propagated by the rival states’.27 The Establishment of the BBC Arabic Service If a nation is to be truly known and understood in the world, it must set itself actively to master and employ the new, difficult and swiftly, developing modes

22

 Dundas to FO, 4 January 1940, BW 29/31.   Johnstone to Bateman, 5 September 1938, BW 29/4. 24   BC, ‘Meeting of His Britannic Majesty’s Ambassador’s Advisory Committee on Education at the British Embassy, Cairo’, 11 May 1939, BW 29/5. 25   White, The British Council, p. 36. 26   Ibid., pp. 37–8. 27   Taylor, ‘Cultural Diplomacy’, p. 264. 23

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which science has provided for the projection of national personality (Sir Stephen Tallents, 1932).28

Up to the second half of the 1930s, Britain, alone among the great powers, did not broadcast in any foreign language. It was the moral repugnance for propaganda, combined with the fear that the reputation of the BBC Empire Service for truthfulness would be seriously affected, that prevented London from entering this field.29 Nonetheless, the systematic exploitation of British difficulties in Egypt and Palestine by Radio Bari forced His Majesty’s Government to request the Corporation to reconsider its strategy and to start transmitting in Arabic. It was appreciated that it was no longer sufficient to hope that other nations would discredit themselves through their use of exaggerated and excessive publicity, and that more active measures had to be taken to explain British policy to those whom it was affecting.30 At the beginning of February 1936, a report by the Broadcasting Committee paved the way for the establishment of the wireless service in Arabic, recommending that ‘in the interests of British prestige and influence in world affairs ... the appropriate use of languages other than English should be encouraged’.31 British diplomatic and colonial missions all over the globe were asked for their opinions, to which the official representatives in the Middle East responded by stressing the urgency of the matter in the context of the general struggle with the totalitarian powers. They pressed for action – and emphasised the need for speed. The Chargé d’Affaires of the Consulate in Saudi Arabia, for instance, wrote back that the news service should be introduced at once, since it would not only check the malignant propaganda campaign of rival countries, but ‘would also keep the local population informed about our policy’. The Political Officer in Yemen further added that ‘if we continue to allow the Italians to have a clear field, we cannot hope to maintain our supremacy in Muslim eyes’.32 These concerns were also echoed at higher levels in Whitehall. Secretary of State Eden believed that the failure to present the national case properly in the Middle East would not only be a temptation to Fascist Italy to exploit British difficulties in a region of vital imperial importance, but would also tend to undermine the effects of the rearmament programme. It was therefore essential for His Majesty’s Government, without attempting to imitate the tone or methods of Radio Bari, to ensure the full and forcible presentation of its version of events. What was required was the provision of a channel through which news – giving an authoritative account of British policy and of events within the British Empire – could be broadcast in  Stephen Tallents, The Projection of England (London, 1932), p. 11.  The Empire Service had been inaugurated in December 1932 to address the Englishspeaking peoples of the British Commonwealth of Nations. 30   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 200, 205; Partner, Arab Voices, pp. 3-4. 31   Quoted in Asa Briggs, The History of Broadcasting in the United Kingdom (6 vols, Oxford, 1961–96), vol. 2, p. 397. 32   Ibid. 28

29

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Arabic to the Arab world.33 Under-Secretary Vansittart also recognised that active measures should be adopted immediately to remedy the impression gaining ground in the Middle East that the British Empire was disintegrating. These positions were shared by the War Office, which remarked that ‘our inactivity in the face of the constant stream of foreign propaganda ... is causing our prestige to wane by default. ... If we continue to leave this field free to our potential enemies in peace, our problems in the Near and Middle East will be intensified in war’.34 The time had consequently come for the British Government to expand the scope of the BBC Empire Service. Nevertheless, the ‘marriage proved difficult to arrange’.35 Despite the pressing need to expand the service, matters advanced slowly, causing the Foreign Office a great deal of frustration: while Whitehall was anxious to establish an Arabic Service as quickly as possible and considered it absolutely imperative to have full control over the way in which the Arabic broadcasts were conducted, the Corporation did not intend to be rushed into a deal that did not include proper guarantees of editorial independence. Indeed, the BBC was preoccupied with the concern that the moral standing of its Empire Service would be compromised by the introduction of foreign-language programmes designed to develop an outlook in favour of the broadcasting country. It was thought that, once the propagandist nature of these transmissions was revealed, they would automatically discredit those who employed them. It was therefore maintained that the only likely result would be to cast doubt on the veracity of the Corporation.36 The continued objections and reservations of the BBC were recorded with growing irritation by the Foreign Office. Both Leeper and Vansittart saw the urgency of the matter in the context of the general imperial struggle with Fascist Italy: ‘One would think from the attitude of the Corporation that there was no international crisis at all’, Leeper wrote despairingly about the BBC. Vansittart agreed and remarked that ‘the thing has got to be done and done quickly’.37 Although Whitehall intended that the transmissions should not contain anything that could too blatantly be construed as propaganda, it was held to be inevitable that, in view of the hostile messages being sent out by the Fascist Government, the Arabic bulletins could assume, from time to time, a ‘controversial aspect’.38 It was not defined what the term ‘controversial’ meant, but it is possible to speculate 33   Memorandum written by Eden, ‘Arabic Broadcasts’, 13 July 1937, P 3103/20/150 FO 395/547. 34   Quoted in MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 201. 35   Partner, Arab Voices, p. 5. 36   Memorandum (the document is not signed), ‘Broadcasts in Spanish and Portuguese’, 13 September 1937, P 3915/20/150 FO 395/548; Antony Adamthwaite, ‘The British Government and the Media, 1937–1938’, Journal of Contemporary History, 18/2 (1983), p. 283. 37   Quoted in MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 202. 38   Committee on Arabic Broadcasts, ‘Report’, 22 October 1937, P 4444/20/150 FO 395/548.

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that the Foreign Office was interested in bringing home to the Arabs, in retaliation for the exploitation of British problems in Egypt and Palestine, how the Italians were really behaving, by disseminating news of their atrocities against Muslims in Libya. Since it was difficult to imagine that the Corporation would ever broadcast ‘anything in the least controversial’, there was an increasing tendency to regard the BBC as not the proper instrument to counter Radio Bari.39 Given these feelings of frustration with the Corporation, it is not surprising that by the summer of 1937 the Foreign Office had decided not to entrust the BBC with the responsibility of the Arabic Service, but to recommend instead the construction of a medium-wave transmitter that would broadcast programmes in foreign languages under the direct control of His Majesty’s Government. It was suggested that, since the wireless devices employed by café owners in the Middle East could not receive the high-powered transmissions from London or Daventry, the best way of reaching the great mass of Arab listeners was to transmit via medium-wave. It was agreed that the most suitable site for such a station was Cyprus, from which all parts of the Levant could be easily reached.40 Consequently, a Cabinet Committee, on which the Corporation was not represented, was set up to investigate the question. The idea of establishing a medium-wave transmitter in Cyprus, however, suffered an unexpected setback just a few weeks later when the Government of Palestine reported that 90 per cent of Arab licence-holders had short-wave receivers. The Committee, under the Chairmanship of Sir Kingsley Wood, explored and discussed the various alternatives then available (either the use of the existing station at Jerusalem or the installation of a new short-wave transmitter in India), but it ultimately decided to ask the BBC to attend its next sitting and to thereafter undertake the duty of broadcasting in foreign languages from Britain.41 The Director General of the Corporation, Sir John Reith, was invited to meet the Committee on 4 October. He declared that the BBC should be charged with the task of carrying out this venture, but laid down a number of stringent preconditions. The institution of the programmes was not to prejudice in any way the Empire Service, and the Corporation had to rely on the ‘persuasive power of bare and self-evident facts’ rather than resorting to propaganda. He reminded the Committee that one of the reasons put forward in support of broadcasting in foreign languages was the loss of prestige that would result if the practice was not adopted, but said prestige would not be obtained by offering a second-rate service inferior to that provided by rival countries. He felt that, although a start could be made on quite a small scale, the Service had to grow until it became ‘a big   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 202; Partner, Arab Voices, p. 9.   Memorandum written by Eden, ‘Arabic Broadcasts’, 13 July 1937, P 3103/20/150 FO 395/547. 41   Committee on Arabic Broadcasts, ‘Proposed Broadcasting Station in Cyprus’, 13 September 1937, P 3828/20/150 FO 395/548; ‘Conclusions of the First Meeting’, 15 September 1937, P 3916/20/150 FO 395/548. 39 40

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thing’. The Treasury had to meet the costs, since the home listeners could not be expected to pay for it. Adequate sums also had to be provided for the establishment of two additional transmitters, the capital costs of which would be of the order of £100,000, with about £100,000 per annum required for maintenance. The Corporation had to retain the same independence that it had in the provision of the Home and Empire Service. This, however, did not mean that the BBC would not maintain contact with the Foreign Office. Reith was prepared to keep in touch with Whitehall on all questions in which it was interested, but he did not want the Corporation to ‘become merely the organ of the Government for broadcasting to the world’.42 Leeper, who was still reluctant to give up direct control of the Arabic transmissions, acknowledged that the Director General had gone a long way to meeting the apprehensions of the Foreign Office, but still made an attempt to draw him into a more concrete commitment to consult with Whitehall. He argued that, while the translation of the well-balanced bulletins of world news would be suitable for the ‘highly sophisticated and westernised’ peoples of South America, information broadcast to the Arabs would need ‘special treatment by a method of selection and omission. This was an innocent form of propaganda, but it was propaganda [nonetheless], and as such it was hardly suitable for the BBC’. He felt that this differentiation in treatment was of cardinal importance for the Foreign Office, even though the BBC might regard it ‘inconsistent with the standards of impartiality and objectivity it had ... so consistently maintained’. He ultimately demanded that Whitehall should be allowed the ‘necessary latitude in handling and presenting material destined for the Near and Middle East’.43 Reith replied that in regard to Arabic broadcasts ‘the BBC might have to show more elasticity and perhaps to be more amenable to the Foreign Office’s views than in the case of other languages’. Summing up the discussion, Wood concluded that London appeared to be the best centre, provided that adequate safeguards could be obtained from the BBC to ensure that full weight was given, in the case of the Arabic broadcasts, to views expressed by the Foreign Office.44 The Report of the Committee was presented to, and accepted in its entirety by, the Cabinet on 22 October. It was recommended that the idea of the station in Cyprus should be abandoned, but that the Government should accept the principle of broadcasting in foreign languages (Arabic, Spanish and Portuguese) from Britain. It was suggested that the BBC should take charge of this task. Nevertheless, it was recognised that ‘the Corporation should remain independent of political control and should not become ... merely the mouthpiece of His Majesty’s Government’. Provided that ultimate responsibility for the delivery of all material sent out in connection with this service rested solely with the BBC, it was agreed that the 42   Committee on Arabic Broadcasts, ‘Conclusions of the Second Meeting’, 20 September 1937, P 4110/20/150 FO 395/548; ‘Conclusions of the Third Meeting’, 4 October 1937, P 4258/20/150 FO 395/548. 43   Ibid. 44   Ibid.

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representatives of the Corporation should acknowledge that foreign-language broadcasts, and notably those in Arabic, were on a somewhat different footing to those for reception at home. It was also decided that in this sphere more intimate relations with the Foreign Office had to be established without any derogation of the BBC’s impartiality and integrity. This understanding had to be incorporated into a Gentlemen’s Agreement, to take the form of an exchange of letters between the Director General and the Permanent Under-Secretary. Only the financial arrangements failed to favour the Corporation, since it was advised that no special payment should be made to the BBC.45 Having resolved their differences, the Corporation lost no time in assembling a small team for the running of the Arabic Service: an editor (A.S. Calvert), a translator (Aziz Rifaat), and an announcer (A.K. Sourour) were quickly appointed in the autumn of 1937. Arabs in small villages and towns in the Middle East heard, for the first time, the British version of what was happening when the new BBC service was inaugurated in London on 3 January 1938. The programme, transmitted from Daventry on a wavelength of 31.32 metres, was scheduled for 5:15 p.m. GMT, which was a good listening time for the Middle East. It consisted of a 15-minute news bulletin preceded by 45 minutes of music and speeches by representatives of the principal Arabic-speaking countries. The opening ceremony was an impressive affair, with distinguished officials from all the nations of the Near East participating, and with most arriving in the BBC studio wearing traditional turbans and colourful robes. An introductory announcement was followed by violin recitals given by oriental musicians and congratulatory speeches made by various dignitaries. One of the sons of the Imam of Yemen, Emir Seif Al-Islam Hussein, read out a message in which he expressed the hope that his father could listen to him at the palace in Sanaa. ‘This desire to secure a good understanding with the Arab-speaking world is proof of the esteem and consideration in which it is held.’ The Saudi Minister to London, Sheik Hafiz Wahba, noted that ‘Kipling once said that East is East and West is West and never the twain shall meet, but today East and West will meet at BBC House. The Corporation is filling a gap and fulfilling a wish that Arabicspeaking residents here have long had’. The Egyptian Chargé d’Affaires, Abdel Rahman Haqqi, remarked that ‘while an Englishman might make a mistake, he is temperamentally eager to get at the real truth’. Other expressions of goodwill were broadcast by the Minister of Iraq, Seyyid Rauf Bey Chadirji, and the Governor of Aden, Sir Bernard Reilly. After Big Ben had struck 6 p.m., Reith spoke in English, promising that the bulletins would always be ‘accurate and reliable’.46 The first news item, which proved to be the most controversial in the history of the Arabic Service, completed 45

  Committee on Arabic Broadcasts, ‘Report’, 22 October 1937, P 4444/20/150 FO 395/548. 46   Perth to FO, ‘Anglo-Italian Relations’, 4 January 1938, R 230/23/22 FO 371/22402; British Library of Information to FO, ‘United States Press Comments on Arabic Broadcasts’, 11 January 1938, P 392/2/150 FO 395/558.

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the programme. It was factual and objective to the point of dullness.47 The announcer reported that an Arab from Palestine had been executed by hanging by the military authorities that morning for carrying a rifle and some ammunition. He also told of a fight between an armed band and a police force in Safad and of an attack on a railway near Jerusalem. It was felt at the BBC that even ‘dull propaganda was better than [nothing] at all, since the force of the enemy’s argument was greatly diminished merely by giving listeners the other side’ of the story, even though British representatives in the Middle East clearly did not share this view.48 There was in fact a chorus of protests about this tragic blunder from diplomatic officials in the region. Lampson complained that ‘the effect of such wireless items picked up in numerous popular cafés can only be disastrous’.49 Bullard remarked that ‘the announcement had created great tension in the atmosphere’.50 And while Rendel noted that ‘the fact that we had not concealed this item was a guarantee that our news would not be carefully selected for the audience’, Leeper was appalled by the bulletin.51 He angrily minuted that ‘straight news (a BBC expression) must not be interpreted as including items which can do us harm with the people we are addressing. That is sheer nonsense’. He recalled to his colleagues that ‘the song and dance the Corporation had made about its moral purity (implying that the Foreign Office were immoral and impure)’ had persuaded Whitehall to impose on the Arabic Service strict conditions, which the BBC had immediately broken. ‘Is the Corporation bound to broadcast the execution of every Arab [to be condemned] in Palestine? It seems to me unnecessary, though I suspect that it will give their conscience a warm glow’, Leeper observed bitterly.52 A meeting was quickly held at the Foreign Office with Cecil Graves, the BBC Controller of Programmes, and with J.B. Clark, the Director of the Empire Service, to discuss practical measures that had to be adopted to handle the delicate case of Palestine. Leeper complained that the whole attitude of the Corporation was ‘entirely contrary’ to his department’s ideas on how the Arabic broadcasts should be conducted and emphasised once again ‘the need for selection and omission of news’. He also reminded them of their undertaking to work in the closest possible way with the Foreign Office in connection with the Arabic Service. The Director of the Empire Service, however, strongly stressed that the BBC had to maintain its   Partner, Arab Voices, p. 17.   Rolo, Radio Goes to War, p. 42; Briggs, The History of Broadcasting, vol. 2, p. 406. 49   Lampson to FO, ‘Broadcast in Arabic: Reaction in Egypt’, 6 January 1938, P 120/2/150 FO 395/557. 50   Bullard to FO, ‘Inaugural Arabic Broadcast: Reception in Saudi Arabia’, 5 January 1938, P 69/2/150 FO 395/557. 51   Minute written by Rendel, ‘Inaugural Arabic Broadcast: Reception in Saudi Arabia’, 6 January 1938, P 69/2/150 FO 395/557. 52   Minute written by Leeper, ‘Inaugural Arabic Broadcast: Reception in Saudi Arabia’, 8 January 1938, P 69/2/150 FO 395/557. 47

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complete editorial independence.53 ‘The omission of unwelcome facts of news and the consequent suppression of truth runs counter to the Corporation’s policy laid down by the appropriate authority.’54 He affirmed that ‘anything that was put out in the Empire Service had to appear in the Arabic broadcasts’.55 This unsatisfactory state of affairs had to be resolved somehow, and the indomitable Leeper made one final attempt to bring things to a head by sending a letter to Graves in which he tried to get the elusive BBC to accept the Foreign Office restrictions. He wrote that ‘while the news and talks should be straight in the sense of being strictly truthful and accurate, the idea of giving a favourable impression of ourselves in the countries to which they are addressed should be the guiding motive of the whole service’. It should be consequently considered ‘permissible to omit news which might have a harmful effect’. There should also be daily consultation with Whitehall, to whom any item dealing with foreign affairs should be referred any time that the editor had doubts about the effect it might produce.56 Graves did not commit himself in any written reply, but asked him to accept his oral assurances. After the initial friction, the question was conveniently brushed under the carpet.57 This clash of aims between the Foreign Office and the BBC offers the historian some insight into the way in which the relation between government and media was established and safeguarded in the United Kingdom. It created an important precedent that was to provide the framework within which the independence and impartiality of the Corporation from political pressure would be maintained. By the end of January, however, it was apparent that the curiosity generated by the first days of the BBC Arabic Service had already been replaced by cold indifference. It connection with this, it should be pointed out that, although electronic reception was excellent throughout the Middle East, the programme had fallen flat with listeners. The Corporation received the comment that, while Radio Bari spoke a colloquial form of Arabic that everyone understood, Daventry employed a rather classical version of the language. It was observed that the entertainment offered was ‘entirely unsuitable’ for the intended audience because it consisted mainly of western music, which was not the type enjoyed by Arabs. In contrast, popular oriental records figured prominently in the transmissions from Bari. It was not until the spring of 1940 that arrangements were made to bring to London well-known artists and to broadcast Arab songs and music. It was further reported that the people of the Middle East disliked the intermixture of English 53

  Minute written by Leeper, ‘Inaugural Arabic Broadcast: Reception in Saudi Arabia’, 12 January 1938, P 69/2/150 FO 395/557; Minute written by Warner, ‘Attitude of the BBC in regard to the Arabic Broadcast’, 14 January 1938, P 332/2/150 FO 395/558. 54   Quoted in Partner, Arab Voices, p. 20. 55   Minute written by Warner, ‘Attitude of the BBC in regard to the Arabic Broadcast’, 14 January 1938, P 332/2/150 FO 395/558. 56   Leeper to Graves, ‘Attitude of the BBC in regard to the Arabic Broadcast’, 18 January 1938, P 332/2/150 FO 395/558. 57   Partner, Arab Voices, p. 17.

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with the Arabic language. Radio Bari, on the other hand, gave them the impression they were listening to an Arab station. In spite of British efforts, the audience still preferred the Italian broadcasts for the high standard of entertainment provided.58 Yet, by the beginning of 1939, not only the BBC Arabic Service but the whole structure supporting British propaganda and counter-propaganda policy in the Middle East had come under increasing criticism.59 The need for a definite strategy and for better machinery was strongly emphasised, particularly by the War Office. It was in fact felt that the propaganda campaign was ‘largely dealt [on] an ad hoc basis by officials with no technical knowledge and as a side issue to their ordinary work’. It was also pointed out that ‘in the absence of a definite policy, personal predilections and views played an undue part in the determining the action taken or the policy adopted’. The personnel engaged in propaganda are really amateurs and are not qualified to deal with so technical a subject, while the lack of any definite policy allows full rein to be given to individual idiosyncracies on the subject. The result is that while hostile propaganda is to all intents and purpose organised and conducted on a war footing, our case still tends to go by default in the Middle East owing to lack of policy, coordination and effective technical facilities both in the area and at home.60

It was concluded that ‘something pretty drastic should be done urgently’ to counteract the offensive anti-British campaign and to secure improved publicity in the Middle East. The War Office suggested the creation of special new machinery which would consist of a central directing body in London with the task of formulating a policy and coordinating efforts to a common end, and of a small advisory body of Middle Eastern experts appointed by both the Foreign and Colonial Office. Their brief was to ‘study hostile propaganda on the spot, advise the central body in London on counter measures and see that its orders were carried out’.61 As a result of these criticisms and suggestions, a new department of the Foreign Office was set up in London in July 1939: the Middle Eastern Section of the News Department, charged with the direction of foreign publicity all over the world. This had the task of coordinating the study of anti-British propaganda methods in 58   Frost to Leeper, ‘BBC’s Weekly Report on Arabic Broadcasts’, 16 February 1938, P 1036/2/150 FO 395/559; BBC to FO, ‘Reports on Arabic Broadcasts’, 22 April 1938, P 1614/2/150 FO 395/560. 59   Mackereth to FO, ‘Measures to Combat Anti-British Propaganda in the Middle East’, 18 April 1939, P 1617/114/150 FO 395/650; Lampson to FO, ‘Measures to Combat Anti-British Propaganda in the Middle East’, 22 April 1939, P 2264/114/150 FO 395/650. 60   Cawthorn to Baxter, ‘British Propaganda in the Middle East’, 24 April 1939, P 1714/114/150 FO 395/650. 61   Ibid.

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the region; analysing the day-to-day propaganda material circulated by the enemy; planning and coordinating counter-measures such as the preparation and circulation of books, pamphlets, newspaper articles, films, gramophone records; organising and directing the collection and diffusion of day-to-day material including news, comprising both ‘antidote matter, corrective of anti-British propaganda, and positive matter of a pro-British bearing’.62 The suggestion for the establishment of a Central Bureau in some suitable locality in the Middle East, particularly endorsed by Lampson, was carefully considered but then rejected mainly because it was felt that it would not harmonise with the fundamental principle laid down for the conduct of the propaganda work, namely that ‘it must be coordinated in the closest possible fashion with decisions of policy that could only be taken in London’.63 The British Government also decided to enlarge the BBC’s programme bulletin into the Arabic Listener, a fortnightly publication containing – besides information about programmes – special articles on subjects of interest to the peoples of the Middle East.64 Although it had a modest circulation (between nine and ten thousand copies distributed worldwide), it proved to be a remarkable literary success. With the outbreak of the Second World War, the personnel of the BBC Arabic Service doubled in a very short space of time. In spite of the great pressure to do otherwise, however, the BBC remained faithful to its policy of delivering straight news only. Nonetheless, wartime broadcasting brought a great increase in talks by Cabinet Ministers, commenting on the progress of the war and representing Britain as a ‘crusading and valiant-for-truth nation’.65 Conclusion By the second half of the 1930s, it had become apparent in London that, despite the traditional repugnance for propaganda, something needed to be done to improve the perceived image of the country abroad and that clearly more positive steps had to be taken to safeguard British interests in the region. The institution of the British Council and the expansion of the BBC were cornerstones of the effort to provide the Arabs with an alternative philosophy to the more dogmatic political doctrines propagated by the dictatorships, as well as with a different view of world events. Although the establishment of the British Council and the inauguration of the BBC Arabic Service failed to produce the results that had been envisaged, 62

  Minute written by Leeper, ‘British Propaganda in the Middle East’, 29 June 1939, P 2801/114/150 FO 395/650. 63   Perth to Lampson, ‘British Propaganda in the Middle East’, 6 July 1939, P 2801/114/150 FO 395/650. 64   Minute written by Leeper, ‘Proposed Propaganda Activities in Muslim Countries’, 6 January 1939, P 114/114/150 FO 395/650. 65   Rolo, Radio Goes to War, p. 115; Partner, Arab Voices, p. 56.

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the childlike faith of the Arabs in the truth disseminated by the Fascist Regime through the vernacular press or the wireless station was quickly shattered. The force of the enemy’s argument was much reduced merely by giving the audience the other side of the story, regardless of how flawed the manner of the presentation of the other side of the story proved to be.66 It is not so much the effectiveness of the campaign that is interesting here, but the policy of confrontation that it reveals. Indeed, the ‘race’ for the hearts and minds of Arabs revealed certain fundamental antipathies and differences that were to leave Britain and Italy aware that the relationship between them would never be quite the same again. The wounds that the war of words had inflicted upon many decision-makers remained unhealed for years. This was especially true for Mussolini, for whom every attack on the morale or the bravery of his soldiers by the British press touched him in his most sensitive spot. ‘It was like a quarrel between two life-long friends where words were exchanged which neither side would even have thought of before. They [could be] withdrawn and forgiven but they [could not] be forgotten’.67 What is apparent from this, and the previous chapter, is that this war of words was merely used to mask, behind a great deal of noise, a more silent and irreconcilable clash of interests.

  Rolo, Radio Goes to War, p. 42.   Martelli, Whose Sea?, p. 173.

66 67

Chapter 4

Britain and Fascist Italy’s Political and Financial Support for the Great Palestinian Uprising, 1933–1940 Fascist Italy was the first great power to give political support to the aspirations of the Arabs of Palestine, contributing financially to the liberation of the country from both the oppression of the Mandatory Administration and the plans of the Zionist Movement. Between 1936 and 1938, this assistance played a significant role in fuelling the violent rebellion against His Majesty’s Government that caused the death of almost 3,000 people, most of them Arabs. This policy was by no means confined to financial and political assistance to the leaders of the revolt – it also entailed the clandestine supply of arms and ammunition. Even more astonishing is the fact that Rome favoured the despatching of six military officers from Libya to organise acts of terrorism and sabotage against British oil pipelines and Jewish settlements in Palestine, and that Mussolini himself approved the plan for the dissemination of chemical or biological agents in the municipal aqueduct of Tel Aviv, a city almost entirely inhabited by Jews. It matters little that weapons were ultimately never sent due to Ibn Saud’s delaying tactics and transportation difficulties via Syria, or that actual despatch never took place. The Great Palestinian Uprising took place between 1936 and 1939. The revolt was primarily a hostile reaction to increased Jewish immigration and land acquisition, which the Arabs feared would result in them becoming a minority in their own territory. After low rates of recorded immigration between 1927 and 1932, during which the average was around 5,000 people per annum, the numbers suddenly leapt to 30,327 in 1933 and to 42,359 in 1934. By 1935, the figure had risen to 61,854. This was due both to the systematic Nazi persecution of the Jews in Germany and to the adverse economic conditions in Poland and Romania, where the largest communities of European Jews lived. This problem was further aggravated by the drastic reduction imposed of overseas quotas, which attracted large-scale immigration into Palestine with destabilising effects on the precarious equilibrium that existed between the two opposing groups. By the end of 1936, the substantial increment in Jewish immigration had raised the proportion of Jews in the population to 28 per cent, prompting Arab fears of losing their majority should the rate continue unchecked. They felt that, were they not to adopt a more    ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto per il Duce’ (the document is not signed), 10 September 1936.

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aggressive and belligerent attitude, in no time at all they would be completely dominated both politically and economically by the Jews. The perceived threat to their existence led to a spate of violence in April 1936, followed by a prolonged general strike lasting till October of that year. Then the threat of martial law and the mediation of the rulers of Iraq, Saudi Arabia, Transjordan and Yemen resulted in an uneasy truce during which a Royal Commission headed by Lord Peel was despatched to Palestine to investigate the cause of the conflict. The total and unequivocal Arab rejection of the recommendation of the Peel Commission that partition was the only solution gave rise to the second phase of the revolt from September 1937 to May 1939, with the violence finally petering out on the approach of war in Europe. This response was fortified not only by the fact that Egypt and Syria were on the eve of obtaining independence but also by the successful Italian invasion of Ethiopia, which had inflicted an incredible loss of prestige upon Britain. The impression gaining ground in the Middle East was that the British Empire was disintegrating. The conquest of Ethiopia, in spite of the opposition of His Majesty’s Government, had in fact contributed to the opinion that the Fascist Regime had become a force to be reckoned with, and the Arabs of Palestine drew the conclusion that they could benefit substantially in the event of an Anglo-Italian military confrontation. This conviction was further strengthened by the realisation that both the Palestinian National Movement and the Italian Government now had an enemy in common: Britain. It would therefore appear that the maxim ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ found substance here, since an alliance born of convenience eventually developed into a working relationship based on mutual interest. The most striking aspect of this alliance, however, was the unlikely partnership between an aspiring colonial power and an anti-colonial movement. To obtain a position of power in the Middle East, Rome needed the support of local forces that could challenge the British imperial system from within. In return, the Italian Government would provide them with not only the necessary diplomatic

  Kolinsky, Britain’s War in the Middle East, pp. 49–50.  Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, p. 271; Martin Kolinsky, ‘The Collapse and Restoration of Public Security’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London, 1992), p. 147; Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, pp. 254–61; Jacob Norris, ‘Repression and Rebellion: Britain’s Response to the Arab Revolt in Palestine of 1936–1939’, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 36/1 (2008): p. 28; Matthew Hughes, ‘The Banality of Brutality: British Armed Forces and the Repression of the Arab Revolt in Palestine’, English Historical Review, 124/507 (2009): p. 313.    Luigi Goglia, ‘Il Mufti e Mussolini: alcuni documenti diplomatici italiani sui rapporti tra nazionalismo palestinese e fascismo negli anni trenta’, Storia Contemporanea, 17/6 (1986): p. 1207; Stefano Fabei, Mussolini e la resistenza palestinese (Milan, 2005), p. 152.  

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protection but also with the financial and military means required to put an end to the Mandatory Administration in Palestine. It will however be argued that, despite the fact that over IT₤11,250,000 (roughly £150,000) was spent to support the Palestinian National Movement, the Fascist Regime failed to achieve any notable result. This is even confirmed by Italian Foreign Minister Galeazzo Ciano himself, who in September 1940 told Hans Georg von Mackensen, German Ambassador to Rome, that ‘the return of this gift of millions had not been exactly great and had really been confined to occasional destruction of pipelines, which in most cases could be quickly repaired’. What is therefore interesting here is not so much the effectiveness of Fascist Italy’s political and financial assistance to the Palestinian National Movement, but the policy of confrontation with Britain that it reveals. Moreover, although this financial aid was certainly significant, it was by no means the only source for the rebel funds. Considerable amounts of money were in fact not only exhorted from wealthy landowners in Palestine, but were also collected in Egypt and Iraq and/or donated from Muslims in America and India. The conclusion that Fascist Italy’s financial assistance was not decisive is ultimately proved by the fact that, when the revolt reached its culmination between August 1938 and March 1939, the Regime had already suspended all its aid to the Palestinian National Movement. The British were painfully aware of the concurrence of interests between the Italian Government and the Palestinian National Movement, since evidence had been collected long before the outbreak of the uprising that Mussolini had promised to support the Mufti of Jerusalem in his fight against both the Mandatory Administration and the Zionist Movement. It was known that between December 1933 and March 1936 funds had been provided by Rome for the inciting of serious disturbances in Palestine through the channel of Arslan and Al-Jabiri. It soon became clear, however, that although ‘these had been instigated to some extent by Italian money’, the fundamental cause of the revolt was the hostile Arab reaction to the increase in Jewish immigration and land acquisition. The Foreign Office did not have any doubt that, while Italy’s political and financial assistance encouraged the Palestinian National Movement in its militancy, it was not the primary motivation. It accurately concluded that the significance of the   Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 63.   Document on German Foreign Policy (DGFP), D Series (D), vol. 11, 40 and 57, Mackensen to German Foreign Ministry, 11 and 14 September 1940.    Mackereth to FO, ‘Palestine: Insurrection Being Organised in Syria’, 9 December 1937, E 7307/22/31 FO 371/20822.    Williams to Rendel, ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine’, 5 June 1935, E 3519/293/31 FO 371/18958; General Staff of Intelligence to Deputy Director of Intelligence Air Ministry, 11 November 1936, AIR 2/1813.    Memorandum written by Eden, ‘Palestine: Memorandum by the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs’, 19 June 1936, CAB 24/263; Minute written by Rendel, ‘Palestine: Soviet Views on Italian Attitude’, 3 November 1937, E 6598/22/31 FO 371/20819.  

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disturbances did not lie in the intrigues and machinations of Rome, but in the strong feeling in the entire Arab and Muslim world regarding British policy in Palestine.10 It was clearly understood that the question of Palestine was central to the affairs of the entire region, and that unless and until it was settled on a basis satisfactory to the mass of the Arab and Muslim population, the restoration of law and order was totally impracticable.11 ‘If His Majesty’s Government could not escape from excessive Jewish influence ... and really administer the Mandate with complete impartiality’, emphasised the Permanent Under-Secretary Vansittart, ‘it would be playing right into malevolent hands and it would pay very dearly for it.’12 Those words were echoed by the Head of the Eastern Department Rendel, who observed that ‘if we are not prepared to give the Arabs a square deal … the danger of the Italians firmly establishing themselves in Yemen and even obtaining a dominant position in Saudi Arabia will then become a real and imminent one’. He warned that ‘nothing succeeds like success, and the establishment by the Italians of a leading position in the Arabian Peninsula will immensely strengthen their influence in Iraq and Persia’.13 The story of Fascist Italy’s political and financial support of the Great Palestinian Uprising has already been treated at length in the existing literature and will not be revisited fully here.14 What follows is an attempt to alter the perspective of the existing historiography by focusing on what the British actually knew about the political machinations and financial intrigues that were going on at that time.

10   Minute written by Vansittart, ‘Italian Activities in the Middle East: Situation in Palestine’, 15 September 1936, E 5815/3334/65 FO 371/19983; Minute written by Rendel, ‘Palestine: Insurrection Being Organised in Syria’, 13 December 1937, E 7318/22/31 FO 371/20822. See also, Elie Kedourie, Islam in the Modern World and Other Studies (London, 1980), pp. 113–15. 11   Memorandum written by Rendel, ‘Italian Activities and Ambitions in Arabia and the Middle East: and British Policy in Palestine’, 14 September 1936, E 5815/3334/65 FO 371/19983. 12   Minute written by Vansittart, ‘Italian Activities in the Middle East: Situation in Palestine’, 15 September 1936, E 5815/3334/65 FO 371/19983. 13   Memorandum written by Rendel, ‘Italian Activities and Ambitions in Arabia and the Middle East: and British Policy in Palestine’, 14 September 1936, E 5815/3334/65 FO 371/19983. 14   A number of books and articles have been published in the last decade on that topic by Stefano Fabei, Manfredi Martelli and Nir Arielli. None these new publications, however, has added anything original to what had already been concluded by Renzo De Felice and Luigi Goglia at the end of the 1980s. De Felice, Il fascismo e l’Oriente; Goglia, ‘Il Mufti e Mussolini’; Fabei, Il fascio and his Mussolini e la resistenza palestinese. Also see his, ‘Il sostegno dell’Italia alla prima intifada. I rapporti tra fascismo e nazionalismo palestinese negli anni trenta’, Studi Piacentini, 35/1 (2004): pp. 145–75; Martelli, Il fascio e la mezza luna; Nir Arielli, ‘Italian Involvement in the Arab Revolt in Palestine, 1936–1939’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, 35/2 (2008): pp. 187–204.

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Fascist Financial Assistance to the Palestinian National Movement The logic of facts is inexorable: no room can be made in Palestine for a second nation except by dislodging or exterminating the nation in possession (George Antonius, 1938).15

Any investigation of the 1936–1939 Great Uprising must begin with the story of Hajj Amin Al-Husseini, the bearer of the aspirations of the Arabs of Palestine. He was born between 1893 and 1895 into one of the most esteemed and aristocratic families in Jerusalem. He studied religious law at the University of Al-Azhar in Cairo and attended the School of Administration in Istanbul. During the summer of 1913 he made the pilgrimage to Mecca, which earned him the honorary title of Hajj. Then, with the advent of the First World War, he voluntarily joined the Ottoman Army, though he was released from it on medical grounds. Subsequently, he returned to Jerusalem, where – deeply shocked by the Balfour Declaration – he took an active role in setting up the nascent Palestinian National Movement and soon acquired a reputation for being a violent anti-Zionist zealot. He was in fact the ‘prime instigator’ of the 1920 anti-Jewish riots, when gangs armed with clubs and knives looted shops and homes in the old district of Jerusalem, killing five and wounding 216. Afterwards, he fled across the Transjordan border and was thus tried in absentia by the British for instigating the Arab masses to murder Jews. Sentenced to 15 years’ hard labour, he was however pardoned a few months later by the High Commissioner, Sir Herbert Samuel, and allowed to return to Jerusalem. On his arrival in Palestine, it was immediately clear that he ‘was not any more a young leader of the second file: his role in the riots, his escape, his trial, and the special amnesty by the High Commissioner made him a man in the public eye, a man with a record of action, ready for future [enterprises]’.16 When the existing Mufti died, Hajj Amin was appointed ahead of more qualified and older candidates to the office in his place. Almost at the same time, he was made the President of the Supreme Muslim Council, and in this way he became the most influential religious and political leader of the Palestine Arabs. The Mandatory Administration championed his career with the complacent hope of acquiring a ‘moderate interlocutor in enemy lines’, but once in power, he began a campaign of terror and intimidation against anyone who opposed his rule.17

15  George Antonius, The Arab Awakening: The Story of the Arab National Movement (London, 1938), p. 412. 16   Philip Mattar, ‘The Mufti of Jerusalem and the Politics of Palestine’, Middle East Journal, 42/2 (1988): p. 227; Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, pp. 249– 50. 17   Middle East Centre Archive (MECA), Sir Charles Tegart Papers, b. 1, f. 3A, ‘Hajj Amin’ (the document is neither signed nor dated). See also, Philip Mattar, The Mufti of Jerusalem: Al-Hajj Amin al-Husayni and the Palestinian National Movement (New York

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Contacts between the Palestinian National Movement and the Italian Government were established in the spring of 1933 when Mariano De Angelis, Consul General in Jerusalem, was instructed to enter into relations with Hajj Amin, whose attitude towards the Fascist Regime was still marked by distrust and suspicion as a consequence of the brutal repression of the Arabs of Libya. Rome thought it was opportune to cultivate the friendship of the Mufti for the great influence he exercised over the Muslims.18 The ‘courtship’ continued into the following year when the Governor of Eritrea invited Hajj Amin, who was at that time conducting with Arslan a delicate peace mission between Saudi Arabia and Yemen, to spend three days in Asmara.19 Back in Jerusalem from his journey in the Arabian Peninsula, he had a frank discussion with De Angelis, expressing the determination to work effectively for the promotion of an intimate collaboration with Rome.20 The alliance between the Palestinian National Movement and the Fascist Regime was mainly prompted by the consideration that the Anglo-Italian international crisis had created an excellent opportunity for the Arabs of Palestine to bring about a favourable modification of the policy then in place. By the end of 1935, the Mufti had in fact reached the conclusion that the moment had come for action and that, in order to succeed, the political and financial help of a foreign country was necessary. He also acknowledged that, in case of war, the Arabs should side with the power that was prepared to deliver Palestine from Zionism. If Rome could fulfil their national aspiration, they ‘should extend their hands to it’.21 It was not until the beginning of 1936, however, that effective cooperation was established to create serious difficulties for His Majesty’s Government by inciting an uprising in Palestine and by overthrowing the Emir Abdullah of Transjordan. The plan concocted by the Palestinian National Movement involved the expenditure of ₤100,000 by the Fascist Regime.22 Mussolini authorised the payment partly because it was in line with the general pro-Arab policy pursued by the Italian Government from the early 1930s onwards and partly because it provided an opportunity to show London that Rome could threaten with internal subversion the security and stability of vital British centres of imperial City, 1988), p. 11; Zvi Elpeleg, The Grand Mufti: Amin al-Hussaini, Founder of the Palestinian National Movement (London, 1993), p. 8. 18   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 12, f. 1, ‘Mufti’, De Angelis to MFA, 4 May 1933. 19   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 7, f. 1, Astuto to MFA, 3 July 1934. 20   DDI, 7th, vol. 16, 294, MFA to Mussolini, 14 December 1934. 21   CO to FO, ‘Attitude of Arab Nationalists towards Italo-Abyssinian Question’, 14 September 1935, E 5595/5595/65 FO 371/18925; CO to FO, ‘Activities of Hajj Amin Effendi Al-Husseini’, 15 October 1935, E 6181/1441/65 FO 371/18923; William to Rendel, ‘Anti-British Broadcasts from Bari’, 5 November 1935, E 6585/293/31 FO 371/18958. 22   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Pro-memoria per il Duce’ (the document is not signed), 15 January 1936.

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communication. Yet, Mussolini – convinced that the movement was on the brink of collapse – subsequently informed the Mufti that he would only be granted £25,000 in two instalments.23 In that weeks that followed, the sporadic outburst of violence degenerated into a brutal Arab rebellion. The spark that ignited the confrontation was an attack made on 15 April on a convoy of cars on the road between Nablus and Tulkarm, during which two Jewish passengers were shot dead.24 Retaliation was soon launched by members of the right-wing Jewish paramilitary organisation Irgun Tsvai Leumi, who murdered two Arabs in their huts near Petah Tikvah, and two days later nine Jews were stoned or stabbed to death in the streets of Jaffa.25 Taken by surprise by the spontaneous outbreak of the revolt and by the setting up of National Committees in the main towns, the traditional Palestinian leadership overcame their political rivalries and joined forces in an effort to organise and direct the wave of popular rage. An Arab Higher Committee in which all the major parties were represented was formed under the chairmanship of the Mufti. A general strike was immediately declared involving the vast majority of Arab workers. The Arab Higher Committee hoped to achieve the suspension of Jewish immigration, the prohibition of land sales to Jews and the appointment of a fully independent national state. The strike, once called, rapidly solidified: the port of Jaffa ceased to function, road transport seized up and a tax boycott began. Violence then became more systematic: 80 Jews were murdered by Arabs during this period and more than 350 wounded, while 197 Arabs were killed and more than 800 wounded, most of them in clashes with British forces. Finally, British police and military losses during the same period totalled 37 killed and over 200 wounded.26 After a short period during which the Mandatory Administration had sought to control events in a spirit of accommodation and diplomacy, widespread acts of murder and sabotage by gangs of armed terrorists compelled the authorities to use force: active steps were taken to protect life and property as well as to restore law and order.27 Employing a tactic that would become all too familiar to successive 23   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto per il Capo del Governo’, De Angelis to Mussolini, 2 February 1936. 24   This attack was made by the remaining followers of Mohamed Izzedin Al-Qassam, a popular imam of the Istiqlal Mosque in Haifa and founding father of the Palestinian Jihad, who had been killed by British military forces in November 1935. 25   Air Headquarters Palestine to Air Ministry, 19 April 1936, X.2850 AIR 2/1759. 26   Yehuda Taggar, The Mufti of Jerusalem and Palestine: Arab Politics, 1930–1937 (New York City, 1986), pp. 371–2; Charles Townshend, ‘The First Intifada: Rebellion in Palestine, 1936–1939’, History Today, 39/7 (1989): p. 15; Joseph Nevo, ‘Palestinian-Arab Violent Activity during the 1930s’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London, 1992), pp. 173–4. 27   Gabriel Sheffer, ‘Principles of Pragmatism: A Reevaluation of British Policies towards Palestine in the 1930s’, in Uriel Dann (ed.), The Great Power in the Middle East, 1919–1939 (New York City, 1988), p. 112; Charles Townshend, ‘The Defence of Palestine:

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generations of Palestinians, the British Army began the punitive demolition of houses of innocent Arabs in the villages and towns where the outrages had occurred. In this way, 250 houses in the old district of Jaffa, the epicentre of the rebellion, were destroyed when two wide roads were driven through the ‘rabbit warren’ of narrow streets and blind-walled houses typical of middle-eastern cities. By this act alone, almost 6,000 Palestinians were made homeless. Punishment in the form of the destruction of Arab property was a central part of British counterinsurgency operations and around 2,000 houses were destroyed between 1936 and 1940.28 It was within this context that, in the early days of May, Hajj Amin urgently requested the payment of the second instalment (£13,000) he had been promised for the continuation of the strike and the general state of lawlessness. He also revealed to De Angelis his intention to ‘intensify and further develop the protest so as to bring the efforts of the British to a standstill’. According to the leader of the Palestinian National Movement, the time was very favourable for the Arabs, since the local authorities were showing ‘a certain sense of disorientation and a lack of harmony with the metropolis’.29 In view of the central government’s failure to respond to this request, the Consul General decided to plead the Arab cause in a series of despatches sent to Rome in June and July. De Angelis expressed the opinion that a whole set of circumstances suggested that the Mufti’s faith in substantial success for the revolt was anything but unfounded: the unusual and unpredictable resistance of the Arab Higher Committee, the belligerence with which the population was responding to the repressive measures being imposed by the British, the almost unanimous determination of the people not to disarm until the objectives had been achieved, the growing paralysis in the life of the country, and the pessimism of the Mandatory Administration in the face of the deteriorating situation. Taking all these factors into account, it was in the Fascist Regime’s interests to assist the Palestinian National Movement because in that way, Italy could interfere in the politics of Britain, which was proposing to create a group of Arab states under its own exclusive control. De Angelis furthermore emphasised how effective support for the Mufti would gain for the country the gratitude and friendship of millions of Muslims throughout the world.30 While it was being discussed in Rome what course of action to take, at the beginning of July the Mufti, under pressure from the unexpected developments in the Palestinian National Movement, asked not only for the remaining £13,000 Insurrection and Public Security, 1936–1939’, English Historical Review, 103/409 (1988): p. 929; Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 258. 28   Townshend, ‘The First Intifada’, p. 15; Norris, ‘Repression and Rebellion’, p. 33;

Hughes, ‘The Banality of Brutality’, pp. 320–22.

29   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Capo del Governo’, 7 May 1936. 30   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Personale’. De Angelis to De Peppo, 16 June 1936; ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’, De Angelis to Ciano, 9 July 1936.

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but also for a further payment of £75,000, with which he was convinced he could complete the current phase of his own campaign. Once again, De Angelis highlighted how it was absolutely essential to give a ‘concrete reply’ to Hajj Amin’s requests, because generalised assurances and declarations of friendship would only have made the Italian attitude appear ‘evasive and dilatory’. It was no longer possible to give the Mufti the impression that the secret friendship of the Fascist Regime was ‘uncertain and hesitant’, because his trust would certainly have been lost. The Consul General therefore recommended that the Mufti be given a favourable response, stating that an initial tranche of £25,000 would be paid to him in September and the other two equal tranches at two-monthly intervals, depending on how events developed in Palestine.31 By that time, however, London was already perfectly aware that the Fascist Regime was doing its best to incite resistance and revolt. It was known that the rebels were receiving payments from the Italian consulates in Cairo and Jerusalem. At the end of May, it was reported that a sum of about £20,000 was sent to Palestine from the Ministry for Foreign Affairs through the Consul General in Jerusalem with the object of ‘inducing the Arab element there and elsewhere to cause Britain as much trouble as possible’. Although a number of reports suggested that funds were transmitted first from the Banco di Roma in Beirut to its branch in Jerusalem and then to the Arab Bank, where they were split up and deposited in a number of accounts, the Criminal Investigation Department conclusively revealed that the rebels did not have bank accounts and that the payments were handed directly through Arslan, Al-Jabiri and De Angelis to the Mufti, who pooled them with contributions from Egypt, India and Iraq.32 British Air Intelligence further disclosed that the funds were also emanating from Fuad Hamza, Deputy Minister for Foreign Affairs of Saudi Arabia.33 Incontrovertible proof had come to light that he had received £5,000 to promote the formation of terrorist bands in Palestine and Transjordan for sabotage purposes. ‘My friends ... are willing to begin work at once and are confident that they can successfully carry it through. ... They nevertheless say that they cannot begin without getting at least £25,000’, a letter to Giovanni Persico, Italian Minister to Jedda, intercepted by British Security Service, showed beyond doubt.34 Consequently, once informed about Hamza’s duplicity, Whitehall immediately considered the 31   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’, De Angelis to Ciano, 22 July 1936. 32  General Staff of Intelligence to Deputy Director of Intelligence Air Ministry, ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine’, 9 June 1936, AIR 2/1813. 33   Minute written by Malcolm, ‘Saudi-Italian Relations: Fuad Bey Hamza’, 27 November 1935, E 6947/6797/25 FO 371/19020. 34   A few days later the Foreign Office noted with alarm that ‘the recent affray at Jenin, in which a British police officer lost his life in the pursuit of a terrorist band headed by a well-known nationalist agitator, looks very like an early manifestation of this policy and it seems only too probable .... that the money taken by Hamza is for the organisation of

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best action to have him removed. Yet, the great difficulty was to unseat him without having to reveal the source of the information about him. Accordingly, it was first mooted that the Fascist Regime be made aware that the British Government knew Hamza was in its pay, in the hope that this would break this connection from the Italian end. This suggestion was nevertheless rejected mainly because it would not have removed the ill-will of Hamza in his capacity as Ibn Saud’s right hand man. It was then decided to try to compromise him by seizing his agents in Palestine and raiding their correspondence. If openly incriminating evidence were found, the British Government could subsequently go straight to Ibn Saud. A few days later, events pre-empted this plan. It was reported that the Saudi Secret Service had documents showing that Hamza had taken £10,000 in bribes since he was in Rome in May 1935, while it was almost simultaneously disclosed that the Saudi Minister of Finance was working on bringing Hamza’s venality to the notice of his master. The British therefore decided not to take steps to have him removed.35 It is however interesting to note that the British were persuaded that Ibn Saud was ‘playing straight with them’ in the mistaken conviction ‘not only that he was totally amenable to their pressure but also that he was a staunch Anglophile’, while in reality he was actively assisting the Mufti. They never fully appreciated that he feared and distrusted Britain, a power that obstructed his progress in various directions. It was only at the beginning of 1938 that they ultimately realised that Ibn Saud was actively supporting the rebels with arms and money.36 At the end of July 1936, De Angelis was given the task of letting the Mufti know that the Fascist Government intended to continue its ‘vigilant and active’ assistance and that it was prepared to pay him the next tranche of £25,000, but that it was preferable in the interests of the Arab cause that the revolt then taking place should not be pushed to extremes. Indeed, it was believed that Britain, after the setback suffered at the hands of Italy in East Africa, would not have tolerated another defeat and certainly would not have hesitated to put down such a revolt with considerable force. The armed uprising had to be maintained, since it was very important for the interests of the Fascist Regime, except that it should not be forced unduly, pending a more propitious moment. It was essential that the Palestinian pot they were stirring should not boil over. In the meantime, it was opportune to intensify collaborative relations between the two parties, though avoiding direct contacts in Palestine so as not to compromise their own position vis-à-vis Britain.37 terrorism and sabotage in Palestine and Transjordan’. Minute written by Malcolm, ‘Fuad Bey Hamza’, 10 December 1935, E 7183/6797/25 FO 371/19020. 35   Minute written by Ward, ‘Saudi-Italian Relations: Fuad Bey Hamza’, 5 December 1935, E 6947/6797/25 FO 371/19020. 36   Trott to FO, ‘Italian Arms for Saudi Arabia’, 18 September 1937, E 5512/815/25 FO 371/20843; CO to Baxter, ‘Arms Importation into Palestine: Implication of Ibn Saud’, 3 June 1938, E 3325/10/31 FO 371/21877. 37   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’ (the document is not signed), 21 July 1936.

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Having in fact been warned by the Military Intelligence Service that Italian agents in Egypt and Palestine were being closely watched by British authorities, Ciano let the Mufti know of his intention to prevent the Consul General in Jerusalem from continuing to represent the exclusive and obligatory channel for this kind of confidential relationship and expressly requested that future contacts should take place outside Palestine.38 Accordingly, from September 1936 to June 1938 meetings were conducted between Military Intelligence Service agents/ couriers from the Ministry for Foreign Affairs and trusted emissaries from the Mufti in various European and Middle Eastern cities. For the Palestinian National Movement, the role of intermediary was taken by Musa Alami, a brilliant lawyer who had studied at Cambridge and had occupied a major post in the Mandatory Administration as a Political Advisor on Arab Affairs under High Commissioner Arthur Wauchope.39 The new scheme devised by the Military Intelligence Service provided that the payments would be made every two months at pre-arranged meetings to people previously designated by Alami himself. An exchange of correspondence would be used to determine the dates and locations of the appointments. The emissary of the Mufti would have to send his post, sealed in double envelopes, to one of the Military Intelligence Service’s post-boxes in Rome. At the head of each letter he would have to indicate a date using an agreed code.40 Agreements were also made on the hotels selected for appointments in seven cities: Beirut, Brindisi, Damascus, Lucerne, Milan, Naples and Venice. If no indication of the location were given, the appointment would be held at the Great Britain Hotel in Athens. If no person’s name were provided, the meeting would take place with Ishaq Darwish or Mohammed Afifi, the trustees whom the Mufti had indicated would be taking part in any future rendezvous.41 38  General Staff of Intelligence to Deputy Director of Intelligence Air Ministry, ‘Italian Propaganda in Palestine’, 23 June 1936, AIR 2/1813; ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), De Angelis to Ciano, 3 September 1936. 39  Geoffrey Furlonge, Palestine Is My Country: The Story of Musa Alami (London, 1969), p. 100. 40   At the beginning of September 1937, the agreements for the correspondence were revised: the names in code of the people involved in the operation were updated, while it was decided that the indications in the letters of the dates of the meetings would always be shown with a deduction of nine. 10 January, for instance, would be given as 19 October (19−9=10; 10−9=1). 41   The following is a typical example of the codes used in the letters: ‘Dear George (code name for Alami), I have sent you, through the friend that I met (Darwish), those 10 metres of silk (£10,000) you were expecting for. Let me know if you receive them and if you like them. As soon as possible I will send you a further 20 metres (£20,000). As you are aware, my father has allowed me to go to Europe .... I would like to visit Nice for a couple of days. Let me know if I can meet some of your friends there. By the way, do you know any good hotel there? I was told that the Hotel Negresco is a good option. What do you think? The other day I spoke with our friend Dr. Haufmann (Casto Caruso), who told me that he

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The British, who had up to that point successfully managed to penetrate the organisation for the distribution of the funds thanks to informers in close touch with the Italian consulates in Cairo, Geneva and Jerusalem were no longer able to obtain any definite proof on the involvement of the Fascist Regime in the Great Palestinian Uprising. Evidence of the early British success in penetrating the clandestine organisation can be found in the accurate intelligence report prepared for the Air Ministry in November 1936. It was in fact disclosed that the money spent up to then for the Palestinian National Movement through Arslan, Al-Jabiri and De Angelis amounted to £75,000, which was exactly the amount sent from Italy, even though only £52,578 had been actually received by the Mufti.42 About £22,000 had been siphoned off from the funds destined for the rebels and, after a number of investigations, it eventually emerged that Al-Jabiri had appropriated £25,000.43 In the following two years, Alami did his work efficiently and discreetly. After his arrival on the stage, there were no more complaints about misappropriations of funds or indiscretions regarding collaboration with the Fascist Regime. What is more, the British never suspected Alami and even when in February 1938 he decided to go to Beirut to assist the Mufti, he maintained close contact with the Mandatory Administration. After the implementation of the new scheme, British Intelligence was unable to obtain ‘any concrete evidence’ in the same way it had previously been able to do, because the system devised by the Military Intelligence Service made it virtually impossible to trace the source of its financial assistance. Although they were aware that Rome was still supporting the rebels politically and financially, the Foreign Office rightly concluded that it was a mistake to attribute to the Fascist Regime any major or decisive role in the Great Palestinian Uprising. Despite the fact that ‘the Italians were always glad to fish in troubled waters and they had certainly played a part in adding to our difficulties’, observed Rendel, ‘what we were experiencing were due to quite other causes. It was quite unnecessary to look to them as the originators of the trouble. I feel sure their part was really a trivial one’.44

had been invited to Palestine. He would be there in the following spring.’ ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’, Caruso to Ciano, 21 November 1936; b. 1061 (744), ‘Promemoria’ (the document is not signed), 24 September 1937. 42  General Staff of Intelligence to Deputy Director of Intelligence Air Ministry, 11 November 1936, AIR 2/1813. 43   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto’ (the document is not signed), 26 September 1936; ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’, Caruso to Ciano, 21 November 1936; b. 1061 (744), ‘Incontro con Auni Abdul Chadri Bey, 3–4–5 Agosto 1937’, Enderle to MFA, 8 August 1937. 44   Minute written by Rendel, ‘Palestine: Soviet Views on Italian Attitude’, 3 November 1937, E 6598/22/31 FO 371/20819; Minute written by Rendel, ‘Palestine: Insurrection Being Organised in Syria’, 13 December 1937, E 7318/22/31 FO 371/20822.

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At the beginning of September, Alami arrived in Italy on the pretext of needing a holiday to recover from an illness. The real purpose of his visit, however, was to ask the Fascist Regime for ‘substantial and ongoing help for the Palestinian cause’. He informed Casto Caruso, the officer from the Cabinet of the Ministry for Foreign Affairs responsible for maintaining contacts with the representatives of the Palestinian National Movement, of the existence of a secret agreement between the Mufti and Ibn Saud, which provided for the cessation of Jewish immigration into Palestine, the replacement of the Emir Abdullah with the Emir Faysal, the independence of Palestine, Transjordan and Syria, and the constitution of an anti-British and anti-French Arab federation comprising Syria, Iraq, Palestine, Transjordan, Saudi Arabia and Yemen. In addition to the £13,000 that had already been granted and that would soon be handed over, Alami asked for £75,000.45 The Ministry of Foreign Affairs agreed to make three payments of £25,000 at fourmonthly intervals on condition that the Arabs not only continued to maintain the situation that then existed in Palestine, but also that they attempted to escalate the conflict.46 The Fascist Government was also exhorted to provide technical staff capable of organising the pollution of the aqueduct in Tel Aviv, where most of Palestine’s Jews lived. Immediate availability was granted only for the provision of the equipment, with the experts to be sent later. In spite of the temporary refusal to provide qualified personnel to operate in Palestine, Rome clearly took the matter extremely seriously.47 An exchange of letters between the Minister for the Colonies, the Governor of Libya and the Minister for Foreign Affairs demonstrates beyond doubt the importance given to the question by the Fascist Regime. On 29 September, Alessandro Lessona officially asked Italo Balbo for six Libyan sub-officials who were 100 per cent reliable and who could be entrusted with a mission to be carried out in Palestine. They had to be people who were accustomed to visiting Arab countries in the Levant and who were ‘not easily identifiable as Libyans, not even through their dialect’.48 A month later, the Governor replied that he had found just the right person for the secret mission in Captain Kalifa, but that he would only be available after a couple of months, since he was engaged in an important police operation in Ethiopia.49 Ciano then wrote to Balbo that it would be opportune to recall the Captain to Tripoli without delay so that he could start his mission in 45   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto’ (the document is not signed), 10 September 1936. 46   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto per il Duce’ (the document is not signed), 26 September 1936. 47   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto’ (the document is not signed), 10 September 1936; ‘Appunto per il Duce’ (the document is not signed), 26 September 1936. 48   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Personale libico da inviare in Palestina’, Lessona to Bruni, 29 September 1936. 49   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), Balbo to Ciano, 29 October 1936.

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Palestine forthwith.50 On 12 November, the Governor informed Rome that he had pressed the military authorities to speed up the repatriation of Captain Kalifa.51 The story of the Libyan sub-officials suddenly disappears from the available documentation, partly reappearing only in the summer of 1937 when, following a new request from Alami, the possibility was discussed of sending instructors to Syria to train ‘a dozen people trusted by the Mufti who would be operating in Palestine’.52 After this, there is no further trace in the archival diplomatic and military documents of what happened to the Arab request, but it is possible to assume that the question was abandoned by the Palestinian National Movement or that it was discarded by the Fascist Regime.53 On 12 October 1936, the general strike was called off. The decision was not only influenced by British and Arab pressure but also by the apprehension that, if the revolt continued, ‘the political level would lose control over the armed band who were becoming less and less dependent on the national leadership. The termination of the strike helped to re-establish the authority of the Arab Higher Committee’.54 After the restoration of law and order, a Royal Commission headed by Lord Peel was dispatched to Palestine to investigate the political situation and to determine the territory’s future. Even though the end of the hostilities was considered by the Arabs to be merely a temporary truce pending the decision of the Commission, there was a general decline in the level of violence until its recommendations were published the following July. The period from October 1936 to August 1937 was accordingly characterised by a relative lull during which the Arab Higher Committee concentrated on fund-raising instead.55 But, when in September 1937 a new wave of violence was launched, the modalities for payment and communication were further modified, since the Arab Higher Committee was outlawed and hundreds of Arab nationalist leaders had been deported or detained. The Mufti was deposed from the presidency of the Supreme Muslim Council and placed on the wanted list by the Mandatory Administration, though he managed to escape to Syria, where he was subsequently joined by his most faithful collaborators, including Alami.56 Faced with the difficulties involved in sending couriers to Europe, he suggested to the Fascist Regime that future meetings would have to take place in Lebanon and/or Syria. It 50

  ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), Ciano to Balbo, 4 November 1936.   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), Balbo to Ciano, 12 November 1936. 52   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1061 (744), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’, Berionni to Ciano, 18 and 28 July 1937. 53   Nir Arielli, ‘La politica dell’Italia fascista nei confronti degli arabi palestinesi, 1935–1940’, Mondo Contemporaneo, 2/1 (2006): p. 52. 54   Nevo, ‘Palestinian-Arab Violent Activity’, p. 178. 55   Kolinsky, ‘The Collapse and Restoration of Public Security’, p. 153; Nevo, ‘Palestinian-Arab Violent Activity’, p. 178. 56   Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, pp. 258–60; Norris, ‘Repression and Rebellion’, p. 28. 51

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was consequently decided that the packages containing the money would be sent to the personal address of Vittorio Castellani, Italian Consul to Damascus, who would then remove any covering and hand them over personally to Darwish at the Empire Cinema in Beirut. It was further agreed that the packages would be handed over every two months.57 The flow of money kept reaching the Palestinian National Movement until the spring of 1938 when, in connection with the signing of the Easter Agreements, the Duce decided to block financial aid to the Arabs of Palestine. The rapprochement with London allowed Mussolini to present himself at Hitler’s intended visit in May in a favourable diplomatic light, avoiding the impression of a total dependence on the Reich to achieve his foreign policy objectives. It would also make it possible to prevent any Anglo-German agreement and to break up the traditional AngloFrench entente.58 Arms and Ammunition to the Palestinian National Movement Although the financial assistance given to the Palestinian National Movement was almost uninterrupted between 1933 and 1938, major difficulties were encountered in producing the much-needed military support. It was a question that had to be handled with the greatest delicacy because of the way in which it could have jeopardised the already precarious relations with Britain. Nevertheless, the fact is that the Ministry for Foreign Affairs moved swiftly to meet the absolute necessity for military equipment on the part of the rebels.59 On 14 September 1936, Ciano informed the Ministry of War that it had been decided to instigate supplies of arms and ammunition of foreign manufacture for Palestine. Federico Baistrocchi, the Under-Secretary of State for War and the Chief of Staff of the Army, immediately pointed out that he had 4,248 Belgian rifles with 7,000,000 cartridges and 35 Saint Etienne machine guns with 70,000 cartridges at his disposal.60 These arms had been purchased by the Military Intelligence Service in Belgium in June 1935 to prevent their sale to the Ethiopians, who had been negotiating to buy them at the time. An anonymous Belgian company, Société Anonyme pour Importation Exportation, had been set up for this purpose in order to be able to make purchases on the clandestine arms market secretly on behalf of 57   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1061 (744), ‘Appunto sugli accordi presi tra il console Caruso, il console Castellani, ed il signor Darwish per la consegna in Siria di pacchi destinati al Mufti’ (the document is not signed), 19 January 1938. 58   Macgregor Knox, Mussolini Unleashed, 1939–1941: Politics and Strategy in Fascist Italy’s Last War (Cambridge, 1982), p. 36; Collotti, Fascismo e politica di potenza, p. 349; Robert Mallett, ‘Fascist Foreign Policy and Official Italian View of Anthony Eden in the 1930s’, Historical Journal, 43/1 (2000): p. 181; Giglioli, Italia e Francia, pp. 310–11. 59   Martelli, Il fascio e la mezza luna, p. 108. 60   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), Baistrocchi to Ciano, 15 September 1936.

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the Italian Government, thus avoiding the difficulties and impediments that might be put in the way of operations carried out directly by state organisations.61 All the arms and ammunitions for Palestine would be put into easily carried boxes weighing no more than 30 kg and bearing no indication of their origins.62 The plan was that an auxiliary sailing ship, after setting sail from the port of Taranto, would transfer its load onto appropriate vessels sent to meet it four miles west of the mouth of the Litani River on the southern coast of Lebanon. From there, the arms would be taken secretly into Palestine by the rebels. The meeting with the sailing vessels was to take place on the night of 31 December with the idea of taking advantage of the reduced vigilance of the customs guards on New Year’s Eve.63 With the aim of tidying up the details for sending the arms and ammunition, the Military Intelligence Service despatched Major Berionni to Damascus to obtain agreements for the arrival and unloading of the auxiliary sailing ship. The operation was, however, suspended barely one day before the departure of the boat, because Berionni agreed with Alami that a number of factors were endangering its secrecy. The postponement of the shipment became necessary because the full moon forecast for the night of 31 December, coupled with the rough conditions at sea, would have entailed considerable risks. It was further noted that the transfer of 400 tons of equipment would have required the constant mobilisation of boats, whose movements would have been difficult to conceal from the local authorities. Berionni therefore thought it right not only to suspend the shipment but also to go to Jerusalem to reconsider the entire question with the Mufti.64 After two days of simulated tourism, Berionni had a long discussion with Hajj Amin. They agreed that the supplies could be sent more safely through Ibn Saud. The auxiliary sailing ship would have to dock openly in the port of Jedda as though the shipment of military equipment it was carrying had been ordered officially by the Saudi Government. If the King decided not to go along with the plan – a possibility that the Mufti considered fairly remote – the plan drawn up previously would be put into action, making use of the cargo ship that would then be provided.65 The agreement for transporting the military provisions was finally drawn up in Athens on 20 January 1937. Darwish informed Berionni that Ibn Saud had granted the request but, in order to better conceal the cargo destined for the Mufti, he had advised making use of a similar acquisition that he would obtain in Belgium the following spring. The ship with the supplies destined for the Palestinians would therefore have to go to Belgium to take on board the cargo acquired by the Saudi 61   Archivio dell’Ufficio Storico dello Stato Maggiore dell’Esercito (AUSSME), Carte SIM H-3, b. 2, f. A/9, ‘Attività della Sapiex’, 4 September 1935. 62   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), Pariani to Ciano, 28 November 1936. 63   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), Ciano to Pariani, 27 November 1936. 64   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Relazione sulla missione compiuta in Palestina’, Berionni to MFA, 3 January 1937. 65   Ibid.

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Government. If this system of transportation proved to be unfeasible, they would look for a way to ‘send the equipment directly and in a regular fashion’ to a port south of Alexandretta. But Berionni thought that sending the ship to Belgium could not be accepted because of the distance and the route it would have to follow with such an extremely sensitive cargo on board. Since it was not advisable to send the goods through Syria either, the only possible solution left was for an official request to be made by Ibn Saud.66 On 4 April, the Ministry for Foreign Affairs was informed that the Saudi King, although appearing to be highly favourable towards the Palestinian cause, had nevertheless made it clear that he did not want to order the military cargo directly, since this would compromise his position with the British. He did agree, however, to allow the arms and ammunition to travel on board the same ship in which the equipment he was intending to acquire in Belgium was to be loaded. Darwish assured Caruso that, for the shipment of the arms and ammunitions acquired in Europe, the Saudi Government would contact an officer of the Military Intelligence Service and request an Italian ship that could be conveniently fitted out with the provisions destined for the Mufti.67 Mussolini and Ciano decided to authorise the operation, partly because they believed that the greatest risk that could be incurred would be only that of losing the shipment of arms and ammunition. Even if in all probability the British did get to know about the unloading of the military supplies, they could have absolutely no way of realising what the final destination of the arms and ammunition was to be. And were they to surmise that the goods had been smuggled illegally into Palestine, all they could do would be to complain to Ibn Saud about it.68 Darwish was furthermore informed that, apart from the weaponry that had already been assembled, the Military Intelligence Service would also send 417 pistols (341 Mausers with 6,300 bullets; 76 Steyrs with 40,000 bullets) and 300,000 cartridges.69 But the Fascist Regime waited in vain for a decision on the part of Ibn Saud. On 16 and 17 July in Vienna, Alami explained that the Saudi King was still firmly committed to passing on the equipment once it had been transported to Jedda. The only reason he still had not requested the ship was that he wanted to make use of a totally trustworthy agent such as the Libyan political exile Khalid AlGargani, who was seriously ill at the time. If Al-Gargani were unable to carry out

66

  ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Relazione sulla missione compiuta ad Atene il 20 gennaio 1937’, Berionni to MFA, 22 January 1937. 67   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’, Caruso to Ciano, 7 and 23 April 1937. 68   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto’, Caruso to Ciano, 14 April 1937. 69   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1060 (743), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’, Caruso to Ciano, 20 and 23 April 1937.

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the mission assigned to him soon, the Mufti was assured that a new agent would be selected.70 Meanwhile, the Palestinian National Movement transformed into a militant outburst Arab disappointment with the Peel Commission’s recommendations for the partition of Palestine, launching a new wave of violence with the assassination of the Acting District Commissioner of the Galilee, Lewis Andrew. This broke the uneasy truce that had existed since the autumn of 1936 and marked the beginning of the second phase of the revolt that would prove to be far more widespread and violent than the first one.71 On 22 September in Geneva, Alami once again confirmed the Mufti’s intention, in agreement with Ibn Saud, to initiate a widespread movement aimed at replacing the Emir Abdullah with a provisional government until the Palestinian question had been resolved. The ultimate objective was to put an end to the Mandate and set up a republic comprising Palestine and Transjordan. The fact that Britain had only 8,000 soldiers in these two countries gave considerable hope for the success of the revolt. Alami added that the uprising would take place anyway with or without help from Italy but that it would probably be drowned in blood after only a few months without achieving any real result. He asked for £50,000 to be sent as quickly as possible and a further £5,000 per month, so long as the revolutionary movement lasted, in addition to the arms and ammunition that had already been promised.72 Berionni told Alami that the Fascist Regime would make every effort ‘to help the Arabs of Palestine by indirect and reserved means’.73 To continue exerting strong pressure on His Majesty’s Government, Ciano in fact authorised an initial grant of £15,000 plus £5,000 a month. He also let Alami know that the time was particularly propitious for resuming the rebellion in Palestine because Britain was very worried about the serious situations in Spain and China. For this reason, a targeted rebellion started at that moment solely in Palestine would certainly have been more effective than a more widespread uprising instigated some time in the near future, for which Rome would certainly not have been able to provide further financing.74 With regard to the arms and ammunition, it was decided that the best system for ensuring that they reached their destination while avoiding any risks of losses or complications would be through an official request for supplies by the Saudi Government to the Fascist Regime. The equipment would be provided immediately 70

  ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1061 (744), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’, Berionni to Ciano, 18 July 1937. 71   Norris, ‘Repression and Rebellion’, p. 28. 72   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1061 (744), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’ (the document is not signed), 22 and 24 September 1937. 73   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1061 (744), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’, Berionni to Ciano, 18 July 1937. 74   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1061 (744), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’, Berionni to Ciano, 28 July 1937.

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at an exceptionally low price, but Rome would then reimburse the Mufti for all the money paid. The arms and ammunition would then be introduced secretly into Palestine from Saudi Arabia.75 But Ibn Saud’s doubts and hesitations continued throughout the winter of 1937 mainly because the British had obtained ‘very secret information’ that he was heavily implicated in the plan for the importation of large amounts of arms and ammunitions into Palestine and had delivered him a stern warning. The General Staff Intelligence had in fact reported in September that 800 rifles and 400 cases of ammunition had been landed in Saudi Arabia on the east coast of the Gulf of Aqaba. Although it was at first thought that the arms were for the Saudi Arabian Frontier Police, it was later conclusively shown that they were intended for Palestine instead.76 Bullard was therefore instructed to tell Ibn Saud that ‘the rebels have good reason recently to count on his practical assistance, including financial assistance and the purchase of arms and ammunitions in Europe, ostensibly for despatch to the Saudi Government but in reality for the Arabs of Palestine’. Ibn Saud was very perturbed at this communication. Rather than compromising his relations with His Majesty’s Government, he ordered a cessation of active support for the rebels. His decision not to request the arms destined for the Mufti actually prevented the Palestinian National Movement from achieving the objectives that had been set, thus making this a major success for the British Security Service.77 A Chill in the Relations between the Fascist Regime and the Palestinian National Movement, 1938–1940 The manner in which the Anschluss took place (12 March 1938), and in particular the lack of consultation on Hitler’s part, especially irritated Mussolini. After what transpired between February and March 1938, he did not confine himself merely to protesting to Berlin that he had not been notified beforehand, but also urged Grandi, at that time Ambassador to London, to take a more accommodating attitude in his negotiations with the British from that time on.78 Seeing the progress being made in the talks with His Majesty’s Government, Mussolini decided to suspend, after a final payment of £10,000, ‘all aid of any kind’ to the Mufti, who had thenceforth to be content with help that was ‘moral and indirect’. The Fascist Regime also informed Alami that Britain now seemed to be aware of the complete failure of its own pro-Zionist policies, and that the situation of the Arabs ‘would 75

  ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1061 (744), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’ (the document is not signed), 22 and 24 September 1937. 76   Trott to FO, ‘Italian Arms for Saudi Arabia’, 18 September 1937, E 5512/815/25 FO 371/20843. 77   Downie to Baxter, ‘Arms Importation into Palestine: Implication of Ibn Saud’, 4 June 1938, E 3325/10/31 FO 371/21877. 78   Ciano, Diario, p. 100.

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in future greatly benefit from this fact’. The Italian Government therefore advised the Palestinian National Movement to try to reach ‘some degree of understanding with His Majesty’s Government, even if it were only partly to satisfy its national aspirations’.79 This was a heavy blow for the Mufti. Although Hajj Amin was appreciative of all the support the Fascist Regime had provided his people over the years, he was somewhat bitter about what he considered to be in effect a decision to give up on his country. Despite the fact that he understood that the future attitude of the Fascist Regime towards the Arabs would have to fit in with the new AngloItalian rapprochement, he still hoped that Rome would do nothing that might ‘compromise its magnificent positions in the Arab world and that it would not suddenly abandon Palestine’. He therefore insisted on an increase in the grant to allow the Palestinian National Movement to make ‘one last vigorous effort’ to force the British to agree to a solution that would be the most acceptable for the Arabs.80 He was however informed that Mussolini’s decision was irrevocable: the Italian Government could no longer continue on the diplomatic warpath with Britain in order to see the Palestinian question resolved. The argument was put forward that aid had always been both consistent and unconditional: the lack of success for the Palestinian National Movement could certainly not be blamed on the Fascist Regime. If Ibn Saud had agreed, and not only verbally, to be the intermediary for sending the arms and ammunition that the Ministry of War and the Military Intelligence Service had been keeping aside for nearly two years, the Palestinian National Movement would probably have already achieved the results that the Mufti was aiming for.81 Despite the suspension of the financial aid, the Mufti proceeded to advance the rebellion towards a state of widespread revolt. The situation steadily deteriorated throughout the summer of 1938 and, by the beginning of September, the disturbances ‘had more than ever before assumed the character of open rebellion’.82 The insurgents had made substantial progress, assuming effective control of most of the country. The Mandatory Administration had in fact lost control of Beersheba and Bethlehem, while the old district of Jerusalem had been occupied for almost a week. After the Conference of Monaco (29–30 September 1938), His Majesty’s Government, worried by the very serious risks that its vital imperial positions in the

79

  ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1061 (744), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’ (the document is not signed), 26 January 1938. 80   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1061 (744), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’ (the document is not signed), 29 and 30 March 1938. 81   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1061 (744), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’ (the document is not signed), 10 June 1938. 82   Quoted in Townshend, ‘The Defence of Palestine’, p. 923.

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Middle East might run in the case of conflict, decided to intensify its suppression of the rebellion by deploying two additional full-strength divisions to Palestine.83 This time the British were more decisive and installed a repressive military regime that allowed the Army to operate with relative impunity to suppress the rebellion’s wider base of popular support. Among the practices imposed upon the civilian population were permanent night curfews, internments without charges or trials, executions for possessing weapons, searches without warrant, detention camps, collective fines on whole towns and villages. By the end of 1938, the military courts had passed 2,000 long sentences and had pronounced 148 death sentences, while tens of thousands of Arabs – ‘many of whom had no connection with the uprising but were just unfortunate enough to be villagers in areas of rebel activity’ – had been detained.84 According to Matthew Hughes, ‘the British established a systematic, systemic, officially sanctioned policy of destruction, punishment, reprisal and brutality that fractured and impoverished the Palestinian population’.85 It was in this new context that Hajj Amin ‘implored’ Mussolini to give him further aid, which was essential for achieving the objectives he had set himself. The aid would have to consist of 1,000,000 rifle cartridges, the transportation of which would be handled by completely trustworthy men from the Mufti, who would load the munitions on board a ship in one of the Italian islands in the Aegean. Alami also requested a grant of at least £20,000 plus a subsidy of £5,000 a month for the entire duration of the rebellion. The career diplomats of the Ministry for Foreign Affairs were of the opinion that most of the results achieved up to that point would be to no avail if no further aid was given. If Alami returned to his homeland without having obtained anything, the impression people would have of his having undertaken a useless journey would be extremely unfavourable. It was therefore proposed that a definite arrangement with the Palestinian National Movement be achieved by making one last grant of at least £25,000, divided into two tranches with a short interval between them. Allocating this final substantial sum, corresponding to the rest of the money already promised but remaining unpaid, would contribute to alleviating the Mufti of any sense of abandonment by Italy. It would also enable the Fascist Regime to maintain friendly relations in the future, which could become extremely valuable in particularly sensitive

83

  Kolinsky, ‘The Collapse and Restoration of Public Security’, pp. 153–4; Nevo, ‘Palestinian-Arab Violent Activity’, pp. 178–80; Hughes, ‘The Banality of Brutality’, pp. 348–9. 84   Kolinsky, ‘The Collapse and Restoration of Public Security’, pp. 153–4; Nevo, ‘Palestinian-Arab Violent Activity’, pp. 178–80; Norris, ‘Repression and Rebellion’, pp. 28–31, 39–40; Hughes, ‘The Banality of Brutality’, pp. 348–9. 85   Hughes, ‘The Banality of Brutality’, p. 353.

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times. However, not even on this occasion did Mussolini and Ciano approve the recommendation for further financial aid.86 It is difficult to avoid the temptation to speculate upon the course that events might have taken had Italy chosen to live up to its pledges. Had the Fascist Regime decided to support the Palestinian National Movement during the most violent year of the uprising, it could have caused great problems to His Majesty’s Government, since British forces would have been tied up in Palestine in an attempt to restore law and order at a time when British military planners were already anxious about the security of their strategic and diplomatic interests in the Arab world. The use of violence would have very likely undermined British influence in the Middle East, giving Italy the opportunity to step in, seize the moment and so increase its prestige throughout the region. It is also interesting to observe how, unlike Mussolini and Ciano, the career diplomats were recommending that the action in favour of the Arabs should under no circumstances be halted, since continuing would not only assuage the Mufti’s sense of abandonment, but could additionally have been used to exert pressure on Britain. Between October 1938 and March 1939, Hajj Amin turned once more to the Italian Government for funds, but always unsuccessfully. Until Italy’s entry into the war in June 1940, relations between the Fascist Regime and the Palestinian National Movement were practically non-existent. Not even the outbreak of the Second World War persuaded Mussolini and Ciano to change their own policy, in spite of the fact that the Arab nationalists were organising a widespread opposition movement against Britain and France. It was only on September 1940 that policies towards the Arabs assumed a central position in the Duce’s political and military strategy.87 By contrast, the deterioration of the international situation on the eve of war drove the British Chiefs of Staff to reiterate the need to settle the question in a way that was satisfactory to Arab public opinion. ‘If we persist in our present policy’, they warned, ‘we shall find one of the most vitally important strategic areas on our line of inter-imperial communications held by definitely hostile states, ready at any moment to join actively in any combination against us.’88 Peace in Palestine was not only essential to eliminate an issue that could lead to a general conflagration in the area but also to release the troops that were being deployed in the Holy Land to defend the Suez Canal. Moreover, the Foreign Office was firmly of the opinion that partition would mean the ‘total and permanent alienation’ of the Arab and Muslim world. It was in this frame of mind that in the spring of 1939 His

86   ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 1061 (744), ‘Appunto per S.E. il Ministro’ (the document is not signed), 20 October 1938. 87  De Felice, Il fascismo e l’Oriente, pp. 38–40. 88   CID, ‘Attitude of the Arab World to Great Britain With Particular Reference to the Palestine Conference’, 20 February 1939, CAB 104/77.

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Majesty’s Government decided to abandon the idea of partitioning the Mandate, with the object of appeasing the Arabs of Palestine.89 We feel it is necessary to point out at the outset ... the strong feeling which exists in all Arab states in connexion with British policy in Palestine. It is evident that by far the most important measure which could be taken to influence the Arab states in favour of the United Kingdom would be our Palestine policy. We assume that, immediately on the outbreak of the war, the necessary measures would at once be taken ... in order to bring about a complete appeasement of Arab opinion in Palestine and in neighbouring countries. ... If we fail thus to retain Arab goodwill at the outset of a war, no other measures which we can recommend will serve to influence Arab states in favour of this country.90

It was within this wider strategic scenario that the White Paper was issued in May 1939. It marked a major turning point in British Middle Eastern policy, calling for the establishment within ten years of an independent Palestine governed jointly by Arabs and Jews. It also provided for the restriction of Jewish immigration to 75,000 for the next five years and for the prohibition of land sales to Jews in certain areas.91 It was the first official British attempt to come to an honest and definitive decision about reconciling the two halves of the Balfour Declaration. This new line of policy not only represented a radical shift from the sympathetic attitude that had previously been adopted towards the Zionists, but also ‘helped to secure enough Arab compliance to tide Britain over the war years’.92 Conclusion Fascist Italy was the first great power to back politically the aspirations of the Arabs of Palestine and contributed financially to the liberation of the country from both the oppression of the Mandatory Administration and the plans of the Zionist Movement. Over IT₤11,250,000 were disbursed to encourage the Great Palestinian Uprising. Despite the fact that it is difficult to ascertain how the money was actually spent, by comparing the dates of the payments and the developments in the uprising, it is possible to conclude that Fascist Italy’s financial assistance contributed to keeping 89   Michael Cohen, ‘Appeasement in the Middle East: The British White Paper on Palestine, May 1939’, The Historical Journal, 16/3 (1973): p. 571; Kedourie, Islam in the Modern World, pp. 159–64; Ronald Zweig, ‘The Palestine Problem in the Context of Colonial Policy on the Eve of the Second World War’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London, 1992), pp. 206–7; Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, pp. 260–61. 90   Quoted in Cohen, ‘Appeasement in the Middle East’, pp. 572–3. 91   Zweig, ‘The Palestine Problem’, pp. 210–11. 92   Monroe, Britain’s Moment, p. 89.

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the Palestinian National Movement alive, especially after the truce between October 1936 and August 1937. It is nevertheless undeniable that, by the time the uprising had reached its culmination between August 1938 and March 1939, with over 4,000 recorded terrorist acts, the Fascist Regime had already decided to suspend ‘all aid of any kind’. The fact that the rebellion became far more serious after the Italian Government had ceased its financial assistance conclusively proves that the role played by the Fascist Regime was by no means decisive. Although from the second half of 1936 onwards the British were no longer able to obtain any concrete and direct proof as to the involvement of the Fascist Government in the Great Palestinian Uprising, they were fully aware that Rome was still supporting the Palestinian National Movement. It was, however, rightly concluded that, though the Fascist Regime was always ‘glad to fish in troubled waters’, what was going on in Palestine was not due to the political machinations and the financial intrigues of Rome.93 It was correctly felt that too much attention was being paid to Fascist Italy’s intrigues and machinations in Palestine. The real issue was the strong feeling existing in the whole Arab and Muslim world in connexion with British policy in Palestine, which involved the whole range of British relations with the Arab and Muslim world. It was clearly understood in London that if His Majesty’s Government could not really administer the Mandate with complete impartiality, it would pay very dearly for it.94 What is therefore most interesting here is not so much the effectiveness of Italy’s political and financial assistance to the Palestinian National Movement, as the policy of confrontation with Britain that it reveals. From the mid-1930s until the signing of the Easter Agreements, the Fascist Regime made considerable efforts to strengthen its own links with the leaders of the Palestinian National Movement. When Britain opposed Mussolini’s plan to annex Ethiopia, Rome inaugurated an Arab policy that was less prudent than hitherto, and its commitment towards the Palestinian National Movement assumed a more decided and resolute character. The final object of this policy was to increase Italy’s influence and prestige at the expense of Britain’s in the region, in line with the Fascist Regime’s imperial aspirations.95 Within this context of imperial competition, the decision to stop the financial and military assistance to the Palestinian National Movement was a big mistake. There was a clear window of opportunity that was missed by Italy at a time when Palestine was racked by insecurity. The reason for this was that the Fascist Government needed time to complete the military preparations that would have ensured its success in the future general war. It accordingly preferred to momentarily mitigate the extreme tension in Anglo-Italian relations. It is however worth stressing that while attaching a certain importance to the Easter Agreements, 93   Minute written by Rendel, ‘Palestine: Soviet Views on Italian Attitude’, 3 November 1937, E 6598/22/31 FO 371/20819. 94   Minute written by Rendel, ‘Italian Activities in the Middle East: Situation in Palestine’, 15 September 1936, E 5815/3334/65 FO 371/19983. 95   Arielli, ‘La politica dell’Italia fascista’, pp. 64–5.

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Mussolini made it clear that they would never have been able to change the fundamentals of his policy, which were by that stage aimed at agreements with Nazi Germany.96 It is also interesting to observe how in this campaign to support the Arabs of Palestine there was a substantial difference between Mussolini and Ciano on the one hand and the official diplomacy on the other. While the latter, keen to maintain the pressure on Britain, recommended that the assistance to the Palestinian National Movement should under no circumstances be halted, Mussolini and Ciano concluded that the pro-Arab line now had to be subordinated to wider considerations of general policy and ordered all aid to be blocked. They did so fully aware that the likely consequence of their decision would be to compromise the positions so far achieved. What had happened in Europe between February and March 1938 with the Anschluss had in fact driven Mussolini to take a more accommodating attitude in his negotiations with the British to avoid the impression of being totally dependent on Nazi Germany. In order to achieve his foreign policy goals, he now sought to prevent any Anglo-German agreement and to break up the Anglo-French entente.97 This chapter has also thrown light on the hegemonic role of Hajj Amin on the Palestinian National Movement, as well as on his profile as a political reactionary. The Mufti’s request for Italian equipment and experts to pollute the Tel Aviv aqueduct casts a murky shadow on the fight he intended to conduct against the Jewish population and confirms the extreme nature of his anti-Jewish racism. It is therefore not surprising that, more than 30 years after his death, his name can still ignite both passion and hatred among Palestinians and Israelis. He was a leader whose personality generated a great deal of controversy, but as Martin Kolinsky convincingly argues, ‘over the summer of 1936 he emerged as an uncompromising leader fully prepared to use violence to attain his goals’.98 Among the other thought-provoking issues, there is the role played by Ibn Saud, who, although exhorted by various parties to intervene to save his brothers in Palestine, ended up suppressing his pan-Arab sympathies in the interest of policy and favouring state logic over pan-Arab solidarity. This was the direct consequence both of his fear of compromising his own relations with His Majesty’s Government and his diffidence towards the ultimate objectives of the Fascist Regime.

96   Knox, Mussolini Unleashed, p. 36; Collotti, Fascismo e politica di potenza, p. 349; Mallett, ‘Fascist Foreign Policy’, p. 181; Giglioli, Italia e Francia, pp. 310–11. 97   Ibid. 98   Robert Fisk, The Great War of Civilisation: The Conquest of the Middle East (London, 2005), p. 439; Kolinsky, Britain’s War in the Middle East, p. 54.

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Fig. 1

Mussolini with Prince Seif Al-Islam Muhammad Hamidaddin of Yemen at the Palazzo Chigi, 28 June 1927 (Istituto Luce).

Fig. 2

Mussolini with the Persian Minister of Court Teymourtash at the Villa Torlonia, 14 August 1928 (Istituto Luce).

Fig. 3

Mussolini and Balbo review a formation of the Arabic Youth of Littorio on a road near Tauroga in Libya, 15–16 March 1937 (Istituto Luce).

Fig. 4

Camel Cavalry (Zaptié) Unit of the Italian Colonial Army in the Libyan Desert, 15–16 March 1937 (Istituto Luce).

Fig. 5

Fig. 6

A large crowd of Arab demonstrators face Palestine Policemen, 27 October 1933 (Imperial War Museum).

A dead or injured Palestinian Arab demonstrator lying in Jaffa’s Clock House Square, surrounded by the debris of the riot, 27 October 1933 (Imperial War Museum).

Fig. 7

Wreckage of a sabotaged Palestine Railway train, circa 1938 (Imperial War Museum).

Fig. 8

The assemblage of the first Breda Ba.65 in Iraq, 10 July 1938 (courtesy of Jorge and Helena Rigamonti).

Fig. 9

Iraqi pilots and Italian mechanics, 27 February 1939 (courtesy of Jorge and Helena Rigamonti).

Fig. 10 One of the Italian mechanics in front of the Ba.65, 27 February 1939 (courtesy of Jorge and Helena Rigamonti).

Fig. 11

A Royal Air Force plane flying over Iraq, circa 1940 (Imperial War Museum).

Chapter 5

Armaments Diplomacy in the Persian Gulf, 1925–1940

To be strong in order to become great, that is our duty: to expand, to conquer spiritually and materially through emigration, treaties, trade, industry, science, art, religion, and war. To withdraw from the contest is impossible; therefore we must triumph. The future is for those who do not fear it: luck and history are women who love only the ruffians who can rape them and who dare to accept the challenge of the domination of love (Alfredo Oriani, 1908).

Alfredo Oriani’s exhortation is a suitable starting point for this chapter because it perfectly encapsulates the fascination the Fascist Regime had for the myth of national greatness. A significant consequence of this was Mussolini’s strategy of increasing global visibility and influence by securing foreign orders for his armament industries. His expansionism was not only martial or territorial in nature, but also economic and commercial. He had stated more than once that ‘an imperial country could exist without the need to conquer a single square mile of land’. Fascist Italy accordingly instigated throughout the 1920s and 1930s a diplomaticcommercial policy designed not only to expand the markets of its manufacturers but also to find states that were sympathetic towards the Regime. This was not just a question of securing foreign contracts for its national industries. It also meant increasing global visibility and influence in a new way by strengthening solidarity with states traditionally allied to other powers. Mussolini wanted to project an image of formidable power, one that would influence the actions of the backward countries of the world. Hence the system of naval and aeronautical missions. This entailed the Italian Government organising foreign missions – sending personnel and material abroad – to demonstrate the capabilities of its armament industry and to support its commercial success in those markets. Why are these missions important? What do they tell us about Mussolini’s imperialism? Throughout the 1920s and 1930s, Fascist Italy sent naval and aeronautical missions not only to the Middle East, but also to South East Asia (Siam and China) and South America (Argentina, Brazil, Chile, Paraguay and   Alfredo Oriani, La rivolta ideale (Bari, 1908), p. 258.   Giovanni Gentile and Benito Mussolini, ‘La dottrina del fascismo’, Enciclopedia Italiana (1932): p. 851.    Andrea Filippo Saba, L’imperialismo opportunista. Politica estera italiana e industria degli armamenti, 1919–1941 (Naples, 2001), pp. 7–8.  

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Uruguay). The key fact here is that while these latter missions were exclusively attempts to bolster national prestige and to stimulate a nucleus of trade, those to the Middle East were intended to create a core of political relations in order to supplant British influence in the region. The importance of the foreign missions to the Middle East was that they were anti-British in nature and operated in countries which, according to Mussolini’s long-term imperial design, should have come under the indirect control of Rome. The British, who were painfully aware that the Fascist Regime had been on the look-out for any opportunity to supplant them in the Middle East, observed with concern the readiness with which Italy had met Persian and Iraqi military requirements. They correctly interpreted it as an attempt to increase Fascist influence in the region and thus as a direct challenge to Britain. Admiral William Fisher, the Director of Naval Intelligence, noted with alarm that His Majesty’s Government had almost ‘lost what practically amounted to a monopoly as regards foreign naval shipbuilding, with the result that political and naval advantages associated with the development of minor navies is passing into the hands of our rivals’. Examining the list of warships constructed for small navies from 1923 to 1933, the Assistant Chief of the Naval Staff confirmed that ‘up till 1930 Britain did fairly well but that since that date the majority of the orders had gone to Italy’. The British Government had received orders for one leader, two destroyers, two sloops, three submarines, three gunboats and one training ship, while the Fascist Regime had secured orders for two cruisers, ten destroyers, seven submarines, two submarine parent ships, seven gunboats and several smaller craft. As the Italian shipbuilding firms are heavily subsidised, British firms are at a great disadvantage and are only likely to secure orders if the ground is well prepared by full facilities being afforded to foster appreciation of British methods and material. The advantage resulting from missions to foreign navies are political and industrial. The only naval advantage comes indirectly from the industrial. How seriously the Royal Navy will be handicapped in the next war, as compared with the last, by the grave decline of the armament and shipbuilding industries in this country (caused principally by the lack of foreign orders) is shown in the Report of the Principal Supply Officer. For this reason, I feel that the Admiralty should make every endeavour to increase the influence of the British Navy with the smaller navies; the fruits of such a policy might not be seen for several years



Iran.

 The name Persia was used up to 1935 when Reza Shah decided to change it to

   Minute written by Fisher, ‘British Trade with Foreign Countries’, 29 October 1926, ADM 116/2568.    Minute written by the Assistant Chief of the Naval Staff, ‘Termination of British Naval Mission to Chile’, 10 June 1933, ADM 116/3251.

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and until the world economic state has improved, but the small sums involved might in the long run prove a valuable investment.

Indeed, before the outbreak of the First World War, British shipbuilding and armament firms were in full employment, with no fewer than 12 shipyards capable of producing major warships; but by the early 1930s, as a consequence of the economic slump and the rationalisation of the naval construction industry, only Vickers remained. Britain in the second half of the 1930s also felt threatened in the aircraft market. Under the 1930 Treaty of Alliance, Iraq was obliged not only to pay for all the British military instruction, including the training of naval and air officers in the United Kingdom ‘without the option of choosing instructors from other countries or receiving this education in any other foreign country’, but also to purchase all its military equipment (small arms, ammunitions, ship and aeroplanes) in Britain. As Daniel Silverfarb convincingly concludes in his study of British imperial history in Iraq, ‘[His Majesty’s Government] insisted upon including these provisions in the treaty because it wanted to retain its strategic position and political influence after the independence’.10 The introduction of foreign aircraft into the Iraqi Air Force was considered a severe blow to the whole concept of Anglo-Iraqi military cooperation and one that could even have led to the complete breakdown of the defensive alliance between the two countries. Every effort had to be made to ‘prevent Italian air personnel from obtaining a permanent footing in Iraq and that the formation of anything like definite cadre of Italian instructors with the Iraqi Air Force had to be strongly resisted’.11 The remainder of this chapter, divided into two sections, will closely examine the Italian Naval Mission to Persia and the Italian Air Force Mission to Iraq. Although reference has often been made to these missions, very little research has been conducted to uncover their complex structure within the context of the Anglo-Italian imperial competition.12 By examining Italian actions and British 

  Ibid.   Jon Sumida, ‘British Naval Procurement and Technological Change, 1919–1939’, in Philips O’Brien (ed.), Technology and Naval Combat in the Twentieth Century and Beyond (London, 2001), p. 134.    Peter Sluglett, Britain in Iraq: Contriving King and Country (London, 2007), p. 6; Ibrahim Al-Marashi and Sammy Salama, Iraq’s Armed Forces: An Analytical Study (London, 2008), p. 29. 10  Daniel Silverfarb, Britain’s Informal Empire in the Middle East: A Case Study of Iraq, 1929–1941 (Oxford, 1986), p. 22. 11   FO to Clark Kerr, 6 July 1937, AIR 2/1952. 12   Maria Gabriella Pasqualini, ‘La Marina Italiana e la Persia, 1925–1936’, Bollettino d’Archivio dell’Ufficio Storico della Marina Militare, 6/4 (1992): pp. 53–105; Laura Luminari, ‘Armi all’Irak: obiettivi e mezzi della politica fascista in Medio Oriente (1931– 1941)’, Storia Contemporanea, 26/4 (1995): pp. 537–71. 

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reactions, it will be maintained that these naval and aeronautical exports and foreign missions to the Middle East were important aspects of the imperial policy pursued by the Fascist Regime, the ultimate goal of which was to supplant Britain as the leading power in the region. The Anglo-Italian Naval Armament Competition in Persia Between 1925 and 1934, the Italian Navy not only supplied a flotilla of two gunboats and four motor patrol-boats to the Persian Government and provided training for their personnel, but its officers were also employed by Tehran to command the vessels. By describing this naval partnership in some detail, this section will shed new light on a largely neglected episode in the history of Anglo-Italian imperial competition in the Middle East. Although the naval and commercial aspects of the mission in Persia have already been examined by some scholars, there is very little research dealing with the political and strategic consequences of this within the context of Anglo-Italian imperial competition. As for British interests in the Persian Gulf, they were almost entirely related to the protection of India. This was due to the fact that, since the nineteenth century, the vital precondition for its defence had been to secure the countries to the ‘east, west, north-west and north-east of India’.13 The discovery of oil in the early 1910s further strengthened the strategic importance of the region. The British, with the largest navy in the world, felt it was essential that they exert direct political control over the territories where oilfields were situated.14 Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs Arthur Henderson concluded that His Majesty’s Government ‘should avoid the risk of other European powers obtaining a foothold in the Gulf astride our air and sea communications with the Far East’. More precisely, the India Office hoped to ‘keep Italy out of the Gulf’.15 Tehran between London and Rome, 1925–1928 Before Reza Khan (an officer of the Persian Cossack Brigade) was proclaimed Shah in 1925, inaugurating the Pahlavi Dynasty, he had headed a military coup in 1921 against the government. He was rewarded for his participation in the seizure of power with the position of Minister of War. He subsequently became, within the next four years, the most influential person in the country by crushing autonomist movements and suppressing rebellions. His primary concern was building a strong centralised state, with his main task being to construct an army that could establish the authority of the central government and maintain internal order. Many great 13

  Sluglett, ‘Formal and Informal Empire’, p. 417.   DBFP, 1A, vol. 2, 447, Nicolson to Chamberlain, 30 September 1926. 15   Henderson to Clive, ‘Relations with Persia’, 15 January 1930, E 36/36/34 FO 371/14529. 14

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plans to modernise the country were also introduced (the development of largescale industries, the implementation of major infrastructure projects, reforms of the judiciary and educational systems, and improvements in health care), but by far the largest share of the budget was absorbed by the reorganisation of the armed forces. In an attempt to counter the dominant influence of Britain and Russia, he actively solicited technical assistance from France, Germany, Italy, Sweden and the United States. Nonetheless, to avoid control by any single power, the construction of public works and the tendering of orders were carefully divided among them.16 It was within this context that, in the summer of 1925, Reza Khan expressed the desire to create the first nucleus of the Persian Navy to be employed for the suppression of the illicit arms traffic to the remote region of Balochistan and of the slave trade in the Gulf. His top political advisor and second in command, Abdol Hossein Teymourtash, was an admirer of the Fascist Regime and an enthusiast of the Italian Navy. He consequently recommended Rome for the purchase of vessels and for the loan of officers.17 On 18 August, the Italian Minister to Tehran, Carlo Galli, was informally sounded out about the willingness of his country to supply a destroyer and a number of small assault vehicles.18 The possibility of gaining access to the Persian Gulf excited the interest of the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, even though the wider political implications of this naval partnership were at once plain to see. ‘Britain cannot be highly pleased to see our great naval achievement in the Persian Gulf, as it is natural that a fleet that comes from our shipyards to be commanded by naval officers from our academy will be typically Italian in character and will potentially be aimed at diminishing the British hegemony in the southern seas.’ The bullish inference was that Italy should proceed undaunted. ‘Nevertheless, for the political prestige of our country and for obvious economic interests, it will be to our advantage to continue developing the Persian naval programme to the utmost.’19 The Ministry for Foreign Affairs immediately informed the Under-Secretary of the Navy, Admiral Giuseppe Sirianni, of the Persian démarche. Without delay, he conducted an accurate analysis of the geophysical conditions peculiar to the Gulf (extension of the coast, presence of only two distant harbours, inhospitable climate, and strong winds) to hand-pick the most suitable ships for the maritime patrolling service. Having rejected the idea of using the destroyer, both because 16   Pasqualini, ‘La Marina Italiana e la Persia’, pp. 54–7; Yapp, The Near East, pp. 168–9; Nikki Keddie, Modern Iran: Roots and Results of Revolution (New Haven, 2003), pp. 80–104. 17   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Persia, b. 2, f. 6, ‘Viaggio di SA Teymourtash in Europa e sua progettata visita in Italia’, Rosset Desandré to Grandi, 6 September 1931. 18   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Persia, b. 1469, f. 6398, ‘Vigilanza marittima nel Golfo Persico’, Galli to Mussolini, 18 August 1925. 19   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Persia, b. 1469, f. 6398, ‘Vigilanza marittima nel Golfo Persico’, Galli to Mussolini, 4 October 1926; b. 1472, f. 6398, ‘Organizzazione della Marina Persiana’, Straneo to Grandi, 4 March 1930.

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of its limited capacity and because of its cruising range, he suggested six motor patrol-boats (three for each of the two ports, Bushehr and Bandar Abbas). To complete the flotilla, he proposed four more mobile torpedo-boats and four small assault vehicles. He concluded his thorough study by indicating the number of personnel required for the perfect running of the organisation (from 35 to 40 officers and from 420 to 450 technicians) and his readiness to admit Persian cadets to the Naval Academy of Leghorn. Moreover, the shipbuilder Cantiere Navale Triestino was instructed to prepare the preliminary plans and to design the patrolboats. The motor patrol-boats were rigged up in record time with steam engines (cylinder boilers) because ‘they were easier to maintain and could even be handled by people of mediocre ability’.20 Though the Fascist Regime was favourably disposed, the secret negotiations proceeded slowly. What prevented the Persian Government from finalising the agreement was in fact the chronic financial and political instability of the country. It was only at the end of September 1926 that, in compliance with the verbal undertakings, the Minister for Foreign Affairs, Aligoli Khan Anzari, handed over the letters of engagement. He expressed the wish to conclude the deal and asked for a senior engineer to be dispatched to Tehran to superintend the drawing up of the contract.21 Galli reported that the Shah had also decided to send 20 young cadets to the Naval Academy of Leghorn. This formation of the future middle-ranking cadres was the first tangible sign of Italy’s success in that part of the world.22 The path that would eventually lead to the creation of the Persian Navy was, however, still fraught with difficulties. The attitude of the authorities not to consider themselves bound by the agreement, and the shipbuilder’s reluctance to send a naval engineer at its own expense in view of this uncertainty, delayed the signing of the accord.23 It was only in March 1928, when the Persian Government introduced its bill authorising the employment of an Italian naval officer and a number of mechanical engineers, that the impasse was finally broken. This legislation also provided the financial means to repair outdated ships and to purchase new vessels. During a private conversation with the newly appointed Italian Minister Domenico De Facendis, Teymourtash stressed that the allocated 20

  ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Persia, b. 1469, f. 6398, ‘Vigilanza marittima nel Golfo Persico’, Sirianni to MFA, 1 September 1925 and 7 November 1925. 21   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Persia, b. 1469, f. 6399, ‘Relazioni fra l’Italia e la Persia’, Galli to Mussolini, 24 September 1926; b. 1469, f. 6401, ‘Riservato’, Galli to Mussolini, 26 September 1926. 22   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Persia, b. 1469, f. 6401, ‘Allievi Persiani alla Regia Accademia Navale di Livorno’, Galli to Mussolini, 31 May 1926. 23   At the beginning of June 1927, fearing that Tehran would not fulfil its financial promises, the Cantiere Navale Triestino withdrew their bid. The attitude of the Persian Government not to consider itself bound by the accord made it impossible for the Ministry for Foreign Affairs to persuade those shipyards interested in taking the place of the Cantiere Navale Triestino to send at their own expense their own engineers to Tehran.

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sums would be used primarily to acquire two motor patrol-boats to police the waters and to control the smuggling. The powerful Minister of Court showed De Facendis the various offers he had received from a number of foreign countries, but assured him that he would much prefer to work with the Fascist Regime. In the strictest confidence, he revealed to him that, ‘should the earmarked sums prove inadequate, they would be increased as necessary’.24 Teymourtash’s semi-official visit to Rome in the summer of 1928 strengthened the friendly relations between the two nations and contributed to the successful progress of the negotiations. On 14 August, Teymourtash informally met with two military officers (one from the Navy Corps of Engineers and one from the Ministry of War) at the Grand Hotel to discuss the supply of two vessels and four small craft. He also placed an order for weapons and ammunition.25 At the end of December, an aide-memoire by the Persian Government entrusted the Italian Navy with the call for tenders and the choice of the winning shipbuilding firm, as well as with control of the several phases of the production cycle.26 The news, when it began to leak out, caused great agitation in London. The Committee of Imperial Defence held an emergency meeting to analyse the threat it posed to British interests and, at the same time, to reiterate in the strongest possible terms the importance of the region for the preservation of the Empire. It was stressed that control of the Persian Gulf was even more essential to the security of India now than it had been in the past. ‘We must prevent any foreign power obtaining a naval base or fortified port in the Gulf. We should do all that is diplomatically possible to exclude the establishment of air undertakings within striking distance of the Gulf.’27 Another problem that clearly troubled the British at that time was the indisputable success of the Italian shipbuilding industry in Persia. Following the successful market penetration in Argentina, Brazil and Romania, this proved what a formidable competitor Italy had become for Britain. London’s naval armament industry, which was essential to the preservation of its sea power, had been seriously undermined by years of both financial austerity and limited construction. British admirals, fully aware of this critical situation, sought to retain the ‘capacity to produce naval armaments at the highest possible level’ by securing a large flow of shipbuilding orders from abroad.28 Overseas bids were absolutely fundamental to 24   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Persia, b. 1470, f. 6408, ‘Fornitura navi alla Persia’, Arone to Navy Ministry, 18 April 1928. 25   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Persia, b. 1470, f. 6405, ‘Visita Roma Ministro Corte Persiano Teymourtash’, Arone to De Facendis, 11 August 1928; b. 1470, f. 6406, ‘Armi alla Persia’ (the document is not signed), 14 August 1928. 26   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Persia, b. 1470, f. 6408, ‘Aide-Memoire’, Persian Legation (Rome) to MFA, 28 December 1928. 27   CID, ‘Persian Gulf’, 27 September 1928, IOR L/PO/5/26(7). 28   Christopher Bell, The Royal Navy, Seapower and Strategy between the Wars (Basingstoke, 2000), p. 149.

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enabling a greater portion of armament workers and producers to gain experience of warship construction. Not surprisingly, the Admiralty attached the utmost importance to this, because ‘unless they could count on the aid of well-equipped and efficient shipbuilding and armament firms, the rapid expansion of the Navy in an emergency would be impossible’.29 There had been no men-of-war built in Great Britain for foreign countries for some years and several firms had lately [indicated] to the Controller that [future orders] might well be adversely affected, owing to an impression which existed in certain foreign countries that the Admiralty imposed greater secrecy now over their designs that they [had done] before the war. [Consequently], it was desirable that the Admiralty should take all possible steps to assist them in obtaining foreign orders, which would not only relieve unemployment, but would [also] materially assist in keeping ... productive plants [operational], which was a matter of great national importance.30

Naval planners were convinced that, to secure bids from abroad, ‘full facilities [had to be] afforded to foster appreciation of British methods and materials’.31 The Admiralty thus allowed national companies to make use of its hull and machinery designs in the preparation of their own drawings for foreign warships, ‘subject to any particular restrictions which might have to be imposed’.32 Nonetheless, the ruthless competition exercised worldwide by heavily subsidised Italian shipbuilding firms and the high prices demanded by British companies doomed the attempt to attract overseas orders. Italian Boats on the Horizon, 1929–1931 At the beginning of January 1929, Commander Pierluigi Del Prato, the officer appointed to direct the development of the Persian Navy, reached Tehran, but what he found was not what he expected. The Persian Fleet was in a dreadful state. To give some idea of how bad the situation was, it suffices to say that the Commander-in-Chief of the Persian Navy was an Infantry Lieutenant! The Navy was composed of five motor sailing-ships and two tug-boats ‘kept afloat only by abundant provisions of cement’! Consequently, Del Prato immediately 29

  CID, ‘Italian Competition in Warship Construction’, 11 April 1935, CAB 4/23.   Minute written by the Assistant Chief of the Naval Staff, ‘Practicability of Assisting British Shipbuilding and Armament Firms in Obtaining Orders from Foreign Countries’, 9 February 1926, ADM 1/8695/35. 31   Minute written by the Assistant Chief of the Naval Staff, ‘Termination of British Naval Mission to Chile’, 10 June 1933, ADM 116/3251. 32   Minute written by the Assistant Chief of the Naval Staff, ‘Practicability of Assisting British Shipbuilding and Armament Firms in Obtaining Orders from Foreign Countries’, 9 February 1926, ADM 1/8695/35. 30

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implemented a programme of radical reorganisation. He proposed to transform the vessel that was in the best state of repair into a workshop and training ship and to scrap all the remaining ones. Teymourtash also discussed with him the possibility of purchasing a floating dock and sending another ten cadets to the Naval Academy of Leghorn.33 Meanwhile in Rome, the Ministry of the Navy had granted the tender for the construction of the two 1,000-ton gunboats to shipbuilders Cantieri Navali Riuniti and of the four 250-ton motor patrol-boats to Cantieri Partenopei.34 Yet, the strained financial circumstances in which the Persian Government found itself drove the Minister of Court to amend his previous plans and to explore alternative solutions to secure the supply of ships. On 20 August, he made an important suggestion to Sir Robert Clive, the British Ambassador to Tehran. He told him that, were His Majesty’s Government to provide his country with ten vessels free of cost, Persia would be prepared to renounce its claims to Bahrain. He explained that ‘Britain alone, with its outstanding knowledge of the Gulf and the finest Navy in the world, could effectively help Persia to put [an end to] the contraband trade’.35 When the Admiralty was informed of this overture, it supported it wholeheartedly without a moment’s hesitation, deeming it essential that the ships should be obtained from national firms and commanded by British officers. ‘In spite of obvious disadvantages, this proposal is very attractive mainly because it will keep other countries from doing this work and causing additional intrigues in the Gulf. Italy, with Mussolini’s well-known policy, is undesirable’, wrote the Director of Naval Intelligence.36 Whitehall urgently convened an interdepartmental committee to examine Teymourtash’s far-reaching proposal. The representatives of the Admiralty, the Foreign and the India Office shared the opinion that the establishment of a Persian preventive service was inevitable. It was therefore better that the gunboats should be obtained and the personnel trained by Britain rather than Italy. They suspected, however, that the suggestion was only one more step in the long and complicated negotiation process between Rome and Tehran. They were concerned that the British Government was merely being used as a pawn in a game. Conversely, 33   ACS, Ministero della Marina (MinMar), Gab. b. 11, f. Persia, ‘Relazione sull’opera svolta dal TCGN Enrico De Zan al Servizio dell’Imperiale Governo Persiano durante il periodo: ottobre 1928–giugno 1934’, De Zan to Navy Ministry, 25 June 1934; ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Persia, b. 1472, f. 6413, ‘Organizzazione della Marina persiana’, Del Prato to Navy Ministry, 18 January 1929; ‘Informazioni’, Del Prato to Navy Ministry, 31 January 1929. 34   ASMAE, AP 1919–1930, Persia, b. 1472, f. 6413, ‘Gara tecnico-economica di due cannoniere da 950 tonn. per il Governo persiano’, Sirianni to MFA, 19 May 1929; ‘Quattro motovedette da 300 tonn. per il Governo persiano’, Sirianni to MFA, 20 May 1929. 35   Clive to Henderson, ‘Suggested Establishment of Persian Naval Preventive Service’, 21 August 1929, E 4421/1016/34 FO 371/13795. 36   Minute written by the Director of Naval Intelligence, ‘Persia: Formation of Naval Force. Proposed British Assistance’, 25 September 1929, ADM 116/2696.

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the Colonial Office delegate strongly opposed the formation of a Persian Navy in view of its negative effects on Iraq. ‘I can imagine no step more calculated both to lower our prestige in the Gulf and to exacerbate public opinion in Iraq.’ He held that, were London to refuse to supply Tehran with vessels, the whole idea would fall apart. He was naively convinced that the danger of the Italians supplying Persia with ships was ‘remote’. The Treasury delegate remarked that, because of Persia’s total capital debt to Britain (£3,500,000), there could be no further financial concession. With the accumulated interest, the total amount was in the region of £5,000,000. In 1925, however, His Majesty’s Government had offered to reduce it to £2,000,000 to be paid off over 25 years, starting in January 1926. Of this total, a sum of £490,000 represented the pre-war debt and the rest the debt contracted during and after the war, for which the Persian Government never accepted repayment responsibility since it was contracted at a time when British troops were occupying the country. It was ultimately agreed, except by the Colonial Office, that it was preferable to start the foundation of the Persian Navy with British assistance, but it was also decided that a free gift was out of the question.37 In the ensuing weeks, the Admiralty further emphasised the importance of countering the introduction of Fascist Italy’s influence in the region. ‘The [peril] of letting the Italians in is that there is sure to be trouble between their officers in Persian pay and the Trucial Chiefs’, it concluded. That would give Italy ‘an excuse for sending Men-of-War into the Gulf, and a situation such as now exists in the southern part of the Red Sea may well occur, much to our embarrassment and detriment’.38 Clive was therefore instructed to return a sympathetic reply and to offer the remission of one million pounds of the war and post-war debt plus the remaining proportion of the war debt (£510,000) to cover the cost of the vessels. The total estimate for the ten vessels was in fact roughly £500,000.39 Although Britain’s request to repay the capital of the pre-war debt was reasonable, when taken with Persia’s offer to renounce its claim over Bahrain, they looked like apparent concessions by Tehran. Having realised, however, that His Majesty’s Government was not prepared to present Persia with the ten warships free of cost, Teymourtash resolved to proceed with the purchase of the naval units from Italy without even explaining why he had changed his mind. After much shilly-shallying, the Persian Ambassador to Rome was finally credited with the amount required for the advance payment. At the end of June, he placed a definite order for the ships, and 37   Minute of an Interdepartmental Meeting (the document is not signed), ‘Policing of Persian Waters and Repression of Contraband Traffic in Persian Gulf’, 27 September 1929, E 4971/1016/34 FO 371/13795. 38   Minute (the signature of the author is illegible), ‘Persian Naval Proposal’, 21 October 1929, ADM 116/2696. 39   CO to Acting High Commissioner (Iraq), ‘Persian Fleet: Proposed Formation of’, 29 September 1929, ADM 116/2696; Henderson to Clive, ‘Relations with Persia’, 15 January 1930, E 36/36/34 FO 371/14529.

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the contracts were finally signed on 19 July.40 The treatment that British policymakers had received from the Minister of Court aroused widespread indignation in London. Charles William Baxter, Clerk of the Foreign Office Eastern Department, commented tersely that ‘we have undoubtedly been treated very badly’, but in spite of everything, the Admiralty still cherished the vain hope of preventing the Fascist Regime from having access to the region.41 ‘It is of the utmost importance that these Persian vessels should be officered by us’, the Director of Naval Intelligence wrote. ‘The [entrance] of another foreign power [attempting to] administer the Gulf would open the way to endless trouble and intrigue. I feel that it is worth [sacrificing] the construction of the boats in Italy ... in order to obtain this patrol service under our control.’42 Contrary to what the admirals thought, the diplomats concluded that the equivocal attitude of Teymourtash had made the discussion of further naval proposals completely useless.43 They accordingly decided to lower the curtain once and for all upon this particular comedy of errors. Italian Commercial Penetration and Naval Missions in Persia, 1932–1934 Finalising the details of the contracts gave the Fascist Regime the chance to develop new forms of political and commercial cooperation with the Persian Government. In January 1932, Tehran approved a detailed programme of future naval expansion to be accomplished under Italian supervision. Indeed, the Minister of Court had promised to entrust the Italian Navy with the important task of completing the creation of the Persian Navy. In mid-October 1933, the Cantieri Navali Riuniti secured the order for the building of two cruisers, two liquid-cargo barges, an ocean-going tug, and a floating dock.44 Several other potentially profitable transactions, such as the construction of the Trans-Iranian Railway and the supply of aircraft, also came to nothing because of the hesitations and miscalculations 40   Clive to Henderson, ‘Proposed Formation of Persian Naval Force’, 26 June 1930, ADM 116/2696; ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Persia, b. 2, f. 5, ‘Sostituzione dell’Ufficiale Persiano Maggiore Bayandor’, MFA to Daneo, 21 October 1931. 41   Clive to Henderson, ‘Naval Assistance for Persia’, 2 April 1930, E 1848/36/34 FO 371/14529; Henderson to Clive, ‘Persian Naval Proposal’, 5 April 1930, E 1634/36/34 FO 371/14529. 42   Minute written by the Director of Naval Intelligence, ‘Formation of Persian Navy’, 17 April 1930, ADM 116/2696. 43   Clive to Henderson, ‘Naval Assistance for Persia’, 2 April 1930, E 1848/36/34 FO 371/14529; Henderson to Clive, ‘Proposed Naval Assistance for Persia’, 30 May 1930, E 2765/36/34 FO 371/14530. 44   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Persia, b. 2, f. 6, ‘Rapporti italo-persiani’, Silimbani to MFA, 22 October 1931; Persia, b. 3, f. 12, ‘Nuove navi per la Persia’, Pagliano to Mussolini, 13 January 1932; Persia, b. 5, f. 10, ‘Nuove costruzioni navali’, Scapin to MFA, 19 October 1933.

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of Italian private firms.45 Of particular interest is the amusing and discouraging description of the activities of permanent Italian agents in Persia, forwarded to the Ministry for Foreign Affairs by the Minister to Tehran, Guido Viola: It clearly appears that the FIAT agent for aviation material in Persia is one Andrea Buzzi, an ordinary chauffeur who drives this Minister of Poland’s car. ... I believe it is pointless to make any comment on the surprising manner in which one of our most important national industries is acting, entrusting the negotiation of such a delicate and confidential matter to a person of no standing. ... The Iron and Steel Company Tosi of Milan has as its representative here Mr. Carlo Gaviraghi who, despite having a wife and children in Italy, lives together as man and wife with a certain Ines Spagnolo, who has the reputation of being of easy virtue. The aforementioned agent, together with his mistress, recently opened a so-called dance hall (where gambling goes on into the early hours), this constituting his only source of income and his sole occupation. ... I have reason to doubt the Iron and Steel Company Tosi can successfully conclude its business through such a representative.46

This tragicomic situation unleashed Mussolini’s anger. He ranted and raved at the fact that the superficial conduct of a few individuals was sufficient to compromise an entire political position and invite adverse judgement on a whole nation. He called everybody to order, since Persia was a ‘very accessible country’ to Fascist influence. ‘It is not only a question of finding profitable employment for our capital which might be difficult to find elsewhere. It is not only a question of sustaining new waves of emigrants from the mother country who might have difficulty finding work elsewhere.’ Above all, he felt, it was ‘a question of heightening our prestige in this vast country, of strengthening our economic and therefore political influence, from which much can be derived to our advantage’.47 But, apart from the blunders committed by the Italian firms, the limits to political and commercial penetration in Persia were set by the distrustful nature of the Shah. His clever tactics of divide and rule were designed to assert his sovereign independence and to defend his country against the ascendancy of Britain and Russia. Consequently, the Fascist Regime’s achievements were restricted not only by international competition, but also by the Persian Government’s intention to obstruct the securing of predominance by any single great power.48 The Persians  Saba, L’imperialismo opportunista, pp. 105–10.   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Persia, b. 6, f. 11, ‘Aeronautica italiana’, Viola to MFA, 4 February 1933. 47   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Persia, b. 4, f. 4, ‘Osservazioni sull’accluso rapporto’, Note written by Mussolini, 4 August 1932; b. 10, f. 1, ‘Ferrovia Transcaspiana’, Cicconardi to MFA, 11 July 1934. 48   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Persia, b. 8, f. 2 (21), ‘Vicende politiche della Persia’, Rosset Desandré to MFA, 23 February 1934. 45 46

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already had a reputation with the British for being the ‘most ungrateful of people for services rendered to them’.49 The fate of the Italian naval mission to Persia would add another chapter to the sorry story. The flotilla arrived in the Gulf at the end of October 1932. Eleven officers out of 29, and 40 men out of 300, had been lent by the Italian Navy.50 The transfer of the two gunboats and the four motor patrol-boats, built in Italian shipyards and commanded by Italian officers, resulted in an incredible propaganda coup for the Italian armament industry.51 The prestige of the Fascist Regime increased enormously throughout the Middle East, but it was a short-lived success. The lack of understanding between the Italian and Persian personnel, combined with the desire of the Commander-in-Chief of the Persian Navy, Gholam Ali Bayandor, to shake off the foreign yoke, fostered an atmosphere of mutual mistrust. The systematic delays in payments and the unforgiving climate of the Gulf made things even worse and quickened the progressive repatriation of the mission.52 This unexpected setback in relations between the two countries was confirmed by Tehran’s decision to send its cadets to the Naval Academy of Brest rather than to the one at Leghorn. By 1934, the ascendant position acquired by the Fascist Regime in Persia had been entirely lost.53 Reflecting on his experience of being employed by the Persian Government, Enrico De Zan, Major of Naval Engineers, sadly concluded that ‘no Italian officer could ever complete his task effectively, as he was obliged to work in an untrustworthy environment and to follow the illogical whims and fancies of those who were unfortunately in command’.54 The participation of the Italian Navy in the formation and organisation of the first nucleus of the Persian Navy represented an important success for the Italian shipbuilding industry, but it is important to note that armament diplomacy was conducted by the Fascist Regime primarily with the intention of establishing a core of political and economic relations of wide strategic scope. Mussolini wanted 49   Clive to Henderson, ‘Suggested Establishment of Persian Naval Preventive Service’, 21 August 1929, E 4421/1016/34 FO 371/13795. 50   The legal status of the Italian personnel was resolved after extended talks between the representatives of the two countries. The Italy Navy finally agreed to allow each of its officers and men to sign a fixed-term contract with the Persian Navy for a period of six to 12 months. 51   Pasqualini, ‘La Marina Italiana e la Persia’, p. 87. 52   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Persia, b. 5, f. 10, ‘Personale della Regia Marina disclocato in Persia’, Sirianni to MFA, 18 August 1933; ‘Personale della Regia Marina in Persia’, Sirianni to Mussolini, 6 November 1933. 53   Pasqualini, ‘La Marina Italiana e la Persia’, p. 104; Saba, L’imperialismo opportunista, p. 247. 54   ACS, MinMar, Gab. b. 11, f. Persia, ‘Relazione sull’opera svolta dal TCGN Enrico De Zan al Servizio dell’Imperiale Governo Persiano durante il periodo: ottobre 1928– giugno 1934’, De Zan to Navy Ministry, 25 June 1934.

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to wield power in the Persian Gulf through the supply of vessels and the training of cadets, but in the end, his ambitious programme failed. It is true that, between 1925 and 1934, the Persian Government repeatedly asked for naval assistance, but once it had obtained what it needed, it reassessed the importance of Fascist Italy’s collaboration.55 It was, nevertheless, in pursuance of this position of ascendancy that Rome clashed with London. The preservation of the status quo in the region was essential for the security of the British Empire. Moreover, the low prices quoted by the heavily subsidised Italian shipbuilding companies seriously affected the well-being of the British naval armament industry, whose health was crucial for ensuring the rapid expansion of the fleet in times of emergency.56 As a consequence, His Majesty’s Government tried to prevent the formation of the Persian Navy under Italian auspices by meeting Teymourtash halfway and to help the shipbuilding industry by securing the warship order from Persia; but these efforts failed because Tehran feared that they would open the way for London to increase its influence in the region. The Anglo-Italian Aeronautical Armament Competition in Iraq As has already been noted at the beginning of this chapter, Mussolini wanted to project an image of formidable power, one that would influence the actions of foreign decision-makers, but to ‘translate the ability to wage war into a psychological “presence” in the minds of the world’s leaders required much more than just building a powerful fleet. Forces [had to] be employed in ways that maximised the likelihood that their strength [would] be recognised and appreciated’.57 In pursuance of this objective, it was thought that the establishment of missions to foreign air forces would inevitably promote orders for Italy’s aeronautical industry. And by attracting a large and steady flow of aircraft commissions from abroad, the Fascist Regime hoped to bolster national prestige and to stimulate trade. Aircraft exports were extremely important, not only because they represented a large portion of overall demand in the period 1935–1940, but also because the fulfilment of orders from abroad enabled the Air Ministry to keep the industry viable at a time when there was little domestic demand for what was being produced. ‘From this point of view exports of aircraft to countries abroad made a significant contribution to keeping those factories going in peacetime, which

55   Pasqualini, ‘La Marina Italiana e la Persia’, pp. 101–5; Saba, L’imperialismo opportunista, p. 63 and p. 247. 56   Bell, The Royal Navy, p. 149. 57   Charles Peterson, ‘Showing the Flag’, in Bradford Dismukes and James McConnell (eds), Soviet Naval Diplomacy (New York City, 1979), p. 88.

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in wartime would have been working exclusively for the country.’58 Mussolini himself hoped that ‘the arms industries would be able to find, through the exports of materials, a channel of trade that would enable them to maintain efficiency, combined with the continual technical progress that was needed’.59 Other benefits of an exclusively military nature also stimulated the interest of the Italian Government in exports: the opportunity to sell in-service aircraft considered out of date or whose performance was below the requisite levels, and the possibility of requisitioning aircraft being fitted out for foreign clients in case of emergency.60 Nevertheless, something more important was going on behind the sales of aircraft than just the marketing of products for maximum profit: exporting aeroplanes and engines conferred considerable political and technical prestige on the Fascist Regime, enabling it both to penetrate more markets and to gain more political support. And in fact, aircraft exports were utilised for predominantly political and imperial purposes to gain influence over clients. Because the competition was often fought out in markets strongly controlled by the United Kingdom, the victory of Italian over British firms demonstrated the technical strength of national aircraft production, thus contributing both to debunking the myth of British power and to breaking up previously well-established alliances.61 The Air Ministry’s interest in exports resulted in the decision taken at the beginning of 1937 to set up a special office to liaise between the ministry and the industries. However, it having already been established that the negotiating body should not have the appearance of a state-run organisation, as that would have brought into play political elements that were often detrimental to the transactions regarding the materials in question, the decision was taken to set up an aeronautical consortium whose shareholders were: Alfa Romeo, Breda, CRDA, Caproni, FIAT, Isotta Fraschini, Macchi, Piaggio and SIAI. The Consortium of Aeronautical Exports was to work in close contact with the departments of the ministry ‘in the name and on behalf of which’ it would operate in the foreign markets.62

58

  Quoted in Fortunato Minniti, ‘La politica industriale del Ministero dell’Aeronautica. Mercato, pianificazione, sviluppo (1935–1943)’, Storia Contemporanea, 12/1 (1981): p. 46. 59   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 2, ‘Fornitura militari all’Iraq’, Dallolio to MFA, 24 November 1936. 60   Minniti, ‘La politica industriale’, p. 46. The Fascist Regime was not immune, either, to considerations of a predominantly economic nature – first and foremost that sharing the costs of production over a greater number of products made it possible to reduce the unit price. Then there were currency considerations, inasmuch as aircraft equipment was often paid for outside the clearing banks and allowed the Air Ministry to demand hard currency, which was necessary to pay for the imported raw materials. 61  Saba, L’imperialismo opportunista, pp. 7–8. 62   Minniti, ‘La politica industriale’, pp. 46–9.

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The decision to promote the formation of the Consortium came at a particularly favourable time because, from the second half of the 1930s, the air forces of the less-developed states were turning to the aeronautical industries of moredeveloped states for their orders. In 1935–1936, those nations lacking industrial structures sufficient to meet their own needs were in fact allocating funds to set up their own fleets of civilian and military aircraft. This enabled the supplier countries to impose political influence on the purchasing countries, going beyond the individual interests of private manufacturers. Nevertheless, both the political and economic benefits of the exports had not been as significant as they might have been, due to the consequences of the ‘despicable, ignominious and unfair competition from the representatives of the companies to the detriment of their colleagues’. Already in the first draft of the Consortium’s articles of association it can be seen that its principal objectives included preventing competition for the purpose of reserving for each company those markets to which it had already been well introduced, encouraging companies to work in cooperation with each other on certain contracts, and ensuring aircraft with similar characteristics did not appear on the same market.63 This solution proved to be rather effective. Although only 280 aircraft had been exported between 1934 and 1936, between the establishment of the Consortium and the outbreak of the war, 1,645 were exported.64 Among the trade missions that were sent overseas, all still largely unexplored by historians, the least-known is perhaps the one destined for Iraq, which involved several people and aircraft in a difficult operational environment. Between 1937 and 1939, not only did the Air Ministry sell fighter and bomber planes to Baghdad, but the Air Force also took part in organising the first military aircraft unit for this important Arab country. Many people (pilots, engineers and mechanics) were employed in the delicate task of supporting attempts at political and commercial penetration and promoting alliances of special strategic interest to Italy. Baghdad between London and Rome, 1936–1937 Having gained independence with the 1930 Treaty of Alliance, the Iraqi Government almost immediately tried to lessen its dependence on the ex-mandatory power by making efforts to collaborate with the Italian Government. In spite of the fact that Britain kept close control over life in Iraq, in the first half of the 1930s, the Fascist Regime laid the foundations for flourishing political and economic collaboration, which continued right up to the commencement of the hostilities with Ethiopia.65 Indeed, since the spring of 1934, Baghdad had expressed a desire to enter into 63

  Ibid.   Payments were made in the form of 5 per cent in gold and industrial diamonds, 12 per cent in strategic raw materials to be imported, 35 per cent in hard currency and 48 per cent through the clearing banks. 65   Vincenzo Strika, ‘Il mancato viaggio di Re Faysal I in Italia. I rapporti italo-iracheni, 1929–1933’, Storia Contemporanea, 15/3 (1984): pp. 373–9. 64

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closer relations with Rome by signing a treaty of friendship, commerce and extradition. Italy enjoyed great prestige in the country at the time, being the second major power after Britain. The strengthening of friendly ties between Italy and Iraq fitted in perfectly with the policy pursued by Mussolini in the Middle East, which is why the Minister to Baghdad was authorised to accept the proposal that would make it possible to ‘chip away at the British monopoly, a process which had already started, by providing administrative and technical aid’.66 The aggression towards Ethiopia put a dampener on the relations between the two countries mainly because of Arab resentment towards the Fascist Government, which seemed to have no qualms about attacking a country with a large Muslim minority. One of the first consequences of the conflict was the resolution of the Iraqi Parliament to abide by the sanctions imposed by the League of Nations. Even in such difficult circumstances, however, Rome did everything possible to recover the position it had achieved before the outbreak of the war, and succeeded in regaining the trust it had lost.67 According to Fritz Grobba, the German Minister to Baghdad, once the sanctions had been lifted, feelings towards Italy improved, aided by the pro-Arab policy of the Regime in Palestine, the benevolent policy towards the Muslims in Ethiopia, the supply of aircraft and instructors to Saudi Arabia (which will be examined in Chapter 6), and the appointment of a diplomatic representative to Baghdad with ministerial credentials, Luigi Gabbrielli. ‘The time is especially favourable to Italy for obtaining a pre-eminent position and instigating commercial activities which up till now have never been exercised’, noted Grobba to Geisser Celesia.68 Exports increased once more, with national companies beginning to show interest in the possibilities of competing for contracts in the country. But the event that contributed more than any other to the resumption of good relations between Rome and Baghdad was the coup d’état of 28 October 1936, which led to the formation of a new government headed by Hikmat Sulayman. General Bakr Sidqi, considered the leading light in the revolt, was made Chief of the General Staff. ‘The establishment of a distinctly military government, destined for this reason to pursue a policy of nationalism and military expansion’, wrote Grandi, ‘would certainly not please Britain which, under the guise of a protective alliance, had been assured of control over the highway of its imperial air communications.’69 It is now necessary for us to examine what led up to this, the first modern coup d’état in the Arab world, because so much of the collaboration between Baghdad and Rome rested on it. The governments that followed in Iraq throughout the 1930s considered it their main objective to procure enormous quantities of 66   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 8, f. 3, ‘Appunto per il Sottosegretario’, Buti to Suvich, 11 June 1934; ‘Rapporti italo-iracheni’, Mussolini to Porta, 18 June 1934. 67   Luminari, ‘Armi all’Irak’, pp. 540–41. 68   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 9, f. 1, ‘Relazioni italo-irachene’, Celesia to MFA, 28 August 1936. 69   DDI, 8th, vol. 5, 343, Grandi to Ciano, 3 November 1936.

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modern weapons from abroad: not only because decision-makers feared an attack from Turkey or Persia, but also because many of them wanted to strengthen their country in case of a probable conflict with Britain. In addition to the prospect of fighting foreign powers, the growing importance attached to having weapons was commensurate with the greater role of the military in Iraq’s political life. In order to illustrate better the importance of the Armed Forces at that time, we need only consider that between 1932 and 1941 military expenditure grew from 22 per cent to 32 per cent of the national budget. This increase resulted in a significant growth in the strength of both the Air Force and the Army. The number of aircraft went from nine in 1932 to 116 in 1941, while the manpower of the Army went from 10,200 in 1932 to 43,000 in 1940. It was in this climate that Sidqi’s coup d’état was mounted; it not only represented a milestone in Iraq’s history but also an enormous step forward in relations with Italy.70 The general, authoritarian by nature, was in fact well-disposed towards powerful regimes. Hence his marked sympathy for Fascist Italy and his admiration of ‘its irrepressible strength and the intimate union of its entire people with the intellect of its Duce’.71 The new government thus immediately formulated an ambitious plan to increase substantially both the quantity and quality of equipment available to the Armed Forces. Despite the increasing militarisation of political life and the consequent need to possess ever more modern and sophisticated weaponry, there was no corresponding willingness by the British Government to supply its ally in the Middle East with what it required. This was due to the fact that, in the second half of the 1930s, Britain’s ability to honour its pledge to sell up-to-date war material was limited because the national industry was just beginning to ‘[gear] up for large-scale military production’. It necessarily followed that ‘delays and bottlenecks were common’. In addition, Britain’s own military forces were committed to buying most of what was being produced by the national armament industry in order to keep up with potential enemies. The result of all this was – not surprisingly – that ‘it was simply not possible for His Majesty’s Government to fulfil Iraqi orders for military equipment without extensive delays unless it was willing to jeopardize its own security’. Such delays infuriated the Iraqis, who suspected that the British were attempting to keep their country weak and perpetually dependent on His Majesty’s Government for their security.72 In the light of the circumstances described above, at the end of 1936 the Iraqi Government decided to make a rapid and substantial increase in its Air Force, and in accordance with the provisions of the 1930 Treaty of Alliance, it applied for urgent assistance from the British Government, stating it required as soon as possible 15 fighters and six bombers of the most modern type. But, while the British attached the greatest importance to securing and holding the market for  Silverfarb, Britain’s Informal Empire, pp. 74–7; Luminari, ‘Armi all’Irak’, p. 542.   ASMAE, AP 1931–45, Iraq, b. 10, f. 1, ‘Iraq: Situazione politica nel 1937’, Memorandum (the document is neither signed nor dated). 72  Silverfarb, Britain’s Informal Empire, pp. 78–80. 70

71

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military aircraft in Iraq, they were not ready to ‘allot any of the latest types of aircraft to the Iraqis’.73 Even though they could have been dissuaded from insisting on the most up-to-date Hurricane Fighters and P4.34 Bombers and persuaded to revert to Gladiator Fighters and to Battle Bombers instead, these machines had not yet gone into production, and the Air Ministry would not feel able to deliver any machine of these types until the middle of 1938.74 Against this background, the Foreign Office was faced with the serious risk that, unless the Air Ministry could be induced to be more forthcoming, the Iraqi Government would turn to Germany or Italy. The British Ambassador to Baghdad, Sir Archibald Clark Kerr, had warned that the date quoted was so disappointing to the Iraqi Government that it would almost certainly place its order in some foreign country instead. It was also thought that failure to meet these aeronautical requirements ‘could have easily meant the [complete] breakdown of ... military cooperation between Britain and Iraq’.75 Consequently, despite the fact that the Foreign Office fully appreciated the difficult position in which the Air Ministry found itself between the urgent demand for national expansion and the requests of foreign governments, it strongly urged the Air Ministry to reconsider the situation.76 In fact, that is just what happened when, on 24 November 1936, the Italian Legation in Baghdad informed the Ministry for Foreign Affairs of Iraqi intentions to start negotiations for the acquisition of fighter planes and bombers in Italy.77 The military victory in Ethiopia, which was popularly considered in the Middle East to have been achieved in spite of British opposition, had won great prestige for the Fascist Regime and put it in a very favourable position to meet demands for modern aircraft. Ciano immediately replied that national industry was willing to meet any requests from the Iraqi Government for the supply of aircraft. The Fascist Regime was not only extremely favourable towards them but also hoped that ‘national arms industries would find a channel of trade in exports of materials that would enable them to maintain efficiency, combined with the necessary 73   Inspector Royal Iraq Air Force to Inspector Iraq Army, ‘The Royal Iraq Air Force’, 18 November 1936, AIR 2/1952; Minute written by Ward, ‘Desire of the Iraqi Government to Expand Their Air Force’, 15 February 1937, E 859/2/93 FO 371/20794; Rendel to Swinton, ‘Desire of the Iraqi Government to Expand Their Air Force’, 20 February 1937, E 859/2/93 FO 371/20794. 74   Ward to Pirie, ‘Draft Telegram’, 11 February 1937, AIR 2/1952; Rendel to Swinton, ‘Desire of the Iraqi Government to Expand Their Air Force’, 20 February 1937, E 859/2/93 FO 371/20794. 75   Clark Kerr to FO, 8 February 1937, AIR 2/1952; Minute written by Ward, ‘Desire of the Iraqi Government to Expand Their Air Force’, 15 February 1937, E 859/2/93 FO 371/20794. 76   Halifax to Swinton, ‘Desire of the Iraqi Government to Expand Their Air Force’, 20 February 1937, E 859/2/93 FO 371/20794. 77   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 2, ‘Forniture d’armi per l’Iraq’, Pollici to MFA, 17 November 1936.

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continual technical progress’.78 Accordingly, at the end of January 1937, the Air Ministry informed the Ministry for Foreign Affairs that it had presented the Iraqi Government with a definitive offer for the supply of both fighter planes and bombers.79 Considering the strategic importance of Iraq in its chain of imperial communications, Whitehall did everything it could to discourage the Iraqi Government from turning to other countries to fulfil its armament needs and to expedite the shipment of weapons.80 Fearing that Fascist Italy’s political influence would inevitably grow with the importation of technicians and instructors, the Foreign Office suggested to the Air Ministry that the Iraqi Government be promised a ‘token delivery’ of two examples of a new type of fighter and two of a new type of bomber from the first batches emerging from the factories, while the balance of the order should be supplied as soon as possible by the delivery of individual aircraft at intervals.81 However, Air Vice-Marshal Courtney, who had just proceeded to Iraq to take up the appointment of Commanding Air Officer, informed the Air Ministry that the Iraqis were unlikely to be satisfied with this compromise, as the fighters were of primary importance to them. ‘They seem quite determined to have them and will not listen to reason or logic. It is probable that they will accept Gladiators, but they made it clear that they will not wait until January 1938 to have them.’ He was convinced that it was necessary to make the offer a ‘little more attractive if it is to stand a chance of acceptance’.82 The Deputy Chief of the Air Staff therefore instructed the Commanding Air Officer to offer three Gladiator Fighters in July, three in September and the remaining nine in December 1937.83 The Foreign Office was extremely pleased with the action the Deputy Chief had taken, but at the beginning of March, Courtney made it clear that the Iraqi Prime Minister, ‘while grateful for the offer of earlier delivery, attached very great importance to immediate supply of fighter aircraft even if these are of earlier type than Gladiator’.84 Indeed, Prime Minister Sulayman 78

  ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 2, ‘Fornitura militari all’Iraq’, Dallolio to MFA, 24 November 1936; ‘Forniture militari all’Iraq’, Ciano to Pollici, 28 November 1936. 79   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 11, ‘Forniture militari all’Iraq’, Air Ministry to MFA, 28 January 1937. 80   Halifax to Swinton, ‘Desire of the Iraqi Government to Expand Their Air Force’, 20 February 1937, E 859/2/93 FO 371/20794. 81   Ibid. 82   Courtney to Swindon, ‘Supply of Aircraft to Iraq’, 23 February 1937, E 1222/2/93 FO 371/20794. 83   Air Ministry to Headquarter (Iraq), 25 February 1937, AIR 2/1952; Swinton to Courtney, ‘Supply of Aircraft to Iraq’, 25 February 1937, E 1222/2/93 FO 371/20794. 84   Eden to Swindon, 2 March 1937, AIR 2/1952; Headquarter (Iraq) to Air Ministry, 3 March 1937, AIR 2/1952; Courtney to Swinton, ‘Supply of Aircraft and Air Equipment to the Iraqi Government’, 5 March 1937, E 1410/2/93 FO 371/20794.

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had enquired about the availability of any Hawker Fury that could be supplied by the Air Ministry within six weeks. Whitehall remarked that the willingness to accept older planes that had entered into service in 1931 was surprising but nevertheless satisfactory. ‘It is only too typical of the butterfly-minded Iraqis to [change their minds] in this surprising fashion. After demanding a type of aircraft so advanced that it will not be in production until next year, suddenly to express readiness to take the ... Hawker Fury’. All the same, it was considered ‘a very satisfactory development’ since it enabled the British to meet their wishes.85 On 23 March, however, Courtney reported that the Iraqi Government had decided not to acquire any Hawker Fury planes but to accept the 15 Gladiators instead in accordance with the Air Ministry’s offer to deliver three in July, three in September and nine in December 1937. He also disclosed that Major Mohammed Ali Jawad, Director of the Royal Iraq Air Force, was going to be sent to Europe to negotiate for the purchase of a squadron of bombers.86 The Foreign Office strongly protested against the proposed action, because ‘only in cases where the Iraqi needs could not be met from the United Kingdom without undue delay was His Majesty’s Government prepared to agree to specific individual derogations from the provision regarding the acquisition of material of British type’. It was believed that the consent of London was necessary before Baghdad could purchase its requirements abroad. Yet, despite the concerns of the Foreign Office, the Air Ministry at the time made no suggestion that the protest should be strengthened, nor did it show any willingness to improve upon its previous offer of aircraft.87 This leads us to suggest that the priorities of the Air Ministry differed from those of the Foreign Office and that the former did not take the Iraqi threat to purchase a further squadron of fighters and bombers as seriously. On 9 April 1937, Gabbrielli telegraphed the Ministry for Foreign Affairs the news it had received from General Sidqi of the imminent arrival in Italy of Jawad to negotiate not only on the purchase of fighter planes and bombers, but also on the fast tanks, field guns, anti-aircraft, and anti-tank guns wanted by the Ansaldo Company. The diplomat recommended that, given the strong foreign competition, interested firms should offer every possible facility to satisfy the orders from the Iraqi Government.88 After arriving in Italy, Jawad asked whether he could negotiate without delay on the purchase of 15 Breda Ba.65 fighters and four Savoia-Marchetti S.79 bombers to be delivered with all haste, threatening otherwise to purchase the

85

  Minute written by Ward, ‘Supply of Aircraft to Iraq’, 12 March 1937, E 1222/2/93 FO 371/20794. 86   Headquarter (Iraq) to Air Ministry, 23 March and 8 April 1937, AIR 2/1952. 87   Minute written by Williams, ‘Purchase of Foreign Aircraft by the Iraqi Government’, 21 July 1937, E 4151/2/93 FO 371/20794. 88   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 11, ‘Viaggio Roma Comandante Aviazione Militare Iraq’, Gabbrielli to MFA, 9 April 1937.

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aircraft from Germany, where he intended to go after his Italian visit.89 Despite the Iraqi requests being difficult to meet, the Air Ministry declared that it was prepared to agree to the proposal. It did this by considerably reducing the deadlines, which would be achieved by withdrawing the aircraft from orders already under way for the Italian Air Force and also by offering to sell the aircraft at the same price as it to the Italian Air Force. The 15 Breda Ba.65s could thus be handed over within two months of signing the contract – three planes by August and 12 by September – while for the S.79s, on the other hand, it was not possible to anticipate their consignment by means of withdrawals, since the planes were not in the process of being manufactured for the Italian Air Force. One of the S.79s would be consigned a month after being ordered, while the other three would follow in four or five months.90 The Air Ministry also acceded to the Iraqi request for two mechanics for at least a year specialising in the planes that were ordered.91 The Fascist Regime was determined not to lose any possible opportunity to strengthen relations with Iraq to the detriment of Britain even sacrificing economic interests in order to gain diplomatic success. At the end of June, the contracts for the supply of aircraft to the Iraqi Air Force were concluded.92 Yet, Jawad had not just come to Italy to purchase aircraft but also to negotiate with the Ansaldo Company for the supply of 14 fast tanks (CV.35), and those negotiations reached a successful conclusion on 11 June.93 The previous day, the War Ministry had also agreed to allow an Iraqi Army Officer, Captain Ismail Abaui, to be instructed in operating the tank with the 3rd Mobile Infantry Regiment of Bologna.94 News of the acquisition of fighters and bombers in Italy was an unexpected blow to the British. They were of the opinion that there had been ‘a clear breach of the Treaty of Alliance’, but it was their inability to supply what the Iraqi Government wanted within an acceptable period of time that had driven Baghdad to turn to Rome. The Foreign Office instructed Clark Kerr to protest ‘most strongly’ against the manner in which the transaction had been concluded. Sulayman, however, replied to the British Ambassador that the offer of aircraft made to Jawad in London (an additional squadron of Hurricane Fighters and a squadron of Blenheim Bombers to be delivered only at the end of 1938) had not satisfied the immediate 89   ACS, Ministero dell’Aeronautica (MinAir), Gab. b. 70, f. 41.2, ‘Richiesta di fornitura aeroplani al Governo dell’Iraq’, Air Ministry to Mussolini. 90   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 70, f. 41.2, ‘Forniture all’Iraq’, Aeroexport to Air Ministry, 15 April 1937; Ilari to Iraqi Legation in Rome, 19 April 1937. 91   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 11, ‘Missione militare irachena in viaggio in Italia’, Gabbrielli to MFA, 2 June 1937. 92   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 70, f. 41.2, ‘Forniture armi all’Iraq’, Ilari to MFA, 28 June 1937. 93   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 11, ‘Fornitura al Regio Governo dell’Iraq di 14 carri armati tipo CV.35’, Ansaldo to MFA, 11 June 1937. 94   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 11, ‘Fornitura armi all’Iraq’, MFA to Gabbrielli, 16 June 1937.

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requirement of the Iraqi Government to fill the gap between the arrival of the Gladiator Fighters and that of the Blenheim Bombers. Iraq had therefore been compelled to turn elsewhere, and Italy had offered to give them what they wanted at once, since the last machine was to be in Iraq by September that year.95 But the bad news for the British did not end there. On 30 June, Clark Kerr informed Whitehall that Jawad would bring two Italian mechanics with him when he returned. He was expected to fly back in one of the S.79s, arriving at the beginning of July. The Foreign Office minuted that ‘the presence of Italian personnel for a minimum period of a few weeks cannot be prevented, but we should strenuously resist any attempt to set up a sort of parallel Italian Air [Force] Mission’.96 The Air Ministry accordingly suggested that the Iraqis should be told that ‘any mechanics, who came out with the machine to give explanations and to assist in the [construction] should have civilian status and should be limited to four or five in number’. They should stay in the country ‘no longer than absolutely necessary, for a period of [no more than] a few weeks’.97 The British Ambassador was therefore instructed to make it clear to Baghdad that London was prepared ‘in present exceptional circumstances’ to acquiesce to the purchase of the aircraft. Having accepted this derogation from the 1930 Treaty of Alliance, it was impossible to object to the ‘short visit (four or five weeks) by a small number (four or five) of Italian mechanics’, but it was absolutely essential that ‘every effort was made to prevent them from obtaining a permanent footing in Iraq. ... Anything like the establishment of a permanent cadre of Italian instructors with the Iraqi Military Air Force [had] to be strongly resisted’.98 Once the British Government had recovered from the shock of learning about the introduction of Italian aircraft into a country that was so strategically important for its imperial communications, it reached the conclusion that there was no political purpose behind the recourse to the Italian planes but that it was purely due to the British inability to meet the Iraqi request without undue delay. Group Captain Howard Williams, the Inspector-General of the Royal Iraq Air Force, believed, for example, that ‘the purchase of the 15 Breda Ba.65 was simply because we had not been able to offer them complete delivery before the end of the year of the 15 Gladiators which they had decided to buy in the United Kingdom. ... It simply happened that the Italians were prepared to give them what they wanted immediately and at a low price’. He had been much impressed by the constant insistence of the Iraqi Government upon the necessity of obtaining a squadron of fighters by midsummer and was of the opinion that ‘General Sidqi and Major 95

  Russell to Ward, ‘Record of Conversations between Deputy Chief of the Air Staff and Director Royal Iraq Air Force’, 5 June 1937, AIR 2/1952; Clark Kerr to FO, ‘Supply of Italian Aircraft to Iraq’, 19 June 1937, E 3398/2/93 FO 371/20794. 96   Minute written by Ward, ‘Italian Mechanics to Go to Iraq in Connexion with Supply of Italian Aeroplanes’, 1 July 1937, E 3587/2/93 FO 371/20794. 97   Ibid. 98   FO to Clark Kerr, 6 July 1937, AIR 2/1952.

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Jawad were planning to make an internal political move of some sort in Iraq, probably in the nature of a further step towards a complete military autocracy, with or without the disappearance of the King’. Since they were not entirely convinced that there was no danger of British intervention to thwart their plans, they wished to have a squadron of fighters. ‘This addition to the Iraqi Air Force would give them superiority over British Air Force units in Iraq and preclude the latter from taking any action without grave risk.’99 Rendel rather complacently remarked that Whitehall ‘had never thought that the purchase meant that the Iraqis were anxious to work in [political alliance] with Italy, but that the readiness of the Italians to meet their requirements was mainly dictated by their general policy of making their influence felt in the Middle East’.100 Meanwhile, Jawad, accompanied by two Italian mechanics, finally reached Baghdad in an S.79 at the beginning of July 1937. At dawn on 19 July, on the occasion of a demonstration flight in honour of the Iraqi Chief of Staff, the plane crashed while landing, either because of a loss of speed or delayed correction. There were no victims, but the plane was practically a write-off. The incident provoked ‘serious disappointment’ among the high-ranking army officers who had been admiring the plane just moments before.101 King Ghazi Bin Faisal, speaking through Sidqi, expressed his great sadness at what had happened and his own desire to receive a new S.79 as fast as possible. Just a few days later, Gabbrielli telegraphed the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, exhorting it to put pressure on the SIAI to provide a replacement plane quickly: ‘The speed of the replacement would produce a favourable impression both of the efficiency of our organisations and of the manifest proof of our friendliness.’102 Although Valle ordered the SIAI to shorten the delivery deadline originally agreed on and to consign the second plane by the end of August, he made it clear that any replacement for the S.79, considering that the accident was the result of an error of judgement by Jawad, could only be made by the purchase of a new plane by the Iraqi Government.103 Despite the fact that the incident had not damaged the good relations between Iraq and Italy, the collaboration between the two countries was seriously affected by the assassination of Sidqi and Jawad, which occurred in the afternoon of 11 August at Mosul Airport. The assassination signalled the culmination of a struggle

99

  Minute written by Ward, ‘Iraqi Government’s Purchase of Italian Aeroplanes’, 1 July 1937, E 3651/2/93 FO 371/20794. 100   Ibid. 101   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 11, ‘Fornitura armi all’Iraq’, Gabbrielli to MFA, 19 July 1937. 102   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 11, ‘Fornitura armi all’Iraq’, Gabbrielli to MFA, 21 July 1937. 103   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 70. f. 41.2, Valle to Ciano, 4 Aug. 1937; ‘Fornitura aeroplani all’Iraq’, Ilari to Ciano, 7 August 1937.

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between the two opposing factions within the Army: the pan-Arab group and the nationalist group.104 Iraq lost its strongest man, its most prepared and complete soldier. ... A man, capable of bearing the heaviest weight of obedience and command, had carved ... on his face the supreme resolution to guide his country towards full and absolute liberty. ... The conviction is unanimous that it will be impossible to find a man in Iraq who, like him, had the courage to defend certain internal policy positions against the British and to strengthen the Army against Britain by acquiring weaponry from European powers to whom His Majesty’s Government was not particularly well disposed. ... In him, Italy has lost an admirer. He never gave cause to doubt the sincerity of his feelings towards us.105

Having lost the government’s main support with the death of Sidqi, Sulayman had no choice but to resign. A new executive was formed a month later by a moderate, Jamil Al-Midfai, who was not compromised with the past regime. The resulting change had damaging repercussions for Italy, the first of which involved the contractual obligations relating to the supply of aircraft. The new ministry was in fact determined to do its best to extricate itself from an awkward situation, since according to the new Director of the Iraqi Air Force, the acquired aircraft ‘made demands on Iraqi flying skills far beyond the standard yet attained’. The pilots were in fact said to be terrified of flying the high-speed Ba.65s.106 It was within this context that the announcement first came that the Iraqi Government wanted to cancel the contract for the supply of aircraft concluded with Breda and SIAI, which was followed a few days later by an official communication to the Legation in Baghdad. This stated that it was prepared to abide by the contractual obligations but that it wanted to amend that part of the order relating to planes that were not already built into one for tanks. Gabbrielli had the impression that the request had been determined by pressure from British military and diplomatic officers ‘interested in impeding any intervention by foreign technicians in the Iraqi Army, over which they wanted to maintain exclusive and absolute control’.107 It could, however, be the case that the new Iraqi Government had asked to review the contract both because of the lack of pilots capable of flying the large S.79s and because of the desire to avoid difficulties with the ex-mandatory power by having instructors and technicians of foreign nationality.108 Ciano immediately invited the 104

  Luminari, ‘Armi all’Irak’, p. 548.   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 1, ‘Iraq: Situazione politica nel 1937’, Memorandum (the document is neither signed or dated). 106   Luminari, ‘Armi all’Irak’, p. 548. 107   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 11, ‘Forniture aeroplani all’Iraq’, Gabbrielli to MFA, 26 August 1937. 108   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 11, ‘Forniture armi all’Iraq’, Gabbrielli to MFA, 30 September 1937. 105

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minister to reply that it did not appear possible to amend the contract, since some of the machines that had been ordered had already been built, while the others were in process of construction.109 Furthermore, numerous sub-contractors had already been engaged, including those making the engines: changing the contract would therefore not only cause considerable financial damage but also upset the entire production cycle of several companies.110 Nor should it be forgotten that the Iraqi Government had already paid about 50 per cent of the total cost of the order, which made it very difficult to sub-divide the sums among the companies involved in the project and those that would have to replace them.111 For all these considerations, both the Ministry for Foreign Affairs and the Air Ministry agreed that it was in fact ‘impossible’ to change the obligations taken on by the Iraqi Government at such a late stage.112 On 12 November, the Iraqi Legation in Rome informed the Ministry for Foreign Affairs that it was prepared to take delivery of the 15 Breda Ba.65 on condition that the Iraqi Government was released from the contract with SIAI and that the money already advanced to it would be paid to Breda to the credit of the Iraqi Government on account of the prices of the 15 aircraft.113 Despite the fact that it was not possible to accept such a proposal since SIAI had the planes ready for shipment, Rome did not want to alienate itself from the sympathies of Baghdad and abandon it to the clutches of London. It therefore declared itself willing to meet the Iraqi requests.114 They might have been able to reach a compromise solution: if the Iraqis wished to exchange the purchase of the four S.79s for other military equipment (tanks, anti-aircraft and anti-tank guns) for an equivalent sum, they had only to indicate what equipment they wanted. This solution could have led to an agreement between SIAI and the company supplying the military equipment, with the two firms sharing between them the loss that would have resulted from any change to the existing contract. It furthermore had the indubitable advantage of allowing Iraq to maintain contacts with the Italian arms factories and to assess their products.115

109   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 11, ‘Forniture aeroplani all’Iraq’, Ciano to Gabbrielli, 31 August 1937. 110   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 70. f. 41.2, ‘Forniture aeroplani all’Iraq’, Valle to Ciano, 8 September 1937. 111   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 10, f. 11, ‘Forniture di materiale bellico all’Iraq’, Air Ministry to MFA, 3 November 1937. 112   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 70. f. 41.2, ‘Forniture aeroplani all’Iraq’, Valle to Ciano, 8 September 1937. 113   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 70, f. 41.2, Iraqi Legation to MFA, 12 November 1937. 114   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 70, f. 41.2, ‘Fornitura di materiale bellico all’Iraq’, MFA to Air Ministry, 22 October 1937. 115   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 70, f. 41.2, ‘Fornitura di materiale bellico all’Iraq’, MFA to Air Ministry, 22 October 1937; MFA to Air Ministry, 26 November 1937.

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It was only in the spring of 1938 that the situation was resolved when, following various discussions that the Prime Minister had been having with the Chief of the General Staff and the Director of the Air Force, the Iraqi Government decided to accept the four S.79s ordered the previous year.116 In a telegram to the Ministry for Foreign Affairs on 19 March, Gabbrielli also reported Iraq’s decision to employ for a period of two years a number of instructors and mechanics as well as some of the pilots who would have to fly the S.79s from Italy. The diplomat did not fail to point out the considerable political advantages that would result from this decision, but according to him, the pilots had to be officers as well as experts, men who were aware of the delicate task entrusted to them and able to withstand the climate. They would also need to have a fine sense of comradeship. Such qualities would be essential, since the contacts they would be developing, in addition to serving as a means of channelling confidential military information, would result in the establishment of ever closer ties between the air forces of the two countries, ties that would certainly be creating a considerable volume of business. The minister further suggested that the Italian Government should be responsible for paying its own officers throughout their stay in Iraq. ‘The disbursement of a few hundred pounds by Rome would be amply compensated for by the links between the two air forces’, he concluded.117 The British, who were closely monitoring the progress of the negotiations, reacted with some apprehension to the news of the arrival in Iraq of an Italian Air Force Mission, since ‘this went far beyond the short visit of a small number of mechanics’. The proposed attachment of instructors and pilots seemed to indicate the formation of the cadre of Italian personnel that the British were anxious to avoid.118 The Foreign Office and the Air Ministry therefore agreed that ‘no step should be neglected which might result in a reduction in the period of attachment of the Italian personnel’. If this action should prove ineffective, the British Ambassador to Baghdad could later mention to the Iraqi Foreign Minister that ‘he was sorry to learn that the suggestion had not been taken up. His Majesty’s Government attached the greatest importance to an early return to a position in which the Iraqi Government had none but British advisers and employees in military matters’.119 It was suggested that a contractual period of a year instead of two years for the armourer and three months instead of two years for the fitter and 116   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 12, f. 2, ‘Forniture armi al governo iracheno’, Gabbrielli to MFA, 19 March 1938. 117   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 79, f. 41.3, ‘Forniture armi al governo iracheno’, Gabbrielli to MFA, 19 March 1938. 118   Minute written by Russell, ‘Italian Pilots and Mechanics in Baghdad’, 28 October 1937, AIR 2/1952; Air Ministry to FO, ‘Introduction of Italian Mechanics into Iraq for Assembling and Giving Instruction in Maintenance of Italian Aircraft, Recently Purchased by Iraqis’, 3 November 1937, E 6536/2/93 FO 371/20794. 119   Morgan to FO, ‘Italian Aircraft and Mechanics for Iraq’, 3 March 1938, E 1297/298/93 FO 371/21850.

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rigger would be more appropriate. The suggestion to engage the fitter and rigger for a period of three months was, however, found by the Iraqi Foreign Minister, Taufiq Suwaidi, to be impracticable. He therefore decided that they should be offered contracts for one year.120 In spite of British pressure on the Iraqi Government, 1938 was a very important year for supplies of Italian aircraft, with Baghdad making a number of requests for specialists in maintenance work to be sent, as well as pilots capable of instructing their Iraqi counterparts in the use of the planes and tanks they had acquired.121 Italian Air Force Mission in Iraq, 1938–1940 The Breda Ba.65s reached Basra by sea at the end of April.122 The planes were unloaded together with the first Italian mechanics, who were to assist the Iraqi personnel in assembling and using the equipment. In an attempt subsequently to strengthen the ties of friendship between Iraq and Italy, Gabbrielli put considerable pressure on Rome to get the Fascist Regime to offer the technical staff free of charge. This would not only have favourably predisposed the Iraqi Government to make further orders but would also have enabled the personnel to be comfortably accommodated throughout their stay there. The minister once again emphasised how ‘the economic and political advantages that could be gained ... would be adequately compensated for the expense on our part of a few hundred pounds’.123 He made it clear that obstinate resistance on this point might on the other hand change the favourable attitude towards the Fascist Regime. He invited Rome to bear in mind that with regard to arms supplies ‘the field of competition [was being] bitterly fought over and though the battle [was] out of the limelight, it was fierce’.124 Gabbrielli’s words did not fall on deaf ears. The Ministry for Foreign Affairs and the Air Ministry immediately agreed on the opportunity to cover the costs of the mission all through the time it was in Iraq in consideration both of the ‘extremely favourable impression that such a friendly gesture would not fail to create’ and of the attempt to establish greater links between the Iraqi and the Italian air forces.125 The Savoia-Marchetti S.79 planes arrived at the end of October. They flew directly from Italy to Baghdad over Cairo in record time – which, breaking previous 120

  Peterson to FO, ‘Employment of Italian Mechanics in Iraqi Air Force’, 29 April 1938, E 2837/298/93 FO 371/21850. 121   Luminari, ‘Armi all’Irak’, pp. 552–3. 122   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 79, f. 41.3, ‘Aeroplani Ba.65 in Iraq’, Gusa to Air Ministry, 27 May 1938. 123   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 12, f. 2, ‘Forniture d’armi per il governo iracheno’, Gabbrielli to MFA, 2 April 1938. 124   Ibid. 125   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 12, f. 2, ‘Forniture materiale bellico all’Iraq’, MFA to Air Ministry, 9 April 1938.

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records for bombers over the same route, made the Iraqis very enthusiastic. All the Italian officers who had flown the planes to Iraq returned home, except for Lieutenant Carlo Bertotto, who remained to train the Iraqis in handling the planes. The Legation in Baghdad reported to Rome that, during their stay in the country (albeit brief), the Italian pilots had been ‘greatly feted’ by their Iraqi counterparts, who had also held a lunch in their honour, attended by the principal representatives of the Iraqi Air Force. In this way, concluded Renato Giardini, the Chargé d’Affaires of the Legation, ‘the ties of friendship that already existed between Iraqi and Italian pilots were strengthened further’, something that gave good cause for hopes that future commercial relations between the two countries would blossom.126 In fact, in the winter of 1938, negotiations were under way for the supply of 15 Meridionali RO.37 reconnaissance planes. The British aircraft industry was also competing for this order. As we have already seen, it benefited from the preference granted to His Majesty’s Government regarding purchases abroad by the 1930 Treaty of Alliance, the only unfavourable factor being the deadlines for shipments. Giardini noted that, since British companies had objected that it was impossible to provide the 15 reconnaissance planes in under a year, the representative of the Consortium of Aeronautical Exports had skilfully presented the offer of the RO.37s with an undertaking to ship them within seven months. If the Consortium succeeded in fulfilling the order within the deadline, the negotiations, Giardini assured, ‘would be concluded to our advantage’.127 On 27 October, the Consortium thus sent the definitive offer to its own representative for the supply of 15 Meridionali RO.37 reconnaissance planes, to be delivered within seven months of signing the contracts.128 At the end of 1938, the Iraqi Government also decided to send a number of officers to Italy to attend a six-month course of practical instruction in the Breda Ba.65s.129 Once they learned the news, the British reacted vehemently, trying to convince Baghdad not to go ahead with the plan. The Inspector-General of the Iraqi Army protested to the Ministry of Defence against this proposal, since he thought there were British non-commissioned officers available who could master details of the maintenance of the aircraft in a short time. The new British Ambassador to Baghdad, Sir Maurice Peterson, also expressed his disapproval of the proposal, pointing out to the Iraqi Foreign Minister that it would be a ‘direct breach of the Anglo-Iraqi Treaty of Alliance’. Using the same argument as the Inspector General, he reiterated that the ‘best course was for British non-commissioned 126

  ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 12, f. 2, ‘Savoia Marchetti S.79 in Iraq’, Giardini to MFA, 30 October 1938. 127   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 12, f. 2, ‘Fornitura di 15 aeroplani RO37 all’Iraq’, Giardini to MFA, 1 October 1938. 128   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 12, f. 2, ‘Forniture all’Iraq’, Air Ministry to MFA, 30 October 1938. 129   Peterson to FO, ‘Employment of Italian Mechanics in Iraqi Air Force’, 14 December 1938, E 7620/298/93 FO 371/21851.

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officers to take over from the Italians as soon as possible, after which they could ... train the Iraqi mechanics themselves’.130 The Foreign Office was of the opinion that it was ‘undesirable that members of the Iraqi Air Force should be sent abroad for training except to the United Kingdom’ and instructed Peterson to tell Suwaidi that the proposal was clearly contrary to Article Six of the Annexure of the 1930 Treaty. ‘His Majesty’s Government do not wish to appear unreasonable and realize that the purchase of Italian aircraft by a previous government has caused problems of some practical difficulty’, he conceded. He then went on: ‘It is not, however, satisfied that it is necessary for the Iraqi Government to send members of the Royal Iraqi Air Force for training in Italy and hope that the new government will re-examine the question and consider whether it cannot devise a solution more consonant with the 1930 Treaty.’131 But notwithstanding British opposition, the Iraqi Government was resolved to send its personnel to Italy and only agreed to reduce the number that should go.132 At the beginning of 1939, a group of six Iraqi non-commissioned officers (two fitters, two riggers and two armourers) arrived in Italy to undergo a six-month period of instruction at Breda, Caproni, FIAT and SIAI.133 The Fascist Regime, fully aware of the strong feelings of British advisors, gave instructions to the companies involved to ‘do everything possible to give full training to the Iraqis so that they would become vigorous protectors of the Italian military equipment’.134 The non-commissioned officers remained in Italy until September 1939 when, with the outbreak of war, their government ordered their immediate return home.135 The tension in the international political situation during the spring of 1939 did not fail to have considerable repercussions on the aeronautical collaboration between Iraq and Italy. The British began to put persistent pressure on Baghdad to impede ‘in any way and in any form the penetration of the country by the Italians and the Germans’.136 Indeed, at the end of April, Gabbrielli telegraphed the Ministry for Foreign Affairs that ‘British advisors had openly pressured the Iraqi Government not to purchase the 15 reconnaissance planes from Italy and to order them from Britain instead, this being the condition for being provided

130

  Ibid.   Baxter to Peterson, ‘Employment of Italian Mechanics in Iraqi Air Force’, 30 December 1938, E 7812/298/93 FO 371/21851. 132   Peterson to FO, ‘Employment of Italian Mechanics in Iraqi Air Force’, 21 December 1938, E 7812/298/93 FO 371/21851. 133   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 95, f. 41.3, ‘Promemoria’, Consortium of Aeronautical Exports to Air Ministry, 29 May 1939. 134   Luminari, ‘Armi all’Irak’, p. 553. 135   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 95, f. 41.3, ‘Sottoufficiali iracheni’, Consortium of Aeronautical Exports to Air Ministry, 14 September 1939. 136   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 13, f. 6, ‘Politica dell’Iraq’, Gabbrielli to MFA, 30 April 1939. 131

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with a loan of three million pounds’.137 The representative of the Consortium of Aeronautical Exports warned that, ‘though the British had always been in the habit of machinating against us’, now they were interfering officially, insisting repeatedly that the purchases be made in the United Kingdom or alternatively in the United States. ‘The friends we have in the Royal Iraq Air Force have decided to fight for us, but it is probable that they will not succeed unless there is a change of government, because the current ministers are under British influence’. All the officers of the Iraq Army who were intent on buying the planes from Italy were gradually being passed over for positions of responsibility.138 Gabbrielli recorded the new Iraqi attitude against the Fascist Regime in the spring of 1939: ‘There is an unstated hostility to the expansion of our interests in this country. I believe I am right in saying that the local government is acting in accordance with directives inspired by the British Embassy.’139 With the gradual deterioration in the international situation, the Iraqi aircraft market was becoming increasingly difficult to break into for Italian industries because of mounting pressure from Britain. In September 1939, for instance, Baghdad bought 15 fighter/ bomber/reconnaissance aircraft from the Northrop Corporation in the United States, and this was welcomed by the British, since they did not fear American influence in the country.140 Almost at the same time as these aircraft were being purchased, the Savoia-Marchetti involved in the 1937 accident arrived in Iraq. Completely repaired and upgraded, the plane was consigned to the Iraqi Government, which requested that Lieutenant Rodolfo Gusa, who had piloted the S.79 to Baghdad, remain for three months to complete the training of the pilots. Although the aeronautical collaboration between the two countries did not entirely cease, with the Iraqi Government ordering spare-part replenishments throughout the winter of 1939–1940, there were no political and strategic advantages gained during this time, because of the increasing pressure from His Majesty’s Government.141 This situation remained unaltered until 10 June 1940 when, on Italy’s entry into the war on Germany’s side, Britain expressly requested Iraq not only to break off diplomatic relations with Rome but also to intern Italians living in the country to prevent the spread of important military information on the movement of British troops. Nonetheless, the Iraqi Government refused to comply with the ultimatum, mainly because it wanted to negotiate with the Axis Powers in order to gain their support for the elimination of British influence in the Middle East. In the spring of 1940, ‘most of the ruling class in Iraq thought that the British would lose the war. 137

  Ibid.   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 13, f. 6, ‘Iraq’, Consortium of Aeronautical Exports to MFA, 15 April 1939. 139   DDI, 8th, vol. 12, 280, Gabrielli to Ciano, 21 May 1939. 140  Silverfarb, Britain’s Informal Empire, p. 83. 141   ACS, MinAir, Gab. b. 95, f. 41.4, ‘Quinto S.79 per l’Iraq’, Consortium of Aeronautical Exports to Air Ministry, 28 September 1939; ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Iraq, b. 13, f. 6, ‘Invio in Iraq del Tenente Rodolfo Gusa’, Air Ministry to MFA, 27 October 1939. 138

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Many of these men believed that the time had come for Iraq to dissociate itself from Britain and associate itself with Germany and Italy instead to the maximum extent feasible’.142 Before fighting the British, however, they hoped to receive a counter-offer from Berlin and Rome (a public declaration of independence for the Arab countries, a supply of arms and ammunition and financial support to carry on the struggle). These completely secret negotiations lasted for about a year, but without meeting the expectations and ambitions of the Arab policy-makers.143 Throughout the 1930s, all the Iraqi governments considered it their main objective to procure enormous quantities of modern weapons from abroad. Needing to possess increasingly modern and sophisticated weapons itself, His Majesty’s Government showed no corresponding willingness to supply its ally. British ability to honour the pledge to sell up-to-date weaponry and equipment was limited, because Britain’s own military forces were committed to buying most of what was being produced by the national armament industry in order to keep up with potential enemies. It was simply not possible for the British Government to fulfil Iraq’s orders for military equipment without extensive delays unless it was willing to jeopardise its own security.144 The Fascist Regime was skilfully able to exploit the situation, both to break into a market that was strongly controlled by Britain and to increase its own prestige in the Middle East. Additionally, the victory of Italian over British industry represented an important propaganda success for Rome. Conclusion The participation of the Italian Navy in the formation and organisation of the first nucleus of the Persian Navy, combined with the victory of Italian firms over those of Britain in the strongly controlled Iraqi market, represented an important success for the Italian armament industry and demonstrated the technical value of Italy’s national warship and aircraft production. Nevertheless, the Fascist Regime never considered Persia and Iraq territories for material conquest, but rather countries where careful diplomacy was called for, animated by the idea of trade expansionism that would create a channel for imports of raw materials and exports of finished industrial products. Armament diplomacy was primarily conducted by the Fascist Regime with the intention of promoting or strengthening a core of political and economic relations of wide strategic scope with states that were traditionally allied to other powers. It was an important aspect of the imperial policy pursued by the

 Silverfarb, Britain’s Informal Empire, pp. 111–12.   DGFP, D, vol. 11, 40, 57 and 58, Mackensen to German Foreign Ministry, 11 and 14 September 1940; Luminari, ‘Armi all’Irak’, pp. 556–7. 144  Silverfarb, Britain’s Informal Empire, pp. 77–80. 142 143

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Fascist Regime, the ultimate goal of which was to supplant British influence in the region.145 Although the Italian Government ably succeeded in exploiting Persian and Arab resentment towards British policies and asserted the position of its own naval and aeronautical industry in a market tightly controlled by Britain, the ambitious programme ultimately failed because neither Persia nor Iraq were prepared to enter into direct conflict with His Majesty’s Government. Despite the fact that they wished to reduce their dependence on Britain, prudence induced them to adopt a friendly attitude towards the British. It was only the crippling AngloFrench reversals in Western Europe in the spring of 1940 that showed the Iraqi Government that it no longer needed to fear Britain but should turn to Germany and Italy instead to secure Arab aspirations. The British, who were painfully aware that the Fascist Regime had been on the look-out for any opportunity to supplant them in the Middle East, observed with concern the readiness with which Italy had met Persian and Iraqi military requirements. The supply of warships and aircraft to Persia and Iraq was correctly believed to be dictated by the desire of the Italian Government to increase its influence in the Middle East. The preservation of the status quo in the Persian Gulf was essential for the security of the British Empire and His Majesty’s Government consequently tried to prevent the formation of the Persian Navy under the auspices of the Italian Navy, but these efforts failed because Tehran feared that they would open the way for London to increase its influence in the region. The deployment of foreign aircraft by the Iraqi Air Force not only broke the military provisions of the 1930 Treaty as far as the British were concerned, but was also thought to be a severe blow to the whole concept of Anglo-Iraqi military cooperation, possibly even leading to the breakdown of their defensive alliance.146 Although His Majesty’s Government was angered by this breach of the Treaty of Alliance, particularly because it involved the importation of Italian instructors and mechanics into Iraq, it only had itself to blame. It was its inability to supply what the Iraqi Government wanted within an acceptable time that had driven Baghdad to turn to Rome. Yet, though it succeeded in debunking the myth of British imperial power, the introduction of Italian aircraft into the Iraqi Air Force amounted to no more than a short-lived success.

145   Pasqualini, ‘La Marina Italiana e la Persia’, pp. 101–5; Saba, L’imperialismo opportunista, p. 63, 247. 146  Silverfarb, Britain’s Informal Empire, p. 83.

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Chapter 6

Anglo-Italian Imperial Competition in the Arabian Peninsula, 1934–1940 On 30 December 1934, Mussolini informed his military advisors of his decision to destroy Ethiopia. ‘Time is working against us’, he warned. Soon Ethiopia would be transformed from a feudal kingdom into a centralised state capable of large-scale mobilisation. Purchases of advanced military equipment from Europe combined with the related training programmes had significantly raised the quality of its armoury. ‘In my view’, Mussolini declared, ‘Ethiopia’s military preparations are a serious potential threat to our colonies, especially if we become engaged in a European war. ... The longer we wait to liquidate this threat, the more difficult and costly the war will be’. The logical conclusion was to order the total conquest of Ethiopia. ‘The empire’, he proclaimed, ‘cannot be made otherwise.’ The conquest of Ethiopia was, however, only a springboard for further imperial expansion and formed part of a greater imperial design encompassing total control of the Red Sea by the capture of the Suez Canal and the Strait of Bab El-Mandeb. Although Rome was still anxious to avoid embarking on any direct and open conflict with His Majesty’s Government, in the absence of a revised and amended version of the 1927 Understanding, its imperialist dreams in the region became ever more ambitious. Consequently, when the Ethiopian War broke out, the Anglo-Italian struggle for control of the Arabian Peninsula was renewed in earnest. The Fascist Regime wanted to ensure the benevolent neutrality of Saudi Arabia and Yemen, the resupply of grain and food for the troops, the purchase of a few thousand camels, the provision of labour for the colonies, and the enlistment of battalions for East Africa. But it also aimed at the expansion of its own influence in the strategic and territorial field by activating the use of military outposts on the Arab coast (Mocha and Sheikh Said) that could hamper Britain in the Red Sea.   DDI, 7th, vol. 16, 358, Mussolini to Badoglio, 30 December 1934.   Indeed, in a private conversation with one of his diplomatic advisers just three days after the triumphant entry into Addis Ababa, Mussolini announced his intention to use the new colony to create a one-million-strong indigenous army and to build approxmately 50 new air bases. Once this preparation was complete, he would then wage a war against Egypt and Sudan to link Libya with Ethiopia and create one vast imperial possession. Pompeo Aloisi, Journal: 25 Juillet 1932–14 Juin 1936, ed. Mario Toscano (Paris, 1975) p. 382; Mallett, Mussolini, p. 80.    CO to FO, ‘Italian Activities in Yemen’, 9 September 1936, E 5732/2617/91 FO 371/19978.  

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With the conclusion of the campaign in Ethiopia, the strategic significance of the Arabian Peninsula became even greater. Rome was in fact determined to strengthen its hold in Yemen to secure control of both flanks of the southern Red Sea. Although the Fascist Government tried to disavow any intention regarding the future conquest of that country, the British were fully aware of the serious implications of Italian policy. There were in fact many indications that Rome intended to establish itself in Yemen when a favourable opportunity presented itself. Consequently considerable apprehension was felt at the prospect of having the Italians on both sides of the Red Sea because that would have posed a serious threat to the safety of the imperial maritime passage to the Far East. ‘Yemen derived its strategic importance’, observed the Chiefs of Staff, ‘from the possibility of its exploitation in relation to our sea and air communications through the Red Sea.’ In the event of war with Italy, the planners recommended making full use of the Yemeni coast for the air defence of shipping. It was therefore absolutely vital to prevent any extension of Fascist influence there. By highlighting Anglo-Italian imperial competition in the Arabian Peninsula, this chapter will show that the deterioration of the relations between London and Rome that followed the Ethiopian War severely aggravated an already latent state of rivalry between the two powers. Although this belligerency did not bring about an actual armed conflict until the summer of 1940, since this was contingent on the overall international situation, things were ‘sufficiently inflammable to cause a conflagration if an accidental spark should start a fire’. Arms for Saudi Arabia The Red Sea is the body of a bird whose wings on one side are the coast of Arabia and, on the other side, that of Africa. If you allow one wing to be cut off by the Italians, the bird will fall from the sky mortally wounded, and the Saudi Kingdom along with it (Omar Azhari, 1935).

The origins of the collaboration between Italy and Saudi Arabia can be traced back to the summer of 1934 when Fuad Hamza, the Saudi Deputy Minister for Foreign Affairs, expressed the desire to send a group of six to ten cadets to Italy to



  FO Memorandum (the document is not signed), ‘Italian Anti-British Activities in the Middle East’, 15 March 1937, E 1488/145/65 FO 371/20786.    Baldry, ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea’, p. 65.   George Rendel, The Sword and the Olive: Recollections of Diplomacy and the Foreign Service, 1913–1954 (London, 1957), p. 133.    Quoted in ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 8, f. 11, ‘Viaggio della missione etiopica in Arabia’, Giardini to MFA, 7 June 1935.

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attend courses in flying and aviation mechanics. For years relations had suffered from the connection between Rome and Sanaa, with which Riyadh had long been in conflict for the possession of Asir. But the failure of Yemen in the war against Saudi Arabia had in fact disillusioned Italy about the advantages to be gained in supporting the former and driven it to develop relations of ‘trusting friendship’ with the latter with the purpose of checking British influence in the country. The Fascist Regime was convinced that, given the gradual increase in tension in East Africa, the time had finally come to ‘set in motion a programme of substantial exploitation of the 1932 Treaty of Friendship’. The circumspect attitude adopted by Ibn Saud towards an Ethiopian delegation that had come to Saudi Arabia to establish closer ties with Riyadh was much appreciated by Mussolini, who used the occasion of a visit to Rome by the Crown Prince to accentuate the friendly nature of relations between the two countries. Political considerations concerning the action both in the Arabian Peninsula and in East Africa persuaded the Fascist Regime to welcome the Crown Prince in a ‘conspicuously cordial manner’. An agreement was ultimately concluded with him in May 1935, repairing the damage done by the defeat of the Imam and providing for the development of both trade and commerce. It also offered the opportunity for volunteers from the Hejaz to join the Italian Army in East Africa.10 It is surprising how British decision-makers always underestimated the collaboration between Italy and Saudi Arabia in the mistaken belief that Ibn Saud was a sincere and loyal friend of Britain. Convinced that the policy of openness instigated by the King towards the Fascist Regime was purely an example of realpolitik based on fears of the Duce’s intentions in the Arabian Peninsula, they did not understand that Ibn Saud had instead been seeking the support of Rome to contain the strong British influence and to strengthen the independence of his country. ‘Saudi Arabia was interested’, Hamza told Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs Suvich in October 1934, ‘in ensuring that other powers apart from Britain were active in the Red Sea because [that] had to be an open sea and not an enclosed lake subject to a single dominating influence.’ Yet, the delicate geographic position of the Saudi Kingdom, surrounded by countries subject to the direct or indirect



  The first four cadets arrived on 7 March 1935, followed on 20 April by another six. ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 17, f. 13, ‘Borse di studio a studenti saudiani’, Persico to MFA, 6 June 1934; Gregory Alegi, Wings over the Desert. The Italian Air Force Mission to Saudi Arabia, 1935–1939 (Rome, 1994), p. 29.    FO Memorandum (the document is not signed), ‘Italian Anti-British Activities in the Middle East’, 15 March 1937, E 1488/145/65 FO 371/20786. 10   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 14, f. 1, ‘Relazione per S.E. il Sottosegretario di Stato’, Buti to Suvich, 2 May 1935; ‘Colloquio fra S.E. il Capo del Governo ed il Ministro degli Affari Esteri del Regno Arabo-Saudiano, presente il Sottosegretario agli Esteri, On. Suvich’, Suvich to Mussolini, 22 May 1935.

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domination of Britain, forced Riyadh to move with extreme caution in order to avoid entering into open conflict with His Majesty’s Government.11 Throughout the rest of 1935 and the beginning of 1936, relations between Saudi Arabia and Italy continued to be marked by this new friendliness. The first result of the climate of collaboration between the two countries became apparent when, during the Ethiopian War, Riyadh maintained an attitude of benevolent neutrality and refused to enforce the sanctions imposed by the League of Nations against Italy.12 On 24 March 1936, receiving news of the imminent return of his pilots, Ibn Saud made it known that he would appreciate their arrival at the controls of the aircraft, also in view of the promise made to him by the Chief of the Military Intelligence Service in Jedda, Lieutenant Colonel Domenico Odello, of a donation of Italian planes. Although it is not possible to establish with precision the circumstance of this commitment, it must surely be linked with the trade of camels for arms and ammunition for which the intelligence officer was negotiating with the King in the summer of 1935.13 An enterprising man, Odello quickly demonstrated that he knew how to move adroitly in the mistrustful environment of the Arabian Peninsula. On his own initiative, he proposed acquiring a substantial number of camels needed by the Italian Army in East Africa. The possibility of obtaining an unlimited number of camels at very low prices delighted the East African High Command, who authorised him to negotiate the purchase of 10–12,000 animals.14 Odello immediately set to work, instigating negotiations that, going considerably beyond the instructions received from Asmara, provided for the exchange of camels in return for a supply of weapons, in which the Saudis were greatly interested.15 Starting from the question of the camels, these negotiations had in fact gradually extended in scope to a plan for the ‘complete reorganisation of the Saudi Army with modern criteria’ and involved receiving from the King a request for samples of military equipment. This included a truck with trailer, a fast tank, a mountain cannon, a heavy machine gun, two light machine guns and two field radio stations. ‘Ibn Saud’, Odello stated in a note to Mussolini, ‘wanted to extricate himself from the intolerable British predominance and preferred to turn directly to the Italian 11   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 14, f. 1, ‘Visita di Fuad Hamza a Roma’, Suvich to Ministry for the Colonies, 2 October 1934. 12   Ryan to FO, ‘Saudi Reply to Communication from League of Nations regarding Sanctions’, 17 February 1936, E 894/56/25 FO 371/20056. 13   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 18, f. 11, ‘Allievi piloti saudiani’, Bellini to MFA, 24 March 1936; Alegi, Wings over the Desert, pp. 37–9. 14   Calvert to FO, ‘Italo-Ethiopian Dispute. Attitude of Saudi Government’, 25 August 1935, E 5599/5599/25 FO 371/19020; ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 519 (202), f. 2, s.f. Odello, ‘Copia di relazione compilata in data 20–21 settembre 1935 dal Capo Centro di Gedda per l’acquisto di cammelli’, Odello to De Bono, 21 September 1935. 15   AUSSME, Carte SIM H-3, b. 40, Odello to Roatta, 5 September 1935.

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Government, of which he was a friend and admirer. ... The prompt delivery of samples of the requested military equipment’, he explained, ‘assumed fundamental importance.’16 Having realised the importance of the matter at hand, the Duce gave orders to send the samples ‘immediately without wasting any more time’.17 Consequently, just a few days later, a squad of military personnel in civilian clothing left Naples on a secret mission for Jedda with covering passports. Under the command of Artillery Lieutenant Luigi Braga, the group comprised two subofficers and eight non-commissioned officers. Apart from the tank, all the rest of the equipment requested was very carefully packed and disguised in crates bearing the label Ansaldo Company but without any address.18 Yet, in spite of these precautions, two different but reliable informers immediately reported to the British Legation that the consignment of arms and ammunitions, ‘nominally from a company in Italy to the self-style merchant Odello [was] in reality from the Italian to the Saudi Government’.19 The Foreign Office noted with great alarm the increased efforts made by the Fascist Regime following the termination of the Saudi-Yemeni War and the beginning of the Ethiopian Crisis to win over Ibn Saud. Permanent Under-Secretary Vansittart instructed the British Legation to leave Riyadh ‘under no illusion about the injury which might be caused to the best interests of Arabia by a continuance or development of Italian propaganda and intrigue. ... No opportunity’, he urged, ‘should now be lost to deepening Saudi suspicions of Italy’s designs’.20 Despite the regular shipment of the samples, the operation – because of a whole series of questionable personal initiatives taken by Odello and the intrusion of the British – failed to go according to plan and only succeeded in creating a climate of mistrust towards Italy. Odello in fact ended up admitting frankly to the members of the Saudi Government that he was not a private merchant but a military officer specially delegated to negotiate on ‘all questions of a delicate political and military character’. This irresponsible behaviour greatly perplexed Ibn Saud, who could not understand why the Italian Government had not used its own official representative.21 However, in an attempt to strengthen its friendship with Riyadh at a time of extreme tension between Britain and Italy following the outbreak of the Ethiopian War, Rome decided to make a gift to the Saudi Government of the vehicles and arms already shipped to Jedda. It was also agreed   DDI, 8th, vol. 2, 118, Persico to Mussolini, 15 September 1935.   DDI, 8th, vol. 2, 118, Mussolini to De Bono, 17 September 1935. 18   AUSSME, Carte SIM H-3, b. 40, Baistrocchi to De Bono, 22 September 1935. 19   Calvert to FO, ‘Saudi Reaction to Italo-Ethiopian Crisis’, 15 October 1935, E 6546/5999/25 FO 371/19020. 20   Minute written by Ward and Vansittart, ‘Saudi Attitude in Italo-Abyssinian Dispute’, 5 and 6 September 1935, E 5601/5599/25 FO 371/19020. 21   Ryan to Eden, ‘Annual Report on Saudi Arabia: 1935’, 29 February 1936, E 1538/1538/25 FO 371/20064; ASMAE, Gab. 1923–1943, b. 519 (202), f. 2, s.f. Odello, ‘Questione Odello’, May 1936. 16 17

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that the two officers who had arrived in Arabia would prolong their stay in order to keep the equipment in good working order and to instruct the local soldiers on how to drive the tank.22 Italian Wings over the Arabian Desert The task of verifying the possibility of mending the broken bridges and of supplying the aircraft was entrusted to Lieutenant Colonel Giovanni Tavazzani, who arrived in Jedda on 8 March 1936 under the cover name of Giovanni Scuri. During a series of conversations with the representatives of the Saudi Government, Tavazzani succeeded in saving a situation that appeared to have been compromised by Odello’s questionable initiatives. By emphasising Italy and Saudi Arabia’s shared interests in eliminating the British hegemony from the Arabian Peninsula and declaring the Fascist Regime’s desire to see Ibn Saud militarily strong, he convinced the King to turn to Italy for the creation of his own air force.23 Ibn Saud said he would be making a request for assistance from the government in Rome, asking for a political donation of ten aircraft to set up the first unit of the Saudi Air Force. The King let it be known very explicitly that he was awaiting this demonstration of friendship not so much for financial reasons but more by way of proof of the Fascist Regime’s intentions to ‘liberate him from foreign pressures’.24 One interesting aspect that emerged from the conversations is the important psychological advantage apparently created by the favourable progress of the military operations in East Africa, since Ibn Saud had seen in the recent conflict not so much a war between Ethiopia and Italy as a struggle between London and Rome. The sweeping victory of the Italian Army, combined with the British inability to protect Ethiopia, had showed him that the time had clearly come for reducing his dependence on Britain and for strengthening his relations with Fascist Italy.25 On 26 March 1936, Tavazzani was finally able to inform the Air Ministry that he had concluded an agreement with the Saudi Government for the supply of ten planes: five bombers adaptable for civilian use, three for training and two transport planes likely to be flown over from Eritrea.26 General Giuseppe Valle, the Under-Secretary of the Air, immediately telegraphed his own complete approval, declaring at the same time that he could not hand over the aircraft from Eritrea lest it detract from the war effort and proposing to indicate the chosen planes in   Pizzigallo, La diplomazia dell’amicizia, pp. 91–2.   Alegi, Wings over the Desert, pp. 41–3. 24   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 18, f. 11, ‘Allievi piloti saudiani’, Bellini to MFA, 24 March 1936. 25   Kostiner, ‘Britain and the Challenge of the Axis Powers in Arabia’, p. 138; Alegi, Wings over the Desert, p. 43. 26   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 18, f. 13, ‘Piloti saudiani e materiale da Eritrea’, Bellini to MFA, 4 April 1936. 22 23

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due course after receiving a complete report.27 Before concluding the agreement, however, the Ministry for Foreign Affairs wanted to await Persico’s return to base and the arrival in Arabia of an expert of the Air Ministry, since ‘the supply of the aircraft had not only to be opportunely arranged within the framework of relations between the two countries, but also examined from a technical point of view with regard to subsequent supplies’. The desire to avoid the usual bureaucratic delays induced Persico to ask the central government to act with ‘secrecy and urgency’ to re-establish the trust of the Saudi Government in Fascist Italy. A few days later, it was agreed to send three Caproni Ca.100 training planes and three triple-engine Ca.101 transports, which were to be donated free of charge.28 The gift of the Capronis was much appreciated by Ibn Saud, who did not neglect to assure Persico that ‘in future he would always turn to Italy for aeronautical assistance’. The King went on to add that he was delighted with the Fascist Regime’s friendship, partly because ‘he had been able to see for himself how much British support had served Ethiopia’.29 Throughout the duration of the Air Force Mission, these repeated hints about the strong likelihood of Riyadh purchasing further aircraft in Italy to strengthen its Air Force continued to be disseminated, but none of these negotiations ever came to fruition.30 Not even then did the British change their opinion that Ibn Saud had accepted the offer ‘in accordance with his general policy of preserving the appearance of friendly relations with Italy, but [that] his fundamental policy of friendship with His Majesty’s Government remained unalterable’.31 They failed to grasp that the King felt himself to be encircled and oppressed by Britain. The stark reality was that he wanted to liberate himself from this encirclement, and it was only prudence that induced him to adopt a friendly attitude towards the British. Yet, the victory in

27

  ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 18, f. 13, Jacomoni to Scuri, 30 March 1936; Alegi, Wings over the Desert, p. 43. 28  The three Ca.100s left Naples on 6 May aboard the Volpe, sailing directly to Massawa, though the dispatch of the triple-engine planes was postponed until a hangar capable of containing them could be built. The hangar was eventually shipped from Genoa on 24 October 1936 and assembled on-site on 23 February 1937, while the first Ca.101 arrived in Arabia on 4 November 1936. ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 18, f. 13, ‘Trattative con la Saudia’, Suvich to Bellini, 9 April 1936; ‘Trattative con Saudia’, Persico to MFA, 18 April 1936; ‘Trattative aeronautiche con Saudia’, Air Ministry to MFA, 23 April 1936; ‘Apparecchi Ca. 100 per Governo Saudiano’, Air Ministry to MFA, 9 May 1936; ‘Fornitura aeronautica a Saudia’, MFA to Air Ministry, 27 May 1936; ‘Forniture aeronautiche a Saudia’, Air Ministry to MFA, 31 May 1936. 29   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 18, f. 13, ‘Udienza Ibn Saud a Regio Ministro’, Persico to MFA, 11 May 1936. 30   Alegi, Wings over the Desert, p. 51. 31   Ryan to FO, ‘Saudi Relations with Italy’, 30 April 1936, E 2403/56/25 FO 371/20056. My emphasis.

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East Africa had showed him that ‘he no longer needed to fear London, but could and should turn to Rome’ to secure his territorial ambitions.32 On 15 June, the expert sent to Arabia by the Air Ministry to study the possibilities offered by the country for military and civilian expansion, wrote an interesting report on the mission. Apart from the value of the unconditional gift of aircraft in terms of obtaining from the Saudi Government all those concessions that could lead to a strategic advantage in the Arabian Peninsula for Italy, Colonel Carlo Tempesti also revealed the ‘exceptional benefits in terms of propaganda in favour of our country that had resulted from the nucleus of pro-Italian feeling represented by the Saudi cadets returning from our schools’. He therefore proposed that those training courses be continued and extended to include all the specialist training, but that they be taught first in Italy because only in this way would the young men be able to carry in their hearts the impression of the magnificent efficiency of the Air Force when they returned home. ‘If there is only one possibility in the Saudi Kingdom today for penetration and aeronautical development’, he stressed, ‘it is reserved for Italy, which ... has undoubtedly taken pride of place in the simple but thoughtful souls of these people.’33 Captain Giovanni Battista Ciccu, who had been the instructor of the cadets at the Bombing School of Malpensa and who had travelled at the end of May in the guise of a civilian flying instructor, was asked to run the Saudi School of Aviation. The conscientious way in which he set about the task, in part performed under the watchful eye of the powerful Saudi Minister of Finance, made just the right impression and established the ideal conditions for the start-up of the new training centre.34 ‘Our aeronautical assistance’, Persico set down confidently in September 1936, ‘had finally emerged from the initial phase, marked by the mistrust of the authorities and the incredulity of the public, which had been fed on insidious and persistent propaganda from the [British] Legation.’35 The confluence of Italy and Saudi Arabia’s anti-British interests, which marked the period 1934–1937, only diminished when London and Rome reached agreement with each other. Ibn Saud, who had sought support from Italy to try to balance excessive British influence, remained extremely frustrated. He considered the Easter Agreements ‘a perfidious attempt by London and Rome to put the Arabian Peninsula under their protection’, imposing a sort of Anglo-Italian protectorate. Despite the renewed protestations of friendship that Rome sent to Riyadh, the discontent among the Saudis continued to be fuelled throughout the winter of 1938,  Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, p. 296.   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 18, f. 13, ‘Relazione su di una missione compiuta nell’Arabia Saudiana’, Air Ministry to MFA, 20 June 1936. 34   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 18, f. 13, ‘Trattative aeronautiche con Saudia’, Persico to MFA, 23 June 1936; ‘Relazione Capitano della Regia Aeronautica Ciccu in Saudia’, Persico to MFA, 20 July 1936. 35   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Arabia, b. 18, f. 13, ‘Festa dell’aviazione saudiana’, Persico to MFA, 5 September 1936. 32

33

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which is why on 3 March 1939 – in a desperate search for alternative strategic alliances – Ibn Saud informed the Fascist Regime of his decision to send his cadets to Egypt and intensified his own talks with the Germans and Americans.36 The Saudi Government officially justified the decision by pointing out that it was necessary to have instructions given in Arabic. The problem of language was not insignificant if we consider that the same Major Luigi Gori-Savellini, who had replaced Captain Ciccu in August 1938 at the School of Aviation, wrote: ‘For each flying exercise, all kinds of acrobatics had to be performed with the mouth and with gestures in order to be understood.’ It is therefore perfectly understandable that the Saudi Government would be interested in the possibility of training its pilots in a country where Arabic was spoken, even though it is undeniable that, at the same time, the decision was mainly dictated by the resentment that greeted the Easter Agreements.37 Expansionism in Yemen Since European diplomacy has shown itself incapable of understanding, in the end arms have decided. ‘We shall shoot straight’ was the edict of the Duce, the flame that burned in our breasts swelling with pride and emotion. We won on two fronts and adorn the tips of our bayonets with the laurels of all our victories. We have thus achieved the linking up of our two colonies, and a solid wall of forces has been created that will make itself felt in every international arena. ... This nucleus of potent vitality ... will inevitably draw the political and economic life of Yemen and Hejaz to itself: Italy will see the doors of the Arab lands opened to it with every honour and will thus be able to accomplish what has long been one of the sacred goals of Roman civilisation (Tommaso Santoro, 1937).38

Following events from elsewhere in the Arabian Peninsula, the Imam of Yemen reacted with considerable concern to the invasion of Ethiopia. Although the Fascist Government made every effort to deny that it had any intention of attacking his territory, Yahya was terrorised by the idea that the Italian Army might actually cross the Red Sea. It is however important to observe that the objectives of Rome between October and December 1935 were not territorial but mainly strategic.39 While Italy’s soldiers marched, two important requests were sent to the Imam. The first one concerned the use of the port of Mocha as a sorting centre for wounded soldiers coming from Ethiopia across Eritrea, with the apparent   Pizzigallo, La diplomazia dell’amicizia, pp. 102–3.   Alegi, Wings over the Desert, p. 91. 38  Tommaso Santoro, Il Mar Rosso nella politica estera italiana (Rome, 1937), p. 25. 39   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 8, f. 6, ‘Situazione Yemen’, Suvich to Dubbiosi, 21 October 1935. 36

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intention of building a military hospital on the coast. Yahya, who in spite of the continual resupplies of arms and ammunition had no wish to become a vassal of Italy, immediately turned to the Governor of Aden, Sir Bernard Reilly, for advice. Reilly noted that this fact was indicative of the growing change in Sanaa’s relations with London and Rome. ‘Until recently the Imam was inclined to rely on Italian help to protect him against the supposedly aggressive objectives of the British. He has now far more confidence in us, and the aggression against Ethiopia has gone [a long way towards] transferring his suspicions on to them instead.’40 Yahya was informed that under international law there was no rule authorising a neutral power to allow the entry of the wounded of a belligerent country into its territory. While he was at liberty to allow the wounded from the Italian Army to be brought into Yemen for treatment, he was at the same time under an obligation to ensure that all such wounded combatants remained in his country until the war was over.41 The second request, on the other hand, involved the control of another bone of contention on the Yemeni coast: Sheikh Said, the bridgehead situated at the southwestern extremity of the Arabian Peninsula opposite the British-owned Island of Perim. The promontory had acquired even greater importance with the MussoliniLaval Agreements of January 1935, which had granted Italy the possession of a strip of French Somaliland west of Der Eloua along with the islands of Dumera Deset and Jazirat Sawabih, about 11 miles from Perim.42 The use of Sheikh Said would not only guarantee control of the Red Sea, but would also make it extremely difficult for British cruisers to leave Aden. ‘Sheikh Said holds a commanding position overlooking the southern entrance to the Red Sea and could not be allowed to fall into the hands or come under the influence of a hostile first-class power’, warned the Middle East Official Sub-Committee of the Committee of Imperial Defence in November 1935. ‘We must therefore do all that is politically possible ... to prevent the Fascist Government establishing a footing there or in any part of Yemen.’43 Fathoming Italian intentions was made more difficult by the situation on the ground. As has already been noted in previous chapters, the efforts of peripheral members of the Ministry of the Colonies and/or local agents of the Military Intelligence Service to challenge British supremacy in the Arabian Peninsula were not always in line with the overall policy envisaged by the central government. Once again in fact, certain local officials suddenly abandoned their circumspection 40

  Reilly to Parkinson, ‘Position of Yemen in regard to the Italo-Abyssinian Conflict’, 23 October 1935, E 7263/132/91 FO 371/18911. 41   Thomas to Reilly, ‘Position of Yemen in regard to the Italo-Abyssinian Conflict’, 12 December 1935, E 7263/132/91 FO 371/18911. 42   A treaty to complete the transaction was signed on 7 January 1937, but the French Senate refused to ratify it. 43   Middle East (Official) Sub-Committee (44th Meeting), ‘Yemen: Sheikh Said’, 25 November 1935, ME(O) 199 AIR 2/1667.

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and prudence to promote imperial expansion even more boldly than Rome. This time the Consul to Aden, Gino Pasqualucci, told the representative of the officer commanding Taiz – in no uncertain terms – that Rome attached great importance to Sheikh Said and that London could do nothing if the former had any designs on the latter.44 This sudden interest in the peninsula caused great concern in Sanaa. Yemeni policy-makers, increasingly worried about the Fascist Regime’s expansionist designs on their territory, decided not only to consolidate the old Turkish fortifications above the promontory and to build new barracks for the troops who were to garrison the zone, but also to ask Reilly directly what the attitude of His Majesty’s Government would be if the Fascist Regime were to resort to the use of force.45 The whole question was discussed at the end of November 1935 by the Middle East Official Sub-Committee, which was created in 1930 with the object of coordinating British policy in the region. It included representatives of all the departments concerned and met under the chairmanship of the Permanent UnderSecretary of State for the Colonies at Whitehall Gardens. At the meeting, the representative of the Colonial Office, J.H. Thomas, remarked that ‘any attempt by the Italian Government to occupy Yemeni territory would clearly conflict with the undertaking contained in the 1927 Understanding. ... It would therefore constitute a breach of an agreement entered into with His Majesty’s Government. The effect of this’, he explained, ‘would be to create not only a local problem but a major Anglo-Italian issue which would have to be dealt with in the light of the general international situation’.46 Thomas was however satisfied that up to that point the attitude of the Fascist Regime towards Yemen had appeared to have complied with the 1927 Understanding, the main provision of which was the mutual agreement to respect the independence of the countries on the Arabian coast of the Red Sea and the recognition that it was to the mutual interest of both that no European power should establish itself there. Thomas concluded by arguing that there were reliable indications that Italy now attached more importance to the principle laid down in the 1927 Understanding for the maintenance of the independence and integrity of Yemen to the exclusion of British domination on any part of the Arabian Red Sea coast than to any possible attempt to acquire a precarious foothold there. This being the case, the Colonial Office was of the opinion that the attitude of the Fascist Regime, in view of its possessions on the opposite coast, tended to show that it continued to attach great importance to the maintenance of the territorial integrity of Yemen. Although Italian aggression was deemed unlikely since it would be 44

  Reilly to Parkinson, ‘Position of Yemen in regard to the Italo-Abyssinian Conflict’, 23 October 1935, E 7263/132/91 FO 371/18911. 45   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 10, f. 6, ‘Questione di Scek Said’, note written by Prunas, 20 March 1936. 46   Middle East (Official) Sub-Committee (44th Meeting), ‘Yemen: Sheikh Said’, 25 November 1935, ME(O) 44 AIR 2/1667.

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contrary to the terms of the 1927 Understanding, the Middle East Official SubCommittee forcefully restated that it was of ‘vital imperial interest’ to ensure that no foreign power should establish itself on the Yemeni coast.47 Yahya had also called the British Government for assistance in the matter of the supply of guns for the fort, which was being rebuilt. It was generally agreed in London that, if his appeal was rejected, the danger was that he would have almost certainly turned to Mussolini for aid instead. Italian guns mounted at the extreme southern end of the Red Sea on the Arabian side, together with those on the African side, could make ‘any exit from the Red Sea very uncomfortable’. It would have posed a serious threat not only to Perim but also to the shipping passing through the Strait of Bab El-Mandeb.48 The Air Staff therefore proposed that the Imam should be permitted to purchase arms and ammunition from Aden if necessary but that the impression should not be given that ‘we are ready to undertake the defence of Sheikh Said’. The Colonial Office stressed, however, that although the Imam was at liberty to buy arms from the United Kingdom, there was no question of such arms actually being sold directly to him by His Majesty’s Government.49 The Governor of Aden was ultimately instructed to inform him that the signatories of the 1927 Understanding had mutually undertaken not to establish themselves on the Arabian shore of the Red Sea. While Reilly was not authorised to offer arms for the defence of Sheikh Said because their use against Italy would adversely affect relations between London and Rome, there was nothing to stop him from proffering advice on the best method of fortifying the Yemeni coast.50 By the end of December 1935, the reconstruction of the old Turkish fort at Sheikh Said and the building of the new fortification had been completed. The zone was garrisoned by about 300 Yemeni soldiers under the command of the Amil of Mocha. Such military preparations, however, were not intended as an effective garrison for the defence of the promontory but rather as an attempt to highlight Yemeni presence in that strategically vital and contested zone.51

47   Middle East (Official) Sub-Committee (44th Meeting), ‘Yemen: Sheikh Said’, 25 November 1935, ME(O) 44 AIR 2/1667; Thomas to Reilly, ‘Position of Yemen in regard to the Italo-Abyssinian Conflict’, 12 December 1935, E 7263/132/91 FO 371/18911. 48   Courtney to Parkinson, ‘Position of Yemen in regard to the Italo-Abyssinian Conflict’, 14 November 1935, E 7263/132/91 FO 371/18911. 49   Middle East (Official) Sub-Committee (44th Meeting), ‘Yemen: Sheikh Said’, 25 November 1935, ME(O) 44 AIR 2/1667. 50   Thomas to Reilly, ‘Position of Yemen in regard to the Italo-Abyssinian Conflict’, 12 December 1935, E 7263/132/91 FO 371/18911. 51   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 10, f. 6, ‘Questione di Scek Said’, note written by Prunas, 20 March 1936.

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Cold War in Southern Arabia in the Wake of the Ethiopian War The position we have acquired in Yemen ... is for Britain a continuing reason for disquiet over the inviolability of the route to India. Of significance in this respect is a phrase uttered by Ambassador Graham at a certain point during the discussions in Rome in January 1927: ‘... you are creating a new Suez Canal between Eritrea and Yemen’ (Jacopo Gasparini, 1937).52

There was great concern in Britain following the unexpected and overwhelming success in Ethiopia that Italy could attack Yemen with a view to securing a position on both sides of the Red Sea. The concern was clearly shared by Eden, who requested ‘a rapid supply of information’ concerning Fascist activities in Arabia. The Foreign Office prepared with all haste a memorandum for the Cabinet highlighting how the acquisition of Ethiopia had significantly worsened British strategic position, with an impact on wider British imperial interests both in Africa and in Arabia. The balance of power in the area had been clearly altered to Italy’s advantage, threatening not only Britain’s control over Egypt and Sudan, but also communications routes through the Red Sea and the Gulf of Aden. Although Eden feared that the Fascist Regime ‘might try to increase its influence in [Yemen] by every means in its power’, he concluded that ‘it was unlikely to succeed so long as ... the Imam remained in power. Should any part of [Yemen] fall into chaos or anarchy on Yahya’s death or disappearance, the situation might be modified considerably’.53 The British Ambassador to Rome, Drummond also confirmed the suspicion that the Italian Government had hostile intentions against Yemen. At the beginning of September 1936, he wrote that there could be ‘no real doubt’ that Mussolini, having seized Ethiopia, ‘would be glad enough to establish a footing on the Arabian coast of the Red Sea if a favourable opportunity occurred’, but that in the immediate future he was ‘more likely to concentrate on preparing the ground’.54 The appreciation of the situation was correct, since the policy pursued by the Fascist Regime in Yemen was one of peaceful penetration, which did not exclude actual conquest if a favourable opportunity should occur. According to Rosaria Quartararo, after the creation of the Empire, there were in fact two differing strategies being recommended in Rome. The first, mainly favoured by the Naval and Air High Command, was to exploit the presence of the soldiers in East Africa, the British military paralysis and the grave international crisis caused by the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War, by taking immediate action in Yemen. The Italian Navy had in particular developed a plan to block the Suez Canal by controlling the Red Sea with the closure manu militari of the Strait of Bab El-Mandeb. The other possible course of action was to reaffirm the policy 52

  ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 13, f. 1, Gasparini to Ciano, 4 October 1937.   Memorandum written by Eden, ‘Possible Italian Designs on Arabia as a Result of Italy’s Success in Abyssinia’, 9 May 1936, E 2617/2617/91 FO 371/19978. 54   Quoted in Baldry, ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea’, p. 64. 53

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of peaceful collaboration for the civil and economic development of Yemen until the natural evolution of events – the death of the Imam was expected – offered an opportunity to strengthen the Fascist yoke. Mussolini in the end opted for the second alternative and, at the end of August 1936, the Treaty of Friendship and Commerce between Italy and Yemen was extended until November 1937.55 This led to the publication of a number of inspired articles illustrating the friendly role the Fascist Regime aspired to play in the region. Il Messagero stated that ‘the extension of the Treaty [corresponded] with the plans of the Italian Government for the development and maintenance of peaceful relations with the countries on the eastern coast of the Red Sea, where there existed a long tradition of commercial exchange and affinity of custom and religion with Ethiopia. Italy’, the article continued, ‘was determined through relations of good neighbourhood to contribute by all means in its power to their progress and civilization’. Il Giornale d’Italia observed that collaboration with the Arabs would be developed to the mutual advantage of both parties: ‘The conquest of Ethiopia [had] been a great step forward in this respect ... Italy did not cherish designs on the liberty of the Arab countries, but on the contrary, their independence and friendship were cardinal points in its policy.’56 There were several reasons that held Mussolini back from the temptation to conquer Yemen, including the uncertain impact that such an adventure might have had on both domestic and international public opinion. Further matters to take into account were the wish to extend the commitment in Ethiopia towards crushing the insurgency movement, and intervention in the Spanish Civil War. Economic factors came into the equation too, more pressing than ever after the huge costs incurred by the Ethiopian campaign and the new Spanish involvement. Additionally, there were political considerations regarding the Arab world, where the Duce liked to pose as the Protector of Islam. A policy of aggression against Yemen would undoubtedly have signalled the end of the successes achieved up to that point by Italy in the Middle East and would have restored the prestige of London that Rome had made so much effort to undermine. But above all, it was considerations of international policy that deterred Mussolini from taking such action. The Duce was perfectly well aware that an actual annexation of Yemeni territory would have signalled a final and irreversible rupture in his relations with Britain and that this would not have remained confined just to the Arabian Peninsula.57 He still thought it best to remain cautious in order to gain time during which military preparations could be completed that would give him the certainty of success.58   Quartararo, ‘L’Italia e lo Yemen’, pp. 868–9; Fortunato Minniti, Fino alla guerra. Strategie e conflitto nella politica di potenza di Mussolini, 1923–1940 (Naples: 2000), p. 127. 56   Ingram to FO, ‘Treaty of Friendship and Commerce between Italy and Yemen’, 29 August 1936, E 5515/2617/91 FO 371/19978. 57   Quartararo, ‘L’Italia e lo Yemen’, pp. 869–70. 58   DDI, 8th, vol. 5, 277, Ciano to Mussolini, 24 October 1936. 55

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After the proclamation of the Empire, developments in Yemen therefore proceeded by means of patient and peaceful political and commercial penetration aimed at strengthening the positions acquired in anticipation of the death of the Imam. Concurrently, an Italian party had to be rebuilt among Yemeni notables, whose influence would play an important role at the time of the internal crisis. The Ministry for Foreign Affairs believed that the most suitable means for achieving this would be to send an official mission to Yemen with the ‘apparent objective’ of renewing the Treaty of Friendship, which – extended in August 1936 for another year – finally lapsed in November 1937. Given that the aim of the political action of the Fascist Regime was to be that of strengthening its own positions and expanding its influence, it was believed in Rome that ‘such a goal could be more actively pursued by reaffirming with Britain the full validity of the 1927 Understanding’. As a memorandum of the Department for European and Near Eastern Affairs of the Ministry for Foreign Affairs emphasised, the maintenance of the status quo ‘had not impeded the reciprocal play of influences in Arabia in the past and would not impede it in the future’. The ultimate objective was to establish in Yemen a de facto protectorate with formal respect for both the status quo and the independence of the country.59 Although the Italian Government was pursuing – at least for the time being – a policy of peaceful penetration, the Ethiopia War had drastically changed the strategic situation in the Red Sea with the ultimate effect of forcing British planners to take into consideration the very real possibility of an attack against Yemen. The result of this was a fierce debate between the officials at the periphery and those at the centre. Lampson was ‘more convinced than ever’ that the conquest of Ethiopia was only the first step in the creation of the Second Roman Empire and that Italy would sooner or later try and do the same thing across the Red Sea in Yemen.60 ‘A clash between Italian expansionism and British interests is ... inevitable unless Mussolini is convinced ... of the necessity for coming to terms.’61 Since he doubted whether ‘any understanding with Rome in its present mood of cocksureness was going to put an end to the growing threat to the safety of our communications in the Red Sea’, he suggested a trial of strength to check once and for all its expansionism in the region by sending military reinforcements to the Mediterranean and the Middle East.62 Cecil Hope Gill of the Colonial Office was particularly impressed by the determination with which local Italian military authorities were pursuing the objective of the establishment of a foothold in Yemen. 59

  ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 13, f. 1, ‘Appunto’ (the document is not signed), 7 December 1936. 60   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Activities in the Red Sea’, 18 December 1936, E 8029/2617/91 FO 371/19979. 61   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Claims with regard to the Suez Canal’, 4 January 1939, J 52/52/16 FO 371/23343. 62   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Activities in the Red Sea’, 18 December 1936, E 8029/2617/91 FO 371/19979.

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He strongly believed that ‘it was not impossible that these authorities should, at any moment and without waiting for the Imam to die, stage some incident which would give them an excuse for intervention [making] it impossible for the Italian Government to repudiate their action or draw back from the adventure without grave loss of prestige’. Feeling that some incident on the lines of the one at Corfu in 1923 could be engineered, he took the view that the only way the Fascist Regime could be deterred from embarking on such an adventure would be by receiving a clear warning that, if it did so, His Majesty’s Government would take ‘drastic retaliatory action’.63 The Foreign Office, on the other hand, maintained that it was necessary to distinguish between the aims of the Fascist Government in Rome and the dreams of its local representatives in East Africa. It was known that naval and air officers in the Red Sea were ‘talking loosely’ about the advantages that Italy might be expected to gain from taking Yemen, but it did not necessarily follow that it was consequently the present policy of the central government to conquer or dominate the country. There were in fact indications that the Fascist Regime was ‘even more afraid of a forward policy by the British Government in Yemen than the latter was afraid of the former’s forward policy. This state of affairs could not have lasted long’, insisted the Foreign Office, ‘but while it lasted, Italy was likely to refrain from any spectacular action in Yemen provided that Britain did the same’.64 The whole question was discussed in detail by the Middle East Official Sub-Committee, which – while it agreed that local military officers were anxious to secure for themselves influence in Yemen – concluded that it was unlikely that the Fascist Government in Rome was eager to pursue a definitively aggressive policy in the Arabian Peninsula. The opinion was once again reiterated that ‘the moment of acute danger would probably occur only on the death of the Imam’.65 The debate on how to deal with the threat to the safety of British naval communications in the Red Sea continued throughout the spring and summer of 1937, since the likelihood of civil war in Yemen escalated at the end of March.66 A worried Lampson complained that there was no indication whatsoever that ‘the danger of a threat to our communications at the southern end of the Red Sea’ had even been seriously considered by the central government. ‘I still think that we are underestimating this grave risk up there. ... I hope that my telegram may give the Foreign Office additional ammunition with which to bombard the Chiefs of Staff, for the situation is in fact extremely serious’, he insisted. ‘Although none of us in our hearts really believe that war will actually occur, still it remains absolute 63

  Minute written by Rendel, ‘Italian Ambitions in Yemen’, 31 December 1936, E 27/27/91 FO 371/20772. 64   Minute written by Baggallay, ‘Italian Activity in Yemen’, 19 February 1937, E 1166/27/91 FO 371/20772. 65   Minute written by Rendel, ‘Italian Ambitions in Yemen’, 31 December 1936, E 27/27/91 FO 371/20772. 66   Bullard to FO, ‘Situation in Yemen’, 23 March 1937, E 2809/678/91 FO 371/20778.

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madness not to be ready for it if it comes’, he warned, reasoning: ‘The very fact of our lack of preparedness in Egypt may easily add to the danger of some rash act on the part of Mussolini. ... There is no better safeguard against folly on the parts of others than their knowledge that one is ready to meet it if it comes.’67 Drummond also informed the Foreign Office that, while it was not the immediate aim of the Fascist Regime to interfere openly in the Arabian coast of the Red Sea, ‘efforts would be made to increase its influence and prestige in the area in the hope that it would ultimately be unnecessary for Italy to take any overt action to secure its purpose’.68 The Chiefs of Staff, however, remained unperturbed by such views, insisting that London and Rome had ‘no irreconcilable interests’. Their identification of Germany as the principal enemy of Britain and the defence of the United Kingdom as the principal task of the forces made them unwilling to divert reinforcements to the Middle East to meet the threat of Italy in the Mediterranean. ‘We cannot foresee the time when our defence forces will be strong enough to safeguard our trade, territory and vital interests against Germany, Italy and Japan at the same time’, the military experts warned. They repeatedly advised that Britain must not risk war in the Mediterranean and/or the Red Sea for fear that would weaken its position elsewhere. ‘Realistic diplomacy’ had to be employed instead to restore the amicable relations that had once existed with Rome.69 Yet, Vansittart still thought it essential that, if Italy were to take drastic action in Yemen, Britain should not be caught by surprise. He therefore ordered that the question of what action His Majesty’s Government should take if the Fascist Regime broke its pledges with regard to Yemen be further explored.70 The matter was once again discussed in all its aspects by the Middle East Official Sub-Committee. At the meeting, it was argued that there was enough evidence to suggest that Mussolini was still held to the 1927 Understanding. It was noted that he was aware that, if he failed to observe its terms, Britain would not hesitate to annex Kamaran and the Farasan Islands. The Foreign Office also pointed out that an Italian renunciation of the 1927 Understanding would provoke His Majesty’s Government into seeking a privileged position in Saudi Arabia. It therefore appeared to be in the Fascist Regime’s best interests to keep its side of the 1927 Understanding in the hope of making Britain do likewise.71

67   MECA, Sir Miles Lampson, First Baron Killearn Papers, b. 3, f. 2, 12 November 1937. 68   Drummond to FO, ‘Italian Policy on the Arabian Coast of the Red Sea’, 15 March 1937, E 1641/27/91 FO 371/20772. 69  Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, p. 296; Cohen, ‘British Strategy in the Middle East’, pp. 27–9. 70   Minute written by Vansittart, ‘Italy and Yemen’, 2 June 1937, E 3254/27/91 FO 371/20773. 71   Minute written by Rendel, ‘Italy and Yemen’, 9 June 1937, E 3254/27/91 FO 371/20773.

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But in reality, the British had already altered the status quo in the region in their favour, having undertaken a definite policy of annexing the Hadhramut, the remote, poor and fiercely conservative region to the south of the Arabian Peninsula between the Protectorate of Aden and the Sultanate of Oman. With the Act of 18 March 1937, His Majesty’s Government had annexed to the Aden Protectorate all the tribes of the coast and the hinterland up to the undefined borders with Saudi Arabia and Yemen, granting full powers and jurisdiction to the Governor of Aden. The latter was not only recruiting local police forces but was also constructing ammunition depots and airfields in anticipation of a clash with Fascist Italy. Unsurprisingly, Rome was very troubled by the news. ‘This activity’, Ciano told Grandi, ‘clearly expresses the British intention to put the Hadhramut under their own direct and exclusive power. ... Any change in the political and territorial balance in Arabia ... cuts into our general interests in the region.’72 At the beginning of July, Grandi, at that time Italian Ambassador to London, tried to discuss the situation with Eden but, since the latter ‘had not the faintest idea of what was going on’, instructed Guido Crolla, the Chargé d’Affaires, to discuss the matter instead with the Head of the Foreign Office Eastern Department. Pressed by Crolla, Rendel said that his government ‘respected the 1927 Understanding in letter and spirit’ given that British rights to the Hadhramut dated back a century and had been sanctioned by two Anglo-Turkish treaties from 1913 and 1914. If Rome had never been notified of these treaties, it was because ‘in the pre-war era, a period of secret diplomacy, it was not the custom to publish treaties or [even less] to communicate them to third parties’. Crolla rightly objected that, in drawing up the clauses of the 1927 Understanding, the Fascist Government ‘could only refer to the situation as it was then, and not to treaties of which it knew nothing or to titles that it did not recognise’. In such circumstances, the 1927 Understanding ‘was absolutely worthless’.73 On 27 July, Ciano told Grandi to stress to the Foreign Office that the two Anglo-Turkish treaties had not been mentioned either at the time of signature or during the discussions of January 1927 providing for the maintenance of the status quo in the Arabian Peninsula.74 The Ambassador then had to ‘remind Britain of the legal status resulting from the letter and spirit of the 1927 Understanding and to ask how Britain intended to re-establish the balance that had been disturbed’.75 Although the British were not disposed to recognise Italy’s point of view officially as this would have been tantamount to admitting they had violated the 1927 Understanding, they privately recognised that the uncertainties of this document combined with the extreme tension that had developed between London and Rome during the Ethiopia War had ‘obliged’

72

    74   75   73

DDI, 8th, vol. 7, 74, Ciano to Grandi, 15 July 1937. DDI, 8th, vol. 7, 70, Grandi to Ciano, 14 July 1937. DDI, 8th, vol. 7, 128, Ciano to Grandi, 27 July 1937. DDI, 8th, vol. 7, 74, Ciano to Grandi, 15 July 1937.

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them to adopt the forward policy in the Aden Protectorate, which had resulted in the increasing friction with the Fascist Regime.76 On 18 August, in the absence of Rendel, Crolla had a long and inconclusive conversation with Herbert Baggally, the Clerk of the Foreign Office Eastern Department. The Chargé d’Affaires pointed out to him that the recent appointment of a Civilian Administrator for the Quarantine Station at Kamaran was not in accordance with the 1927 Understanding, which laid down that ‘no European power could establish itself there’. For this reason the Italian Government requested the rectification of the Act of Appointment, but Baggally asserted categorically that the title of Civilian Administrator ‘did not in any way imply that Britain intended to set foot in Kamaran’. Crolla went on to deal with the problem of British forward policy in the Hadhramut, asserting that London, ‘while trying to throw suspicion on Italy for having secret designs on the east coast of the Red Sea, was in fact enacting an essentially dynamic and expansionist policy of its own and for its own exclusive benefit’. Moreover, this policy had not been developed in consultation with Italy, in plain opposition to the commitments contained in the 1927 Understanding. Baggally replied that it was not a question of expansionism but of ‘calling in old legal titles’. Crolla once more confirmed that the Fascist Regime recognised the full validity of the 1927 Understanding, ‘which referred however to the situation existing at the time it was signed’, and he could not but express his misgivings about the attitude of the British Government. The Chargé d’Affaires believed there were only two alternatives: either London had altered its intentions after the 1927 Understanding or it had signed the entente with ‘reservations and ulterior motives’ in mind. In the first case, the terms of the 1927 Understanding had not been honoured by His Majesty’s Government, while in the second the entente had contained a ‘defect from the start since ... the object of the negotiations had been different for each of the signatories’. Baggally tried to maintain that, even if the legal titles had been kept secret, the Italian negotiators should have been aware of the legal and political status of Arabia in relation to British rights. Increasingly embarrassed, he finally tried to assert that the term southern Arabia in the texts of the 1927 Understanding referred only to Yemen. After pointing out how absurd such an interpretation was, Crolla concluded by affirming that, in view of the violation by the British of the status quo in the Arabian Peninsula, the Fascist Regime ‘intended to reserve every right and option in the matter’.77 In fact, in the following weeks a number of ‘unsubstantiated rumours’ reached London regarding the increasing anti-British activities in the Red Sea. Although these reports did not provide concrete evidence of an infringement of the 1927 Understanding, they gave an alarming indication of what the Fascist Regime was

76   Memorandum written by Rendel, ‘Anglo-Italian Conversations regarding Arabia: General Summing Up to April 9th’, 10 April 1938, E 2233/880/91 FO 371/21828. 77   DDI, 8th, vol. 7, 222, Crolla to Ciano, 18 August 1937.

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up to.78 While Lampson communicated that a member of the Italian Legation in Cairo had stated that the occupation of Yemen would take place in due course since it was the next step in Mussolini’s scheme of conquest, Reilly called attention to information that the Italians had landed sailors at Fasht Island (22 miles off the coast of Arabia midway between Kamaran and the Farasan) and had constructed forts and aerodromes on Dumera Deset and Jazirat Sawabih opposite Perim.79 Furthermore, according to British Naval Intelligence, Rome had even set up a secret submarine base on Kamaran, an island that the British had been de facto controlling since the middle of the 1920s. The Colonial Office, which was seriously concerned about the alleged fortification of the island, requested that the Admiralty investigate the matter in more detail. But notwithstanding the combined pressure of both the Foreign and the Colonial Office, the Admiralty did not even dispatch a cruiser there. HMS Weston was instead sent to pay a visit to Jebel Zukur and Great Hanish, on each of which was discovered a police post manned by armed askari in uniform. The Foreign Office feared that these police posts were maintained with a view to an eventual claim to the islands.80 At the end of July, Whitehall was moreover informed that the Italians had turned their attention to the coast between Aden and Perim where they had explored the deep anchorage of Ras AlAra in a submarine that had been sighted there. It was further reported that many Yemenis who had returned to their country after their contracts of employment as labourers and soldiers with the Government of East Africa had expired were not only receiving substantial sums of money but also Italian passports. It was suggested that it was the express purpose of the Fascist Regime to create a large colony of Italian subjects in the country so that it ‘could on a suitable occasion find a pretext for military intervention in Yemen’.81 The Governor of Aden also related that propagandist agents had visited villages in the vicinity of Sheikh Said lecturing the people on the weakness of Britain and the strength of Italy. He concluded by stating that this attempt to extend Fascist influence into the mainland adjacent to Sheikh Said ‘would be in keeping with the suspected Italian design of securing control of both coasts of the southern Red Sea and of gaining command of the Strait of Bab El-Mandeb’.82 78

  Minute written by Warner, ‘Italian Anti-British Activities in the Middle East’, 18 September 1937, E 5489/145/65 FO 371/20786. 79   Memorandum written by Warner, ‘Summary of Reports from Various Sources on Italian Anti-British Activities in the Middle East: 13 March–15 September 1937’, 17 September 1937, E 5489/145/65 FO 371/20786. 80   Memorandum written by Warner, ‘Summary of Reports from Various Sources on Italian Anti-British Activities in the Middle East: 13 March–15 September 1937’, 17 September 1937, E 5489/145/65 FO 371/20786. 81   MacKereth to FO, ‘Italian Influence among Yemenis’, 19 November 1937, E 7005/27/91 FO 371/20773. 82   CO to FO, ‘Italian Activities in Yemen’, 26 July 1937, E 4337/27/91 FO 371/20773.

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Aware that an annexation of parts of Yemeni territory would have signalled an irreversible break in relations with the British Government, Mussolini continued instead with the campaign of peaceful penetration. On 4 September, the 1926 Treaty of Friendship and Commerce between Italy and Yemen was brought up to date with the explicit recognition of the Empire. If the Treaty was extended, it was once again thanks to Senator Jacopo Gasparini, who was recalled especially for the occasion. This was undoubtedly a notable diplomatic success because Yemen, which had looked upon the rise of the Empire with great concern, was actually the first country to recognise it. ‘The friendship of the Imam is a conspicuous political element’, emphasised Gasparini in a report to Ciano at the beginning of October, ‘making it possible to compare Yemen’s position in the Red Sea with that of Albania in the Adriatic’.83 And Yemen – at least in Mussolini’s long-term imperial scheme – would sooner or later follow the same destiny. He also informed Ciano that during his visit he had been able to resume contacts with those influential people who, from the inception of political relations between Rome and Sanaa, had been sympathetic to the Fascist Regime. Gasparini said he was certain that by keeping such contacts effectively alive, ‘we could in any event count on a group that had influence on the Imam’. He had also been able to conduct a serious investigation into the internal political situation, reaching the conclusion that ‘so long as the Imam was able to explain his authoritative activities in full [and the doctors were making long and optimistic prognoses], there would be no disturbances or outbreaks of disorder’.84 In the wake of the favourable conclusion to the negotiations and the threat of British expansionism, political and commercial relations between Italy and Yemen developed further. It was thought that maintaining the political influence acquired in Yemen depended to a considerable extent on cornering its markets. That was why Rome had many years previously set up the Eritrean Shipping Society with the principal aim of instigating commercial relations with Yemen, becoming among other things its main customer for coffee.85 In order to add fresh impetus to its own trade, the Ministry for Foreign Affairs decided to set up an oil refinery at Massawa, which was to process the raw materials coming from the Persian Gulf and then offer the oil at competitive prices to the countries of the Arabian Peninsula.86 Also under consideration was the creation of a shipping line that, enabling faster and more direct communications between Assab and Mocha, would make it possible

83

  ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 13, f. 1, Gasparini to Ciano, 4 October 1937.   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 13, f. 1, Gasparini to Ciano, 4 October 1937. 85   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 12, f. 11, note written by Guarnaschelli, 31 October 1937. 86   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 12, f. 11, ‘Appunto sulle riunioni che hanno avuto luogo il 13 e 14 ottobre fra il Senatore Gasparini, il Commendatore Fagiuoli, il Commendatore Pasqualucci e il Commendatore Guarnaschelli’, note written by Guarnaschelli, 15 October 1937. 84

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to extricate Yemen from economic dependence on the Aden Protectorate.87 The Fascist Regime was moreover very favourable to meeting the Imam’s request to buy arms and ammunition in Italy to fortify the promontory of Sheikh Said. At the beginning of November, Ciano told the Yemeni Government that he would be able to supply ten 75 mm field guns, ten 75 mm mountain guns and ten 20 mm anti-aircraft guns, all with appropriate munitions. The Ministry for Foreign Affairs emphasised in a report to the Chief of the Military Intelligence Service in Sanaa that the Fascist Regime ‘intended to do everything possible to facilitate completion of the delivery, even accepting a certain reduction in price’.88 But when, in the middle of December, the Imam made a further request for ten 150 mm naval guns to fortify Sheikh Said, the military experts pointed out that, given the proximity of the Aden border to the peninsula and the fact that the British consequently had the potential to occupy the area quickly, the installation on the promontory of such weapons would be of a predominantly maritime nature and could be used against Italy.89 Their fear was that the creation of a fortified base at Sheikh Said would actually worsen the country’s strategic situation in the Red Sea. The Imam therefore had to be persuaded to accept a fortification plan that included not only defence preparations on the coastal side but also, and most especially, an effective defence against attacks coming from the Aden Protectorate.90 The spectre of Italian intervention in Yemen combined with the extreme tension in Palestine forced Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain to take the reins of British foreign policy into his own hands with the opening of new negotiations on Arabia to ‘try to reach some agreement with the Fascist Regime, offering a better guarantee than that provided under the 1927 Understanding’. By the beginning of 1938, it had in fact become apparent to His Majesty’s Government that ‘it was essential to revise the 1927 Understanding in order to limit Italian influence in Yemen, which was not only a threat to the imperial route to India but also to British interests in the southern Red Sea’. It was hoped this would ensure that ‘Italy would not establish itself in Yemen ... and, at the same time, that it would formally recognise the British position in southern and south-eastern Arabia, which it had hitherto refused to do’. When the Fascist Regime was approached on the subject of holding new talks, it immediately expressed its desire to bring the 1927 Understanding up to date, since it was ‘no less nervous of British activities in the Aden Protectorate ... than His Majesty’s Government were of Italian activities

87

  ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 12, f. 11 (the document is neither signed nor dated). 88   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 13, f. 7, ‘Armi per lo Yemen’, Ciano to Dubbiosi, 7 November 1937. 89   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 13, f. 7, ‘Appunto’, note written by Zoppi, 17 December 1937. 90   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 10, f. 6, ‘Appunto’, note written by the MFA (the document is not dated).

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and designs in Yemen’.91 It is worth recalling that for several years the Fascist Regime had pressed the British Government for discussion on this subject but that London had decided that it would have been too dangerous to raise the complex issue and that it would have been better to ‘let sleeping dogs lie’.92 The Anglo-Italian Agreement on the Arabian Peninsula and the Red Sea This entente, even if applied faithfully, left no room for any Italian policy of expansion in the Mediterranean or North Africa or the Near East, at least at the expense of British interests. ... It is clear that such a muddled construction as this offers more of a pretext to be denounced as no longer responding to the situation of the moment if it was no longer in step with the overall political programme of the participating powers (unknown commentator, 1938).93

Talks on the matter of Arabia were finally opened in Rome on 15 March 1938. During the first stage of the conversations between the 15th and the 19th, the British wished to obtain recognition of their exclusive rights in the zone to the south and east of the frontiers defined in the Anglo-Turkish Convention of 1914, but the Italians argued that they ‘could hardly be expected to recognise the exclusive claim of His Majesty’s Government over this vast area, the existence of which they had been genuinely unaware at the time of the conclusion of the Understanding of 1927, without some kind of quid pro quo’. They showed great nervousness at the apparent intention to convert what had been a loose collection of independent tribal states in purely negative treaty relations with Britain into what would amount to a highly organised Crown Colony, which might seriously alter the strategic position in the Arabian Peninsula. After the whole question had been thoroughly examined in London between 21 and 26 March at a series of interdepartmental meetings, a draft agreement – which ‘seemed likely to meet the main Italian desiderata, while at the same time giving the British Government the security and recognition it required’ – was drawn up. But when the draft was presented to the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, a number of objections were raised: it was observed that it was virtually terminable at any time on six months’ notice, thereby giving no guarantee of stability. The Fascist Government was not prepared to accept the validity of the Anglo-Turkish Convention of 1914, especially as it had not been accepted by either Saudi Arabia or Yemen. It was also pointed out that the economic and commercial rights in the Aden Protectorate conceded to Italy ‘were illusory, since 91

  Memorandum written by Rendel, ‘Anglo-Italian Conversations regarding Arabia: General Summing Up to April 9th’, 10 April 1938, E 2233/880/91 FO 371/21828. 92   Baggally to Perth, ‘Anglo-Italian Conversations: Arabia’, 25 April 1938, E 2233/880/91 FO 371/21828. 93   Quoted in Donald Cameron Watt, ‘Gli accordi mediterranei anglo-italiani del 16 aprile 1938’, Rivista di Studi Politici Internazionali, 26/1 (1959): pp. 53–4.

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they were dependent upon rights granted to other foreign countries, while in fact no such rights had been granted at all’. Another point of disagreement was caused by the differentiation between the draft agreement provisions relating to the Red Sea coast and those relating to the hinterland. ‘The ostensible object of the agreement, which was ... to set up a kind of ring fence round the territory present occupied by Saudi Arabia and Yemen would be largely defeated’, concluded the Ministry for Foreign Affairs, ‘since there would be a gap in that fence in the north and east, where His Majesty’s Government was not prepared to give any sort of guarantee against states under its protection or in alliance with it eventually acquiring any part of that territory.’ Despite the objections raised, it was recognised that some of these arguments had a good deal of foundation. ‘It is only necessary to visualise a situation where the positions might have been reversed to realise how easily we ourselves might have taken up the same position as the Italians, had we been in their place’, wrote Rendel to the Foreign Office. ‘A serious source of difficulty was the anxiety of His Majesty’s Government to keep its hands as free as possible in the event of an entirely new situation developing’, while endeavouring at the same time to ensure that Italian hands would be tied. So serious did the situation become that, on the evening of 7 April, it looked as if the whole agreement was on the point of breaking down. But the British prepared a new draft of Annex Three – the one regarding the Middle East in general and the Arabian Peninsula in particular – which was accepted by the Fascist Regime, enabling complete accord to be reached that evening.94 Britain and Italy agreed not to undertake any action that would impair the independence or integrity of Saudi Arabia and Yemen, or to seek ‘a privileged position of a political character’ in any territory belonging to the two countries. It was recognised as being in their common interest to ensure that no other power should acquire any political privileges in Saudi Arabia and Yemen. It was also agreed that neither party would establish its sovereignty or erect fortifications on former Turkish islands in the Red Sea that were not part of Saudi Arabia or Yemen. The presence of British officials at Kamaran for ensuring the provision of sanitary services for pilgrims on their way to Mecca and the stationing there of an Italian medical officer was however accepted. Britain also conceded the right of Italy to place officials on Jebel Zukur and the Hanish Islands for the protection of Eritrean fishermen who made use of those islands. London further undertook not to erect fortifications in the Aden Protectorate except for purely defensive purposes, while Rome in turn would not seek political influence there.95

94

  All the quotations are from the note written by Rendel, ‘Anglo-Italian Conversations regarding Arabia: General Summing Up to April 9th’, 10 April 1938, E 2233/880/91 FO 371/21828. 95   Perth to FO, ‘Anglo-Italian Conversations on Arabia’, 14 April 1938, E 2236/880/91 FO 371/21828.

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As can be seen from the text of the Easter Agreements, His Majesty’s Government had conceded very little, while at the same time it was assured of considerable benefits. Italy’s commitment to maintaining the status quo in the Red Sea, where Britain was particularly vulnerable from the strategic point of view, was surely a major success for British diplomacy. Although Mussolini had been granted official recognition of his Roman Empire, Britain had obtained notable advantages in exchange for minimal concessions that were still made dependent on the settlement of the Spanish question. It should not be forgotten, though, that the entente expressed only a provisional stance by the Duce, whose real ambitions were not limited purely to a few political and economic concessions but in reality extended to wide territorial annexations. Mussolini considered the entente a temporary measure that would reduce the extreme tension in Italy’s relations with Britain and at the same time break the latter’s traditional partnership with France.96 ‘There was no way that the British would ever succeed in returning AngloItalian relations to their status before 1935’, Grandi wrote to Ciano. ‘They would be compelled to realise that the East African Empire would very soon become the Mediterranean Empire.’97 Anglo-Italian Activities in the Arabian Peninsula on the Eve of the Second World War As has already been seen in Chapter 2, the impatience at the delay in the full implementation of the Easter Agreements manifested itself with renewed attacks on the British Government’s policy in Egypt and Palestine.98 To counter this malignant propaganda, the Colonial Office decided that two radio transmitters should be purchased for the dissemination of straight news by the British Political Clerk at Hodeidah and by the British Medical Officer in Sanaa.99 The results of this measure were minimal, however, because the propaganda of the Fascist Regime was ‘making headway in Yemen’.100 Italy appeared to be in a fairly strong position especially through the medium of its doctors, three of whom had been given official positions in the country and were paid directly by the

  Watt, ‘Gli accordi mediterranei anglo-italiani’, pp. 73–4; Knox, Mussolini Unleashed, p. 36; Collotti, Fascismo e politica di potenza, p. 349; Mallett, ‘Fascist Foreign Policy’, p. 181; Giglioli, Italia e Francia, pp. 310–11. 97   ASMAE, Ambasciata Londra, b. 910, f. 2, Grandi to Ciano, 6 November 1936. 98   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Propaganda in Egypt’, 19 July 1938, J 2887/38/16 FO 371/21981. 99   CO to FO, ‘Anglo-Yemeni Relations’, 2 June 1938, E 3287/1067/91 FO 371/21830. 100   CO to FO, ‘Yemeni Affairs’, 31 May 1938, E 3205/716/91 FO 371/21825. 96

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Yemeni Government.101 Dame Freya Stark, a resourceful travel writer who was the first western woman to journey through the hinterland of southern Arabia, where only a small number of explorers had ever ventured, perceptively observed that these medical officers practising in the country were ‘doctors in name only’ and were spreading the Fascist doctrine ‘far and wide’. It was not surprising, therefore, that ‘hospitals [had become] the chief vehicles for [Italian] propaganda’.102 It was also reported by British Naval Intelligence that the increasing prestige of the Fascist Government was due to the tales brought back by Yemeni labourers travelling to and from Eritrea about the ‘might and power’ of the Italians in East Africa. A considerable quantity of money was finding its way into Yemen, either in the form of wages paid to Yemeni labourers in Eritrea or from Arab merchants. It was estimated that over a million lire a week came in. This sum of money, noted the Intelligence Division of the Admiralty, was on top of the million lire a week smuggled across Kamaran. ‘It appeared to be in the back of the Yemeni minds that, if in Massawa the Italians can give away so much money for labour, it would not be a bad idea if they took over Yemen and all the labourers would then become rich’.103 The dissemination of such gossip made the name of Italy respected in Yemen. Indeed, many of the labourers were by then even giving the Fascist salute.104 It was within this context that at the end of August the Imam decided to purchase his military equipment from Italy.105 Yahya ordered eight guns of 75/27 mm and eight guns of 75/13 mm with 8,000 rounds each, two anti-aircraft guns with 2,000 munitions, and 10,000 Manlicher shotguns with 3,000 munitions. These arms and ammunition were not only destined for the defence of Sheikh Said but also for the claim to the Aden Protectorate: Yemeni forces equipped with Italian weapons occupied Shabwa and Husn al-Abr in the Protectorate. This presented Britain with a dilemma, for if the Royal Air Force was employed against the armed tribesmen, the Italian Government was likely to protest that such action constituted a breach of Article One of the Easter Agreements, which stipulated that no action was to be taken ‘which might in any way impair the independence or integrity of Yemen’.106 But when, failing initial withdrawal of the armed tribesmen, the Governor of Aden was authorised to take immediate steps to expel them, the expected reaction did not materialise in Rome. This lack of reaction could well have been due to the fact that, having obtained the implementation of the Easter Agreements at the 101

  ADM to FO, ‘Yemeni Affairs’, 11 October 1938, E 5915/716/91 FO 371/21825.   Freya Stark, East Is West (London, 1945), p. 26. 103   ADM to FO, ‘Yemeni Affairs’, 11 October 1938, E 5915/716/91 FO 371/21825. 104   CO to FO, ‘Political Situation in Yemen’, 15 July 1938, E 4237/716/91 FO 371/21825. 105   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 16, f. 2, ‘Forniture governo yemenita’, Buti to Passera, 22 August 1938; ‘Fornitura di armi allo Yemen’, Ciano to SANE, 31 August 1938; ‘Fornitura armi allo Yemen’, Guarnaschelli to SANE, 27 October 1938. 106   Baldry, ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea’, pp. 75–6. 102

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beginning of November, the Fascist Regime was not interested in exacerbating the tension with London at a time when imperial claims were about to be presented to France.107 With the ratification of the Easter Agreements, the Italian Government directed its attention to Kamaran, where it was decided to appoint Dr Romolo Moise to the Quarantine Station.108 Captain Thompson, the Civil Administrator, immediately informed the Colonial Office that Moise was a ‘rather troublesome’ naval doctor, whose functions seemed to be ‘quite as much political as medical’. Though his Dutch and British counterparts resided in Kamaran only for the months of the pilgrimage season, he wanted to live on the island permanently.109 Thus the fear His Majesty’s Government had always had that ‘the appointment of a medical officer at Kamaran was prompted by the desire to have an observer there rather than by any concern for the health of pilgrims’ materialised.110 This fear was further fuelled by the story put out in the bazaars that Britain had occupied the island for its allotted span of 25 years and that Italy would take over the Administration of Kamaran in 1940, with Moise replacing Thompson.111 As has already been pointed out, many officials within the Fascist Regime were of the opinion that the position of Yemen in the Red Sea was similar to that of Albania in the Adriatic. Significantly, the view was also shared by the Imam himself, who felt that Italy’s actions in Ethiopia and Albania prior to the conquest were much like the policy that was then being pursued in Yemen. He therefore became seriously worried about the fate of Sheikh Said upon receiving news of the invasion of Albania in March 1939. John Baldry correctly argues that it was the annexation of Albania that made it abundantly clear to the Imam that ‘acceptance of every offer of Italian assistance and acquiescence to every Italian demand was no way to safeguard Yemeni independence’.112 Yahya therefore attempted to lessen his dependence on Rome by dispatching the Qadhi Hussein Bib Halali to Aden to start negotiations for the purchase of arms for the defence of Sheikh Said. The Qadhi told the Governor that the Imam was alarmed by the aggressive policy pursued by the Fascist Regime, especially after the seizure of Albania. He thus wished to put the peninsula on a state of alert against air and sea attacks

107   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 15, f. 11, ‘Rapporti Anglo-Yemeniti’, Perth to Ciano, 9 May, 18 November and 7 December 1938. 108   IO to FO, ‘Kamaran Island Administration Report’, 21 October 1939, E 7112/228/91 FO 371/23186. 109   Gent to Baxter, ‘Activities of Italian Medical Officer at Kamaran’, 31 July 1939, E 5436/228/91 FO 371/23185. 110   Baggally to Gent, ‘Activities of Italian Medical Officer at Kamaran’, 12 August 1939, E 5436/228/91 FO 371/23185. 111   CO to FO, ‘Italian Medical Officer at Kamaran’, 25 November 1939, E 711/228/91 FO 371/23186. 112   Baldry, ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea’, p. 77.

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and desired to purchase anti-aircraft guns from His Majesty’s Government.113 In communicating the discussion to the Colonial Office, Reilly added that ‘any assistance now given would facilitate [some form of military understanding in the event of major war] if the circumstances required it. In any case’, he observed, ‘it would be to our advantage to prevent any occupation of the peninsula’.114 Within three days of receiving the request, the Middle East Standing SubCommittee of the Committee of Imperial Defence met to discuss the question. The representative of the Colonial Office argued that ‘a guarantee of active assistance would be inconsistent with the provisions of Article Five of the AngloItalian Agreement’, which had to be communicated to the Imam to ‘relieve his apprehensions’. He further stressed that the supply of arms and ammunition should be limited only to ‘small and simple guns’.115 The Foreign Office concurred with this view since there was the danger that, if Sheikh Said was heavily fortified and subsequently captured by the Italians, the position of the Fascist Regime would be strengthened at the mouth of the Red Sea. Whitehall also felt that the provision of military equipment would be considered by Rome to be contrary to the terms of the Easter Agreement that had been designed to prevent either side obtaining a privileged position in Yemen.116 It was the desire to avoid embittering AngloItalian relations that led His Majesty’s Government to decide against accepting a formal commitment to secure Yemen against aggression.117 The Imam was consequently advised to defend his coast with machine guns and the use of barbed wire, avoiding in this way any need for foreign assistance.118 Nevertheless, when in mid-June the Qadhi returned to Aden with a new request for arms, the British decided that this time it was desirable on political grounds to meet the wishes of the Imam to purchase anti-aircraft guns and respirators.119 Several factors had led His Majesty’s Government to reconsider the whole question, the most important of which was the report that the Chief of the Italian Military Intelligence Service in Sanaa had approached the Imam, offering ‘antiaircraft guns of the best quality at reduced prices for the defence of Sheikh Said in the event of France implementing its long-standing claim to the peninsula’, and suggesting ‘a temporary Italian occupation of the place until the danger had

113

  CO to FO, ‘Defence of Yemen’, 15 May 1939, E 3669/3569/91 FO 371/23188.   Ibid. 115   CO Memorandum (the document is not signed), ‘Yemen: Fortification of Sheikh Said’, 16 May 1939, E 3603/3569/91 FO 371/23188. 116   Minute written by Baggally, ‘Yemen: Fortification of Sheikh Said’, 17 May 1939, E 3603/3569/91 FO 371/23188. 117   Baldry, ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea’, p. 79. 118   CO to FO, ‘Yemen: Fortification of Sheikh Said’, 25 May 1939, E 3991/3569/91 FO 371/23188. 119   Middle East (Official) Sub-Committee (68th Meeting), ‘Fortification of Sheikh Said’, 19 June 1939, ME(O) 68 AIR 2/1667. 114

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passed’.120 But since it was impossible to ensure early delivery of the equipment because of the national rearmament programme, the Colonial Office was requested by the Middle East Official Sub-Committee to ascertain which foreign countries could supply the respirators.121 By the end of June 1939, the Imam had still not been informed, while the Chief of the Italian Military Intelligence Service had been able to convince him that France was intent on occupying Sheikh Said. Despite the fact that Yahya suspected Mussolini of harbouring aggressive designs against his country, at the same time he feared taking any action that might offend him. Consequently, in the face of British procrastination, the Imam turned to the Fascist Regime instead to take responsibility for the defence of the peninsula. In communicating to Captain Seager that the Imam had ordered arms and ammunition from another foreign power, the Crown Prince remarked that his father had been ‘bitterly disappointed with London’s evasive reply: once again, the Yemeni Government had come forward as beggar, and once again had it been spurned. ... Not a nail or a screw’, he recalled, ‘have we had to date from His Majesty’s Government’.122 On 11 August, the Italian arms shipment, comprising four 149/35 mm anti-aircraft guns with 400 rounds each, was unloaded at Mocha. Together with the weapons, three officials responsible for setting up the equipment and giving instructions on how to operate the 149/35 mm batteries also disembarked.123 The arrival of the military equipment for the defence of Sheikh Said allowed the Fascist Regime to use its increasing influence to strengthen ties with the Crown Prince. A secret agreement was reached with him, stating Italy would come to his support in the event of a power struggle for the succession if the Imam were to die.124 To counteract Italian intrigues and promote British interests, the Colonial Office therefore decided to send Stark to Yemen. She had first been posted to Aden at the beginning of the war, following a brief spell at the Ministry of Propaganda during which she had contributed to the creation of a propaganda network aimed at persuading the Arabs to remain neutral.125 Stark took with her a small cinema of British Navy and Air Force films, which she projected in the chief houses of Sanaa. Her presence caused considerable concern to the Fascist Regime, because 120   CO to FO, ‘Yemen: Fortification of Sheikh Said’, 25 May 1939, E 3991/3569/91 FO 371/23188. 121   Middle East (Official) Sub-Committee (68th Meeting), ‘Fortification of Sheikh Said’, 19 June 1939, ME(O) 68 AIR 2/1667. 122   CO to FO, ‘Fortification of Sheikh Said in Yemen’, 29 July 1939, E 5420/3569/91 FO 371/23189. 123   ASMAE, AP 1931–1945, Yemen, b. 18, f. 3, ‘Sheikh Said’, Nonis to Passera, 23 June 1939; ‘Rapporto sulla Missione del Maggiore Del Duca’, Passera to MFA, 8 February 1940; ‘Relazione istruzioni reparti yemeniti’, Del Duca to MFA, 12 February 1940. 124   Baldry, ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea’, p. 81. 125   Minute written by Gater, ‘Visit of Miss Freya Stark to Yemen’, 12 March 1940, CO 725/74/15.

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what six weeks before had been ‘a peaceful profitable field where only Italian news was listened to’ had been irrevocably damaged by the tremendous impact of the films. ‘My little cinema came like a bombshell ... dishing all the Italians had been saying about us’, Stark wrote to her sister Flora in February 1940. ‘You cannot think the effect of propaganda like that on [this] virgin soil.’ A whole new picture of the war emerged. One of the sons of the Imam, for instance, expressed his total surprise when, after having seen Ruler of the Waves, he learnt that Italy did not rule the Mediterranean. Indeed, such was the effect of the projections depicting British victories that the Imam even went so far as to order the closure of a shop selling Fascist literature, and by the time Rome declared war in June 1940, the population had been convinced that the Allies were winning, even though ‘every notable was still in Italy’s pay’.126 This was further confirmed by the Assistant Frontier Officer at Hodeidah, who reported that Italy’s influence was definitely ‘on the wane’ mainly because the Imam was beginning to fear an intrigue that ‘could prove a danger to the independence of his country’.127 Conclusion In the Arabian Peninsula, where British supremacy had been under threat since the middle of the 1920s, Fascist Italy’s political and economic penetration was always fairly effective and continuous. With the outbreak of the Ethiopian Crisis, the strategic importance of the Red Sea became even greater than before and the Anglo-Italian struggle for the control of the Arabian Peninsula resumed in all seriousness. Although territorial expansion was not out of the question, the policy pursued by the Fascist Regime was always one of patient and peaceful political and economic penetration aimed at strengthening the positions acquired in expectation of the death of the Imam. This was because Mussolini was fully aware that an actual annexation of Yemeni territory would have signalled a final and irreversible rupture in his relations with London, which would not have remained confined just to the Arabian Peninsula. It was in fact essential for the British Government to prevent Rome from establishing a footing in Yemen, because Fascist Italy’s control over both coasts of the Red Sea would have seriously prejudiced its imperial naval and air communications. The severely strained relations that had developed between London and Rome during the Ethiopian Crisis drove Britain to adopt a forward policy in the Hadhramut, which resulted in the cold war with Italy in the summer of 1937. With the Easter Accords of 1938, the British Government was assured of considerable benefits in return for minimal concessions. Italy’s commitment to maintaining the 126   Freya Stark, Bridge of the Levant, 1940–1943 (London, 1977), pp. 34–5, 42–3, 57–8; Baldry, ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea’, pp. 82–3. 127   CO to FO, ‘Lieutenant-Colonel Lake’s Visit to Sanaa’, 31 May 1940, E 1972/781/91 FO 371/24545.

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status quo in the Arabian Peninsula, where Britain was particularly vulnerable, was undoubtedly a great success for British diplomacy. However, such agreements were temporary solutions accepted by Mussolini only to mitigate the extreme tension in relations between the two powers and to break up the traditional Anglo-French entente.128 The Duce repeated more than once that in the long-term historical perspective the conflict between the two countries was ‘inevitable’. He made it abundantly clear that the Easter Agreements would never be able to change his fundamental policy goal – entente with Germany – or do anything to alleviate British concerns in the region.129 The plan, however, was to remain cautious in order to gain time for military preparations to be completed that would guarantee success. It was only by waiting until 1942–1943 that Italy could have the greatest prospect of victory. Until then, he was therefore content to squeeze everything he could out of the democratic powers, reserving war for those goals that could not be acquired peacefully.130 The supply of aircraft to Saudi Arabia was mainly conducted with the intention of supplanting British presence in the Arabian Peninsula. Ultimately, this ambitious programme failed because, although Ibn Saud wanted to reduce his dependence on Britain, he was also suspicious of the intentions of the Italian Government. The confluence of Italy and Saudi Arabia’s anti-British interests, which had marked the period 1934–1937, diminished when London and Rome reached agreement with each other. All through the period when the two powers had reasons to distrust each other, Ibn Saud was able to play one off against the other to satisfy his own security requirements, while the Easter Agreements paved the way for joint Anglo-Italian control over the Arabian Peninsula. Consequently, the new situation forced Ibn Saud to look for alternative strategic alliances to ensure the security of his kingdom and to finally ‘be free from the Anglo-Italian nutcrackers’ once and for all.131

  Watt, ‘Gli accordi mediterranei anglo-italiani’, pp. 73–4; Knox, Mussolini Unleashed, p. 36; Collotti, Fascismo e politica di potenza, p. 349; Giglioli, Italia e Francia, pp. 310–11. 129   Ciano, Diario, p. 67; Reynolds Salerno, Vital Crossroads: Mediterranean Origins of the Second World War, 1935–1940 (Ithaca, 2002), p. 79. 130   DDI, 8th, vol. 5, 277, Ciano to Mussolini, 24 Oct. 1936. See also, Michaelis, ‘Italy’s Mediterranean Strategy’, p. 57. 131  Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, p. 298, 303. 128

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Chapter 7

Dreams of Imperial Greatness, 1922–1940

We want to renew the great empire of Rome, marching along the path which the Duce has shown us (Fascist Italy’s marching song, 1935). I cannot imagine anything which would do more injury to the general welfare of the world than to allow the British Empire to decay (Neville Chamberlain, 1937).

The central thesis advanced in this book is that there was an ongoing AngloItalian conflict in the Middle East from the 1920s onwards. Although Mussolini’s antagonism towards Britain took on a more aggressive character in the 1930s, the relationship between London and Rome in the Middle East was, from the second half of the 1920s, already notably tense. The main reason for this is that throughout the interwar period they were working at cross-purposes in the region. On the one hand, the British Government sought to preserve the security of its Empire and to protect its network of sea communications and levels of trade and commerce. This demanded maintenance of the status quo and opposition to any attempts to control the waterways through which British troops and materials were obliged to pass. On the other hand, the Fascist Regime wanted to raise Italy to the rank of a great power by dominating the Mediterranean and the Red Sea and by establishing spheres of influences in the Middle East and in the Arabian Peninsula. The long-term objectives of the two countries could not have been more at odds with each other and Britain and Italy increasingly found their imperial interests clashing over a wide range of issues: strategic control of the Red Sea, cultural propaganda for the hearts and minds of the Arabs, commercial arms-trade in the Persian Gulf, political rivalry in Saudi Arabia and Yemen, and the governance of Mandatory Palestine. This imperial competition in the Middle East, ostensibly peripheral to major European power politics, is therefore crucial to understanding why Britain and Italy drifted steadily apart and eventually went to war against each other. What follows now is a chronological summary of the long-term clash of interests that   Quoted in Mallett, Mussolini, p. 83.   Quoted in Overy, The Road to War, p. 119.    Bullard, Britain and the Middle East, pp. 28–65; Clayton, An Arabian Diary, pp. 3–4; Monroe, Britain’s Moment in the Middle East, p. 11; Shlaim, War and Peace in the Middle East, pp. 11–12; Knox, ‘Il fascismo e la politica estera italiana’, pp. 296–9.  

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separated the two countries, providing an insight into how this imperial rivalry contributed to the widening of the Second World War in the Mediterranean. The Anglo-Italian Imperial Clash in the Middle East The origins of the conflict can be traced back to the Paris Peace Conference. Even before Mussolini came to power, Italy had been discontented with Britain: the country was filled with a sense of injustice and dissatisfaction with what it had received in return for its sacrifices in the Great War. With the inauguration of the dictatorship, this sense of grievance had been consolidated to form the basis for a distinctly imperialist policy, not limited merely to Europe but one with much wider aspirations. Nothing was ruled out, since the Empire was considered the key to global power, a status symbol, something which would confer international respect and dignity on Italy. Prestige, no matter how intangible it is, has always been relevant in international affairs. Immediately on coming to power, thus, Mussolini gave new impetus to the national objectives in the Arabian Peninsula and the Red Sea that had already been on the agenda of Liberal Italy for a considerable length of time. By trying to alter the status quo in the region, Rome was inevitably bound to clash with London, whose interest was primarily to prevent other foreign powers from acquiring a foothold in the Arabian Peninsula and to fill the political vacuum resulting from the Ottoman expulsion. The analysis of the hostility with carried undertones of war in the Red Sea between 1922 and 1934 shows that, behind the appearance of European collaboration, relations between the two countries in that part of the world were already particularly tense. Britain and Italy were engaged in a fierce covert war under the flags of Asir/Saudi Arabia and Yemen. Although this peripheral confrontation never erupted into an actual armed conflict between the two powers, it was an ongoing source of irritation that was likely at any moment to threaten their European partnership. More importantly, it strikingly revealed the underlying incompatibility of interests and long-term goals. The fact that Anglo-Italian relations remained formally polite until the Ethiopian Crisis, however, was only due to the diplomatic, political, economic and military realities of the 1920s. At   Giorgio Rumi, ‘Revisionismo fascista ed espansione coloniale, 1925–1935’, Il Movimento di Liberazione in Italia, 80/3 (1965): pp. 59–60; Dino Cofrancesco, ‘Appunti per un’analisi del mito romano’, Storia Contemporanea, 11/3 (1980): pp. 395–8; Del Boca, Gli italiani in Africa, vol. 2, pp. 6–7.    On the importance of the fundamentals of power, see John Ferris, ‘Power, Strategy, Armed Forces, and War’, in Patrick Finney (ed.), Palgrave Advances in International History (Basingstoke, 2005), pp. 58–79.    Macartney and Cremona, Italy’s Foreign and Colonial Policy, pp. 276–7; Carocci, La politica estera dell’Italia fascista, p. 222; Del Boca, Gli italiani in Africa Orientale, vol. 2, pp. 44–5; Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, p. 140. 

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that time, Mussolini had no real political or strategic alternatives but to be on good terms with the British Government. The threat posed by the Fascist Regime was limited by its material weakness and diplomatic isolation. Anglo-Italian solidarity in Europe had therefore to take precedence for Mussolini over regional aspirations in the Arabian Peninsula mainly because he was not strong enough to acquire or maintain colonies in the face of British opposition. The Corfu Crisis had in fact taught him that he could only expand his possessions with the compliance of London. At the same time, his repeated promises to make the twentieth century the century of Italian power had encouraged a state of millenarian expectancy involving forces he could scarcely control. This is why in the 1920s Mussolini had to restrain those local colonial officers and intelligence agents who, viewing events from their restricted perspectives, frequently pushed their enthusiastic initiatives further than the home government had ever intended. On the other hand, it must be stressed that even though the Duce did not envisage an aggressive policy of territorial conquest during the 1920s, his efforts to increase Fascist Italy’s influence and prestige in the Red Sea and Persian Gulf did in fact constitute a serious threat to the security and stability of British imperial communications to the Far East. It was the emergence of National Socialism in Germany that finally enabled Mussolini to emerge from the diplomatic isolation of the preceding decade, to exploit the fears of London and Paris, to realise his imperialist ambitions and to move from words to deeds. Convinced that there was no way the British Government could possibly manage without his collaboration on the continent, Mussolini’s imperialism took on a more decisive and violent character, with the aim of creating a vast future empire specifically directed against Britain and France. Consequently, when in the summer of 1933 the Imam Yahya’s troops penetrated into the region of Najran, Mussolini pressed him to encroach upon Asir and provided him with arms and ammunitions. The conflict between Saudi Arabia and Yemen is important not only because it is indicative of the growing AngloItalian rivalry, but also because of the way in which both London and Rome tended to ally with local forces to promote their respective interests in the region.10 At the same time, the desire to re-establish the historic connection between the East and the West drove the Fascist Regime to undertake a number of systematic initiatives to restore the country’s image and prestige, which had been seriously    Rumi, Alle origini della politica estera fascista, pp. 58–61; Cassels, Fascist Italy, p. 77; Morewood, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry’, pp. 169–70; Omissi, ‘The Mediterranean and the Middle East’, pp. 5–6; Kolinsky, Britain’s War in the Middle East, pp. 207–8; Collotti, Fascismo e politica di potenza, p. 20; Mallett, Mussolini, p. 16.    Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy’, pp. 204–5; Michaelis, ‘Italy’s Mediterranean Strategy’, pp. 43–5 and p. 57.    Knox, ‘Il fascismo e la politica estera italiana’, pp. 321–2; Quartararo, Roma tra Londra e Berlino, vol. 1, p. 43; Gooch, Mussolini and His Generals, pp. 189–91. 10   Kostiner, ‘Britain and the Challenge of the Axis Powers in Arabia’, p. 133.

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damaged during the brutal re-conquest of Cyrenaica. A coherent and effective strategy, openly pro-Muslim and anti-British, was adopted in the early 1930s when the initiatives of cultural, commercial and ideological penetration were intensified: congresses of oriental students were hosted in Rome and Bologna in 1933 and 1934; policies of reconciliation were pursued in Libya to make up for the wrong done to the Arabs; special incentives were provided to pupils from nonaffluent backgrounds to encourage them to register in schools run by the Italian Government; generous subsidies were distributed among editors and journalists to secure the collaboration of the most popular Arabic newspapers; radio broadcasts in Arabic were inaugurated in order to cement the bond of friendship between Italy and Islam; channels were opened up with the Mufti of Jerusalem to support the Palestinian National Movement in its struggle against both the Mandatory Administration and the Zionist Movement; shipping and airline routes were expanded to increase commercial penetration in the Red Sea and the Persian Gulf; economic and technological help was given to Iraq with the intention of strengthening political and economic relations; and arms and ammunition were continuously supplied to Saudi Arabia and Yemen to gain more influence over Ibn Saud and Imam Yahya. These diverse initiatives represented aspects of a single ambition to supplant British influence in the region and to re-create the Roman Empire – the timing and accomplishment of which would essentially be determined by developments in the international situation.11 By adopting a policy of reconciliation with the Arabs of Libya (through the building of mosques, the construction of religious schools, special assistance given to the pilgrims directed to Mecca and the creation of the Institute of Superior Islamic Culture of Tripoli), some of the hostility provoked by Fascist atrocities in Cyrenaica was removed, making it possible for Rome to establish an effective collaboration with two of the strongest personalities of the Muslim world, Arslan and Hajj Amin. Although the Emir had already acknowledged the new course of action of the Italian Government in the spring of 1933, it was only at the beginning of 1934, when he was invited to Rome to define the terms of his collaboration with the Fascist Regime, that he agreed to abandon his violent propaganda campaign in return for the promise to reduce the pressure on the Muslims of Libya and to advance the Arab cause before the international community. Almost simultaneously, contacts were established between the Italian Government and the Mufti of Jerusalem, who was seeking support against both the oppression of the Mandatory Administration and the plans of the Zionist Movement. The strategic alliance between the Palestinian National Movement and the Fascist Regime was mainly prompted by the consideration that the international crisis over Ethiopia had created an excellent opportunity for the Arabs to bring about a favourable modification of the policy then in place. By the end of 1935, the Mufti had come 11   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, pp. 195–6; Tedeschini Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba’, pp. 717–18; De Felice, Il fascismo e l’Oriente, pp. 16–18; Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy’, pp. 202–3; Fabei, Il fascio, pp. 37–40; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 110.

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to the conclusion that obtaining the political and financial help of a foreign country was absolutely essential. This convergence of interests between the Palestinian National Movement and the Fascist Regime caused great apprehension in London. It was in fact feared that Arslan and Hajj Amin, due to the great influence they exercised in the Muslim world, were in a position to exploit the acute state of tension existing in Egypt and Palestine to incite resistance and revolt against the British Government in order to undermine its prestige and replace it with Italian influence. This fear proved to be justified when, after Britain had offered diplomatic and military resistance to Mussolini’s plan to annex Ethiopia, the propaganda campaign orchestrated by Rome assumed a violently anti-British tone. The aim of the offensive campaign was no longer intended merely to efface the memory of the brutal repression of the Libyan Resistance Movement from Arab minds, but to inflame the Arab masses to create actual difficulties for the British Government in a region where its presence was bitterly resented. The deterioration of the situation in Egypt and the outbreak of the revolt in Palestine made His Majesty’s Government particularly vulnerable to malignant attacks. London’s decision to send additional troops to Egypt to strengthen the local garrison had in fact set in motion a series of demonstrations that were accompanied by demands for the formal recognition of Egyptian independence and the limitation of British rights in the country, while an insurrection had broken out in April 1936 in the Holy Land when the request by the Arabs of Palestine for the suspension of the Jewish migratory stream was turned down.12 It is, however, important to stress that the problems experienced by British policy-makers and military officers in the Middle East were a reaction against any form of colonial rule: the Arabs in reality wanted complete independence, not merely a new master. The sympathies and hopes expressed with regard to the Fascist Regime did not so much represent an expression of innate love as an expression of natural solidarity shared by two parties in their mutual struggle against a common enemy. Even less did they represent a desire for the imposition of Italian administration. Consequently, while the Fascist Government could prove to be a useful stick with which to beat Britain, the Arabs did not have any feelings of loyalty towards Italy. The enthusiasm expressed in favour of the Fascist Regime by Arslan and Hajj Amin, for instance, was nothing more than an anti-British act of rebellion aimed at contributing to the expulsion of the British, not at replacing them with another dominating power from Europe. While it was a relatively easy task to make them anti-British or anti-French, it was almost impossible to convert them into becoming pro-Italian. The inevitable result, therefore, was that Rome

12   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, pp. 195–6; Tedeschini Lalli, ‘La propaganda araba’, pp. 717–18; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 110.

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was more successful in fanning the flames of anti-British sentiments than in arousing any sympathy for Italy.13 There is strong reason to believe that this was especially the case after the conquest of Ethiopia. Although the military campaign in East Africa had inflicted an incredible loss of prestige upon Britain and had reinforced the belief that Italy had become a power to be reckoned with, the reaction around the Arab world was ambivalent. On the one hand, some rulers (among whom Ibn Saud and Imam Yahya) were fearful of Mussolini’s aggressive intention and while they wanted to reduce their strategic and political dependence on the British Government, they were at the same time highly suspicious of the intentions of the Fascist Regime. On the other hand, some nationalists (among them Arslan and Hajj Amin) considered this a sign that the British Empire was disintegrating. From this they drew the conclusion that they could benefit significantly in the event of an Anglo-Italian military confrontation. This conviction was further strengthened by the realisation that both the Arab Revolutionary Movement and the Fascist Regime had a common enemy: the British. Accordingly, at the beginning of 1936, an effective form of cooperation was established that created serious difficulties for the British Government by inciting an uprising in both Palestine and Transjordan.14 Between 1936 and 1938, Fascist Italy played a significant role in supporting the aspirations of the Arabs of Palestine and in working for the liberation of the country from both the oppression of the Mandatory Administration and the plans of the Zionist Movement. It is, however, interesting to observe that, while the financial aid contributed to keeping the revolutionary movement alive between the autumn of 1936 and the winter of 1937, by the time the uprising reached its peak between the summer of 1938 and the spring of 1939, Rome had already decided to suspend its aid. This was a huge missed opportunity for the Italian Government: had it supported the Palestinian National Movement during the most violent year of the uprising, it could have caused great problems for Britain, since British forces would have been tied up in Palestine in an attempt to restore law and order at a time when British military planners were already anxious about the security of their strategic and diplomatic interests in the Middle East. The use of violence would have inevitably undermined British influence in the Arab world, giving Italy the chance to step in and seize the moment to increase its prestige throughout the region. Yet, in spite of the recommendations of the career diplomats that support for the Arabs of Palestine should in all circumstances continue in order to alleviate the Mufti’s sense of abandonment and to keep pressure on Britain, Mussolini and Ciano decided to block all military and financial aid to the Palestinian National Movement. Although they were aware that the likely consequence of their decision was to compromise most of the positions so far achieved, the policy pursued by   MacDonald, ‘Radio Bari’, p. 204; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p.

13

185.

14   Goglia, ‘Il Mufti e Mussolini’, p. 1207; Fabei, Mussolini e la resistenza palestinese, p. 152; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 63.

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the Fascist Regime from the early 1930s in Palestine now had to be subordinated to wider considerations of general policy. What had happened in Europe between February and March 1938 had in fact driven Mussolini to take a more accommodating attitude in his negotiations with the British: the rapprochement with London would not only allow the Duce to present himself at Hitler’s intended visit in May in a more favourable diplomatic light, avoiding the impression of being totally dependent on Nazi Germany to achieve his foreign policy goals, but it would also preclude any possible Anglo-German agreement. The Easter Agreements expressed, however, only a provisional stance on the part of the Duce, whose real ambitions were not limited merely to some political and economic concessions but extended to vast territorial annexations too. They were temporary solutions accepted by Mussolini to mitigate the extreme tension in Anglo-Italian relations and to break up the traditional Anglo-French collaboration. While attaching a certain importance to these agreements, the Duce made it clear that they would never be able to change the direction of his policy, now aimed at forging stronger links with Nazi Germany. The plan, however, was to play safe in order to gain time for military preparations to be completed that would ensure success.15 Though Mussolini was convinced that conflict with London was inevitable in the long-term, it was only by waiting until 1942–1943 that Rome could have the greatest prospect of victory. Until then, he was content to extract as many concessions as possible from the democratic powers, reserving war for those goals that could not be acquired peacefully.16 And at the end of 1938 Radio Bari, in an attempt to exercise pressure on Paris, was instructed to switch to a campaign of malignant broadcasts against French policy in Syria comparable to those it had previously directed against Britain. Meanwhile, it continued to vilify the British Government all the same.17 At the regional level, despite the introduction of the anti-Jewish laws and the incorporation of colonial Libya into metropolitan Italy, the realisation that the Fascist Regime had exploited their cause merely for its own benefit drove the Arabs to look for alternative strategic alliances. Although the Italian Government had ably succeeded in asserting the position of its own naval and aircraft industry in markets tightly controlled by Britain, the ambitious programme of supplanting British influence ultimately failed because it was unable to reconcile Mussolini the conquering imperialist with Mussolini the advocate of oppressed nationalities. He aspired to be all things to all men, a virile empire builder for the Italians and an equestrian messiah for the Arabs. But the decision in January 1939 to fully colonise Libya by introducing 20,000 settlers from Italy and forcibly removing the indigenous population from the land, combined with the abandonment of 15   Knox, Mussolini Unleashed, p. 36; Collotti, Fascismo e politica di potenza, p. 349; Mallett, ‘Fascist Foreign Policy’, p. 181; Giglioli, Italia e Francia, pp. 310–11. 16   Michaelis, ‘Italy’s Mediterranean Strategy’, p. 57. 17   Daniel Grange, ‘La propagande arabe de Radio Bari 1937–1939’, Relations Internationales, 3/5 (1976): pp. 83–103; Giglioli, Italia e Francia, pp. 378–82.

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the Palestinian National Movement in April 1938 and the occupation of another Muslim country (Albania) in April 1939, increased Arab fear and distrust even more.18 The tension between Britain and Italy scaled down both in Egypt and Palestine following the signing of the Easter Agreements. However, in the Arabian Peninsula and in the Red Sea the two countries were still on a war footing. Indeed, since the outbreak of the Ethiopian Crisis, the Anglo-Italian struggle for the control of the Red Sea had renewed in earnest. This was manifest in the interest in controlling Sheikh Said, in the annexation by the British Government of the Hadhramut, in the fortification by the Fascist Regime of Jebel Zukur and Great Hanish, and in the intense propaganda campaign being orchestrated in the region. The Ethiopian War had in fact been the trigger for Britain to re-evaluate its perception of Italy. Up to that time, while not ignoring the Fascist Regime’s long-term objectives, the image had been one of a power whose interests were inimical to those of Britain but which lacked the military and financial means to seriously challenge the latter’s interests. It is important to note in this respect that even in November 1933 the Cabinet had classified Italy, like France and the United States, as a friendly country against which no military preparation was necessary.19 It is also essential however to point out that, if the nature of the challenge facing Britain’s strategic and commercial interests in the Middle East was not fully grasped by foreign and colonial office civil servants in London, the view of British diplomats working in the region was far more realistic. Some among them, unlike their superiors who were distanced from the situation, were able to predict long before it actually took place the clash that would become manifest from the mid-1930s onwards. After the Ethiopian War had ended with a decisive victory, British planners were forced to take into consideration the spectre of an attack against Egypt and Yemen. This serious threat to British interests could not have come at a worse time, since it coincided with the emergence of a revisionist Nazi Germany and the split with Imperial Japan over North China, both of which ultimately limited the intensity of British competition with Fascist Italy. The British Government was faced with a ‘strategic nightmare, in which there was the possibility that it might find itself at war simultaneously with three great powers’. Although it was thought unlikely that Italy would prevail in a prolonged bilateral conflict, it still posed a threat because it was part of the global menace to the Empire. British civilian and military policymakers had no doubt about their ability to destroy Italy, but they concurred that victory would come at a heavy price. The potential loss of major capital ships and the disruption of the rearmament programme then under way would have deprived London of the economic and military strength it needed to deter or defend against

18   Segré, ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy’, pp. 206–10; Fabei, Il fascio, pp. 8–9; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 63. 19   Morewood, ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry’, pp. 169–70; Omissi, ‘The Mediterranean and the Middle East’, pp. 5–6; Kolinsky, Britain’s War in the Middle East, pp. 207–8.

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future aggression by Berlin and Tokyo.20 The Chiefs of Staff warned that unless Britain restored good relations with Italy, the danger existed of a war on three fronts. ‘We cannot exaggerate the importance from the point of view of imperial defence of any political or international action which could be taken to reduce the numbers of our potential enemies and to gain the support of potential allies.’ The Defence Requirements Committee strongly reiterated that ‘the cardinal principle for national and imperial security should be to avoid a situation in which we might be confronted simultaneously with the hostility, open or veiled, of Japan in the Far East, Germany in the West, and any power on the line of communications between the two’. There was a real danger that if Germany instigated a war in Europe, Italy would take advantage of the situation and evict the British from the Mediterranean and the Red Sea. Diplomacy would therefore have to forestall the possibility of a hostile Italy on Britain’s main route of imperial communications. Under these conditions, the military experts repeatedly advised that a tactical rapprochement with Rome would not only improve the strategic situation but also gain precious time to prepare for the likely confrontation.21 It was, however, clear that, whereas German and Japanese expansionism could be accommodated within the limits of British security through diplomacy, Italian imperialism in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea could not be accepted so readily, since it clashed with fundamental British interests in the region. Not surprisingly, the British were not the slightest bit interested in meeting the requests of the Fascist Regime. It was one thing to allow German expansion in Central/ Eastern Europe, but it was quite another to cede control of the Mediterranean and the Red Sea to Italy, since this could mean the demise of the whole British Empire.22 ‘The control by a hostile power of the sea routes which are the arteries of the Empire would involve all of us in economic disaster and leave us individually isolated in the face of attack or invasion.’ The Admiralty had been giving similar warnings since 1926.23 It was particularly important to prevent the extension of Fascist Italy’s influence and prestige in the Arabian Peninsula, because its control over both coasts of the Red Sea would have seriously prejudiced British imperial sea communications to the Far East. This drove the British Government to adopt a forward policy in the Hadhramut that ultimately resulted in what was in effect a ‘cold war’ with the Fascist Regime.24 Although territorial expansion was not out of the question, the policy pursued by the Italian Government in that part of the world was for the time being one of patient and peaceful political and economic   Anthony Best, British Intelligence and the Japanese Challenge in Asia, 1914–1941 (Basingstoke, 2002), p. 105, p. 121. 21  Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia, p. 296; Post, Dilemmas of Appeasement, pp. 91–3, 100–101, 107–9. 22  Salerno, Vital Crossroads, pp. 76–7, 81–2. 23   DoP to the ACNS, ‘Empire Naval Policy and Cooperation, 1926’, 1 Apr. 1926, ADM 116/2311. 24   Baldry, ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea’, p. 65. 20

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penetration aimed at strengthening the positions acquired in expectation of the death of the Imam. There were several reasons that held Mussolini back from the temptation to immediately conquering Yemen, the most important of which was the realisation that a policy of aggression in the Red Sea would have signalled the final and irreversible rupture with Britain, which would not have remained confined just to that part of the world. Before taking such a step, the Duce needed time to rebuild the economy, pacify Ethiopia and to develop a strong colonial army capable of attacking British imperial possessions both in the Mediterranean and in Eastern Africa.25 The aggressive imperial campaign conducted by the Fascist Government in the Middle East in the 1930s to supplant British influence and prestige increased the fear that the unity and stability of the British Empire was threatened not only by internal forces striving to achieve self-determination but also by machinations and plots being hatched by rival powers. ‘Italy is a great menace to our future in the region. This is not apprehension, it is a fact’, was the deduction of the Foreign Office. While Rome was interested in European stability, it was clearly felt in Whitehall that it was bent on a collision course with London in the Middle East.26 This danger alerted Britain to the importance of gaining the support of the Arabs, which in turn led to significant concessions on the part of London. It is difficult to avoid the impression that, had it not been for the hostile anti-British campaign orchestrated by the Fascist Regime, Egyptian independence would have been highly unlikely or that Palestine could have avoided the proposed partition. Moreover, concerned with the readiness with which Italy had met Saudi and Iraqi military requirements, the British Government openly put pressure on both governments to purchase aeronautical equipment from Britain instead, in return for which the governments would be provided with loans amounting to three million pounds. By the second half of the 1930s, it had also become apparent in London that, despite Britain’s traditional repugnance for propaganda, something drastic needed to be done to improve the perceived image of the country abroad and that clearly more positive steps had to be taken to safeguard British interests in the region. The establishment of the British Council and the expansion of the BBC can therefore be considered integral parts of the effort to provide the Arabs with an alternative philosophy to the more dogmatic political doctrines propagated by the dictatorships as well as with a different view of world events.27

25

  Quartararo, ‘L’Italia e lo Yemen’, pp. 868–70.   Memorandum written by Dermott, ‘Italian Anti-British Activities in the Mediterranean Region’, 30 August 1936, R 5839/226/22 FO 371/20411; Memorandum written by Rendel, ‘Italian Activities and Ambitions in Arabia and the Middle East: and British Policy in Palestine’, 14 September 1936, E 5815/3334/65 FO 371/19983. 27   Rolo, Radio Goes to War, p. 42; Donaldson, The British Council, pp. 12–13; Partner, Arab Voices, p. 1; Taylor, British Propaganda, pp. 67–8; Williams, Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad, p. 148. 26

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By attempting to demonstrate the incompatibility of imperial interests in the Middle East, this study has also provided fresh insight into the formulation of the policy of appeasement in the 1930s, leading to an important conclusion. When analysing Anglo-Italian relations in the Middle East, it emerges that London never bowed to threats or pressure from Rome but in fact obstructed or repulsed all such moves. It preferred to meet the requests of Arab nationalists rather than satisfy the aspirations of the Fascist Regime in the region. Although many historians have claimed that British decision-makers had conducted a policy of ‘shameful weakness’ that guided the country along a path which could have been fatal, it is reasonable to conclude that in the Middle East they never adopted such a policy towards Fascist Italy.28 On the contrary, ‘nothing for nothing’ was their main principle. Summarising the conclusions of an important meeting at the Cabinet, Viscount Halifax declared that ‘we should make no concessions unless Mussolini helps us to obtain the détente [with Germany] which it was the object of our policy to attain’.29 Similarly, Vansittart wrote that ‘we should make the Italian Government an offer with one hand, with an ill-concealed stick in the other, a position that offered the only possibility of bringing it to a peaceful accommodation’.30 As can also be seen from the text of the Easter Agreements, the British had obtained notable advantages in exchange for minimal concessions that were even made dependent on the settlement of the Spanish question. While they sought collaboration with Mussolini in Europe to mitigate the impetuousness of Hitler, in the Middle East they were not disposed to conceding anything of significance since ceding control of the Mediterranean and the Red Sea to Italy would have signified the demise of the British Empire. ‘If it were not for Hitler, I would not care a rap for Musso’, privately admitted Neville Chamberlain.31 ‘We should continue to show Italy that we sincerely desire its collaboration ... but that we should oppose a firm resistance to any attempt by it to encroach on our rights’, emphasised the Foreign Office.32 The main champion of this policy was undoubtedly Lampson, who maintained that any understanding with Italy was not going to put an end to the growing threat to   Paul Kennedy, The Realities behind Diplomacy: Background Influences on British External Policy, 1865–1980 (London, 1981), p. 236; Robert Alexander Clark Parker, Chamberlain and Appeasement: British Politics and the Coming of the Second World War (London, 1993), p. 364; Ralph James Adams, British Politics and Foreign Policy in the Age of Appeasement, 1935–1939 (London, 1993), pp. 158–60; Salerno, Vital Crossroads, pp. 23–4. 29   Quoted in Paul Stafford, ‘The Chamberlain-Halifax Visit to Rome: A Reappraisal’, English Historical Review, 98/386 (1983): pp. 77–8. 30   Quoted in Post, Dilemmas of Appeasement, p. 120. 31  Neville Chamberlain, The Neville Chamberlain Diary Letters: The Downing Street Years, 1934–1940 ed. Robert Self (Aldershot, 2005), p. 259. 32   Memorandum written by Lambert, ‘Italian Policy towards the United Kingdom’, 27 March 1934, R 1885/395/22 FO 371/17882. 28

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the safety of British communications, for which it was imperative to unequivocally check Fascist expansionism in the region. Convinced that Italian action in Ethiopia was only the first step in the creation of the Second Roman Empire, Lampson put considerable pressure on the British Government to demonstrate the progress of British rearmament by sending military reinforcements to the Mediterranean and the Middle East.33 He believed that Mussolini had understood that any further advance he made in the region would conflict with British imperial interests and had therefore realised that his only chance was to act before British rearmament became too far advanced. He also proposed ‘some stroke of high policy’ that would detach Berlin from Rome.34 In spite of the Chiefs of Staff’s insistence that any refortification of British defences in the area would provoke war rather than prevent it and that ‘realistic diplomacy’ had to be employed instead, in the Middle East the British Government maintained a ‘purely defensive, non-provocative stance’, while always resisting Fascist Italy’s ambitions there.35 The Inevitability of Conflict Some historians also maintain that, had London genuinely cooperated with Rome, a working relationship between the two powers would have developed, and that Mussolini could have been kept out of Hitler’s camp, preserving the balance in Europe.36 Although it is impossible to know with certainly what would have happened if Britain had not opposed Fascist Italy over Ethiopia, this book has at least shown that, while in the short run a tactical rapprochement could have been established, in the long-term Fascist expansionism simply could not coexist with British imperialism since the Regime wanted more than the British Government could ever supply without jeopardising the security of its possessions. The day after the proclamation of the Empire it appeared that the Fascist Government was intent on returning to traditional means of diplomacy, partly because it needed to assimilate the recent conquest – for which British and French capital was required. Mussolini’s expressed desire to collaborate in maintaining and strengthening the peace was nevertheless systematically contradicted by the facts. The stance taken by the British Government on the occasion of the Ethiopian War convinced Mussolini of the bad faith of London and of the usefulness of a strategic alliance with Berlin in order to achieve his programme of territorial expansion. He realised that Britain would not hesitate to put a stop to any further imperialist designs he may have had in the region, and thus he decided to align

33   Lampson to FO, ‘Italian Activities in the Red Sea’, 18 December 1936, E 8029/2617/91 FO 371/19979. 34   Lampson to FO, ‘Anglo-Italian Relations: Effect of an Anglo-Italian Clash on Egypt’, 22 May 1936, R 3795/1/22 FO 371/21159. 35   Harris, ‘Egypt’, p. 63. 36   Quartararo, Roma tra Londra e Berlino, vol. 2, p. 647, 827.

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Italy with Germany. It was only in the shadow of Berlin that Rome could achieve its ambitions, which were ‘a priority above all else’.37 The conquest of Ethiopia had in fact caused the re-orientation of Fascist Italy’s operational planning policy away from the notion on a war on the continent towards a Mediterranean war against the British and the French. Since the end of 1935, Mussolini had ordered the Italian Navy and Air Force to plan offensive operations against the British fleet and bases in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea and charged the Army General Staff to prepare a detailed study of the terrain and the marching routes that led from Cyrenaica and Eritrea to Egypt and Sudan.38 Already on 13 December, the Deputy Chief of Staff of the Army had stressed in a letter to the Under-Secretary of State for War that ‘it has been possible to ascertain who our real enemy is (Britain). It is against it that we must now prepare ourselves’.39 Convinced of the inevitability of the conflict with the democratic powers, he was of the opinion that the war would be won by launching an attack on Egypt and Suez ‘to defeat the main enemy at a vital point and open one of the doors that close off Italy from the free access to the oceans’.40 And once it had been identified who the ‘real enemy’ was, the Chiefs of Staff were forced to drop the operational plans that had been drawn up for a war to be fought on the continent and to devise instead a new approach based on a future clash with Britain for the conquest of its possessions in the Mediterranean and the Red Sea.41 In an air and naval war of the type impending, Italian chances were discounted in advance given the ‘immense imbalance between the forces, the immense disproportion between the relative capacities of industrial production and the immense discrepancy in the possibilities of re-supply’. The country risked the danger of remaining literally enclosed within its own sea under a British naval blockade. In order to escape from this situation it was necessary to prepare for a ‘war of brigandage’, creating an instrument of destruction, the sudden and timely use of which would give rise to a considerable initial reduction in the enemy’s naval forces by taking advantage of the element of surprise, based on the novelty of the Naval Assault Methods and on the decisiveness of the attackers in the first days of the war. ‘Something new, unexpected, quick to set into motion, for immediate use which, bringing destruction into the enemy camp from the beginning of hostilities would enable Italy to engage in battle under conditions of equality of forces or, at least, under

  Collotti, Fascismo e politica di potenza, p. 35, 399.  Emilia Chiavarelli, L’opera della Marina italiana nella guerra italo-etiopica (Milan, 1969), pp. 93–5; Minniti, Fino alla guerra, pp. 114–16, 126–7; Salerno, Vital Crossroads, p. 21, 31; Mallett, Mussolini, pp. 72–3, 79–80, 100–101, 106–7, 113, 172, 183. 39   Quoted in Minniti, Fino alla guerra, p. 134 and Mallett, Mussolini, p. 72. 40   Quoted in Salerno, Vital Crossroads, p. 87. 41   Minniti, Fino alla guerra, p. 135. 37 38

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conditions of less disadvantage.’42 Mussolini was so much taken with the idea of a ‘war of brigandage’ that a few days after, in a conversation with Giuseppe Bottai, he spoke of his conviction that Italy’s next war against the British would be short and quick. ‘Think of the surprise of the Italian people on the day that they would wake up and find in the newspapers this item: an Italian air squadron has bombarded the British naval squadron at Malta. It is believed that X number of ships have been sent to the bottom.’43 This crisis with Britain also resulted in the lessening of the degree of hostility towards Germany, especially when Mussolini removed the main cause of friction between the two powers, declaring his disinterest with regard to Austria’s independence.44 On 11 July 1936, the day when the Austro-German Pact was signed, the Duce in fact expressed his own satisfaction at the achievement of the treaty, since ‘it removed the only point of friction between Rome and Berlin’.45 The meeting with Hitler was therefore no accident but in fact represented the choice of the only ally available who shared the wish to give the coup de grâce to the old peace treaties. It is opportune to underline here how, independently of the ideological affinities that linked the two governments, it was this common interest that provided the foundation for their international collaboration. ‘Loyalty to the Axis was not simply an act of friendship by Rome towards Berlin’, wrote Critica Fascista in April 1939, ‘but the logic and natural way to satisfy a common interest together’ constituted by the overthrow of the Anglo-French hegemony.46 Mussolini rationally chose Germany to make his dream of recreating the Roman Empire come true. To claim, as has so often been done, that the responsibility for throwing Italy into the arms of Germany was due above all to the myopia of the British and the French does not correspond with reality.47 By trying to show conflicting Anglo-Italian imperial aspirations in the Middle East, this study has highlighted areas of research that have so far been overlooked. Literature on the relations between London and Rome has paid scant attention to the role played by second-tier officials in the formulation and execution of the two countries’ policies and indeed in being a source of Anglo-Italian antagonism. Considering the developments of events from their restricted perspectives, distant members of both governments analysed the world through lenses that 42   Junio Valerio Borghese, Decima Flottiglia Mas: dalle origini all’armistizio (Milan, 1954), pp. 1–2. See also Ciano, Diario, p. 98. 43  Giuseppe Bottai, Diario 1935–1944, ed. Giordano Bruno Guerri (Milan: 2001), pp. 113–14. 44   Mallett, The Italian Navy, pp. 191–2; Minniti, Fino alla guerra, pp. 135–6; Salerno, Vital Crossroads, pp. 87–90. 45   Quoted in Giglioli, Italia e Francia, p. 34. 46   Quoted in Renzo De Felice, Autobiografia del fascismo: antologia di testi fascisti, 1919–1945 (Bergamo, 1978), pp. 452–3. 47   Richard Lamb, Mussolini and the British (London, 1997), p. 7, 15; Quartararo, Roma tra Londra e Berlino, vol. 2, p. 827.

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filtered out important political considerations that could have influenced the general decision-making process. As a result of not taking all the circumstances into account and failing to view the situation globally, local Italian officials in the Arabian Peninsula (Gasparini, Astuto, Odello and Pasqualucci) were of the opinion that time had come to supplant British influence in that part of the world. More than once, however, their efforts to challenge British control were out of step with Mussolini’s position at that particular point in time and were therefore not followed. In the British case, if the challenges facing Britain’s strategic and commercial interests in the Middle East were not always fully grasped by the central government, the perception of diplomats and officers working in the region was far more realistic. Some of them (Lampson and Reilly), unlike their superiors who were distanced from the situation, were able to predict well before the outbreak of the Second World War the inevitability of the conflict. Epilogue: Shattered Dreams The war that might have enabled Mussolini’s aspirations to be achieved, however, arrived too soon for his expectations and forecasts. Fascist Italy was not prepared to sustain a long and costly conflict, and he was forced to proclaim his own nonbelligerence, a formula unrecognised in international law but more appropriate to his warlike nature than the inglorious status of neutrality. But in the spring of 1940, on the wave of the sweeping German advance, almost everyone, and not just in Italy, was convinced that the war was about to end. The Duce could certainly not lose the opportunity to ensure possession for his country of the British and French colonies in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, the vital territory that the country so desperately needed. His dream of establishing an immense empire was perhaps finally on the point of becoming reality after a wait of more than 20 years. Mussolini was like a gambler with hardly any chips left to play but who is prepared to risk everything he has left on one last throw of the dice because he knows just how much is at stake.48 As is indeed possible to see from the plans drawn up in the summer of 1940, when victory for the Axis seemed imminent, the territories that would have been incorporated into the Roman Empire were Eastern Algeria, Corfu, Corsica, Malta, Nice, British and French Somaliland, and Tunisia, while the countries that would have been allied to the imperial system but formally independent from it were the Aden Protectorate, Egypt, Greece, Iraq, Palestine, Sudan, Syria, Transjordan,

48   Romeo Bernotti, ‘Il Mediterraneo nel prologo del secondo conflitto mondiale’, Nuova Antologia, 91/446 (1959): p. 280; Georg Zachariae, Mussolini si confessa (Milan, 2004), pp. 94–5.

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Yemen and Yugoslavia.49 Despite his awareness that the ‘eight million bayonets’ were merely a tragic bluff, he approached the war betting strongly on the likelihood of there being only a very short war that had already been practically won by Germany. ‘Either we win and effectively become a great empire ... or we lose, and in that worst of all cases, the British will never forgive us for the risk we took; they will downgrade us from a great power to the secondary status of being more or less protected.’50 Yet, the dreams of glory and imperial greatness nurtured over more than 20 years were destined to remain only on paper, miserably going up in smoke under fire from British and American artillery and aerial bombardments. Britain, on the other hand, went to war to preserve the international system of which it was the major architect and the prime beneficiary, disregarding the fact that the Empire it fought to protect was already in its final stage of disintegration, surrounded by voracious enemies and enfeebled by internal disunity: ‘Like the Habsburg Empire in 1914, Britain fought in 1939 to preserve an Empire that could no longer be preserved.’51 But British decision-makers were convinced that it was ‘the greatest instrument of good that the world has seen’, an instrument worth defending whatever the risk.52 It was the wartime alliance with the United States that ultimately put an end to the British Empire. Its future was in fact made blatantly clear in an open letter by the editors of Life magazine to the people of England published in 1942: ‘One thing we are sure we are not fighting for is to hold the British Empire together.’ American President Franklin Roosevelt wished to create a new system of temporary trusteeships for all the colonies of all the European powers, which would pave the way to their independence. This was because he was acutely aware of the fact that, unless imperialism was eradicated, another world war was virtually inevitable. It is a cruel irony that this programme was ‘more overtly hostile to the British Empire than anything [Mussolini or] Hitler have ever said’. Although Churchill thundered that he had not become prime minister ‘to preside over the liquidation of the Empire’, the country’s own bank account made it clear that the game was up, since without the support of the United States, there was in fact no way it could survive.53 The imperial rivalry between London and Rome in the Middle East and the Red Sea is crucial to understanding the reason why Britain and Italy, two countries that had always cooperated since the nineteenth century, drifted steadily apart in the interwar period and went to war against each other in 1940. The main cause of this was that, throughout the 1920s and 1930s, they wished to occupy the same 49   Alberto Pirelli, Taccuini 1922–1943 ed. Donato Barbone (Bologna, 1984), p. 272; Collotti, Fascismo e politica di potenza, p. 20; Davide Rodogno, Fascism’s European Empire. Italian Occupation during the Second World War (Cambridge, 2006), p. 411. 50   Quoted in Quartararo, Roma tra Londra e Berlino, vol. 2, p. 874. 51  Overy, The Road to War, p. 119. 52   Ferguson, Empire, p. xxi. 53   All the quotations are from Ferguson, Empire, pp. 351–4.

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territory, to control the same markets and to monopolise overlapping positions of influence. In this process they became first competitors for these objectives and then enemies. If we ignore the imperial rivalry between Britain and Italy in the Middle East and the Red Sea in the interwar period, we may therefore be missing elements critical to making sense of why London and Rome went to war against each other. Ironically, Britain and Italy both came out of the conflict having lost what they had previously considered indispensable for their survival on the international scene. The cause of their rivalry having thus been removed, London and Rome were then finally able to resume their historical ties in the new context of the Cold War.

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Selected Bibliography UNPUBLISHED SOURCES Archival and Documentary Sources Archivio Centrale dello Stato, Rome Ministero dell’Aeronautica Ministero della Cultura Popolare Ministero della Marina Segreteria Particolare del Duce Archivio Storico del Ministero degli Affari Esteri, Rome Affari Politici, 1919–1930 Affari Politici, 1931–1945 Gabinetto del Ministro e del Segretario Generale, 1923–1943 Archivio dell’Ufficio Storico dello Stato Maggiore dell’Esercito, Rome E-11, Missioni Italiane all’Estero H-1, Ministero della Guerra/Gabinetto H-3, Servizio Informazioni Militari H-6, Piani Operativi H-9, Carteggio del Capo del Governo L-3, Studi Particolari British Library, London IOR L PO, Secretary of State for India IOR L PS, Political and Secret Department Records IOR R 20, Records of the British Administration in Aden The National Archives, London ADM 1, Admiralty ADM 116, Admiralty

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ADM 167, Board of Admiralty ADM 223, Naval Intelligence Division AIR 2, Air Ministry AIR 9, Directorate of Operations and Intelligence AIR 23, Royal Air Force Overseas Commands AIR 40, Directorate of Intelligence BT 60, Department of Overseas Trade BW 1, British Council BW 29, British Council (Egypt) BW 39, British Council (Iraq) BW 47, British Council (Palestine) BW 68, British Council (Governing Board and Executive Committee) BW 70, British Council (Books and Periodicals Committee) BW 72, British Council (Sub-Committee on British Education in the Near East) BW 82, British Council (Secretariat) CAB 2, Committee of Imperial Defence CAB 4, Committee of Imperial Defence CAB 16, Defence Sub-Committee CAB 23, War Cabinet and Cabinet CAB 24, War Cabinet and Cabinet CAB 27, War Cabinet and Cabinet CAB 51, Standing Ministerial and Official Sub-Committee for Questions Concerning the Middle East CAB 53, Chiefs of Staff Committee CAB 54, Deputy Chiefs of Staff Committe CAB 55, Joint Planning Committee CAB 65, War Cabinet and Cabinet CAB 66, War Cabinet and Cabinet CAB 67, War Cabinet CAB 84, Joint Planning Committee and Sub-Committee CO 323, Colonial Office (Original Correspondence) CO 537, Colonial Office (Confidential General) CO 725, Colonial Office (Aden Original Correspondence) CO 727, Colonial Office (Arabia Original Correspondence) CO 732, Colonial Office (Middle East Original Correspondence) CO 733, Colonial Office (Palestine Original Correspondence) CO 967, Colonial Office (Private Office Papers) FO 141, Foreign Office (Egypt) FO 371, Foreign Office (Political Departments) FO 395, Foreign Office (News Department) FO 837, Ministry of Economic Warfare FO 922, Middle East Supply Centre GFM 36, Captured Italian Records HW 12, Government Code and Cipher School

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PREM 1, Prime Minister’s Office T 160, Treasury: Finance Department T 161, Treasury: Supply Department T 172, Chancellor of the Exchequer’s Office WO 32, War Office WO 201, War Office (Middle East Forces) PRIVATE PAPERS Archivio Centrale dello Stato: Archivi di Famiglie e Persone Emilio De Bono Renzo De Felice Jacopo Gasparini Duilio Susmel Middle East Centre Archive, St. Anthony’s College, Oxford University George Antonious William Harold Ingrams Sir Miles Lampson, First Baron Killearn Harry Patrick Rice George Rendel Sir Andrew Ryan Sir Charles Tegart PUBLISHED SOURCES Diplomatic Correspondence, Official Histories and Document Collections Biagini, Antonello and Gionfrida, Alessandro. Lo Stato Maggiore Generale tra le due guerre: verbali delle riunioni presiedute da Badoglio dal 1925 al 1937 (Rome: Ufficio Storico dello Stato Maggiore dell’Esercito, 1997). —. I Documenti Diplomatici Italiani, Settima Serie (7th Series), 1922–1935 (16 vols, Rome: Istituto Poligrafico dello Stato, 1953–1990). ―. Ottava Serie (8th Series), 1935–1939 (13 vols, Rome: Istituto Poligrafico dello Stato 1952–2007). Documents on British Foreign Policy 1919–1939, First Series (27 vols, London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1947–1986). ―. Series 1A (7 vols, London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1966–1975). ―.Second Series (21 vols, London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1947–1984). ―. Third Series (10 vols, London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1949–1961).

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Documents on German Foreign Policy 1918–1945, Series D (13 vols, London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1949–1964). Mussolini, Benito. Opera Omnia, ed. Eduardo and Duilio Susmel (32 vols, Florence-Rome: La Fenice, 1951–1919). Diaries, Memoirs and Autobiographies Aloisi, Pompeo. Journal: 25 Juillet 1932–14 Juin 1936, ed. Mario Toscano (Paris: Plon, 1957). Borghese, Junio Valerio. Decima Flottiglia Mas: dalle origini all’armistizio (Milan: Garzanti, 1954). Bottai, Giuseppe. Diario 1935–1944, ed. Giordano Bruno Guerri (Milan: BUR, 2001). Bullard, Reader. Britain and the Middle East: From the Earliest Time to 1950 (London: Hutchinson, 1952). Cadogan, Alexander. The Diaries of Sir Alexander Cadogan, 1938–1945, ed. David Dilks (London: Cassell, 1971). Chamberlain, Neville. The Neville Chamberlain Diary Letters: The Downing Street Years, 1934–1940, ed. Robert Self (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005). Chatfield, Alfred Ernle. The Navy and Defence: The Autobiography of Admiral of the Fleet Lord Chatfield (2 vols, London: Heinemann, 1942–1947). Ciano, Galeazzo. L’Europa verso la catastrofe (Milan-Verona: Mondadori, 1948). ―. Diario 1937–1943, ed. Renzo De Felice (Milan: Rizzoli, 1980). Clayton, Gilbert. An Arabian Diary, ed. Robert Collins (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1969). Cunningham, Andrew. A Sailor’s Odyssey (London: Hutchinson, 1951). Eden, Anthony. Facing the Dictators (London: Cassels, 1962). Favagrossa, Carlo. Perchè perdemmo la Guerra. Mussolini e la produzione bellica (Milan: Rizzoli, 1946). Federzoni, Luigi. 1927. Diario di un ministro del fascismo, ed. Adriana Macchi (Florence: Passigli, 1993). Grandi, Dino. Il mio paese. Ricordi autobiografici, ed. Renzo De Felice (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1985). Guariglia, Raffaele. Ricordi, 1922–1946 (Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 1950). Lampson, Miles. Politics and Diplomacy in Egypt: The Diaries of Sir Miles Lampson, 1935–1937, ed. Malcolm Yapp (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997). Lessona, Alessandro. Verso l’impero (Florence: Sansoni 1939). ―. Un ministro di Mussolini racconta (Milan: Edizioni Nazionali, 1973). Nicolson, Harold. Diaries and Letters 1930–1964, ed. Nigel Nicolson (London: Collins, 1968).

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Pirelli, Alberto. Taccuini: 1922–1943, ed. Donato Barbone (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1984). Rendel, George William. The Sword and the Olive: Recollections of Diplomacy and the Foreign Service, 1913–1954 (London: John Murray, 1957). Stark, Freya. Bridge of the Levant, 1940–1943 (London: Russell, 1977). Suvich, Fulvio. Memorie, 1932–1936, ed. Gianfranco Bianchi (Milan: Rizzoli, 1984). Symes, Stewart. Tour of Duty (London: Collins, 1946). Vansittart, Robert. Lessons of My Life: The Autobiography of Lord Vansittart (London: Fight For Freedom, 1943). White, Arthur John Stanley. The British Council: The First 25 Years, 1934–1959 (London: British Council, 1965). Zoli, Corrado. Espansione coloniale italiana, 1922–1937 (Rome: L’Arnia, 1949). Books and Dissertations Albrecht-Carrié, René. Italy at the Paris Peace Conference (New York City: Columbia University Press, 1938). ―. Italy from Napoleon to Mussolini (New York City: Columbia University Press, 1958). Alegi, Gregory. Wings over the Desert: The Italian Air Force Mission to Saudi Arabia, 1935–1939 (Rome: Stato Maggiore dell’Aeronautica, 1994). Al-Marashi, Ibrahim and Salama, Sammy. Iraq’s Armed Force: An Analytical Study (London: Routledge, 2008) Antonius, George. The Arab Awakening: The Story of the Arab National Movement (London: Hamish Hamilton, 1938). Arnold, Vincent. The Illusion of Victory: Fascist Propaganda and the Second World War (New York City: Peter Lang, 1998). Bell, Christopher. The Royal Navy, Seapower and Strategy between the Wars (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2000). Best, Anthony. British Intelligence and the Japanese Challenge in Asia, 1914– 1941 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002). Bolech Cecchi, Donatella. L’accordo dei due imperi: l’accordo italo-inglese del 16 aprile 1938 (Pavia: Istituto di Scienze Politiche dell’Università di Pavia, 1977). ―. Non bruciare i ponti con Roma: le relazioni fra l’Italia, la Gran Bretagna e la Francia dall’accordo di Monaco allo scoppio della seconda guerra mondiale (Pavia: Istituto di Scienze Politiche dell’Università di Pavia, 1986). Bond, Brian. British Military Policy between the Two World Wars (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1980). Bosworth, Richard. Italy, the Least of the Great Powers: Italian Foreign Policy before the First World War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979). Briggs, Asa. The History of Broadcasting in the United Kingdom (6 vols, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1961–1996).

208

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―. The BBC: A Short Story of the First Fifty Years (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985). Brundu Olla, Paola. L’equilibrio difficile: Gran Bretagna, Italia e Francia nel Mediterraneo, 1930–1937 (Milan: Giuffré 1980). Burgwyn, James. Italian Foreign Policy in the Interwar Period, 1918–1940 (Westport: Praeger, 1997). Caparelli, Filippo. La Dante Alighieri, 1920–1970 (Rome: Bonacci, 1985). Carocci, Giampiero. La politica estera dell’Italia fascista, 1925–1928 (Bari: Laterza, 1969). Cassels, Alan. Fascist Italy (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1969). ―. Mussolini’s Early Diplomacy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1970). Ceva, Lucio and Curami, Andrea. Industria bellica anni trenta: commesse militari, l’Ansaldo ed altri (Milan: Franco Angeli, 1992). Cleveland, William. Islam against the West: Shakib Arslan and the Campaign for Islamic Nationalism (London: Al Saqi Books, 1985). ―. A History of the Modern Middle East (Boulder: Westview Press, 2004). Cohen, Michael. Palestine: Retreat from the Mandate. The Making of British Policy, 1936–1945 (London: Paul Elek, 1978). Collotti, Enzo (ed.). Fascismo e politica di potenza: politica estera, 1922–1939 (Milan: La Nuova Italia, 2000). D’Amoja, Fulvio. La politica estera dell’Impero. Storia della politica estera fascista dalla conquista dell’Etiopia all’Anschluss (Padua: Cedam, 1967). De Felice, Renzo. Mussolini: il rivoluzionario 1883–1920 (Turin: Einaudi, 1965). ―. Mussolini il fascista (2 vols, Turin: Einaudi, 1966–1968). ―. Mussolini il duce (2 vols, Turin: Einaudi, 1974–1981). ―. Autobiografia del fascismo: antologia di testi fascisti, 1919–1945 (Bergamo: Minerva Italica, 1978). ―. Il fascismo e l’Oriente: arabi, ebrei e indiani nella politica di Mussolini (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1988). De Leonardiis, Massimo. L’Inghilterra e la Questione Romana, 1859–1870 (Milan: Vita e Pensiero, 1980). Del Boca, Angelo. Gli italiani in Africa orientale (4 vols, Bari: Laterza, 1976– 1984). Di Nolfo, Ennio. Mussolini e la politica estera fascista, 1919–1933 (Padua: Cedam, 1960). Donaldson, Frances. The British Council: The First Fifty Years (London: Cape, 1984). Elpeleg, Zvi. The Grand Mufti: Haj Amin al-Hussani, Founder of the Palestinian National Movement (London: Frank Cass, 1992). Fabei, Stefano. Il fascio, la svastica e la mezzaluna (Milan: Mursia, 2002). ―. Mussolini e la resistenza palestinese (Milan: Mursia, 2005). Feiling, Keith. The Life of Neville Chamberlain (London: Macmillan, 1946).

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Ferguson, Niall. Empire. How Britain Made the Modern World (London: Penguin, 2004). Festorazzi, Roberto. Mussolini e l’Inghilterra, 1914–1940 (Rome: Datanews, 2006). Fieldhouse, David Kenneth. Western Imperialism in the Middle East, 1914–1958 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006). Fisk, Robert. The Great War of Civilisation: The Conquest of the Middle East (London: Fourth Estate, 2005). Furlonge, Geoffrey. Palestine Is My Country: The Story of Musa Alami (London: Murray, 1969). Gayda, Virginio. Che cosa vuole l’Italia? (Rome: Edizioni del Giornale d’Italia, 1940). ―. Italia e Inghilterra: l’inevitabile conflitto (Rome: Edizioni del Giornale d’Italia, 1941). Giannini, Amedeo. I rapporti italo–inglesi (Rome: Anonima Romana Editoriale, 1936). Giglioli, Alessandra. Italia e Francia, 1936–1939: irredentismo e ultranazionalismo nella politica estera di Mussolini (Rome: Jouvence, 2001). Gilbert, Martin and Gott, Richard. The Appeasers (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1963). Goglia, Luigi. La questione palestinese tra le due guerre mondiali (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1970). Gooch, John. Mussolini and His Generals: The Italian Armed Forces and Foreign Policy, 1922–1940 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008). Guerri, Giordano Bruno. Ciano: una vita 1903–1944 (Milan: Bompiani, 1979). Guspini, Ugo. L’orecchio del regime (Milan: Mursia, 1973). Halperin, William. Mussolini and Italian Fascism (Princeton: Van Nostrand, 1964). Imlay, Talbot. Facing the Second World War: Strategy, Politics, and Economics in Britain and France 1938–1940 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2003). Jbara, Trevis. Palestine Leader: Hajj Amin Al-Husayni Mufti of Jerusalem (Princeton: Kingston Press, 1985). Kallis, Aristotle. Fascist Ideology: Territory and Expansion in Italy and Germany, 1922–1945 (London: Routledge, 2000). Keddie, Nikki. Modern Iran: Roots and Results of Revolution (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2003). Kedourie, Elie. Islam in the Modern World and Other Studies (London: Mansell, 1980). Kennedy, Paul. The Realities behind Diplomacy: Background Influences on British External Policy, 1865–1980 (London: Fontana Press, 1981). Kirkpatrick, Ivone. Mussolini: A Study in Power (New York City: Hawthorn Books, 1964). Knox, Macgregor. Mussolini Unleashed, 1939–1941: Politics and Strategy in Fascist Italy’s Last War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982).

210

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―. Common Destiny: Dictatorship, Foreign Policy, and War in Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). Kolinsky, Martin. Britain’s War in the Middle East: Strategy and Diplomacy, 1936–1942 (London: Macmillan, 1999). Kostiner, Joseph. The Making of Saudi Arabia: 1916–1936. From Chieftaincy to the Monarchical State (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993). Lamb, Richard. Mussolini and the British (London: John Murray, 1997). Leatherdale, Clive. Britain and Saudi Arabia, 1925–1939: The Imperial Oasis (London: Frank Cass, 1983). Lowe, C.J. and Marzari, Frank. Italian Foreign Policy, 1870–1940 (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1975). Lyttelton, Adrian (ed.). Liberal and Fascist Italy, 1900–1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002). Macartney, Maxwell and Cremona, Paul. Italy’s Foreign and Colonial Policy, 1914–1937 (London: Oxford University Press, 1938). Mack Smith, Denis. Mussolini’s Roman Empire (London: Viking Books, 1976). ―. Mussolini (London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1981). Macro, Eric. Yemen and the Western World (London: Hurst & Co, 1968). McBeth, Brian Stuart. British Oil Policy, 1919–1939 (London: Cass, 1985). MacKenzie, Vernon. Here Lies Gobbels! (London: Michael Joseph, 1940). MacMillan, Margaret. Paris 1919: Six Months That Changed the World (New York City: Random House, 2002). Mallett, Robert. The Italian Navy and Fascist Expansionism, 1935–1940 (London: Frank Cass, 1998). ―. Mussolini and the Origins of the Second World War (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). Mansfield, Peter. A History of the Middle East (London: Penguin, 1992). Martelli, George. Whose Sea? A Mediterranean Journey (London: Chatto & Windus, 1938). Martelli, Manfredi. Il fascio e la mezza luna (Rome: Settimo Sigillo, 2003). Mattar, Philip. The Mufti of Jerusalem: Al-Hajj Amin al-Husayni and the Palestinian National Movement (New York City: Columbia University Press, 1988). Minniti, Fortunato. Fino alla guerra. Strategie e conflitto nella politica di potenza di Mussolini, 1923–1940 (Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 2000). Monroe, Elizabeth. The Mediterranean in Politics (London: Oxford University Press, 1939). ―. Britain’s Moment in the Middle East, 1914–1956 (London: Chatto & Windus, 1963). Morewood, Steven. The British Defence of Egypt, 1935–September 1939 (Ph.D. Dissertation: University of Bristol, 1985). ―. The British Defence of Egypt, 1935–1940: Conflict and Crisis in the Eastern Mediterranean (London: Frank Cass, 2004). Oriani, Alfredo. La rivolta ideale (Bari: Laterza, 1908).

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Overy, Richard. The Road to War (London: Penguin, 1999). Parker, Robert Alexander Clark. Chamberlain and Appeasement: British Policy and the Coming of the Second World War (London: St. Martin’s Press, 1993). Partner, Peter. Arab Voices: The BBC Arabic Service, 1938–1988 (London: BBC, 1988). Peden, G.C. British Rearmament and the Treasury, 1932–1939 (Edinburgh: Scottish Academic Press, 1979). Petacco, Arrigo. Il Regno del Nord. 1859: il sogno di Cavour infranto da Garibaldi (Milan: Mondadori, 2009). Peters, Anthony. Anthony Eden at the Foreign Office, 1931–1938 (Aldershot: Gower, 1986). Pizzigallo, Matteo. La politica estera dell’AGIP, 1933–1940: diplomazia economica e petrolio (Milan: Giuffré, 1992). ―. La diplomazia dell’amicizia: Italia e Arabia Saudita, 1932–1942 (Naples: Edizioni Scientifiche Italiane, 2000). Porter, Bernand. The Lion’s Share: A Short History of British Imperialism, 1850– 1983 (London: Longman, 1975). Post, Gaines. Dilemmas of Appeasement: British Deterrence and Defence, 1934– 1937 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1993). Pratt, Lawrence. East of Malta, West of Suez: Britain’s Mediterranean Crisis, 1936–1939 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1975). Procacci, Giuliano. Dalla parte dell’Etiopia. L’aggressione italiana vista dai movimenti anticolonialisti d’Asia, d’Africa, d’America (Milan: Feltrinelli, 1984). Quartararo, Rosaria. Roma tra Londra e Berlino. La politica estera fascista dal 1930 al 1940 (2 vols, Rome: Jouvence, 2001). ―. L’Anschluss come problema internazionale: le responsabilità anglo-francesi (Rome: Jouvence, 2005). Robertson, Esmonde. Mussolini as Empire-builder: Europe and Africa, 1932– 1936 (London: Macmillan, 1977). Rochat, Giorgio. Militari e politici nella preparazione della campagna d’Etiopia (Milan: Franco Angeli, 1971). ―. Guerre italiane in Libia e in Etiopia: studi militari 1921–1939 (Paese: Pagus, 1991). Rodogno, Davide. Fascism’s European Empire. Italian Occupation during the Second World War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006). Rolo, Charles. Radio Goes to War (London: Faber & Faber, 1943). Rumi, Giorgio. Alle origini della politica estera fascista, 1918–1923 (Bari: Laterza, 1968). Saba, Andrea Filippo. L’imperialismo opportunista. Politica estera italiana e industria degli armamenti, 1919–1941 (Naples: Edizioni Scientiche Italiane, 2001). Salerno, Reynolds. Vital Crossroads: Mediterranean Origins of the Second World War, 1935–1940 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2002).

212

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Salvemini, Gaetano. Prelude to World War II (London: Victor Gollancz, 1953). Santanelli, Enzo. Ricerche sul fascismo (Urbino: Argalia Editore, 1971). Santoro, Tommaso. Il Mar Rosso nella politica estera italiana (Rome: Istituto Coloniale Fascista, 1937). Segrè, Claudio. Fourth Shore: The Italian Colonization of Libya (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1974). Shlaim, Avi. War and Peace in the Middle East: A Coincise History Revised and Updated (London: Penguin, 1995). Silverfarb, Daniel. Britain’s Informal Empire in the Middle East: A Case Study of Iraq, 1929–1941 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986). Sluglett, Peter. Britain in Iraq: Contriving King and Country (London: I.B. Tauris, 2007). Stevenson, David. The First World War and International Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988). Strang, Bruce. On the Fiery March: Mussolini Prepares for War (Westport: Greenwood, 2003). Sullivan, Brian. A Thirst for Glory: Mussolini, the Italian Military and the Fascist Regime, 1922–1936 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004). Taggar, Yehuda. The Mufti of Jerusalem and Palestine: Arab Politics, 1930–1937 (New York City: Garland, 1986). Tallents, Stephen. The Projection of England (London: Faber & Faber, 1932). Taylor, Philip. British Propaganda in the Twentieth Century (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1999). Thomas, Martin. Empires of Intelligence: Security Services and Colonial Disorder after 1914 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2007). Toscano, Mario. Le origini diplomatiche del Patto d’Acciaio (Florence: Sansoni, 1956). Tripodi, Christian. Britain and Italian Colonial Expansion, 1925–1929 (Ph.D. Dissertation: University of London, 2002). Vigezzi, Brunello. L’Italia unita e le sfide della politica estera: dal Risorgimento alla Repubblica (Milan: Edizioni Unicopli, 1997). Williams, Manuela. Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad: Subversion in the Mediterranean and the Middle East, 1935–1940 (London: Routledge, 2006). Wilson, Keith (ed.). Imperialism and Nationalism in the Middle East: The AngloEgyptian Experience, 1892–1982 (London: Mansell, 1983). Yapp, Malcolm. The Near East since the First World War: A History to 1995 (London: Longman, 1996). Zachariae, Georg. Mussolini si confessa (Milan: BUR, 2004). Articles and Book Chapters Adamthwaite, Anthony. ‘The British Government and the Media, 1937–1938’, Journal of Contemporary History, 18 (1983): pp. 281–97.

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Alegi, Gregory. ‘Qualità del materiale bellico e dottrina d’impiego italiana nella seconda guerra mondiale: il caso della Regia Aeronautica’, Storia Contemporanea , 18 (1987): pp. 1197–219. Andrè, Gianluca. ‘La politica estera del governo fascista durante la seconda guerra mondiale’, in Renzo De Felice (ed.), L’Italia fra tedeschi e alleati: la politica estera fascista e la seconda guerra mondiale (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1973), pp. 115–26. Arielli, Nir. ‘La politica dell’Italia fascista nei confronti degli arabi palestinesi, 1935–1940’, Mondo Contemporaneo, 2 (2006): pp. 5–65. Arisi Rota, Arianna. ‘La politica del peso determinante: nota su di un concetto di Dino Grandi’, Il Politico, 53 (1988): pp. 99–113. ―. ‘La politica estera italiana tra le due guerre e un osservatore inglese: spunti per alcune considerazioni’, Il Politico, 54 (1989): pp. 459–64. Aster, Sidney. ‘Guilty Men: the Case of Neville Chamberlain’, in Robert Boyce and Esmonde Robertson (eds), Path to War: New Essays on the Origins of the Second World War (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1989), pp. 233–68. Azzi, Stephen. ‘The Historiography of Fascist Foreign Policy’, Historical Journal, 36 (1993): pp. 187–203. Baldry, John. ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry in Yemen and Asir, 1900–1934’, Die Welt des Islams, 17 (1976): pp. 155–93. ―. ‘The Struggle for the Red Sea: Mussolini’s Policy in Yemen, 1934–1943’, Asian and African Studies, 16 (1980): pp. 53–89. Bolech Cecchi, Donatella. ‘L’accordo dei due imperi, l’accordo italo-inglese del 16 aprile 1938: le relazioni italo-inglesi dal luglio 1937 alle dimissioni di Anthony Eden’, Il Politico, 38 (1973): pp. 737–69. ―. ‘Le relazioni fra Italia e Inghilterra dalla conclusione dell’accordo di Roma del 16 aprile 1938 alla crisi cecoslovacca del maggio 1938’, Il Politico, 40 (1975): pp. 264–95. ―. ‘L’entrata in vigore dell’accordo anglo-italiano del 16 aprile 1938’, Il Politico, 41 (1976): pp. 449–91. Bosworth, Richard. ‘The British Press, the Conservatives and Mussolini, 1920– 1934’, Journal of Contemporary History, 5 (1970): pp. 163–82. Brundu Olla, Paola. ‘Il tentativo di “détente” italo-britannica dell’autunno 1935’, Il Politico, 43 (1978): pp. 422–46. Canton, James. ‘Imperial Eyes: Imperial Spies. British Travel and Espionage in Southern Arabia, 1891–1946’, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 37 (2009): pp. 537–54. Carocci, Giampiero. ‘Appunti sull’imperialismo fascista’, Studi Storici, 8 (1967): pp. 113–37. Cassels, Alan. ‘Was There a Fascist Foreign Policy? Tradition and Novelty’, International History Review, 5 (1983): pp. 255–68. Ceva, Lucio. ‘Appunti per una storia dello Stato Maggiore Generale fino alla vigilia della “non belligeranza”, giugno 1925–luglio 1939’, Storia Contemporanea, 10 (1979): pp. 207–52.

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―. ‘Pianificazione militare e politica estera dell’Italia fascista, 1923–1940’, Italia Contemporanea, 219 (2000): pp. 281–92. ―. ‘The Strategy of Fascist Italy: A Premise’, in Gert Sørensen and Robert Mallett (eds), International Fascism, 1919–1945 (London: Cass, 2002), pp. 41–54. Ceva, Lucio and Curami, Andrea. ‘Industria bellica e Stato nell’imperialismo fascista degli anni Trenta’, Nuova Antologia, 560 (1988): pp. 316–38. Cofrancesco, Dino. ‘Appunti per un’analisi del mito romano nell’ideologia fascista’, Storia Contemporanea, 11 (1980): pp. 383–411. Cohen, Michael. ‘British Strategy and the Palestine Question, 1936–1939’, Journal of Contemporary History, 7 (1972): pp. 157–83. ―. ‘Appeasement in the Middle East: the British White Paper on Palestine, May 1939’, Historical Journal, 16 (1973): pp. 571–96. ―. ‘British Strategy in the Middle East in the Wake of the Abyssinian Crisis, 1936–1939’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London: St Martin’s Press, 1992), pp. 21–40. Curami, Andrea. ‘Piani e progetti dell’aeronautica italiana, 1939–1943: Stato Maggiore e industrie’, Italia Contemporanea, 187 (1992): pp. 243–61. Darwin, John. ‘An Undeclared Empire: The British in the Middle East, 1918– 1939’, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 27 (1999): pp. 159– 76. De Felice, Renzo. ‘Alcune osservazioni sulla politica estera fascista’, in Renzo De Felice (ed.), L’Italia fra tedeschi e alleati: la politica estera fascista e la seconda guerra mondiale (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1973), pp. 57–76. ―. ‘Arabi e Medio Oriente nella strategia politica di guerra di Mussolini, 1940– 1943’, Storia Contemporanea, 17 (1986): pp. 1255–360. Dilks, David. ‘British Reactions to Italian Empire-Building, 1936–1939’, in Enrico Serra and Christopher Seton-Watson (eds), Italia e Inghilterra nell’età dell’imperialismo (Milan: Franco Angeli, 1990), pp. 165–94. Di Nolfo, Ennio. ‘Mussolini e la decisione italiana di entrare nella seconda guerra mondiale’, in Ennio Di Nolfo, Romain Rainero, Brunello Vigezzi (eds), L’Italia e la politica di potenza in Europa: 1938–1940 (Milan: Marzorati, 1986), pp. 19–38. ―. ‘Le oscillazioni di Mussolini: la politica estera fascista dinanzi ai temi del revisionismo’, Nuova Antologia, 564 (1990): pp. 172–95. Douglas, Roy. ‘Chamberlain and Eden, 1937–1938’, Journal of Contemporary History, 13 (1978): pp. 97–116. ―. ‘Chamberlain and Appeasement’, in Wolfgang Mommsen and Lothar Kettenacker (eds), The Fascist Challenge and the Policy of Appeasement (London: Allen & Unwin, 1983), pp. 79–88. Dunbabin, John. ‘The British Military Establishment and the Policy of Appeasement’, in Wolfgang Mommsen and Lothar Kettenacker (eds), The Fascist Challenge and the Policy of Appeasement (London: Allen & Unwin, 1983), pp. 174–96.

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Edwards, Peter. ‘The Foreign Office and Fascism, 1924–1929’, Journal of Contemporary History, 5 (1970): pp. 153–61. ―. ‘The Austen Chamberlain-Mussolini Meetings’, Historical Journal, 14 (1971): pp. 153–64. ―. ‘Britain, Fascist Italy and Ethiopia, 1925–1928’, European Studies Review, 4 (1974): pp. 359–74. Erlich, Haggai. ‘Mussolini and the Middle East in the 1920s: The Restrained Imperialist’, in Uriel Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, 1919– 1939 (New York City: Holmes & Meier, 1988), pp. 213–21. Fabei, Stefano. ‘Un ponte verso Oriente’, Studi Piacentini, 32 (2002): pp. 101– 15. ―. ‘Il sostegno dell’Italia alla prima Intifada. I rapporti tra fascismo e nazionalismo palestinese negli anni trenta’, Studi Piacentini, 35 (2004): pp. 145–75. Ferris, John. ‘Power, Strategy, Armed Forces, and War’, in Patrick Finney (ed.), Palgrave Advances in International History (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005), pp. 58–79. Foster, Schuyler. ‘The Official Propaganda of Great Britain’, The Public Opinion Quarterly, 3 (1939): pp. 263–71. Gentile, Giovanni and Mussolini, Benito. ‘La dottrina del fascismo’, Enciclopedia Italiana (1932): pp. 847–51. Gilbert, Felix. ‘Ciano and His Ambassadors’, in Gordon Craig and Felix Gilbert (eds), The Diplomats, 1919–1939 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1953), pp. 512–36. Goglia, Luigi. ‘Il Mufti e Mussolini: alcuni documenti diplomatici italiani sui rapporti tra nazionalismo palestinese e fascismo negli anni trenta’, Storia Contemporanea, 17 (1986): pp. 1201–54. Gooch, John. ‘Fascist Italy’, in Robert Boyce and Joseph Maiolo (eds), The Origins of World War Two: The Debates Continues (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003), pp. 32–51. Grange, Daniel. ‘Structure et techniques d’une propagande: les émissions arabes de Radio Bari’, Relations Internationales, 1, (1974): pp. 65–185. ―. ‘La propagande arabe de Radio Bari 1937–1939’, Relations Internationales, 3 (1976): pp. 65–103. Hillgruber, Andreas. ‘The Third Reich and the Near and Middle East, 1933–1939’, in Uriel Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, 1919–1939 (New York City: Holmes & Meier, 1988), pp. 274–82. Hughes, Matthew. ‘The Banality of Brutality: British Armed Forces and the Repression of the Arab Revolt of Palestine, 1936–1939’, English Historical Review, 124 (2009): pp. 313–54. Hughes, Stuart. ‘The Early Diplomacy of Italian Fascism, 1922–1932’, in Gordon Craig and Felix Gilbert (eds), The Diplomats, 1919–1939 (Princeton: Princenton University Press, 1953), pp. 210–33. Kennedy, Paul. ‘Appeasement and British Defence Policy in the Inter-War Years’, British Journal of International Studies, 4 (1978): pp. 161–77.

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Khadduri, Majid. ‘General Nuri’s Flirtation with the Axis Powers’, Middle East Journal, 16 (1962): pp. 328–36. Knox, Macgregor. ‘Conquest, Foreign, and Domestic, in Fascist Italy and Nazi Germany’, Journal of Modern History, 56 (1984): pp. 1–57. ―. ‘Il fascismo e la politica estera italiana’, in Richard Bosworth and Sergio Romano (eds), La politica estera italiana: 1860–1985 (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1991), pp. 287–330. ―. ‘The Fascist Regime, Its Foreign Policy and Its Wars: an “Anti-Anti-Fascist” Orthodoxy?’, Contemporary European History, 4 (1995): pp. 347–65. ―. ‘In the Duce’s Defence: Unconvincing Efforts to Blame the British for Mussolini’s alliance with Hitler’, Times Literary Supplement, 5004 (1999): pp. 3–4. ―. ‘Fascism: Ideology, Foreign Policy, and War’, in Adrian Lyttleton (ed.), Liberal and Fascist Italy, 1900–1945 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), pp. 105–38. Kolinsky, Martin. ‘The Collapse and Restoration of Public Security’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London: St Martin’s Press, 1992), pp. 147–68. Kostiner, Joseph. ‘Britain and the Challenge of the Axis Powers in Arabia: The Decline of British-Saudi Cooperation in the 1930s’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London: St Martin’s Press, 1992), pp. 128–44. Kramer, Martin. ‘The Arab Nation of Shakib Arslan’, Middle Eastern Studies, 23 (1987): pp. 529–33. Lukitz, Liora. ‘Axioms Reconsidered: The Rethinking of British Strategic Policy in Iraq during the 1930s’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London: St Martin’s Press, 1992), pp. 113–27. Luminari, Laura. ‘Armi all’Irak: obiettivi e mezzi della politica estera fascista in Medio Oriente (1931–1941)’, Storia Contemporanea, 26 (1995): pp. 537–71. MacDonald, Callum. ‘Radio Bari: Italian Wireless Propaganda in the Middle East and British Countermeasures 1934–1938’, Middle Eastern Studies, 13 (1977): pp. 195–207. Mack Smith, Denis. ‘Appeasement as a Factor in Mussolini’s Foreign Policy’, in Wolfgang Mommsen and Lothar Kettenacker (eds), The Fascist Challenge and the Policy of Appeasement (London: Allen & Unwin, 1983), pp. 258–66. Mallett, Robert. ‘The Italian Naval High Command and the Mediterranean Crisis January–October 1935’, Journal of Strategic Studies, 22 (1999): pp. 77–102. ―. ‘Fascist Foreign Policy and Official Italian Views of Anthony Eden in the 1930s’, Historical Journal, 43 (2000): pp. 157–87. Marder, Arthur. ‘The Royal Navy and the Ethiopian Crisis of 1935–1936’, American Historical Review, 75 (1970): pp. 1327–56. Mejcher, Helmut. ‘British Middle East Policy, 1917–1921: The Interdepartmental Level’, Journal of Contemporary History, 4 (1973): pp. 81–101.

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Michaelis, Meir. ‘Italy’s Mediterranean Strategy, 1935–39’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London: St Martin’s Press, 1992), pp. 41–60. Miller, Dawn. ‘Dark Waters: Britain and Italy’s Invasion of Albania, 7 April 1939’, International Journal of Intelligence and Counter-Intelligence, 16 (2003): pp. 290–323. Mills, William. ‘The Chamberlain-Grandi Conversations of July–August 1937 and the Appeasement of Italy in 1937’, International History Review, 19 (1997): pp. 594–619. ―. ‘Sir Joseph Ball, Adrian Dingli, and Neville Chamberlain’s “Secret Channel” to Italy, 1937–1940’, International History Review, 24 (2002): pp. 278–317. Minniti, Fortunato. ‘Aspetti della politica degli armamenti dal 1935 al 1943’, in Renzo De Felice (ed.), L’Italia fra tedeschi e alleati: la politica estera fascista e la seconda guerra mondiale (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1973), pp. 127–36. ―. ‘La politica industriale del Ministero dell’Aeronautica. Mercato, pianificazione, sviluppo (1935–1943)’, Storia Contemporanea, 12 (1981): pp. 5–55, and Vol. 12, No. 2, pp. 271–312. ―. ‘Le materie prime nella preparazione bellica dell’Italia, 1935–1943’, Storia Contemporanea, 17 (1986): pp. 5–40, 245–76. ―. ‘Gli Stati Maggiori e la politica estera’, in Richard Bosworth and Sergio Romano (eds), La politica estera italiana: 1860–1985 (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1991), pp. 91–120. ―. ‘Il nemico vero: gli obiettivi dei piani di operazione contro la Gran Bretagna nel contesto etiopico, maggio 1935–maggio 1936’, Storia Contemporanea, 26 (1995): pp. 575–602. Morewood, Steven. ‘Anglo-Italian Rivalry in the Mediterranean and Middle East, 1935–1940’, in Robert Boyce and Esmonde Robertson (eds), Paths to War: New Essays on the Origin of the Second World War (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1989), pp. 167–98. ―. ‘Protecting the Jugular Vein of Empire: The Suez Canal in British Defence Strategy, 1919–1941’, War and Society, 10 (1992): pp. 81–107. ―. ‘The Chiefs-of-Staff, the “Men on the Spot”, and the Italo-Abyssinian Emergency, 1935–36’, in Dick Richardson and Glyn Stone (eds), Decisions and Diplomacy. Essays in Twentieth Century International History (London: Routledge, 1995), pp. 83–107. ―. ‘Appeasement from Strength: The Making of the 1936 Anglo-Egyptian Treaty of Friendship and Alliance’, Diplomacy and Statecraft, 7 (1996): pp. 530–62. Morsy, Laila. ‘The Effect of Italy’s Expansion Policies on Anglo-Egyptian Relations in 1935’, Middle Eastern Studies, 20 (1984): pp. 206–31. Murray, Williamson. ‘The Role of Italy in British Strategy, 1938–1939’, RUSI Journal, 124 (1979): pp. 43–9. Nevo, Joseph. ‘Palestinian-Arab Violent Activity during the 1930s’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London: St Martin’s Press, 1992), pp. 169–89.

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Norris, Jacob. ‘Repression and Rebellion: Britain’s Response to the Arab Revolt in Palestine of 1936–1939’, Journal of Imperial and Commonwealth History, 36 (2008): pp. 25–45. Omissi, David. ‘The Mediterranean and the Middle East in British Global Strategy, 1935–1939’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London: St Martin’s Press, 1992), pp. 3–20. Pasqualini, Maria Gabriella. ‘La Marina italiana e la Persia, 1925–1936’, Bollettino d’Archivio dell’Ufficio Storico della Marina Militare, 6 (1992): pp. 53–105. Pastorelli, Pietro. ‘La politica estera fascista dalla fine del conflitto etiopico alla seconda guerra mondiale’, in Renzo De Felice (ed.), L’Italia fra tedeschi e alleati: la politica estera fascista e la seconda guerra mondiale (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1973), pp. 103–14. ―. ‘Le carte del Gabinetto del Ministero degli Esteri, 1923–1943’, Storia delle Relazioni Internazionali, 5 (1989): pp. 313–48. ―. ‘Grandi, Ciano, Mussolini e gli inglesi: un retroscena diplomatico nelle carte del SIM’, Nuova Storia Contemporanea, 4 (2000): pp. 137–46. Peden, G.C. ‘The Burden of Imperial Defence and the Continental Commitment Reconsidered’, Historical Journal, 27 (1984): pp. 405–23. Petersen, Charles. ‘Showing the Flag’, in Bradford Dismukes and James McConnell (eds), Soviet Naval Diplomacy (New York City: Pergamon Press, 1979), pp. 88–114. Petersen, Jens. ‘La politica estera del fascismo come problema storiografico’, in Renzo De Felice (ed.), L’Italia fra tedeschi e alleati: la politica estera fascista e la seconda guerra mondiale (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1973), pp. 11–55. Petricioli, Marta. ‘Le reazioni arabe al progetto del Consiglio Legislativo per la Palestina, ottobre 1935–aprile 1936’, Il Politico, 44 (1979): pp. 459–95. Procacci, Giuliano. ‘Il mondo arabo e l’aggressione italiana all’Etiopia’, Annali dell’Istituto Giangiacomo Feltrinelli, 22 (1982): pp. 229–56. Quartararo, Rosaria. ‘Inghilterra e Italia. Dal Patto di Pasqua a Monaco. Con un’appendice sul “canale segreto” italo-inglese’, Storia Contemporanea, 7 (1976): pp. 607–716. ―. ‘Imperial Defence in the Mediterranean on the Eve of the Ethiopian Crisis’, Historical Journal, 20 (1977): pp. 185–220. ―. ‘L’Italia e lo Yemen. Uno studio sulla politica di espansione italiana nel Mar Rosso, 1923–1937’, Storia Contemporanea, 10 (1979): pp. 811–71. ―. ‘Mussolini e la tradizione diplomatica precedente’, Affari Esteri, 23 (1991): pp. 564–83. Ristuccia, Cristiano Andrea. ‘1935 Sanctions Against Italy: Would Coal and Crude Have Made a Difference?’, University of Oxford, Discussion Papers in Economic and Social History, 14 (1997): pp. 3–36. Robertson, James. ‘The Origins of British Opposition to Mussolini over Ethiopia’, Journal of British Studies, 9 (1969): pp. 122–42.

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219

―. ‘The Hoare-Laval Plan’, Journal of Contemporary History, 10 (1975): pp. 433–64.  Rochat, Giorgio. ‘Dal nazionalismo all’imperialismo: la politica estera italiana da Corfù alla guerra d’Abissinia e di Spagna 1923–1938’, in Aldo Mola (ed.), Dall’Italia giolittiana all’ltalia repubblicana (Turin: EDA, 1976), pp. 199– 202. Rumi, Giorgio. ‘Mussolini e il programma di San Sepolcro’, Il Movimento di Liberazione in Italia, 71 (1963): pp. 3–26. ―. ‘Revisionismo fascista ed espansione coloniale, 1925–1935’, Il Movimento di Liberazione in Italia, 80 (1965): pp. 37–73. Salerno, Reynolds. ‘Britain, France and the Emerging Italian Threat, 1935–1938’, in Martin Alexander and William Philpott (eds), Anglo-French Defence Relations between the Wars (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), pp. 72–91. Segrè, Claudio. ‘Liberal and Fascist Italy in the Middle East, 1919–1939: The Elusive White Stallion’, in Uriel Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, 1919–1939 (New York City: Holmes & Meier, 1988), pp. 199–212. ―. ‘Il colonialismo e la politica estera’, in Richard Bosworth and Sergio Romano (eds), La politica estera italiana: 1860–1985 (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1991), pp. 121–46. Seton-Watson, Christopher. ‘Italy’s Imperial Hangover’, Journal of Contemporary History, 15 (1980): pp. 169–79. ―. ‘The Anglo-Italian Gentleman’s Agreement of January 1937 and its Aftermath’, in Wolfgang Mommsen and Lothar Kettenacker (eds), The Fascist Challenge and the Policy of Appeasement (London: Allen & Unwin, 1983), pp. 267–82. Sheffer, Gabriel. ‘British Colonial Policy-Making towards Palestine, 1929–1939’, Middle Eastern Studies, 14 (1978): pp. 307–22. ―. ‘Appeasement and the Problem of Palestine’, International Journal of Middle East Studies, 11 (1980): pp. 377– 99. ―. ‘Principles of Pragmatism: A Reevaluation of British Policies toward Palestine in the 1930s’, in Uriel Dann (ed.), The Great Powers in the Middle East, 1919– 1939 (New York City: Holmes & Meier, 1988), pp. 109–27. Sluglett, Peter. ‘Formal and Informal Empire in the Middle East’, in Robin Winks (ed.), The Oxford History of the British Empire: Historiography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), pp. 416–35. Stafford, Paul. ‘The Chamberlain-Halifax Visit to Rome: A Reappraisal’, English Historical Review, 98 (1983): pp. 61–100. Strang, Bruce. ‘Imperial Dreams: The Mussolini-Laval Accords of January 1935’, Historical Journal, 44 (2001): pp. 799–809. Strika, Vincenzo. ‘Il mancato viaggio di re Faysal I in Italia. I rapporti italoiracheni, 1929–1933’, Storia Contemporanea, 15 (1984): pp. 371–98. ―. ‘Le relazioni tra I’Italia e il Hijaz, 1916–1925’, Storia Contemporanea, 20 (1989): pp. 177–95.  Sullivan, Brian. ‘From Little Brother to Senior Partner: Fascist Italian Perceptions of the Nazis and of Hitler’s Regime, 1930–1936’, in Martin Alexander (ed.),

220

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Knowing Your Friends: Intelligence inside Alliances and Coalitions from 1914 to the Cold War (London: Frank Cass, 1988), pp. 84–108. ―. ‘The Italian-Ethiopian War, October 1935–November 1941: Causes, Conduct and Consequences’, in Ion Hamish and Elizabeth Jane Errington (eds), Great Powers and Little Wars: the Limits of Power (Westport: Praeger, 1993), pp. 167–201. ―. ‘The Strategy of the Decisive Weight: Italy 1882–1922’, in William Murray, MacGregor Knox and Alain Bernstein (eds), The Making of Strategy: Rulers, States, and War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1994), pp. 307–51. ―. ‘Italy’s Path from Non-alignment to Non-belligerency to War’, in Neville Wylie (ed.), European Neutrals and Non-belligerents during the Second World War (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), pp. 119–49. Sumida, Jon. ‘British Naval Procurement and Technological Change, 1919–1939’, in Philips O’Brien (ed.), Technology and Naval Combat in the Twentieth Century and Beyond (London: Frank Cass, 2001), pp. 128–47. Taylor, Philip. ‘Cultural Diplomacy and the British Council: 1934–1939’, British Journal of International Studies, 4 (1978): pp. 244–65. Tedeschini Lalli, Mario. ‘La propaganda araba del fascismo e l’Egitto’, Storia Contemporanea, 7 (1976): pp. 717–49. ―. ‘La politica italiana in Egitto negli anni Trenta e il movimento delle camicie verdi’, Storia Contemporanea, 17 (1986): pp. 1177–200. Thomas, Martin. ‘Anglo-French Imperial Relations in the Arab World: Intelligence Liason and National Disorder, 1920–1939’, Diplomacy & Statecraft, 17 (2006): pp. 771–98. Townshend, Charles. ‘The Defence of Palestine: Insurrection and Public Security, 1936–1939’, English Historical Review, 103 (1988): pp. 917–49. ―. ‘The First Intifada: Rebellion in Palestine, 1936–1939’, History Today, 39 (1989): pp. 13–19. Vacca, Virginia. ‘Ar-Radyō. Le radio arabe d’Europa e d’Oriente e le loro pubblicazioni’, Oriente Moderno, 20 (1940): pp. 444–51. Vigezzi, Brunello. ‘Mussolini, Ciano, la diplomazia italiana e la percezione della “politica di potenza” all’inizio della seconda guerra mondiale’, in Ennio Di Nolfo, Romain Rainero, Brunello Vigezzi (eds), L’Italia e la politica di potenza in Europa: 1938–1940 (Milan: Marzorati, 1986), pp. 3–18. ―. ‘L’Italia dopo l’Unità: liberalismo e politica estera’, in Richard Bosworth and Sergio Romano (eds), La politica estera italiana: 1860–1985 (Bologna: Il Mulino, 1991), pp. 231–86. Watt, Donald Cameron. ‘Gli accordi mediterranei anglo-italiani del 16 aprile 1938’, Rivista di Studi Politici Internazionali, 26 (1959): pp. 51–76. ―. ‘The Secret Laval-Mussolini Agreement of 1935 on Ethiopia’, Middle East Journal, 15 (1961): pp. 69–78. ―. ‘The Arabian Peninsula in British Strategy’, Military Review, 41 (1961): pp. 37–43.

Selected Bibliography

221

Williams, Manuela. ‘Mussolini’s Secret War in the Mediterranean and the Middle East: Italian Intelligence and the British Response’, Intelligence and National Security, 22 (2007): pp. 881–904. Willson, F.M.G. ‘Policy-Making and the Policy-Makers’, in Richard Rose (ed.), Policy-Making in Britain: A Reader in Government (London: Macmillan, 1969), pp. 355–68. Wright, John. ‘Libya: Italian Invasion and Resistance, 1911–1931’, in Kevin Shillington (ed.), Encyclopedia of African History (3 vols, New York City, Routledge: 2005), vol. 1, p. 833. Zweig, Ronald. ‘The Palestine Problem in the Context of Colonial Policy on the Eve of the Second World War’, in Michael Cohen and Martin Kolinsky (eds), Britain and the Middle East in the 1930s: Security Problems 1935–1939 (London: St Martin’s Press, 1992), pp. 206–16.

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Index

Abdullah, Emir of Transjordan 104 overthrow 92 Aden 16, 27, 81, 170, 171, 175–6 British mandate 2 disturbances, alleged 49 Gulf of 165 Hamidaddin, claims by 21, 25, 178 strategic value 15 Afifi, Mohammed 97 Agence de l’Egypte et de l’Oriente 62, 63, 64, 67, 68 Al Ahram 63 Al Azhar University, Cairo 64–5 Al Gargani, Khalid 103–4 Al Jabiri, Ihsan 57, 59–60, 89, 98 Al Jamiya Al Islamiya 60 Al Jehad 64 Al Midfai, Jamil 143 Al Ouf, Mohammed Jalal 60, 61 Al Sarkha 64 Alami, Musa 97, 98, 99, 100, 102, 103, 104, 105, 107 Albrecht-Carrié, René 9 Alexandria, Victoria College 75 Alfieri, Dino 60–1 Andrew, Lewis, assassination of 104 Anglo-Egyptian relations 67 Treaty (1936) 67, 70 Union 75 Anglo-Italian, rapprochement 22–8, 48, 68, 106 see also Easter Agreements relations, Europe 15 Anglo-Italian rivalry Arabian Peninsula 153–83 see also Arabian Peninsula Middle East 5–6, 33, 185, 186–99 aeronautical armament competition 132–50

study approaches 8 key aspects 7 naval armament competition 122–32 origins 186 role of colonial officers 7, 34, 187, 198–9 sources 7 Red Sea see Red Sea Anglo-Turkish Convention (1914) 175 Anzari, Aligoli Khan 124 Arabian Peninsula Anglo-Italian rivalry 153–83 arms imports 18–19 Italian objectives 153 penetration 15–22 map xiv strategic value 14 see also Saudi Arabia Arabic Listener 85 arms imports, Arabian Peninsula 18–19 Arslan, Shakib, Emir 89, 92, 98, 189 anti-Fascist propaganda 56–7 La Nation Arabe 57, 59 letter to Mufti of Jerusalem 59, 60 pro-Fascist propaganda 57–9 Asir 14, 16, 21, 29, 30, 187 capture by Ibn Saud 14, 28 strategic value 22 Assab 12, 28, 173 Astuto, Riccardo 29, 30 Austria, Germany, Anschluss 105, 111 Austro-German Pact (1936) 198 Azhari, Omar 154 Bab El-Mandeb Straits 14, 154, 164, 166, 172 Baggally, Herbert 171 Bahrain 127, 128 Baistrocchi, Federico 101

224

Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

Balbo, Italo 99 with Mussolini 114 Baldry, John 179 Balfour, Arthur 1 Balfour Declaration 1fn5, 91, 109 Baxter, Charles William 129 Bayandor, Gholam Ali 131 BBC Arabic Service 51, 52–6, 70, 71, 76–85, 86, 194 Arabic Listener 85 broadcast of unsuitable material 83–4 disagreements with Foreign Office 78–9, 80, 82–3 finance 80 inauguration ceremony 81 independence from government 80–1 Radio Bari, comparison 83–4 Berionni, I., Maj 102, 103, 104 Bottai, Giuseppe 198 Breda Ba.65 aircraft 117 assemblage 116 purchase by Iraq 139–40, 141, 144, 146 Britain Defence Requirements Committee 193 Egypt, military alliance 67, 70 foreign warship construction, decline 120, 126 Iraq, Treaty of Alliance 121, 134, 136, 140, 141, 147, 148, 151 Italy, Understanding (1927) 153, 163, 164, 169–70, 171, 174, 175 League of Nations’ mandates 2 Middle East, policy 2 Persian Gulf interests 122, 151 World War I, conflicting promises made 1fn5 Yemen, dispute 25, 26, 27 British Council 70, 71, 85 Egypt 74–6 finance 72, 73 and the Foreign Office 72, 73 foundation 72, 194 industrial representation 73 British Institute, Cairo 75 Bullard, Reader, Sir 50, 82, 105 Ca.101 transport planes, for Saudi Arabia 159

Cairo anti-British demonstrations 65 British Institute 75 Camel Cavalry Unit, Italian Colonial Army 114 camels, trade for Italian weapons, Saudi Arabia 156 Campbell, Ronald 39, 66 Cantiere Navale Triestino 124 Cantieri Navali Riuniti 127, 129 Caproni Ca.100 training planes, for Saudi Arabia 159 Caruso, Casto 99, 103 Cassels, Alan 10 Castellani, Vittorio 101 Celesia, Geisser 135 Chamberlain, Austen 20, 21, 24 Chamberlain, Neville 1, 53, 174, 185, 195 Chatfield, Ernle Admrl 3 Ciano, Galeazzo 40, 42, 55, 62, 89, 97, 101, 103, 104, 108, 111, 137, 143, 170, 177 Ciccu, Giovanni Battista, Capt 160, 161 Clark Kerr, Archibald, Sir 137, 140 Clayton, Gilbert, Sir 22 Cleveland, William 58 Clive, Robert, Sir 127, 128 Colonial Office 27, 34, 84, 127, 128, 163, 164, 168, 172, 177, 179, 180, 181 colonial officers, role in Middle East 7, 34, 187, 198–9 Committee of Imperial Defence 15, 17, 125, 180 Middle East Official Sub-Committee 162 Corfu Crisis (1923) 9, 11, 34, 187 Courtney, Christopher, AVM 138, 139 Craufurd, Lt Cdr 19 Crispi, Francesco 13 Crolla, Guido 170, 171 Cyrenaica 35, 50, 56, 69, 188 Czechoslovakia, German occupation 54 Dadone, Ugo 56 anti-British propaganda, Egypt 62–8 Dante Alighieri Society 38 Darwish, Ishaq 97, 101, 102, 103 De Angelis, Mariano 92, 94, 95, 96, 98

Index De Bono, Emilio, Marshal 54 De Facendis, Domenico 124, 125 De Felice, Renzo 9 De Zan, Enrico 131 Del Prato, Pierluigi, Cdr 126 Di Nolfo, Ennio 6 Di San Giuliano, Antonio, imperial ambitions 13–14 Drummond, Eric, Sir 32, 46, 47, 165, 169 Dundas, C.A.F. 75–6 Easter Agreements (1938) 53–4, 55, 68, 110, 160, 161, 175–7, 182–3, 191, 195 and status of Yemen 178–9 Eden, Anthony 51, 77, 165 resignation 53 Egypt anti-British propaganda 61–8 British response 66–7 Britain, military alliance 67, 70 British Council 74–6 independence declaration 42 Italian cultural propaganda 38–9 Italy, trade 44 visit by Italian monarch 39 see also Cairo Eritrea as Italian springboard 15–16 proclaimed Italian colony 12 Yemen, trade 16 Eritrean Shipping Society 173 Erlich, Haggai 10 Ethiopia conquest by Italy 88, 137, 153, 154, 197 Foreign Office on 165 Ethiopian Crisis 8, 11, 15, 33, 37, 157, 182, 186, 192 and propaganda 40 Ethiopian War 192 Farasan Islands 12, 15, 23, 172 Italian attempts on 19–20, 24 claim to 13 Fasht Island 172 Federzoni, Luigi 16, 25 Fisher, William, Admrl 120

225

Foreign Office 21, 23, 26, 32 BBC Arabic Service, disagreements 78–9, 80, 82–3 British Council 72, 73 on Ethiopia 165 on Fascist Italy 10 Iraq supply of aircraft 138, 139, 145 mechanics, training 148 News Department 72 Middle Eastern Section 84–5 partition of Palestine, rejection 108–9 France, control of Lebanon 2 Syria 2 Gabbrielli, Luigi 135, 139, 142, 143, 145, 146, 148, 149 Galli, Carlo 123, 124 Gasparini, Jacopo 15–16, 18, 20–1, 22, 23, 25, 27, 28, 165, 173 Gayda, Virginio 51, 52 Germany Austria, Anschluss 105, 111 Czechoslovakia, occupation of 54 Italy, alignment 196–7, 198 National Socialism 34, 38, 187 Zeesen radio transmitter 56 Ghazi bin Faisal, King of Iraq 142 Giardini, Renato 147 Giornale d’Oriente 62, 64 Gladiator aircraft, supply to Iraq 137, 138–9, 141 Gori-Savellini, Luigi, Maj 161 Graham, Ronald, Sir 22 Grandi, Dino 24, 105, 135, 170, 177 Graves, Cecil 82, 83 Graziani, Rodolfo, Marshal 54 Great Arab Uprising see Palestine Arab Revolt Great Palestinian Uprising see Palestine Arab Revolt Grobba, Fritz 135 Guariglia, Raffaele 22 Hadhramaut 21 British claim to 170, 171, 182, 192, 193

226

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Hajj Amin, Mufti of Jerusalem 59, 89, 91, 92, 94, 95, 106, 107, 189 anti-Jewish racism 111 letter from Arslan 59, 60 Halifax, Viscount 195 Hamidaddin, Yahya Muhammad, Imam of Yemen 16, 20, 21, 24, 25, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 161–2, 164, 165 Aden, claims on 21, 25, 178 arms purchases 178, 179–81 with Mussolini 113 Hamza, Fuad 95, 96, 155 Hanish Great 12, 172, 192 Islands 176 Hejaz attacks on 29 conquest by Saudi Arabia 14 Hejaz-Nejd 21, 22, 23, 28, 29 Henderson, Arthur 122 Hodeidah 12, 16, 21, 32, 33, 182 arms smuggling 18, 31 British radio propaganda 177 Hope Gill, Cecil 168 Hughes, Matthew 107 Husn al-Abr 178 Ibn Saud Abdul Aziz 24, 30, 96, 102, 103, 104, 105, 155, 183 Asir, capture of 14, 28 Hejaz, conquest of 14 pan-Arab solidarity, lack of 111 plot to overthrow 29 treaty with Idrisi Sayed Ali 22–3 Idrisi Sayed Ali 16, 20, 24 treaty with Ibn Saud 22–3 India Office 12, 19, 122, 127 Iraq 2 aircraft, Italian 121, 141 Anglo-Italian aeronautical armaments rivalry 132–50 Breda Ba.65 aircraft, purchase 139–40, 141, 144, 146 Britain request for aircraft 137 supply of Gladiator aircraft 137, 138–9, 141

Treaty of Alliance 121, 134, 136, 140, 141, 147, 148, 151 coup d’état 135–6 Italian Air Force Mission 121, 145–50 military expenditure, growth 136 pilots, and Italian mechanics 117 RAF plane 118 Savoia-Marchetti S.79 bomber, purchase 139, 140, 141, 143, 144, 145, 146, 149 World War II outbreak, policy 149–50 Irgun Tsvai Leumi 93 Italian Air Force Mission, Iraq 121, 145–50 Italian Colonial Army, Camel Cavalry Unit 114 Italian Naval Mission, Persia 121, 123–4, 150 Italica Society 38 Italo-Palestine Committee 40 Italy aircraft exports 132–3, 134 Albania, conquest of 54, 179, 192 Arabian Peninsula, penetration 15–22 Britain Understanding (1927) 153, 163, 164, 169–70, 171, 174, 175 ‘war of brigandage’ against 197–8 Consortium of Aeronautical Exports 133–4 Egypt, trade 44 Eritrea, seizure 12, 15–16 Ethiopia, conquest of 88, 137, 153, 154, 197 Farasan Islands attempts on 19–20, 24 claim to 13 foreign policy ambitions 3–4, 5 foreign warship construction 120–1 Germany, alignment 196–7, 198 Palestinian National Movement, support for 88–9 pro-Muslim strategy 188 propaganda campaign 35–7 anti-British 42–68, 69 Egypt 38–9 failure 37 Palestine 40 shipbuilding industry, strength of 125

Index Turkey, war 12 Yemen collapse of influence 27 designs on 12, 153–4, 194 expansionism in 161–4, 177–8 relations 24 treaty 21, 23, 166, 167, 173 see also Mussolini Jaffa 93, 94 Jawad, Mohammed Ali, Maj 139, 140 assassination 142 Jebel Zukur 172, 176, 192 Jerusalem, Mufti 59, 60, 89, 188–9 Kamaran Island 15, 23, 171, 172, 176, 179 Kawkab El Sharq 64 Kelly, David 63–4 Keown-Boyd, Alexander William, Sir 66 Kepietz, Hans 36 Kolinsky, Martin 111 Kulthum, Umm 52 Lampson, Miles, Sir 46, 47, 48, 62–3, 66, 67–8, 74, 75, 82, 85, 167, 168–9, 172, 195–6 Lanza di Scalea, Pietro, Prince 21, 40 Lateran Pacts (1929) 40 League of Nations 42, 44 Syrian-Palestine Delegation 56, 59 Lebanon, French control 2 Leeper, Reginald (Lex) 72, 73, 78, 80, 82, 83 Leghorn, Naval Academy 124, 127 Lessona, Alessandro 99 Levant Fair, Bari 39 Libya, Italian atrocities 56–7 reconciliation policies 188 settlers 191 Libyan Resistance Movement 35, 37, 56, 189 Lloyd, George, Lord 74, 75 Locarno, Treaty of (1925) 7 Mackensen, Hans Georg von 89 Malpensa, Bombing School 160 Mancini, Pasquale Stanislao 13

227

Massawa 12, 16, 28, 30, 178 oil refinery 173 Mecca Sharif of 1 Treaty of 22, 24 Mediterranean, map xiii Meridionali RO.37 reconnaissance aircraft 147 Middle East Anglo-Italian rivalry 5–6, 33, 185, 186–99 maps xiii–xiv oil discoveries 6 Millo, Carlo, Capt 30 Ministry for the Colonies 15, 24, 27, 34 Ministry for Foreign Affairs 15, 18, 26, 97, 99, 101, 103, 123, 130, 137, 138, 159, 167 Massawa oil refinery 173 money to Palestine 95 and the Persian Gulf 123 Ministry of the Navy 127 Ministry of War 101, 106, 125, 140 Mocha 153, 161, 173, 181 Amil of 164 Moise, Romolo 179 Mombelli, Alessandro 61 Monaco, Conference of (1938) 106 Monroe, Elisabeth, Britain’s Moment in the Middle East 2 Montagu, Edwin 1 Mudros, Armistice (1918) 14 Mussolini, Benito 1, 25, 26 with Balbo 114 Britain, friendship 11 foreign policy (1922–1932) 9–10 with Hamidaddin 113 imperial ambitions 13, 33, 111, 119–20, 154, 187, 191 methods 14 receives Sword of Islam 37, 50 Second Roman Empire, ambition for 4, 33, 35, 37 with Teymourtash 113 World War II expectations 199–200 Najran, Yemeni incursion 30, 187 La Nation Arabe 57, 59

228

Anglo-Italian Relations in the Middle East, 1922–1940

National Socialism, Germany 34, 38, 187 Naval Academy, Leghorn 124, 127 Nejd, Sultanate 14 see also Hejaz-Nejd North Africa, map xiv Odello, Domenico, Lt Col 156, 157, 158 oil discoveries, Middle East 6 Oman 2, 170 Omar Mukhtar, hanging of 37 Oriani, Alfredo 119 Ottoman Empire 12, 14, 186 break up of 1 Yemen, independence 14 see also Turkey Overy, Richard 6, 9 Pagliano, Emilio, propaganda strategy 61–2 Pahlavi Dynasty 122 Palestine 2 Arab demonstrators 115 British policy 110 British White Paper on 109 Jewish immigration 87, 189 Mandatory Administration 8, 41, 43, 45, 49, 60, 93, 190 punitive demolition of Arab houses 93–4 money from MFA partition, rejection by Foreign Office 108–9 Peel Royal Commission 50, 88, 100, 104 sabotaged railway train 116 Saudi Arabian financial help 95 Palestine Arab Revolt (1936–1939) 43, 50, 60, 69, 189, 190 British military response 93–4, 107 reasons for 87–8, 89–90 Palestinian National Movement 57, 60, 88, 188 Fascist arms and ammunition for 101–5 Fascist financial support for 88–9, 92–101, 109–10 British countermeasures 96, 97, 98 suspension of 105–6, 110

Paris Peace Conference (1919) 3–4, 12, 186 Pasqualucci, Gino 163 Peel, Lord, Royal Commission, Palestine 50, 88, 100, 104 Perim Island 162, 164, 172 Persia Italian Naval Mission 121, 123–4, 150 failure 131–2, 151 request to Britain for ships 127–8 Persian Gulf British interests 122, 151 Ministry of Foreign Affairs interest in 123 Persico, Giovanni 95, 159, 160 Peterson, Maurice, Sir 147, 148 Pratt, Lawrence 3 propaganda see BBC Arabic Service; Radio Bari Quartararo, Rosaria 165 Radio Bari 35, 69, 77 anti-British broadcasts 42–52, 191 British response 52–6, 76–85 anti-French broadcasts 191 audience size 41 BBC Arabic Service, comparison 83–4 magazine 52 Ras Al-Ara 172 Red Sea Anglo-Italian rivalry 12–15, 20, 21, 33, 154, 192 strategic value 14, 15, 16 Reilly, Bernard, Sir 162, 163, 164, 180 Reith, John, Sir 79–80 Rendel, George 29–30, 31, 49, 82, 90, 98, 142, 170, 171, 176 Reza Khan 122–3, 130 Persian Navy, creation of 123 Rice, Harry Patrick 59 Rolo, Charles 41 Rome Conversations 22, 23 Roosevelt, Franklin 200 Rubattino Shipping Company 12 Saint-Jean de Maurienne, Treaty (1917) 4 Samuel, Herbert, Sir 91

Index Sanaa 16, 19, 21, 28, 31, 81, 163, 174, 180 British radio propaganda 177 Santoro, Tommaso 161 Saudi Arabia Britain, policy towards 155–6 Ca.101 transport planes 159 camels for Italian weapons, trade 156 Caproni Ca.100 training planes 159 Ethiopian War, neutrality 156 formation of 14 Hejaz, conquest of 14 Italy air force formation 158–60 collaboration 155 discontent with 160–1 map xiv School of Aviation 160 Yemen, war 14, 31–2, 155, 187 Savoia-Marchetti S.79 bomber crash 142 purchase by Iraq 139, 140, 141, 143, 144, 145, 146, 149 Senussi 44 Shabwa 178 Sheikh Said 172, 178, 179, 180, 181, 192 strategic value 162, 164 Sidqi, Bakr, Gen 135, 136, 139, 141 assassination 142–3 Silverfarb, Daniel 121 Sirianni, Giuseppe, Admrl 123 Sluglett, Peter 5–6 Smith, Denis Mack 9 Sonnino, Sidney 13 Soviet-Yemeni Commercial Treaty (1928) 28 Spanish Civil War 165, 166, 177 Stark, Freya, Dame 178 in Yemen 181–2 Suez Canal 6, 39 commercial value 17 Italian plan to block 165–6 strategic value 16 Sulayman, Hikmat 135, 140, 143 Suvich, Fulvio 32, 46, 155 Suwaidi, Taufiq 146, 148 Symes, George Stewart 27, 28 Syria 99, 100, 103, 199 French control 2 French policy 191

229

Syrian-Palestine Delegation, League of Nations 56, 59 Tavazzani, Giovanni, Lt Col 158 Taylor, Philip 73 Tel Aviv, plot to pollute water supply 99, 111 Tempesti, Carlo, Col 160 Teymourtash, Abdol Hossein 123, 124–5, 127, 129, 132 with Mussolini 113 Thomas, J.H. 163 Transjordan 2, 29, 51, 55, 95, 99, 104, 190 Emir Abdullah 92 Tripolitania 35, 50, 56, 69 Turkey, Italy, war 12 see also Ottoman Empire Valle, Giuseppe, Gen 142, 158–9 Vansittart, Robert, Sir 73, 78, 90, 169, 195 Viola, Guido 130 Williams, Howard, Grp Capt 141 Williams, Manuela 69 Mussolini’s Propaganda Abroad 36–7 Wilson, Henry FM 2–3 Wood, Kingsley, Sir 79, 80 Yemen 14 Britain, dispute 25, 26, 27 and Easter Agreements 178–9 Eritrea, trade 16 Italy collapse of influence 27 designs on 12, 153–4, 194 expansionism 161–4, 177–8 relations 24 treaty 21, 23, 166, 167, 173 Najran incursion 30, 187 Ottoman Empire, independence from 14 Saudi Arabia, war 14, 31–2, 155, 187 Soviet Union, commercial treaty 28 Stark in 181–2 strategic value 154 Young Egypt Society 64 Zionist Movement 60, 87, 89, 109, 188, 190 Zoli, Corrado 27, 28